Murder at Ford's Theatre (19 page)

She finished her iced tea and said, “I think it’s time we head home. I have a busy morning, too.”

They parted on the sidewalk with a light kiss on the lips, then a more passionate one but not so engaged that
the
question would have to be resolved again.

TWENTY-THREE

“I
N EIGHTEEN FIFTY-SIX,
Lincoln drew up some legal papers for a client. This was after he’d served one term in the U.S. Congress, and had returned to practicing law. The client sent Lincoln a check for twenty-five dollars for the work he’d done.”

Smith surveyed the faces in his classroom. There were grimaces and grins at the mention of Lincoln’s fee. Rick Klayman sat at the back of the classroom. He’d quietly slipped into his seat before the start of class and hadn’t attempted to greet Mac.

“Do you know what Lincoln did?” Smith asked. “He wrote his client and said, ‘You must think I am a high-priced man. You are too liberal with your money. Fifteen dollars is enough for the job.’ He sent the client a ten-dollar check.”

“Did you ever do that when you were practicing, Professor Smith?” a young woman asked. “Send money back to clients?”

“No,” Smith said. “And I don’t cite this anecdote to suggest you should, either. Good law and good lawyers cost money, and good lawyers, practicing good law, should be adequately paid. But maybe that story says something about why Lincoln rose to the top of the legal profession, and was considered an attorney without peer. Maybe that attitude of fairness contributed to his courtroom successes.”

“I don’t understand,” said another student. “Courtroom law is an advocacy situation, isn’t it? There really isn’t a lot of room for fairness when you’re fighting for your client.”

“Ah-ha,” said Smith. “You are right. A good lawyer fights for his or her client, and does whatever is necessary within the law, and courtroom rules and decorum, to win. But let’s not confuse fairness as a moral issue, with fairness as an effective courtroom tactic.”

He could see by the looks on their faces that they weren’t following.

“Let me explain,” he said, “using fairness as practiced by Abraham Lincoln. He was famous in courtrooms across Illinois and Indiana for seldom challenging the opposing lawyer, or the judge, in court. He was known for saying countless times during a trial, ‘I reckon it’s fair to let that piece of evidence in,’ or, when an opposing lawyer really couldn’t prove something, Abe would say, ‘I reckon it’s fair to admit that to be the truth.’”

“Pretty passive,” a student said.

“And effective. You can all learn from it. Maybe it’ll head you off from becoming a trial lawyer always jumping up to object, or conducting interminable cross-examinations of witnesses because you like the sound of your own voice, even when it’s obvious you’re turning off judge and jury alike. The fact is, Lincoln focused on what was important. He’d concede six issues but hammer hard at the seventh—because he knew it was the seventh issue that was really important in the jurors’ eyes.”

Smith shifted into an in-depth discussion of some of Lincoln’s more famous cases, which included murder, civil actions, and extensive involvement in litigation between the railroads and municipal and state governments. Lincoln was not, Smith pointed out, a lawyer with a cause. He deftly represented defendants and plaintiffs alike, switching from one side to the other depending upon who paid for his services.

He closed the session with an anecdote about Lincoln’s most celebrated criminal case. The son of a friend had been accused of murdering another man during a religious camp meeting in 1857, and the accused’s mother, Lincoln’s friend, pleaded with him to defend her son. He agreed, and represented the young man, William “Duff” Armstrong, at no fee to the family. The chief witness for the prosecution during the trial was Charles Allen, who claimed to have seen Armstrong strike the victim, causing his death. Although the incident took place at eleven o’clock at night, and Allen admitted to being more than a hundred feet away, he testified under oath that he could see the assault clearly because of a full moon that illuminated the area. During cross-examination, Lincoln had Allen repeat his story numerous times on the witness stand. Then, in a Perry Mason moment, Lincoln produced an almanac from 1857, which showed that the moon had already set on the night in question, provoking loud laughter in the courtroom.

“This was a rare case in which Lincoln became emotional during his closing argument to the jury,” Smith said. “He actually had tears in his eyes as he played on the jurors’ sympathies. It was unusual because Lincoln was known as an attorney who presented low-key closing arguments, clearly stating what facts he knew would lead jurors to the logical conclusion he sought. Of course, Armstrong was acquitted.”

