The Last Innocent Man (20 page)

D
avid drove aimlessly for an hour, then went home. He was exhausted, and the pain in his stomach had increased. As soon as he was through the doorway, he poured himself a drink. He knew alcohol would aggravate his stomach, but the pain from self-accusation and self-pity was far worse than physical discomfort.

The first drink helped very little, so he poured another. His conversation with Gregory Banks made him realize how alone he was. He recalled a scene from George Orwell’s 1984. The State had devised a torture. A helmet was fastened over a man’s head. The front of the helmet contained a small cage, even with the prisoner’s eyes. In the cage was a rat, and separating the rat from the man was a movable partition. The privilege between attorney and
client, like that ghastly helmet, locked David in with Gault’s secret, where it could gnaw at him, torturing his every waking moment.

Even if there was no privilege, David would be helpless. He had no proof, other than Gault’s confession, that Gault had killed Darlene Hersch. If Gault denied that he had confessed, how could David prove him a liar? David wasn’t completely convinced himself that Gault wasn’t playing with him. David had learned enough about Gault while he was representing him to know that the man had a very wide streak of sadism in him. David remembered how he had felt during that moment when Gault had stood behind him with the open switchblade. Every moment of his life would be like that if he betrayed Gault’s trust.

And there was something else that tortured David. He had always had his pride. Now he had lost his pride, but only he and Jennifer Stafford knew why. If he went to the authorities, Gault would make David’s affair with Jenny public. Everyone would think that David had thrown Larry Stafford’s case to get Larry out of the way so he could continue as Jenny’s lover. He would be disbarred, disgraced, and no one would believe his accusations against Gault.

David finished his drink. He wanted another one, but he didn’t have the energy to get it. The lights of the city distracted him from his thoughts for a moment. It had been light when he’d left his office, but it was dark now. He hadn’t noticed the transition. He was very tired. The thought of curling up and sleeping on the floor appealed to him. He tried it. The carpet was soft, and there was nothing but dark velvet when he closed his eyes. And Jenny. Her face and form slipped into his thoughts unbidden. He
opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling. Jenny would understand his torment, because she was part of it. If he could talk to Jenny…But would she see him?

A wave of self-doubt washed over David and his hand began to tremble. He wanted to stand up, but fear immobilized him. How could he face her? What would she say to him? He had stayed away from Jenny because he felt that she had betrayed him, but now he saw that he was the betrayer. Jenny had lied for Larry out of a sense of loyalty and because she believed he was innocent. There had been no purity in David’s motives. He had rationalized his actions in court by telling himself that he did not want to free a killer, but he knew that was not the real reason. He wanted Jenny, and he had betrayed Larry to hurt them because he felt that they had deceived him. Did Jenny despise him? She must know what he had done. It didn’t matter. She was the only one he could turn to.

H
ALFWAY TO THE
Stafford house, David almost turned back. He secretly hoped that Jenny would not be home so he would not have to face her, and it was with a mixture of hope and dread that he saw the lights shining in the living room when he pulled into the driveway.

Jenny answered the door after the first ring. She was barefoot and wore a yellow shirt over a pair of faded jeans. The strain of the past months made her seem older, but no less beautiful.

“Can I come in?” David asked hesitantly, almost apologetically.

Jenny was stunned by his appearance. He was heavier, unkempt, and washed-out. There was no sign of the energy that had been such a vital part of him.

“I don’t know,” she answered. Her voice trembled. She felt crazy inside, pulled in so many directions she thought she would come apart.

“You have every right…” David started. “Jenny, I have to see you. It’s about Larry.”

She drew back a step and studied David’s face for clues. The odor of alcohol was strong. He looked destroyed.

“What about Larry?”

“Can I come in?” he repeated.

Jenny paused for a second, then led the way to the living room. David watched her walk. Her back was rigid, her steps precise, as if she were prepared to flee. Her reticence depressed him, but he should have expected it. Once during the ride over he had fantasized a tear-stained reunion, with Jenny throwing herself into his arms. He had been a fool even to think of such a thing. He was grateful she would so much as talk to him.

