The Devil's Advocate (16 page)

"Oh."

"That, on top of their other problems ..,"

"Yes." She looked at the painting. "No wonder she's doing things like that. All right.

For a while we'll hang it. I'll put it in that corner where it will be somewhat inconspicuous, not that anyone coming in here could ignore it long."

"That's my girl," Kevin said and kissed her. "Now, let's see about that shower, huh?"

She smiled, and they continued out. Miriam looked back once and shook her head. "Isn't it ironic, Kev? One woman's tragedy was she gave birth and another's is that she can't."

"Yeah. Well, the best thing we can do is be enthusiastic whenever we're around Helen," he said.

It sounded familiar, and Miriam remembered that was what Jean had said Mr.

Milton had told them. "Did Mr. Milton tell you that?"

"Mr. Milton?" He laughed. "I know I've been raving about the guy, but really, Miriam, I can do some of my own thinking, too." .

"Of course you can," she said quickly, but still, it did seem odd.

8

Stanley Rothberg sat back in the chair to the right of Mr. Milton. As soon as he entered the conference room, Kevin quickly scrutinized him. Rothberg looked considerably older than forty-one. He tried to hide the premature bald spot at the center of his head by brushing long strands of his thin, dirt-blond hair over the top. Although he was a tall man, standing at least six feet three, he had such an emphatic turn in his shoulders, he looked almost hunchbacked. The bags under his eyes, the deep creases in his face, and the black stubble beard gave him the crusty look of a late-night bartender.

So despite being dressed in a Pierre Cardin dark blue sports jacket and slacks, Rothberg had a seedi-ness about him that triggered all sorts of alarms in Kevin's mind. He didn't like the sleepy look in Rothberg's eyes. He knew juries would interpret it as a look of guilt, slyness, deceit. Even the man's smile left him cold. One corner lifted higher than the other, making it look more like a sneer.

Kevin's father used to tell him never to judge a book by its cover. He was referring to all the wealthy clients he had in his accounting firm who looked and dressed like paupers, but after Kevin had graduated from law school and his father used that expression again, Kevin had to disagree.

"I understand what you mean, Dad," he said, "but if I had to take one of those clients to court, I'd dress him so he looked distinguished. Juries do judge a book by its cover."

First impressions were too often final impressions, Kevin thought, and his first impression of Stanley Rothberg was that the man was guilty. He seemed capable of pushing his wife over the brink. He looked self-indulgent, disdainful, and boorish.

"Stanley," John Milton said, "this is Kevin Taylor."

"How do you do, Mr. Rothberg," Kevin said, extending his hand. Rothberg stared at it a moment and then widened his smile when he reached over the table to shake hands.

"Your boss says you're the whiz kid. Says I shouldn't worry about putting my life into your hands."

"I'll do my best, Mr. Rothberg."

"Question is," Rothberg replied quickly, "is your best going to be enough?" His smile faded.

Kevin looked at Mr. Milton, whose eyes were so intently focused on him, he felt as if they burned into his very soul. Kevin straightened up.

"More than enough," he said, unable to keep out a touch of arrogance, "and if you'll help me, we'll devastate the prosecution's case against you so completely, there'll be no question about your innocence,"

Rothberg smiled and nodded. "That's good." He turned to John Milton. "That's good," he repeated, gesturing toward Kevin.

"I wouldn't put you in Kevin's hands if I didn't have complete confidence in his ability to win your vindication, Stanley. And you can be confident that you will have the full resources of my office at your disposal.

"Also, Kevin's youth will work to your favor. Everyone's expecting you to hire one of the more prestigious criminal attorneys in town, to use your wealth to buy yourself an established name and therefore gang up on the advocate of the people. But you're confident of your innocence. You don't need a high-priced attorney who has a media image. You need a competent attorney who can present the facts and counter any circumstantial evidence that suggests your guilt. People will be impressed."

"Yeah." Rothberg nodded. "Yeah, I see what you mean."

"What they don't know," John Milton said, smiling, "is that Kevin is more talented than most of the media-hyped attorneys in town. He has natural instincts when it comes to courtroom skill." Milton gazed up at Kevin with admiration. "He can be tenacious and ruthless when it comes to defending his clients. If I were on trial myself, I would want a man like him defending me."