Smith ended the class with, “Thank you for being here this morning. I’d like you to spend some time at Ford’s Theatre before we meet again next Saturday. If you haven’t already done so, time spent in the Lincoln Museum downstairs in the theatre is time well spent. Enjoy the rest of your weekend.”

Klayman approached Smith, who was packing notes into his briefcase, and waited until other students had finished their post-class discussions with the professor.

“Enjoy the class, Detective?” Smith asked.

“Very much. I didn’t realize Lincoln was such a successful lawyer. My study of him has pretty much been limited to his presidency and assassination.”

“That makes sense,” said Smith. “If President Lincoln had had a few good cops protecting him the night Booth decided to kill him, he might have lived.”

“Incredible,” Klayman said, “how little protection there was for him that night. There was only one uniformed cop assigned to protect him—his name was Parker, I think, John Parker—and he left his post just outside Lincoln’s box. And his valet—someone named Forbes-—let Booth into the box because he recognized him as a popular actor. Couldn’t happen today with all the Secret Service surrounding a president.”

“But it has, too many times. You know, of course, that the Secret Service had been established prior to Lincoln being shot, but its duties hadn’t been expanded to protecting presidents.”

“Yes, I did know that. Lincoln hated bodyguards, didn’t he?”

“Evidently.”

“Just a week before he was killed, he was walking down a main street in Richmond, Virginia, without any protection at all.” Klayman laughed. “He’s reported to have said that since nobody took a shot at him there, he didn’t have to worry for his safety in Washington.”

“He was obviously wrong. How are things with you?”

Did he mean with the investigation? “Good,” he said. “How’s the senator holding up?”

“Senator Lerner? Quite well, but that’s to be expected. Well, Detective Klayman, it was good seeing you. I assume it won’t be the last time.”

“Oh, no, Professor, I’ll be back next Saturday.”

“I didn’t mean that. Enjoy the weekend.”

Klayman left the law building and went to headquarters, where Johnson sat with Hathaway in the chief’s office. With them was Wally Wick, an MPD forensic specialist.

“Bingo!” Hathaway proclaimed as Klayman took a seat. “Catch what Wally’s come up with.”

Wick handed Klayman a written analysis of the comparison he’d made between latent footprints found at the murder scene, and color photographs of the soles of Jeremiah Lerner’s Ecco shoes.

“Look at the left shoe, Rick,” Wick said. “The class characteristics match perfectly, sole design, size, everything. But the individual characteristics are even more telling. See the wear pattern on the outside of the sole?” Klayman examined the photo carefully and saw what Wick meant. “Same as the latent print. And there’s that nick on the toe. See?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Perfect match,” said Wick. “That shoe was behind the theatre. No question about it. Whether the Lerner kid was wearing it is conjecture.”

“Conjecture, hell,” Hathaway said. “What do you think he did, lend his left shoe to somebody that night?”

Wick chuckled. “I just match ’em, Herman. You and the lawyers decide who was wearing ’em. Always a pleasure to do business with you.”

“Okay,” Hathaway said after Wick had left, “looks like we’re getting there. The shoe matches, and we’ve got witnesses who claim Lerner was dating the girl. When are you getting a statement from Bancroft?”

“Hopefully this afternoon,” Klayman said. “He said he’d be back from London today.”

“Well, get on it. I think we’ve got enough to charge Lerner. I’ll run it by LeCour over at the U.S. Attorney’s office. Get a statement from that actor and do it fast.”

“What about the senator himself?” Johnson asked. “Any progress on setting up an interview?”

“Not yet, but I’m not especially concerned about that. The kid did it. I’d bet my pension on it.”

“How was your class?” Johnson asked as he and Klayman went to the lobby, where Johnson used the ATM to get cash.

“Great. He’s a good teacher. I learned a lot.”

“You learn anything about the Lerner kid?”

“From Smith? No. We never got into that. He asked me how the investigation was going. I said slow. That was it.”

Klayman used a phone at the desk to dial Bancroft’s number.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Bancroft, Detective Klayman.”

His announcement was met with a moan.

“Sir?”

“I just walked in the door, Detective, and am suffering terminal jet lag. My circadian rhythms have positively crashed, although I’m pleased the plane didn’t.”

“Sir, could my partner and I come by and get a statement from you regarding Jeremiah Lerner having dated the murder victim, Nadia Zarinski?”

“Oh, my, that sounds so official. A statement. Written, I presume.”

“Yes, sir. Just a short statement. Won’t take more than a few minutes.”