“What about Larry?” she asked again when they were seated on one of the living-room sofas.

“Jenny, he may be innocent.”

Jenny looked bewildered.

“I have a client, a man I am representing on another matter. He has confessed to killing Darlene Hersch.”

Jenny shook her head as if to clear it. She was off balance. She had always believed that Larry was innocent, but what would this all mean for her?

“I don’t understand. Someone else confessed to killing that woman?”

“Yes.”

“Why are you telling me this? Why haven’t you gone to the police?”

“It’s very complicated. The confession, it was told to me in confidence. It’s a privileged communication. By law I can’t reveal it to anyone without my client’s permission.”

“Will Larry…? Does this mean he’ll go free?”

“Not unless my client allows me to tell the police.”

“But surely…he wouldn’t let an innocent man stay in prison.”

“You have to understand. This man…it’s a game to him. He gets pleasure out of hurting people. He confessed to me because he knows I can’t tell the authorities. He told me to torment me. I’m not even certain that he’s telling me the truth.”

“Wait a minute. What do you mean it might not be the truth?”

“He did this once before. Confessed to committing a crime. That time he retracted the confession. It could all be a practical joke.”

David saw the confusion on Jenny’s face. He looked away and caught his reflection in the window glass. It startled him. He looked weak and pathetic. The type of person who would be susceptible to the meanest practical joke.

“If this is all some kind of joke, why did you come here? Why are you telling me this?”

“Don’t, Jenny. I had to talk to someone. I couldn’t keep it inside any longer. And I don’t think it is a joke. There’s something about this man. I know he’s capable of killing.”

“But why me, David? Why did you come to me?”

She was watching him intently, searching with her question for far more than she had asked. David tried to read her eyes. He was afraid to say what was in his heart. Afraid of making a fool of himself. Afraid he had already
lost her. But he knew that this was the moment to speak, not evade, and he gathered his courage.

“I came to you because I still love you. I never stopped.”

David paused and Jenny saw that he was crying.

“Jenny, I’ve been a mess since the trial. I’ve lost my self-respect, and I’ve lost interest in everything that ever meant anything to me. But not my love for you. I just couldn’t face you.”

David looked away. Jenny felt as if a dam had broken inside her, setting free emotions she had thought she would never feel again. She reached up and touched David’s cheek.

“God, Jenny,” he sobbed. She held him tight.

“It’s all right,” she whispered, rocking him back and forth.

“I didn’t know what to do and I had no one I could go to.”

“You always had me, David. Always.”

“I couldn’t come to you. Not after what I did to Larry.”

“You didn’t do anything to Larry. Larry and I did something to you. We lied to you and used you.”

David sat up and held her by the shoulders. “It was wrong. What I did was wrong. We both know that. I should never have represented Larry feeling the way I do about you. Now we have to get him out of prison.”

“I still think you should tell the police,” Jenny said firmly.

David shook his head. “You don’t understand. Since the confession was made in confidence, nothing I reveal
could ever be used in court. He could deny he ever made a confession, and there would be nothing we could do.”

“Who is this man? Who killed Darlene Hersch?”

David hesitated. Even now his legal training made him rebel at the thought of violating the code of ethics.

“Thomas Gault,” he said finally.

“Oh, my God. I knew Julie Webster. That was horrible.”

“I know, Jenny. And I’m the man responsible for putting Gault back on the street so he could kill again.”

“There must be something we can do.”

“I’ve thought about it and thought about it. I can’t find any way out. Anything I initiate will…”

David paused. The germ of an idea came to him. What if…? David started pacing back and forth. Jenny watched him. There was a fire in his eyes that had burned constantly in the old David. It made her feel good to see it again and to think that she may have had something to do with rekindling it.

T
ERRY
C
ONKLIN SCANNED
the diners in the all-night restaurant and spotted David in a booth toward the back. David was sipping from his second cup of coffee when Conklin reached him.