Even though John Milton's adulation rang sincere, Kevin felt uncomfortable with it. It was almost as if he were being congratulated for being a good hit man. Rothberg, however, was very impressed.

"Oh, I see. Well, good, good. So then, what can I do to help myself?" Rothberg asked.

"That's the spirit," Mr. Milton said. He stood up. "I'll leave you in Kevin's competent hands. Kevin, you know where I am if you need me. I'd say good luck, Stanley," he said, looking down at Rothberg, "but this isn't a matter of luck. It's a matter of skill, and you're in the hands of a very skillful man." He patted Kevin on the shoulder. "Carry on," he said.

Kevin nodded, sat down, and opened his briefcase to begin doing just what Mr.

Milton had wanted him to do: impress Stanley Rothberg with his grasp of the facts. He began by discussing Maxine's illness and then asked questions about the nurse. Kevin noticed that Rothberg's replies were tight, cautious. He was already behaving as though he were on the witness stand being cross-examined by the district attorney.

"I hope you understand, Mr. Rothberg ..."

"Call me Stanley. We're going to be livin' pretty close to each other."

"Stanley. I hope you understand that for me to do the best job I can, there can't be any surprises."

"Surprises?"

"You can't hold back on anything the district attorney might use or know."

"Sure. No problem. If I can't be honest with my lawyer, I must be guilty, huh?"

"It's not always that guilt makes men secretive or tell only half the truth. Sometimes a person is afraid he might look guilty if a fact is known, so he or she keeps it from his or her own attorney. Let me be the judge of everything. I'll know what to hold back and what not to hold back," he added. Rothberg nodded, his eyes opening a little more. Kevin sensed he was impressing him.

"How long had you and your wife occupied separate bedrooms?"

"Oh, right after Maxine became seriously ill. I did that to make things more comfortable for her. Her room became a regular hospital room, especially after her leg had been amputated—medicines, equipment, a hospital bed. And as you know, she had a full-time nurse."

Kevin nodded and then sat back. "Perhaps the most damaging thing the district attorney is using against you is the fact that you kept a separate supply of insulin and needles in your room." He paused and looked at his notes. "At the bottom of a closet. Yet you were never required or asked to inject your wife, were you?"

"No. I couldn't even stand to see the nurse doin' it."

"Then why did you put the insulin in your closet? Why not in your wife's room?"

"I didn't put it there."

"But you don't deny it was there, do you? The investigating officers found it.

Are you saying you never knew it was there?"

Rothberg hesitated for a moment. "Look, I did see it there the day before Maxine died, but I forgot all about it."

"You didn't put it there, but you saw it and forgot about it? Never questioned the nurse why it was there?"

"I've got a lot on my mind, Kevin. I'm running a major resort and a growing business with the raisin loaf. We're opening markets in Canada," he said proudly.

"I just forgot."

"They've tracked down the prescription, and some of it is missing from what was in your closet, enough to provide the fatal dose. Obviously they'll develop the argument that that was the insulin used to bring about your wife's death. No syringe has been found with your prints on it, but if one should be. . ."

Rothberg just stared.

"The supply in your wife's room wasn't low. There was no reason for anyone to go to the supply in your closet and then to leave the remainder there," Kevin added to emphasize the importance of the point he was making. "Don't you realize what this suggests?"

Rothberg nodded.

"Well, what is your explanation, Stanley? I'm going to need some help on this one,"

Kevin added dryly.

"I've got to confess something," Rothberg finally said. "I didn't want it to come out during the trial, but I don't see how I can help it now."

"Go on."

"Maxine found out about me and ... found out I was seeing someone else, a girl named Tracey Casewell. She works in the accounts office at the hotel."

"Yes, I don't think that's as much of a secret as you think it is. You have to understand that in the eyes of the prosecution and maybe in the eyes of the jury, it adds motive. I have it down to discuss your romantic affair with you and how we will handle it, but what has this to do with the insulin being in your room?"

