Sons of Fortune Page 15

  “Were you present to witness the lovemaking, Mr. Gates, or the attack on her?” asked Abrahams, to even more laughter.

  “No, sir,” said Jimmy, “but I’ll bet it’s what happened.”

  “You may well be right, Mr. Gates, but you would not have been able to prove what took place in the bedroom that night unless you could provide a reliable witness. Had you made such a rash statement in court, opposing counsel would have objected, the judge would have sustained his objection, and the jury would have dismissed you as a fool, Mr. Gates. And more importantly, you would have let down your client. Don’t ever rely on what might have happened, however likely it appears, unless you can prove it. If you can’t, remain silent.”

  “But…” began Fletcher. Several students quickly bowed their heads, others held their breath, while the rest just stared at Fletcher in disbelief.

  “Name?”

  “Davenport, sir.”

  “No doubt you feel able to explain what you mean by the word ‘but,’ Mr. Davenport?”

  “Mrs. Demetri was advised by her counsel that if she won the case, as neither of them owned a majority holding, the company would have to cease trading. The Kendall Act, 1941. She then placed her shares on the open market and they were picked up by her husband’s greatest rival, a Mr. Canelli, for $100,000. I cannot prove that Mr. Canelli was, or wasn’t, sleeping with Mrs. Demetri, but I do know that the company went into liquidation a year later, when she repurchased her shares for ten cents each, at a cost of $7,300, and then immediately signed a new partnership deal with her husband.”

  “Was Mr. Canelli able to prove the Demetris were acting in collusion?” Fletcher thought carefully. Was Abrahams setting him a trap? “Why do you hesitate?” demanded Abrahams.

  “It wouldn’t constitute proof, professor.”

  “Nevertheless, what is it you wish to tell us?”

  “Mrs. Demetri produced a second child a year later, and the birth certificate indicated that Mr. Demetri was the father.”

  “You’re right, that is not proof, so what charge was brought against her?”

  “None; in fact, the new company went on to be very successful.”

  “Then how did they cause the law to be changed?”

  “The judge brought this case to the attention of the attorney general of that state.”

  “Which state?”

  “Ohio, and as a consequence, they passed the Marriage Partnership Act.”

  “Year?”

  “1949.”

  “Changes of relevance?”

  “Husbands and wives could no longer repurchase shares sold in a former company in which they had been partners, if that directly benefited them as individuals.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Davenport,” said the professor, as the clock struck eleven. “Your ‘but’ was well qualified.” A ripple of applause broke out. “But not that well qualified,” added Abrahams, as he left the lecture theater.

  Nat sat on the wall opposite the dining hall and waited patiently. After he had seen about five hundred young women leave the building, he decided the reason she was so slim was because she simply didn’t eat. Then she suddenly came rushing through the swing doors. Nat had been given more than enough time to rehearse his lines, but still felt nervous when he caught up with her. “Hi, I’m Nat.” She looked up, but didn’t smile. “We met the other day.” She still didn’t respond.

  “On the top of the hill.”

  “Yes, I do remember,” she said.

  “But you didn’t tell me your name.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Have I done something to annoy you?”

  “No.”

  “Then can I ask what you meant by ‘your reputation’?”

  “Mr. Cartwright, you may be surprised to learn that there are some women on this campus who don’t think you have the automatic right to claim their virginity simply because you’ve won the Medal of Honor.”

  “I never thought I did.”

  “But you must be aware that half the women on campus claim they’ve slept with you.”

  “They may well claim it,” said Nat, “but the truth is that only two of them can prove it.”

  “But everyone knows how many girls chase after you.”

  “And most of them can’t keep up, as I’m sure you remember.” He laughed, but she didn’t respond. “So why can’t I fall for someone just like anyone else?”

  “But you’re not just like anyone else,” she said quietly. “You’re a war hero on a captain’s salary, and as such you expect everyone else to fall in line.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Someone who’s known you since your school days.”

  “Ralph Elliot, no doubt?”