“This better be good,” the investigator said. “I was sound asleep. Rose is really pissed.”

“I’m sorry.”

Conklin was going to say something else, but one look at David stopped him. He had not seen the lawyer since Stafford’s trial, and the change in his friend’s appearance was startling. David’s face was puffy, his eyes were bloodshot, and his suit was creased and stained.

A waitress appeared and Conklin ordered coffee. As soon as she walked off, David said,

“I want to hire you.”

“I’m pretty busy, Dave.”

“I know, but I’m desperate. I’m willing to pay twice your regular rate and cover the cost of anyone you hire to take up the slack on your cases.”

“This is that important?”

David nodded.

“Who’s the client?”

“Me.”

“What’s this about?” Conklin asked cautiously. If David was in some kind of trouble, it would explain his appearance, but Conklin could not imagine David’s doing anything illegal or unethical.

“A client of mine told me some information in confidence. I have to know if he was telling me the truth or if he’s lying to me.”

“Who’s the client?”

“Thomas Gault.”

“I thought that case was over.”

“It is.”

“So this is something new.”

“Yes.”

“What did he tell you?”

“I can’t disclose that. I’m afraid anything you find may be tainted if I break the confidence.”

“Tainted? How?”

“If a lawyer reveals an attorney confidence and the police use the information to solve a crime, I believe the courts would prevent the district attorney from using the evidence at trial.”

“So you can’t tell me what Gault said?” Conklin asked incredulously.

“That’s right.”

“How am I supposed to conduct an investigation if I don’t know what I’m investigating?”

“I can tell you information that doesn’t violate the confidence, and I’ll answer any questions I can.”

Conklin started to make a sarcastic remark, but he saw the pain on David’s face.

“Okay. I’ll play it your way. What can you tell me?”

“I’m upset because Larry Stafford was convicted.”

Conklin’s brow furrowed. “This is about the Stafford case?”

“I can’t answer that.”

“So Gault told you something about the Stafford case and you think he might be lying.”

David did not respond.

“I feel like I’m playing twenty questions.”

“Don’t stop. I feel as ridiculous as you do, but this is too important to screw up. I want you to be able to pass a polygraph test if a defense lawyer asks if I broke Gault’s confidence with you. Now, think about what you know.”

“You told me that you’re upset because Stafford was convicted, you want to know if Gault lied to you about something that probably concerns the Stafford case. I don’t get…”

Conklin paused. He studied David. In all the time he’d known Nash, he had never seen him looking like this. It would take something monumental to destroy his friend’s self-confidence. Conklin leaned forward and stared directly into David’s eyes.

“Gault told you he killed Darlene Hersch, and you want me to find out if he lied,” Conklin said. David did not move. Conklin slumped against the back of the booth.

“Have your secretary send me a retainer agreement setting out the terms of your employment,” David said.

T
erry Conklin’s investigation started in the public library. There were numerous articles about Thomas Gault, because he was a famous writer. After Gault won the Pulitzer,
The New York Times Magazine
featured a cover story that gave a detailed account of his service as a mercenary in South Africa, Liberia, and several other African nations and included interviews with soldiers of fortune who had served with him. If Gault killed his wife, it would not have been the first time he had done in someone with his bare hands.

After the library Terry went to police headquarters, where he obtained copies of police reports of incidents involving Gault. Conklin expected the domestic-violence complaints filed by Julie Webster Gault, but he was sur
prised by several reports of assaults committed by Gault in bars, including a recent account of a fight at a dockside bar called The Dutchman. Terry noted with interest that the incident had occurred only days before his meeting with David. He also noted that the person who posted bail for Gault was none other than his new client, David Nash.

Conklin interviewed the bartender and another witness, who recounted Gault’s fighting skills and the impersonal way he had provoked the fight. Conklin ran down an ex-girl friend who was still afraid of Gault, even though she had not seen him in over two years. Two other women refused to talk to Terry.

