to die rather than reveal a client’s confidence. Even if it means that an innocent man has to spend the rest of his life in prison. That’s what I said to myself. Now, am I right?”
David wanted to answer Gault, but he couldn’t speak.
“Am I right?” Gault asked again, his mouth a grim line and his eyes hard and cold.
“Why are you doing this to me?” David asked.
“Maybe I’m just a modern-day Diogenes, looking for an honest man. Or maybe I just want to see you squirm.”
“You bastard,” David said, his anger momentarily conquering his fear.
“Now, that’s the wrong attitude, Dave. Getting angry isn’t going to help you out of your predicament. Look at this as if it were a chess problem. White to move and win. Maybe there’s a mate, maybe there’s only a gain of material, or”-and Gault paused-“maybe the person who constructed the problem cheated and there’s no way white can win.
“Now, why don’t you go home and get some sleep? You look worse than I do.”
2
Ortiz sat in the back row of the courtroom listening to Judge McIntyre decide the motion to suppress evidence that had been filed by Cyrus Johnson’s attorney. The law was clear, the judge said, that in order to search a person without a search warrant, a police officer had to have probable cause to believe that a search would turn up evidence of a crime, and no time to get a warrant. When Cyrus Johnson was searched, the judge continued, Officer Ortiz did have time to get a warrant, and he did not have probable cause to believe that Johnson would have narcotics on his person. Regretfully, he concluded, he had no choice but to forbid the State to introduce evidence in a trial where the seizure of that evidence violated the mandate of the United States Constitution.
Johnson’s attorney smiled and shook his client’s hand. Johnson did not return the smile. Instead, he looked toward the back of the courtroom at Ortiz. Ortiz was standing to leave. The narcotics officer had known all along what the result of the hearing would be. He had tailored his testimony to fit the latest Supreme Court opinions, so that the evidence against Johnson would have to be thrown out. He had also contacted the district attorney in charge of the case and told him that he had probably acted too hastily in searching Johnson. In light of Johnson’s testimony at Stafford’s trial, he and the DA had both agreed that the drug case should not be that vigorously pursued.
“Hey, Ortiz,” a deep voice called. Ortiz turned and saw Kermit Monroe sitting on a bench by the courtroom door.
“What can I do for you, Kermit?” he asked.
“T.V. wants to see you. He asked me to make sure you didn’t go nowhere before he had the chance to talk.”
“Tell T.V. some other day. I’m busy.”
“Hey, man,” Kermit said, getting slowly to his feet, “why you always have to make things difficult? T.V. said this was important and for you to wait. He got some kind of tip for you. So why bust my balls when he wants to do you a favor?”
Ortiz was about to answer when Johnson walked out of the courtroom.
“You want to see me?” Ortiz asked.
Johnson grinned. “Yeah, I want to see you.”
T.V. shook hands with his lawyer and they parted.
“Let’s go down to my car where I know there’s no bugs,” Johnson said, still grinning. Ortiz shrugged. Maybe Johnson had decided to turn informant. It wouldn’t be the first time a big operator had got scared after some real heat.
They took the elevator downstairs, then walked to the parking structure across from the courthouse. T.V.’s car was parked on the fifth floor, and Monroe slid into the driver’s seat while Ortiz and Johnson got into the leather- covered rear seat.
“Now, what’s so important?” Ortiz demanded.
“You fucked me up, Ortiz. You planted shit on me, then made me stool to get rid of the rap. You made me sit through that court case and spend a lot of money on a lawyer. And you perjured yourself and broke the law. Why did you do all that shit? One reason, right? To get that poor honky Stafford. To nail his butt to the jailhouse door. Am I right?”
“Go on, T.V. You either have something to say or you don’t. I don’t have all day.”
“Oh, this won’t be no waste of your time, Ortiz. See, I wanted you to know that I lied. That bullshit I testified to was just that-bullshit.”
He stopped to let what he had said sink in. Ortiz looked puzzled.
“Oh, Stafford tried to buy a little action and he hit Mordessa, but it didn’t happen the way I said. That white boy wanted some dark meat, but he didn’t ask for nothing kinky. When he got up in the room, Mordessa, that dumb cunt, tried to boost his wallet. He caught her and she started wailin’ on him.
“Mordessa is one mean bitch and she packs a wallop. Stafford had to hit her a good shot just to keep her off him.”
“What about the story you told the police?”
“Hey, I had to think quick when the pigs arrived. I decided to tell them the dude had done somethin’ that would really embarrass him so he wouldn’t press charges. I just said the weirdest shit I could think of. But that Stafford ain’t no sado-what-you-call-it. Shit, he wouldn’t a done nothin’ if Mordessa hadn’t hit him so hard.
“So you see, my man, the very words which you solicited by illegal means and forced me to say was lies. And you know that jury would have acquitted Stafford if it wasn’t for me. But you can’t tell nobody that I lied without gettin’ yo’self in trouble, can you? Which means you got to live the rest of your life with what you done, while Stafford spends the rest of his life at the state pen.”
Ortiz leaned back in his seat, trying to think. What did it matter if Johnson had lied? Stafford lied, too. He had sworn under oath that he had never gone with a prostitute. Ortiz knew who he had seen in the doorway of that motel room. Larry Stafford killed Darlene Hersch.
“You know somethin’, Ortiz. You white boys are real sick. That’s what I come to learn, bein’ in this business. You plantin’ that dope on me, Stafford havin’ to buy pussy, and that writer…”
Johnson shook his head and Ortiz looked up at the pimp.
“What writer?”
“The one that beat up Mordessa and wanted her to do all that kinky stuff. Shit, he already got away with murder. Mordessa’s lucky she ain’t the one that got killed.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Mordessa seen him in the papers when he got off. Didn’t recognize him at first, ’cause he was wearin’ this wig when he beat on her. That’s where I got the story from. She was a sight. Said he wanted to tie her up. When she said no, he started kickin’ her and hittin’ her till she cried. And it takes plenty to make that woman cry. He hurt her bad. Then he kills his wife.”
“Who are you talking about?” Ortiz asked slowly.
“I can’t remember the name. His wife was rich, though, and she was beat to death in that mansion by the lake.”
“Thomas Gault?”
“That’s the one.”
Ortiz stared at Johnson. “You mean that story you told on the witness stand did happen, only it was Thomas Gault that beat up your whore?”
“That’s what I been sayin’.”
“What kind of wig did he wear?”
“I ain’t got no idea.”
Ortiz opened the car door and got out. He felt as if he were drowning.
“Where you goin’, Ortiz?” T.V. asked with a laugh. “You goin’ to church or you goin’ to tell the law that that