  “Yes, the man you tried to cheat out of the Taft student government presidency…”

  “I did what?” said Nat.

  “…and then passed off his essay as yours when you applied for Yale,” she said ignoring his interruption.

  “Is that what he told you?”

  “Yes,” the young woman replied calmly.

  “Then perhaps you should ask him why he isn’t at Yale.”

  “He explained that you transferred the blame on to him so he lost his place as well.” Nat was about to explode again, when she added, “And now you want to be president of the student senate, and your only strategy seems to be to sleep your way to victory.”

  Nat tried to control his temper. “First, I don’t want to run for president, second, I’ve only slept with three women in my life: a student I also knew when I was at school, a secretary in Vietnam, and a one-night stand I now regret. If you can find anyone else, please introduce me because I’d like to meet them.” She stopped and looked at Nat for the first time. “Anyone else,” he repeated. “Now can I at least know your name?”

  “Su Ling,” she said quietly.

  “Su Ling, if I promise never to try and seduce you until after I’ve asked for your hand in marriage, sought your father’s permission, produced a ring, booked the church, and had the banns read, will you at least let me take you out to dinner?”

  Su Ling laughed. “I’ll think about it,” she said. “I’m sorry to rush, but I’m already late for my afternoon lecture.”

  “But how do I find you?” asked Nat desperately.

  “You managed to find the Vietcong, Captain Cartwright, surely it shouldn’t be too difficult to find me?”

  17

  “All rise. The State versus Mrs. Anita Kirsten. His Honor Mr. Justice Abernathy presiding.”

  The judge took his place and looked toward the defense counsel’s table. “How do you plead, Mrs. Kirsten?”

  Fletcher rose from behind the defense table. “My client pleads Not Guilty, your honor.”

  The judge looked up, “Are you representing the defendant?”

  “Yes, I am, your honor.”

  Judge Abernathy glanced down at the charge sheet. “I don’t think I’ve come across you before, Mr. Davenport?”

  “No, your honor, it’s my first appearance in your court.”

  “Will you please approach the bench, Mr. Davenport?”

  “Yes, sir.” Fletcher stepped out from behind the little table and walked toward the judge, where the prosecution counsel joined them.

  “Good morning, gentlemen,” said Mr. Justice Abernathy. “May I inquire what legal qualifications you have that are recognized in my court, Mr. Davenport?”

  “None, sir.”

  “I see. Is your client aware of this?”

  “Yes, sir, she is.”

  “But she still wants you to represent her, despite this being a capital charge?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The judge turned to face the attorney general for Connecticut. “Do you have any objection to Mr. Davenport representing Mrs. Kirsten?”

  “None whatsoever, your honor; in fact the state welcomes it.”

  “I feel sure they do,” said the judge, “but I must ask you, Mr. Davenport, if you ha
ve any experience of the law at all.”

  “Not a great deal, your honor,” Fletcher admitted. “I’m a second-year law student at Yale, and this will be my first case.” The judge and the attorney general smiled.

  “May I ask who your director of studies is?” asked the judge.

  “Professor Karl Abrahams.”

  “Then I am proud to preside over your first case, Mr. Davenport, because that is something you and I have in common. How about you, Mr. Stamp?”

  “No, sir, I qualified in South Carolina.”

  “Although it is most irregular, in the end it must be the defendant’s decision, so let us proceed with the case in hand.” The attorney general and Fletcher returned to their places.

  The judge looked down at Fletcher. “Will you be applying for bail, Mr. Davenport?”

  Fletcher rose from his place. “Yes, sir.”

  “On what grounds?”

  “That Mrs. Kirsten has no previous record, and constitutes no danger to the public. She is the mother of two children, Alan aged seven, and Della aged five, who are currently living with their grandmother in Hartford.”

  The judge turned his attention to the attorney general. “Does the state have any objection to grant bail to Mr. Stamp?”