Conklin was initially troubled by Detective Ortiz’s description of Hersch’s killer as having curly blond hair, but he remembered that Merton Grimes’s description of the killer’s hair would fit the way Gault had worn his hair when he was tried for Julie Gault’s murder. If Gault used a wig to disguise himself because of all the publicity his trial engendered, it would explain the differences in the descriptions of Hersch’s killer. Conklin also learned that Gault owned a beige Mercedes.

At the end of a week Terry Conklin was convinced that Thomas Gault could easily have killed Darlene Hersch, but he had absolutely no proof Gault even knew who the dead policewoman was. Conklin was reduced to following Gault in the hopes that his quarry would lead him to a witness or evidence that would help him solve David’s dilemma.

Each morning Conklin parked his car on a side road near Gault’s property and climbed a small hill, where he watched the house from a copse of trees. Conklin rarely observed any activity before ten, when Gault would leave
the house for an hour-long run. Gault always looked as if he had broken a sweat before the run, and Conklin guessed the writer performed some kind of physical exercise before leaving the house.

Three times a week Gault worked out at a local dojo, where he received private lessons from the owner, a former instructor of unarmed combat for the South Korean Army. On the days he did not go to the dojo, Gault did not leave his house before midafternoon.

If Gault’s activities during the daytime were dull, his nights were anything but. Gault spent almost every evening in a bar or nightclub. On one occasion Gault returned home with a woman, who left by cab shortly before Gault’s run. Toward the beginning of the second week, Gault’s evening routine changed. Instead of going directly home from the bar or nightclub, Gault drove to Portland’s industrial area. He always parked near a deserted warehouse that backed on the Columbia River. The warehouse had “Wexler Electronics” written on the side in peeling red paint. Conklin checked the corporate records. The company had gone under a year ago, and the property was tied up in litigation.

The first time Gault drove to the warehouse, Conklin waited in his car. A high chain-link fence separated the warehouse from a strip of sandy land that sloped down to the river. Conklin watched Gault take a large rug and a flashlight from the trunk of his car and disappear around the side of the warehouse that abutted the fence. Half an hour later Gault reappeared. He seemed winded. Conklin saw him wipe his forehead with his shirtsleeve, then drop the flashlight into his trunk and drive off.

The second night Gault took the flashlight and a large
toolbox from the car, returning an hour later with both items.

On the third night Conklin did not follow Gault when he left the warehouse. As soon as Gault’s car was out of sight, Conklin took a flashlight out of his glove compartment and walked to the fence. The wind from the river chilled him. He hunched against it and played the light beam over the ground, then along the warehouse wall. Nothing.

Conklin heard a sharp tapping in front of him. He raised the beam. A door was snapping against the side of the building. Conklin approached it cautiously. He looked around, then entered the warehouse. The high roof shut out the moon and stars, leaving the flashlight beam as the only source of light. Conklin was overcome by a sense of dread. He felt enveloped by the darkness, as if he were fathoms deep in the ocean at the point where light is completely absorbed by the water.

The flashlight showed Conklin rusted girders, an abandoned wooden pallet on which an open and empty packing crate rested, and random stacks of two-by-fours covered by cobwebs and dust. He took a few steps forward and picked out a section of the floor that was covered by the rug Gault had taken from the car on the first evening. Conklin walked over to the rug. It was cheap and dull green. He shone the light around the area and saw nothing else that would help explain why Gault had left it in the warehouse or why Gault had returned to this place on three successive evenings.

“I hope you like the rug.”

Conklin jumped and almost dropped the light.

“I bought it for you.”

Conklin turned in a circle, but there was no one there.

“Before I give you your gift, you will have to answer some questions, Mr. Conklin.”

“Gault?”

“Who else have you been following for the past two weeks?”

“We can talk. Why don’t we go outside?” Conklin said, turning slowly so as to face the place where Gault’s voice had been.

“No, thank you. Here will be just fine. Sound won’t carry as far. Lowers the risk of someone hearing you scream.”