The Advocate's Devil (37 page)

“When I was younger I could do that, and then put it behind me. I can’t seem to do that with this one.”

“Good. Because recognizing complexity, ambiguity, and uncertainty is a sign of maturity. You’re finally growing up.”

“And I don’t like it one bit,” Abe said, allowing himself his first small smile of the evening.

Rendi got up, walked over to him, and gently sat down on his lap. She sat there for a full minute, just looking at his troubled
face. Then she spoke, almost in a whisper. “Look, Abe, there’s a time to think. God knows you’ve done enough of that. And
you’re not comfortable with your decision.”

“How do you know?”

“It’s obvious. Sigmund Freud was once asked how he made up his mind on difficult choices.”

“What did he answer?”

“He said he flipped a coin.”

“Not very original.”

“Yes, it was. He said he would then see how he reacted to the coin flip—was he comfortable with the way it came out.”

“Clever.”

“Well, you fail the Freud test—you’re
mutcher
ing over it.”

“It’s a decision that warrants
mutcher
ing.”

“You’ve done enough of that. Now’s the time to act.”

“So what do you think I should do?”

“I think you should break the rules and turn him in. Do it because it’s the only right thing to do. I’ll be proud of you.
Emma will be proud of you. Hannah would have been proud of you.

“It
isn’t
the right thing to do. Don’t you think Judge Gambi was right when she denied my motion to find out what Jennifer told her
psychologist?”

“Yes, I do, but that was different.”

“Why was that different?”

“Because Jennifer wasn’t going to kill anyone.”

“Maybe she was falsely accusing someone.”

“You know she wasn’t.”

“
The judge
didn’t know that, and yet she wouldn’t let me find out what Jennifer told her shrink, because she understood the importance
of keeping a promise of confidentiality.”

“It’s still different, Abe, and I think you should call the cops on Campbell.”

“I know that a lot of people would praise me for blowing the whistle on a guilty rapist and murderer. I can’t. It would be
breaking a fundamental rule of my profession.”

“Abe,” Rendi said without thinking, “it wouldn’t be the first rule you broke.” As soon as the words passed her lips, she regretted
having spoken them.

Abe responded by sending a clear message to her that he would like her to get off his lap. When she stood up, he extended
a comforting hand to her. “I know I broke a rule and a promise in the past, and we both wish I hadn’t. That night with you
just before Hannah’s accident was the worst thing I ever did. If I could take back any hour of my life and live it differently,
that would be the hour.”

“For me too. Even before the accident, I regretted what we had done. A few weeks ago I went back to my computerized diary
and reread the entry for the day after that night. Do you know what it said?”

Abe paused. “You’ve kept a diary?”

“Yes, on my computer.”

“You know, Rendi, that makes me a little nervous. How secure are those things? Any sophisticated hacker could break into it.”

“Don’t get paranoid on me, Abe. Nobody would want to read my journal—except maybe
you
. And I’ve got a password that nobody could figure out.”

“What is it?”

“You think I’m telling
you?
I’ve got stuff in there that you’ll never know about.”

“Rendi, you’ve got to be concerned about the security of your computer.”

“Stop it—listen to me. We’re not talking about hackers now. I’m telling you what I wrote in my diary,” Rendi said, placing
an arm around Abe’s shoulder.

“Tell me.”

“It said that the sex was great, but it wasn’t worth it, because you would always feel guilty about betraying Hannah’s trust.

“You were right, especially in light of what happened.”

“We couldn’t have known what was going to happen. And what happened wasn’t our fault.”

“I can never know that for certain. What is even worse is that I will always have a secret from Emma.”

“Believe me, Emma will have plenty of secrets from you.”

“Not like this one.”

“Look, Abe, the flesh is weak. We weren’t the first, and we won’t be the last decent people who succumbed to temptation. And
we enjoyed it.”

“Yes, we did. And look what it did to us. If we hadn’t, we would probably be married today.”

“Boring. It’s more fun this way.”