  “We most certainly do, your honor. We oppose bail not only on the grounds that this is a capital charge, but because the murder itself was premeditated. We therefore contend that Mrs. Kirsten constitutes a danger to society, and may also try to leave the state’s jurisdiction.”

  Fletcher shot up. “I must object, your honor.”

  “On what grounds, Mr. Davenport?”

  “This is indeed a capital charge, so leaving the state is hardly relevant, your honor, and in any case, Mrs. Kirsten’s home is in Hartford, where she earns her living working as a hospital custodian at St. Mary’s, and her children are both at a local school.”

  “Any further submission, Mr. Davenport?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Bail refused,” said the judge, and brought his hammer down. “This court is adjourned until Monday the seventeenth.”

  “All rise.”

  Mr. Justice Abernathy winked at Fletcher as he left the courtroom.

  Thirty-four minutes and ten seconds. Nat couldn’t hide his delight that he had not only broken his personal best, but had managed sixth place in the university trials, and was therefore certain to be picked for the opening meet against Boston University.

  As Nat cooled down, and went through his usual stretching routine, Tom walked over to join him. “Congratulations,” he said, “and my bet is that by the end of the season, you’ll have knocked another minute off your time.”

  Nat stared at the sour red scar on the back of his leg as he pulled on his sweat-pants. “Why don’t we have dinner tonight,” continued Tom, “and celebrate, because there’s something I need to discuss with you before I go back to Yale.”

  “Can’t manage tonight,” said Nat as they began to stroll across to the locker rooms. “I’ve got a date.”

  “Anyone I know?”

  “No,” said Nat, “but as it’s my first for months, I have to admit I’m quite nervous.”

  “Captain Cartwright nervous? Whatever next?” mocked Tom.

  “That’s the problem,” admitted Nat. “She thinks I’m a cross between Don Juan and Al Capone.”

  “She sounds like a good judge of character,” said Tom. “So tell me all about her.”

  “There’s not that much to tell. We ran into each other on the top of a hill. She’s bright, ferocious, quite beautiful, and thinks I’m a bastard.” Nat then recounted their conversation outside the dining hall.

  “Ralph Elliot obviously got his version in first,” said Tom.

  “To hell with Elliot. Do you think I should wear a jacket and tie?”

  “You haven’t asked for that sort of advice since we were at Taft.”

  “And in those days I needed to borrow your jacket and your tie, so what do you think?”

  “Full dress uniform with medals.”

  “Be serious.”

  “Well, it would certainly confirm her opinion of you.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m trying to disabuse her of.”

  “Well then, try looking at it from her point of view.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “What do you think she’ll wear?”

  “I have no idea, I’ve only seen her twice in my life, and on one of those occasions she was in her running shorts covered in mud.”

  “God, that must have been sexy, but I don’t suppose she’ll turn up in a tracksuit, so what about the other occasion?”

  “Smart and understated.”

  “Then follow her lead, which won’t be easy, because there’s nothing smart about you, and from what you say, she doesn’t believe that you’re capable of being understated.”

  “Answer the question,” Nat said.

  “I’d go for casual,” said Tom. “Shirt, not T-shirt, slacks and a sweater. I could, of course, as your advisor on sartorial elegance, join you both for dinner.”

  “I don’t want you anywhere near the place, because you’ll only fall in love with her.”

  “You really care about this girl, don’t you?” said Tom quietly.

  “I think she’s divine, but that doesn’t stop her being very uncertain about me.”

  “But she’s agreed to have dinner with you, so she can’t believe you’re all bad.”

  “Yes, but the terms of that agreement were somewhat unusual,” said Nat as he told Tom what he had proposed before she would agree to a date.

  “As I said, you’ve got it bad, but that doesn’t alter the fact that I need to see you. How about breakfast? Or will you also be having eggs and bacon with this mysterious Oriental lady?”

  “I’d be very surprised if she agreed to that,” said Nat wistfully. “And disappointed.”

  “How long do you expect the trial to last?” asked Annie.