“I find this terribly dismaying.”

“Yes, sir, I’m sure you do, but—”

“Ms. Emerson mustn’t know I told you about the boy dating Nadia. I won’t have to testify at his trial, will I?”

“That’s not my decision, sir.”

“Perhaps another time.”

“Sir, I’m afraid this can’t wait.”

“What if I refuse to give you your statement? What if I deny I ever said anything about Jeremiah and the girl?”

“That wouldn’t be the truth, would it?”

Klayman glanced at Johnson, whose expression clearly mirrored his annoyance at his partner’s placating of Bancroft.

“Mr. Bancroft,” Klayman said, “I would really appreciate it if—”

The actor’s voice, more studied and theatrical now, said, “Take note, take note, oh world, to be direct and honest is not safe.”

“Pardon?”

“The hypocritical Iago, Detective, to Othello. Honesty isn’t always the best policy, I fear. People unfortunately have a habit of blaming the messenger. But come if you insist. Your servant awaits.”

Klayman couldn’t help but smile and shake his head as he hung up.

“He’s a whack job,” Johnson said.

“I like him,” said Klayman.

“You would. Because he talks that way?”

“Talks?”

“You know, with that British accent. Anybody with a British accent sounds smarter than the rest, cultured. Know what I mean?”

“Yeah, I do, but it’s not his speech. I just—I guess I feel a little sorry for him. Once a star, now a has-been. The underdog. I always root for the underdog.”

“We’re going there now?” Johnson asked.

“Yeah. And be nice to him, Mo.”

“Oh, I will be, Ricky. I-will-be-nice.”

Bancroft was waiting for them in the hallway when they reached the seventh floor. This day he wore a red silk bathrobe and sandals.

“Thanks for seeing us,” Klayman said.

“I just hope we can make it quick, gentlemen. As I told you on the phone, I am exhausted, absolutely exhausted.”

“Won’t take more than a few minutes, sir.”

They settled in his living room. A small overnight bag lay open on the couch, its contents piled on the floor.

Klayman said, “You said you knew that the deceased, Nadia Zarinski, had been seeing Jeremiah Lerner, and that you’d warned her not to. Is that correct?”

He nodded.

Klayman gestured toward Johnson: “Detective Johnson is writing a statement for you to sign, sir. Is that all right?”

“You don’t trust me to write my own?”

“That’s not the reason, sir. Just trying to make it easier on you.”

“And I speak in jest. Please, write what you will.”

“When did you warn her, Mr. Bancroft? Do you remember when it was, the day, or night, the time?”

“Oh, no. How could I possibly?”

“Over the long weekend?”

“Long weekend? Labor Day, you mean. No. It was before that. Yes, the week before, possibly two weeks.”

“During the day?”

“No. At night. Definitely at night. A rehearsal, I’m sure. Nadia, poor thing, only came to the theatre at night. Yes, that was it. At night. A rehearsal.”

“How did you come to know she was seeing Jeremiah Lerner?”

He touched his fingertips to his mouth and assumed a wicked expression. “I eavesdropped,” he said. “I know, I know, that isn’t very nice. But you will admit it can be fun. You learn the juiciest of secrets.”

“Go on.”

“I heard her complaining about the Lerner boy to some of the other young people backstage. Frankly, I was shocked to hear she was dating him. I mean, after all, his mother, Clarise, runs the theatre, and considering the rumors about Nadia and Senator Lerner—well, I was shocked, that’s all, simply shocked.”

“So you were shocked,” Johnson interjected, more to break the boredom he was feeling. “What did you do?”

“I took her aside.” He feigned extreme concentration. “No, actually she took me aside, which wasn’t unusual. She valued my advice, I’m sure.” A laugh. “Once you reach my age, you have more advice to give than certain other things.” His arched eyebrows asked whether they agreed.

“She asked your advice about Jeremiah Lerner?” Klayman asked.

“Not so much asked for advice as complained to me the way he was treating her. I will tell both of you gentlemen something. Any man who lays a hand on a woman is, in my estimation, a scoundrel of the first order.”

Klayman thought about having read years back of Bancroft’s arrest for assaulting a woman in London, but didn’t raise it. He asked, “She told you Lerner had hit her?”

“Yes.”

“And that’s when you suggested she not see him anymore?” Johnson asked.

“Exactly.”

“Did she agree with you?” Klayman asked.