“I can’t play fast and loose with rules anymore, Rendi. I paid too high a price that time. I’m not going to let this son of
a bitch destroy my commitment to the rule of law.” Abe sat and stared straight at the small fragment of the statue of Justinian
that sat atop Rendi’s mantelpiece.

Abe felt like a juggler with four balls in the air. He spent every minute of every hour obsessing about Campbell. Even though
he knew he was doing the right thing, he couldn’t stop himself from running for his
New York Times
every morning to look through the metro section in search of a new crime that might fit Campbell’s MO. He watched the New
York news every night on the cable TV superstation. He was worried sick—his blood pressure had skyrocketed—that Campbell would
strike once again.

It was as if a sword of Damocles was hanging not only over the head of Campbell’s next victim, but over Abe’s head as well.
Part of him actually wished that Campbell would commit his next crime already and get caught. The real horror of the sword
of Damocles, Abe realized, was not in its dropping, but in its hanging.

At the same time, he worried about Emma’s upcoming move to the high-crime neighborhood around Barnard. He bought her a portable
siren at Sharper Image. He gave her a book about how not to be a victim in New York. He paid for the self-defense course—it
was called “model mugging”—she was taking at the Cambridge Y and was relieved to hear from her that she was now capable of
disabling a mugger with a quick knee to the groin. Abe was confident that he had satisfied his religious obligation to teach
his daughter to swim. He had much less confidence in the city whose cross-currents she would be trying to navigate.

Abe’s third worry ball was Haskel. His health was deteriorating even more rapidly. Now when Abe came to visit, Haskel would
sometimes just sit staring straight ahead, his eyes glazed, his mouth hanging open, and his hands twitching uncontrollably.
On his last visit Haskel had seemed particularly anxious to advise Abe about some impending crisis, but had been unable to
articulate his warning. He’d kept repeating the biblical names
Amalek
and
Hamen
and mumbling something about “future generations.” It had been even less to go on than usual, so Abe had told Justin to check
out the names and come up with any relevant sources.

During every visit with Haskel, Abe wondered whether this would be the last time he would see his dear friend alive. He thought
constantly about all the things he wanted to say to Haskel before the old man died, but he couldn’t bring himself to deliver
his farewell speech lest it be perceived by Haskel as though his friend were giving him permission to die.

Then there was Nancy Rosen, still disbarred for doing the gutsy thing, although she was at least out of prison and working
as a paralegal back in Newark. Abe couldn’t get Nancy out of his mind, for two reasons. The first, he knew, was irrational:
he continued to blame himself and Justin for Nancy’s disbarment, even though he knew it was not their fault. Neither was it
her fault. The blame lay directly at the doorstep of that prick of a prosecutor, Duncan. The second reason Abe thought so
much about Nancy was that he believed somewhere in her noble actions lay a clue as to what
he
should do about Campbell. Yet he couldn’t figure out what the lesson really was.

Nancy had sacrificed her liberty and career to save the life of an innocent stranger—Charlie O. To Abe, that pointed toward
blowing the whistle on Campbell to save the lives of Campbell’s future rape victims. Ironically, Nancy was disbarred for her
refusal to
blow the whistle on her own guilty client, Rodney Owens. It was a mixed message, much like Haskel’s arcane talmudic stories,
and unlike the legal ethics course Abe had taken back in law school, where simple answers solved simple problems. One thing
was crystal clear to Abe: If Nancy Rosen were in his position now, she would do
something
to stop Campbell. I guess that’s what makes her a radical and me a cautious lawyer, Abe thought grimly.

These images—each so different from the other—cascaded through Abe’s mind, causing him anguish, confusion, and sleepless nights.

Now there was a new worry. The morning after Abe’s visit to Rendi’s apartment, she had called him in a panic. She had logged
onto her computer diary from her modem at the office and had noticed something strange.

“If not for your little bit of paranoia last night, I probably wouldn’t have even spotted it,” Rendi said.

“What?” Abe asked nervously.

“Somebody logged into my computer yesterday for almost an hour, and it wasn’t me.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Don’t you remember, Abe? I was away all day yesterday, except for the evening. I never was near my computer.”

“Could it be a mistake?”

