David felt a surge of excitement at the thought. An honest-to-goodness innocent man. It was worth a look. He’d finish the brief tonight.
“AMIGLAD to see you,” Larry Stafford said. The guard closed the door of the private interview room, and David stood up to shake hands. Stafford was dressed in an illfitting jumpsuit.
“Sit down, Larry,” David said, indicating a plastic chair.
“How soon can you get me out of this place?” Stafford asked. He was trying to keep calm, but there was an undercurrent of panic flowing behind his pale-blue eyes and country-club tan.
“We’ll be in front of a judge later this morning, but this is a murder case, and there’s no requirement that the judge set bail.”
“I…I thought they always…there was always bail.”
“Not on a murder charge. If the DA opposes bail, we can ask for a bail hearing. But there’s no guarantee that the judge will set an amount after the hearing, if the DA can convince the court that you may be guilty. And even if the judge does set an amount for bail, it could be high and you might not be able to make it.”
“I see,” Stafford said quietly. He was trying to sit straight and talk in the assured tone he used when conferring with attorneys representing other people. Only he was the client, and the news that he might have to remain in jail caused a slight erosion in his demeanor. A slumping of the shoulders and a downcasting of the eyes indicated to David that the message was starting to get through.
“On the other hand,” David said, “you are an attorney with a good job. You’re married. I doubt the district attorney’s office will oppose bail, and if they do, I’m pretty sure most of the judges in the courthouse would grant it.”
Stafford brightened as he clutched at the straw David had held out to him. David did not like to build up a client’s hopes, but in this case he was certain that his evaluation of the bail situation was accurate.
“How have you been treated?” David asked.
Stafford shrugged.
“Pretty well, considering. They put me by myself in a small cell in the, uh, ‘isolation.’”
“Solitary.”
“Yes.” Stafford took a deep breath and looked away for a second. “All these terms. I never…I don’t handle criminal cases.” He laughed, but it was forced laughter, and he moved uncomfortably on the narrow seat. “I never wanted to get involved in it. Now I wish I’d taken a few more courses in law school.”
“Have the police tried to interview you yet?”
“Oh, yeah. Right away. They’ve been very polite. Very considerate. Detective Crosby. Ron is his first name, I think. Treated me very well.”
“Did you say anything to him, Larry?”
“No, except that I didn’t do anything. He…he read me my rights.” Stafford laughed nervously again. “Just like television. I’m still having a hard time taking this seriously. I half believe it’s some fraternity prank. I don’t even know anything about the case.”
“What did you say to the police?” David asked quietly. He was watching Stafford closely. People who were not used to the police or prison situations often talked voluminously to police detectives who were trained to be polite and considerate. Once the prisoner was cut off from his friends and family, he would open up to any concerned person in hopes of getting support. The voluntary statements of helpless men were often the most damaging pieces of evidence used to convict them.
“I didn’t say anything. What could I say? I don’t know anything about this.”
“Okay. Now, I want to say a few things to you and I want you to listen very carefully. I am going to explain the attorney-client relationship to you. I know you are a lawyer by profession, but right now you are a prisoner charged with murder, and the lawyer in you is not going to be functioning very well, because people are never very objective when they are dealing with their own problems.”
Larry nodded. He was leaning forward, concentrating on every word.
“First, anything you tell me is confidential. That means that not only won’t I tell anyone what you say to me, but I cannot, by law, reveal the contents of our conversations.
“Next, you should tell me the truth when we discuss this case. Not because I will be offended if you lie to me, but because if you tell me something that is not true, I may go off half-cocked in reliance upon what you’ve said and do something that will hurt your case.”
David stopped and let the point sink in. Stafford looked very uncomfortable.
“Dave…look, I want to get one thing clear. I’m not going to lie to you, because I didn’t do anything. I have nothing to lie about. This whole thing is one ridiculous mistake, and I can promise you that I am going to sue those bastards for every cent in the city treasury when I’m finished with this business. But there is one thing I want to get straight between you and me. I…I have to be sure that the lawyer who represents me believes me. I mean, if you think I’m lying…well, I don’t lie, and when I say I’m innocent, I am innocent.”
David looked straight at Stafford, and Stafford returned his stare without wavering.
“Larry, what I’m telling you I tell every one of the people I represent, and I tell them for a reason. Let me make one thing clear to you. You don’t want a lawyer who believes you. You want a lawyer who will clear you of the charges against you. This isn’t Disneyland. This is the Multnomah County Jail, and there are a large number of well-trained people in this county who, at this very moment, are conspiring to take away your liberty for the rest of your life. I am the only person who stands between you and prison, and I will do everything in my power, whether I believe you or not, to keep you out of prison.
“If you want someone to hold your hand and say that they believe you and tell you what a good guy you are, there’s a baby-sitting service I know of that can take care of that. If you want to get off, that’s another matter, and I’ll be glad to take your case.”
Stafford looked down at the floor. When he looked up, he was flushed.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “it’s just that…”
“It’s just that you’re scared and cut off from your family and friends, and you’re confused and you want to know that someone is on your side. Well, I’m on your side, Larry, and so is your wife and Charlie Holt and a lot of other people.”
“I guess you’re right. It’s just so…so frustrating. I was sitting in my cell and thinking. I don’t even know how this happened.”
“It has happened, though. And that’s what we have to deal with. Can you tell me where you were on the evening of June sixteenth and the early-morning hours of June seventeenth?”
“Is that when the murder occurred?”
David nodded.
“What day of the week was that? A weekday or weekend?”
“June sixteenth was a Thursday.”
“Okay. Without my appointment book and talking with a few people, I couldn’t say for sure, but I probably worked at the office and went home.”
“How late do you usually work?”
“I put in pretty long hours. I’m still an associate at Price, Winward. Hoping to make partner pretty soon, but you know what that’s like. And I had a fairly complicated securities case I was working on about that time. I was probably at the office until seven at least. It could have been later. I really can’t say until I see my book.”
“Who would have that?”
“Jennifer. My wife.”
David made a note on a yellow lined legal pad.
“Let’s talk about you for a bit. How old are you?”
“Thirty-five.”
“Education?”
“I went to law school at Lewis and Clark,” Stafford said. David nodded. Lewis and Clark was a private law school located in Portland.
“I was back east for my undergraduate work.”
“Are you from the East Coast?”
“That’s hard to answer. My father was in the military. We traveled a lot. Then my folks got divorced, and I lived
