eyes met momentarily.
“Isn’t Ashmore that fellow who raped and murdered those schoolchildren?” her husband asked.
“Yes,” Professor Betts answered with a smile. “David was able to get the conviction reversed by the state supreme court two weeks ago. A monumental job. He convinced the court to overrule a line of cases going back to eighteen ninety-three.”
The young woman smiled tentatively, and David nodded. He would make a point, he decided, to talk to her as soon as he could break away from the conversation. The Ashmore case was not one of his favorite subjects.
“Does that mean he’ll go free?” Mrs. Moultrie asked.
“No,” David sighed. “It just means that I have to try the whole mess over again. It took a month the last time.”
“You defended that man?” Mrs. Moultrie asked in a tone that combined amazement and disgust.
“David is a criminal lawyer,” Gregory said, as if that were an adequate explanation.
“Maybe I’ll never understand, Mr. Nash”-she seemed to have used his last name intentionally-“but I knew one of those children, and I don’t see how you could have represented someone who did what that man did.”
“Someone had to represent Ashmore, Priscilla,” Gregory said.
“I heard he tortured those children before he killed them,” Mrs. Moultrie said.
David almost instinctively said, “That was never proved,” but he realized in time that, for Mrs. Moultrie, that was not the issue.
“A lawyer can’t refuse to represent someone because of the nature of his crime,” Professor Betts said.
“Would you have represented Adolf Hitler, Professor?” Mrs. Moultrie asked without humor.
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. Then Professor Betts answered, “Yes. Our judicial system is based on the premise that an individual charged with a crime is innocent until proven guilty.”
“But what if you know your client is guilty, Mr. Nash? Know for a fact that he held three schoolchildren captive for several days, raped them, then murdered them?”
“Oh, now, Priscilla. That’s unfair,” her husband said. His face was red, and it was clear that he disapproved of the course the conversation had taken.
David felt uncomfortable. Professor Betts had been defending him, but why did he need a defense for doing something that he was ethically obliged to do? Why should this woman he had never met before feel such obvious hostility toward him?
“I’m afraid I can’t discuss the facts of the case, Mrs. Moultrie. I’d be violating my client’s confidence if I discussed his guilt or innocence with you.”
“Hypothetically, then. I really want to know.”
“You represent a guilty man as hard as you do an innocent man, Mrs. Moultrie, because the system is more important than any individual case. If you start making exceptions with the guilty, sooner or later you’ll make exceptions with the innocent.”
“So you represent people that you know are guilty?”
“Most of my clients are guilty.”
“And you…get them off…win their trials?”
“Sometimes.”
“Doesn’t it ever bother you?”
David watched the scattered lights on the houseboats moored across the river. The sun was down and a cool breeze drifted inland, gently rearranging the lock of thick brown hair that fell across his forehead. It was pleasant standing on the terrace. The shadows and stillness soothed him.
Somewhere upriver the shrill blast of a tanker’s horn punctuated the darkness. The sound died and the river was at peace again. David wished that he could restore his inner peace as easily. The discussion about the Ashmore case had upset him. It had stirred something inside that had been lurking for too long. Something ugly that was starting to crawl into the light.
This morning at the juvenile home, interviewing that young girl. What happened? When she was describing her ordeal, he had felt shame and pity for her. He had become emotionally involved. That should never have happened. He was a professional. One of the best. He was not supposed to feel pity for the victim or revulsion for his client.
Something was definitely wrong. He was getting depressed too much lately, and the feeling was lasting too long. There had been times in recent weeks when his mood would plunge rapidly from a high, floating sensation into deep melancholy for no apparent reason. And that feeling. To live with it too long was to experience a kind of death. It was as if his spirit evaporated, leaving his body a hollow shell. He would feel empty and disoriented. Movement was impossible. Sometimes he would sit immobile, on the verge of tears, and his mind would scream, “Why?” He was in excellent health. At thirty-five, he was at the top of his profession, making more money than he ever had. Everything should have been going so well, but it wasn’t.
There had been a time when losing any case had been a deep, personal defeat, and winning, a magnificent triumph. David had lost those extreme feelings of involvement somewhere along the way. One day he had won a very difficult case, and it just did not matter. Another time a client received a long prison term, and he felt nothing. His world had shifted from dark black and bright gold to shades of gray.
If his professional life was empty, his personal life was even more so. He had heard more than once that he was envied by other men for the steady parade of beautiful women he escorted. Few people knew that the routine had grown old a long time ago.
His one attempt at marriage had been a disaster that lasted officially for two years, but which ended emotionally after eight months. Monica resented the long hours he worked, and in truth, he was rarely home. There had been so many big cases. He was just starting to reach the top then. Everyone wanted David Nash, and there didn’t seem to be enough time for his own wife.
There had been violent arguments and too many stony silences. Monica had accused him of infidelity. He denied her accusations, but they were true. He was trying cases in other states now, and if some Texas filly wanted to warm his bed…well, he was a star, wasn’t he? In the end the constant bickering exhausted them both, and whatever had motivated them to marry was not strong enough to keep their marriage together.
Monica had gone to law school after the divorce. David thought she had done it to compete with him. It was certainly not coincidence that led her into criminal prosecution. The tension was there whenever they tried a case against each other. David sensed that their legal battles were, for Monica, only an excuse for carrying on a personal battle of which he had never been a part. That, of course, was the problem with their marriage. If David had cared about Monica, it would never have broken up. But he had ignored her, and he felt guilty that she still felt a need to prove something to him.
David had seen little of Monica between the divorce and her graduation from law school. After she joined the district attorney’s office, their friendship had renewed. They were much better friends than spouses. Sometimes David wondered if he hadn’t made a mistake with Monica, but he knew that if he had, it was too late to rectify it. Their problem was that they had met at the wrong time.
David took a sip from his glass. The gin tasted too sweet. He carried the drink to a corner of the terrace that was not illuminated by the lights from the house and sat down on a lawn chair. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, letting the chair’s metal rim press into the back of his neck.
Monica was an attractive woman, and she was a different, stronger person than she had been when they’d met. David was different, too. He had toyed once with the idea of trying to reestablish their relationship, but had given up on the idea. He wondered what she would say if he tried.
The terrace door opened and a splash of sound interrupted David’s thoughts. He opened his eyes. A woman was standing with her back to him, staring across the river as he had moments before. She was tall and slender, and her long, silken hair looked like pale gold.
She turned and walked along the terrace with a dancer’s grace. The woman did not see him until she was almost at his chair. He was hidden by the shadows. She stopped, startled. In that frozen moment David saw her set in time, like a statue. Blue eyes wide with surprise. A high, smooth forehead and high cheekbones. It was the woman he had seen earlier on the fringes of the group that had been discussing the Ashmore case.
The moment ended and the woman’s hand flew to her mouth. She gasped. David stood up, placing his drink on the terrace.