“Could be, but I doubt it. I think you were right. Somebody was reading my diary.”

“Well, it wasn’t
me
, Rendi—if you’re thinking that.”

“No, I’m not thinking that. You wouldn’t have a clue how to break in.”

“Could it be Campbell?”

“Could be, but why?”

“Maybe he’s looking for some dirt that he can use as insurance in case I decide to blow the whistle.”

“Sounds plausible. Maybe he’s looking for something on
me
,” Rendi speculated.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“It just gives us something else to worry about.”

With all these concerns, Abe preferred to focus his attention on Emma. At least with her he could do something positive—enjoy
her last few days at home, lecture her about safety, give her advice about courses, teachers, restaurants, and boyfriends.
He could joke with her about her new, more sophisticated wardrobe. He could be with her at home, sharing a Chinese take-out
dinner from the Lucky Garden, with the final movement from Mahler’s Fifth playing in the background.

“I’m really worried about you, all alone in New York.”

“I’m a grown woman, Daddy.”

“Yes. I know that, and that’s exactly why I’m worried about you. You think you’re invincible.”

“I am woman. Hear me roar,” Emma sang in a mocking voice, momentarily drowning out the Mahler.

“I am mugger. See me mug,” Abe sang back in an equally mocking tone.

“You really don’t have to worry. I’ve gotten my certificate—with honors—from the model mugging course at the Y.”

“That worries me even more, because now you really believe you can take on a professional career mugger.”

“Daddy, the first thing they teach you in mugging school is to
avoid
muggers. The second thing is how to escape from them. They teach us how to fight back only as a last resort.”

“That sounds sensible. Will you follow their advice?”

“You bet I will. Do you think I want to spend my college years in a wheelchair? Forget it. I know how to run, and I’m damn
fast,” Emma said, pointing to a trophy she had won in a prep school track meet.

“You do understand why I’m so worried?”

“Yes. Because that’s your job, and because that’s your nature. I worry, too, Daddy. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
I also worry about you. You seem so preoccupied, and I heard you on the phone yesterday, talking to Dr. Gurewitz about your
blood pressure. Why has it shot up? I hope it’s not because of
me?
”

“No, it’s not because of you. It’s a work thing that I can’t talk about.”

“Daddy, you always told me that it was wrong to get depressed about work. Depression, you said, should be reserved for personal
or family crises, not for work. You can get upset, angry, or worried about work—you always say—but never depressed. And you
seem depressed.”

“I am a bit depressed, and my pressure is up a bit. And it is because of something at work. Even my rules don’t always make
sense. This is something at work that affects me very personally.”

“Is it about Rendi?” Emma asked. “Are you two finally making some decisions now that I’m out of the way?”

“No, it’s not about Rendi, though I suspect that your absence may either bring us closer together or drive us farther apart.”

“Can’t you share it with me, Daddy? My friends all tell me I give good advice.”

“No, I can’t, Emma. It’s about a client. And it’s confidential. I can’t discuss it with anyone outside the office.”

“That rule sucks, Daddy. Fathers should be allowed to discuss confidential stuff with their adult children.”

“And children should be willing to discuss confidential stuff with their parents,” Abe said pointedly. “Yet you keep secrets
from me, don’t you?”

“That’s part of growing up, making our own mistakes. I wish you could share with me what’s bugging you, Daddy.”

“I wish I could also. I know I would benefit from your advice. Unfortunately, it’s against the rules.”

“And Abe Ringel is a stickler for rules,” Emma added, knowing that she had lost the argument. “By the way,” she added almost
as an afterthought, “I’m leaving for New York day after tomorrow, on Thursday, one day early. I’m doing something special
for my birthday on Friday, and my new roommate, Zoe, is taking me shopping the day before at her uncle’s boutique in SoHo.”

“What are you doing that’s so special?”

“Can’t tell you. Don’t worry, it’s perfectly safe. I’ll tell you afterward. I’m sworn to secrecy for the moment.”

“Even from your daddy?”

“Especially from my daddy,” Emma said with the Hannah smile that always melted him.