"Maxine and I had an argument. It was terrible. I didn't want her to find out about Tracey. I thought she was suffering enough. It wasn't really an argument. She yelled and I just stood there, just took it. She threatened all sorts of things, you know. I thought she was just hot and she wouldn't carry out a single threat, so I didn't pay any attention to them. I mean, she was a very sick woman by this time and it was affecting her mental condition."

"And?"

"One of those threats was she was going to kill herself and fix it so I would be blamed. Looks like she did." He sat back, contented with his own explanation.

Kevin heard a commotion down the hall after he had completed his interview with Stanley Rothberg and they had shaken hands and parted in the lobby.

"What's going on?" he asked Diane.

"Mr. McCarthy." She beamed. "He got them to drop the charges against his client."

"Really?" He hurried down the corridor to Ted's office. Dave, Paul, and Mr.

Milton were standing in front of Ted's desk, and Ted was standing by his chair.

They all held glasses in their hands, and there was an opened bottle of champagne on Ted's desk.

"Kevin, you finished just in time," John Milton said. "Join us in a toast. We always have a toast together after one of us does well with a case." John Milton poured him a glass and handed it to him. "To Ted," he said, raising his glass.

"To Ted," the others chanted, and everyone drank.

"What exactly happened?" Kevin inquired, swallowing quickly.

"The Blatts dropped the charges against Crowley. When they found out how promiscuous their little girl had been, and they realized it would all come out at the trial, they backpedaled," Ted said. Dave and Paul laughed. John Milton's smile widened. Kevin thought the revelry made him look younger, the lines in his face thinning, the light in his eyes brightening. Then his expression changed quickly.

"There's a lesson here," Mr. Milton said in a sober voice. "Not all legal maneuvering has to take place in court." He turned to Kevin. "Think of preparation for every court case the way you would think of two prizefighters readying themselves for the bout.

There are ways to psych out the opponent, shake him up before you actually face off so that he loses some confidence in himself and his case.

"Well," he said, smiling, "this adds another reason to have a celebration. First, we will celebrate Kevin's joining our firm and, second, Ted's success. Party in the penthouse this weekend." Kevin noted how the others brightened with excitement.

"Is everyone free?"

"No problem for us," Dave said quickly.

"Nor us," Ted said.

"Fine," Paul said. They all looked at Kevin.

"And the guests of honor? It's time I met Miriam."

"We'll be there. Thank you."

"All right, gentlemen, let's go back to work."

Everyone congratulated Ted again and left the office. Dave and Paul went directly to their offices, both of them looking quite fired up by Ted's success and their short celebration. John Milton put his arm around Kevin's shoulders as they continued down the corridor.

"I didn't mean for it to seem as if I were deserting you back there with Rothberg, Kevin, but I wanted him to understand immediately that this is your case. You're in charge."

"Oh, there was no problem. Thanks for all the nice things you said about me."

"I meant every word of it. So. How did your meeting with Rothberg go?"

"His theory is that his wife killed herself and fixed it so he would take the fall. Claims she learned of his extramarital affair and put together a plan for vengeance and suicide by planting the fateful insulin in his room."

"Sounds plausible," John Milton said. "What's that line, 'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.'"

Kevin paused to look at him to see if he meant it. He couldn't help smirking.

"You have a problem with Rothberg's theory?"

"He claims he saw the insulin in the closet where she planted it but forgot about it because he was so busy running the hotel and business. Even after his wife threatened to frame him. I have some trouble believing that, yes."

"The question is, can you present it in a way so the jury will buy it? You've got to have confidence in your own case," John Milton warned.

Kevin realized that if he didn't say the right things now, John Milton might very well take the case from him and reassign it to Ted, who was now free.

"Well, it will help if Rothberg had nothing to do with picking up the insulin supply.

I'll check that out. Most likely it was delivered to the hotel and the nurse signed for it.

I'm going to see the nurse and find out what she knew about Maxine and Stanley's relationship. Perhaps Mrs. Rothberg confided in her, let her know how much she despised Stanley for what he was doing, or maybe she overheard the argument between Stanley and Maxine Rothberg. If she heard her say she would get even with him, kill herself and make it look as if he had done it.. ."