“What do you mean?”
Fitzpatrick smiled. “I know why you’re here. I knew the minute you walked in the door. Hell, I knew before you came.” He shook his head. “Look, if you really needed help, it would be one thing. But I know you. I’ve seen you in court. You need my help like you need a hole in the head.
“Look, I’m not the greatest trial lawyer in the world. Hell, I’m not even a trial lawyer. In point of fact, I haven’t been back in court since our last case.
“And now you’re in here, asking me without actually asking me if I’d like to work with you again.
“If I could do something, yeah. But to be a prop. An ornament. That’s all I’d be, wouldn’t I? I mean, that’s the situation here. The girl’s got a credibility problem. You need some conservative old fart like me to sit next to her and lend an air of respectability.
“I mean, that’s all you really want me for, isn’t it?”
Steve grinned at Fitzpatrick. “Not at all.”
26
District Attorney Harry Dirkson was nervous.
It wasn’t because the courtroom was jammed, with every available seat taken-Dirkson was a veteran campaigner, he’d played to packed houses before. And it wasn’t because the case was a political bombshell, what with the girl typing nude-though surely that was part of it. No, what made Dirkson nervous was one frail old man, sitting dead center on the aisle in the second row. A pale, emaciated elderly man who somehow radiated more power that anyone else in the courtroom. Milton Castleton would be watching his every move. It was enough to make even an experienced prosecutor like Harry Dirkson self-conscious.
Dirkson didn’t show it though. It was with every appearance of confidence and poise that he rose to make his opening argument. He strode into the middle of the courtroom, acknowledged the judge and the jurors, then stood there a moment, waiting until he was sure he had everyone’s attention.
“What is the oldest motivation in the world?” Dirkson said. He glanced around the courtroom, as if looking for an answer. “Is it greed?” He shook his head. “No. It’s not greed. It’s not lust, either. It’s not jealousy and it’s not even hatred. So what is it?” Dirkson glanced around one more time, as if the question were not rhetorical. Then he held up one finger. “Revenge. That is the primal motive. Revenge. Take the lowliest creature-if you strike at it, it will strike back. ‘The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on.’ Shakespeare was right. Revenge is the basic, instinctual motivation. You hurt me, I hurt you. Revenge.
“Well, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, that is the motive we expect to lay before you in this case.”
Dirkson paused, looked around again. He seemed to switch gears, dropping the ponderous, oratorical tone and swinging into his no-nonsense, hard-line-prosecutor mode. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, we expect to prove that on the night of June twenty-eighth, the defendant, Kelly Clay Wilder, murdered the decedent, David Castleton, by shooting him in the heart with a loaded gun.
“And why did she do this, ladies and gentlemen of the jury? She did it for revenge. We expect to show that Kelly Clay Wilder’s brother, one Herbert Clay, was a bookkeeper with Castleton Industries. His immediate superior in the company was none other than David Castleton. We expect to show that Herbert Clay embezzled over one hundred thousand dollars from Castleton Industries and was subsequently arrested and sent to jail for that crime. We expect to show that because of this, and out of devotion for her brother, the defendant, Kelly Clay Wilder, developed a deep-seated resentment against Castleton Industries in general and against David Castleton in particular.
“There was no basis for this resentment. It was not rational. Castleton Industries was the victim, not her brother. He tried to steal from them, got caught, and went to jail. Surely, that could not be considered Castleton Industries’ fault. It is not rational. But we expect to show that the defendant, Kelly Clay Wilder, is not an entirely rational woman. In her somewhat warped opinion, her brother had been wronged, the one who wronged him was Castleton Industries, so she proceeded to exact her revenge.
“Now, ladies and gentlemen, the manner in which she did so is so bizarre that it defies comprehension. When you hear it, you will say, ‘No, it cannot be,’ but I assure you, these things are facts and can be proven.
“The first thing Kelly Clay Wilder did in her plot for revenge was to attempt to insinuate her way into Castleton Industries. Now, the founder and head of Castleton Industries, Milton Castleton, is presently retired, but was still the active head of the company two years ago when Herbert Clay was found guilty of embezzlement. So he and David Castleton were the two men Kelly Clay Wilder would blame most for her brother’s imprisonment.
“Her first target was Milton Castleton. The defendant, Kelly Clay Wilder, learned that Milton Castleton was writing his memoirs and employing secretaries to type them. So she applied for the job.”
Dirkson paused and took a breath. “It turned out to be a peculiar job. Milton Castleton’s secretaries typed nude.” Dirkson paused and looked around. He did a good job of it. There was not a trace of amusement on his face. He looked as solemn as could be.
Dirkson nodded gravely. “That’s right, ladies and gentlemen. You heard me correctly. Nude. Naked.”
Dirkson turned and pointed at the defendant, just in case any of the jurors had missed the point. Not that any of them had. In point of fact, Dirkson noted with some satisfaction, they were all looking at her already.
“When Kelly Clay Wilder applied for the job, she learned that if she got it she would be required to sit naked at her word processor while she did her typing.”
“Did that dissuade her from taking the job? No, it did not. She took it. She came in to work every day. And she took off her clothes. And she walked around her office naked. And she sat at her typewriter naked. And she typed naked. From nine o’clock in the morning till five o’clock at night when she went home.”
Dirkson paused and looked over at Kelly Wilder. “Now, you might ask yourself, why would a young woman do such a thing? The answer is simple. Revenge. It was the first step in her campaign of revenge. And how did she enact that revenge? Simple. After a few weeks of parading around naked, she quit her job, hurled an accusation of sexual harassment against her employer, Milton Castleton, and finagled a settlement of fifty thousand dollars from him.”
Dirkson shook his head. “Fifty thousand dollars. Surely a fair price for walking around naked, don’t you think? Had any other woman done it, you would have to consider it extortion. But for the sister of Herbert Clay, it would be considered revenge.
“But the revenge wasn’t sweet enough. We expect to show that shortly after receiving her settlement, Kelly Clay Wilder began placing phone calls to Milton Castleton, implying that through her employment she had learned industrial secrets about Castleton Industries, which she would reveal unless Milton Castleton acceded to her wishes.
“And what did she want? What was it that she demanded?” Dirkson held up his finger. “Nothing less than a private meeting with Milton Castleton. One to one. Somewhere away from his apartment.”
Dirkson shook his head. “Well, ladies and gentlemen, there is little doubt what would have happened had he acceded to that request. But as it was, ill health prevented him from even considering such a proposal. Instead, and to his great regret, he sent his grandson in his place.
“What happened then, ladies and gentlemen? Well, the facts are all too clear, and we shall lay them out for you. We expect to show that at approximately seven o’clock on the evening of June twenty-eighth, the decedent, David Castleton, met the defendant, Kelly Clay Wilder, at a singles bar on Third Avenue, that they left the bar almost immediately and took a taxi uptown to a small Italian restaurant and had a long and leisurely dinner. This fact will be attested to by both the waiter and the maitre d’. Both knew David Castleton by sight-this was a favorite restaurant of his, he dined there often. And both the waiter and the maitre d’ will positively identify the defendant, Kelly Clay Wilder, as the young woman who dined with David Castleton that night.
“You will hear the testimony of the cab driver who picked up David Castleton and Kelly Clay Wilder outside the restaurant at approximately ten-twenty that evening. We will introduce his trip sheet, on which is recorded in his own handwriting the destination, which recorded not only the street, but also the actual address of David Castleton’s apartment. We shall show beyond a shadow of a doubt that the decedent, David Castleton, and the defendant, Kelly Clay Wilder, returned to David Castleton’s apartment at approximately ten-thirty on the night of the