  “If we plead not guilty to murder, but guilty to manslaughter, it could be over in a morning, with perhaps a further court appearance for sentencing.”

  “Is that possible?” asked Jimmy.

  “Yes, the state is offering me a deal.”

  “What sort of deal?” asked Annie.

  “If I agree to a charge of manslaughter, Stamp will only call for three years, no more, which means with good behavior and parole, Anita Kirsten could be out in eighteen months. Otherwise he intends to press for first degree and demand the death penalty.”

  “They would never send a woman to the electric chair in this state for killing her husband.”

  “I agree,” said Fletcher, “but a tough jury might settle for ninety-nine years, and as the defendant is only twenty-five, I have to accept the fact that she might be better off agreeing to eighteen months; at least that way she could look forward to spending the rest of her life with her family.”

  “True,” said Jimmy. “But I ask myself, why is the attorney general willing to agree to three years if he feels he’s got such a strong case? Don’t forget this is a black woman, accused of murdering a white man, and at least two members of the jury will be black. If you play your cards right, it could be three, and then you can almost guarantee a hung jury.”

  “Plus the fact that my client has a good reputation, holds down a responsible job, and has no previous convictions. That’s bound to influence any jury, whatever color.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” said Annie. “Your client poisoned her husband with an overdose of curare, which caused paralysis and then she sat on the staircase waiting for him to die.”

  “But he’d been beating her up for years—and he also abused their children,” said Fletcher.

  “Do you have any proof of that, counselor?” asked Jimmy.

  “Not a lot, but on the day she agreed to appoint me, I took several photographs of the bruises on her body, and the burn on the palm of her hand will remain with her for the rest of her l
ife.”

  “How did she get that?” asked Annie.

  “That bastard of a husband pressed her hand down on a burning stove, and only stopped when she fainted.”

  “Sounds like a lovely guy,” said Annie. “So what’s stopping you pleading manslaughter and pressing for extenuating circumstances?”

  “Only the fear of losing, and Mrs. Kirsten having to spend the rest of her life in jail.”

  “Why did she ask you to be her defense counsel in the first place?” asked Jimmy.

  “No one else stepped up to the plate,” replied Fletcher. “And in any case, she found my fee irresistible.”

  “But you’re up against the state’s attorney.”

  “Which is a bit of a mystery, because I can’t work out why he’s bothering to represent the state in a case like this.”

  “That’s simply answered,” said Jimmy. “Black woman kills white man in a state where only twenty percent of the population is black, and over half of them don’t bother to vote, and surprise, surprise, there’s an election coming up in May.”

  “How long has Stamp given you before you have to tell him your decision?” asked Annie.

  “We’re back in court next Monday.”

  “Can you spare the time to be involved in a long trial?” she asked.

  “No, but I mustn’t make that an excuse for agreeing to any compromise.”

  “So we’ll be spending our holiday in court number three, will we?” asked Annie with a grin.

  “It could even be court number four,” said Fletcher, putting an arm around his wife.

  “Have you thought of asking Professor Abrahams’s advice on how she should plead?”

  Jimmy and Fletcher stared at her in disbelief. “He advises presidents and heads of state,” said Fletcher.

  “And possibly the occasional governor,” added Jimmy.

  “Then perhaps the time has come for him to start advising a second-year law student. After all, that’s what he’s paid for.”

  “I wouldn’t know where to start,” said Fletcher.

  “How about picking up the phone and asking if he’ll see you,” said Annie. “My bet is that he’d be flattered.”

  Nat arrived at Mario’s fifteen minutes early. He’d chosen the restaurant because it was unpretentious—tables with red-and-white checked cloths, a small arrangement of flowers, with black-and-white photos of Florence decorating the walls. Tom had also told him the pasta was homemade, cooked by the patron’s wife, and this had brought back memories of their trip to Rome. He’d taken Tom’s advice and selected a casual blue shirt, gray slacks and a navy sweater, no tie and no jacket—Tom had approved.