Before he got up to cross-examine Beverly Morgan, he felt someone tap him on the shoulder and turned to find Ted standing behind him. "This is from Mr.
Milton," he whispered and nodded toward the section where Dave, Ted, and Paul usually sat whenever they attended the trial. Dave and Paul were there, only this time Mr. Milton was sitting between them as well. He smiled and nodded.
"What?" Kevin opened the slip of paper and read the note. Then he looked back again. Mr. Milton nodded again, but more firmly. Ted patted Kevin on the shoulder and returned to his seat. Kevin stood up and faced Beverly Morgan. He glanced down at the note once again to be sure he was reading it correctly. Then he began, just as surprised himself at Beverly Morgan's responses as was the prosecution.
"Mrs. Morgan, you just testified that on occasion, after Mr. Rothberg visited with Mrs. Rothberg, she was left very unhappy. Is there one time that stands out in your mind, perhaps a more recent one?"
"There is," Beverly Morgan said, and then she related the events and the argument that Stanley Rothberg claimed occurred between his wife and him.
Without batting an eyelash or changing expression, she described seeing Maxine Rothberg wheel herself into Stanley's room.
"The insulin was in her lap." She paused and looked out at the audience. "And she was wearing a pair of my plastic gloves," she concluded.
For a moment there was a heavy silence, the silence before a storm, and then pandemonium broke out in the courtroom as reporters rushed to make phone calls and people expressed their amazement. The judge batted his gavel to silence the crowd and threatened to remove everyone except the participants. Kevin looked back and saw that, although the other associates were there, John Milton was gone.
When order was restored, Kevin told the judge he had no further questions.
McKensie reexamined Beverly Morgan, demanding to know why she hadn't told this story before. She calmly responded that no one had asked her the question.
Kevin wondered if McKensie would then bring up the doctor's criticism of her and her drinking problem to discredit what she had said. If he did so, Kevin was ready to illustrate how she could then have been negligent and caused the death of Maxine Rothberg. In either case, he could confuse the jury and put serious doubts in their minds about Stanley Rothberg's guilt.
McKensie decided instead to end the prosecution's case. The judge called a recess, and Kevin asked Paul where Mr. Milton was. He wanted to ask him how he knew Beverly Morgan would change her story.
"He had to rush off to meet with a new client," Paul told him. "He said he'll speak to you later, but he wanted me to tell you that he thinks you're doing a great job."
"Up until now, I thought I was losing it."
Paul smiled and looked at Ted and Dave. They wore the same look of arrogance.
"We don't lose," Paul said.
Kevin nodded. "I'm beginning to believe it," he replied, looking from one to the other. When Kevin entered the courtroom after the recess, there was an air of expectancy. Looking around at the audience, the reporters, and other media people, he suddenly felt the same sense of power and elation he had felt defending Lois Wilson.
It was all in his hands. How he wished Miriam had decided to come, at least today.
Kevin began by calling up Stanley Rothberg. After Rothberg was sworn in, Kevin sat back on the table and folded his arms.
"Mr. Rothberg, you have heard a line of witnesses testify to your character. You have been described first as a gambler, often losing large sums of money and often in debt.
Is there any truth to that?"
"Yes, there is," Rothberg said. "I've been a gambler all my mature life. It's a sickness, and I don't deny suffering from it." He turned directly to the audience on the word
sickness,
just as Kevin had advised him.
"You have also been charged with being an adulterer, and that charge has been corroborated by the woman who claims to be your lover, Tracey Casewell. Do you deny that charge?"
"No. I've been in love with and seeing Tracey Casewell for nearly three years."
"Why didn't you get a divorce?"
"I wanted to, but I couldn't make myself do it while Maxine was suffering, and Tracey wouldn't let me do it. I tried to be as discreet as I could."
"Apparently, you weren't successful," Kevin snapped. It was a brilliant tactic. He was treating his client as if he were the prosecutor and not the defense attorney. It gave his line of questioning a certain validity in the eyes of the jury and the audience. He didn't look like he liked Stanley Rothberg, and that gave the impression that he wouldn't help him lie.
"No, I guess not."
"And is it true, as was testified, that news of this affair eventually made its way to your wife?"
"Yes."
"You have heard the testimony of Beverly Morgan concerning an exchange between you and your wife. Was her description of that exchange accurate?"
"Yes."
"And you didn't take your wife's threat seriously at the time?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"She was a sick woman. I didn't think she was capable of it."
"Mr. Rothberg, did you inject your wife with an
overdose of insulin?"
•
"No, sir. I hated to even watch her do it to herself or watch the nurse do it. I usually left the room."
"No further questions, your honor."
McKensie rose slowly but stood by his desk. "Mr. Rothberg, didn't you see the insulin in your closet?"
"Yes, that morning, but I forgot about it. I got involved in some problems in the hotel and forgot to ask the nurse about it."
"Even though your wife threatened to implicate you in her death?"
"I just didn't think about it. It seemed . . ." He turned to the jury. "It seemed so incredible."
McKensie simply stared at him a moment and then shook his head. Most people thought it was in disbelief, but Kevin felt it was from frustration. "No further questions, your honor," McKensie said and sat down.
Kevin continued his game plan. He called Tracey to the stand and went through her testimony, just the way they had gone through it in his office. She described Stanley Rothberg coming to her after the fight with his wife, and she related the same details, only adding how disturbed Stanley had been. She looked very sincere when she expressed her own remorse about the course events had taken. Kevin even found himself believing her when she talked about liking Maxine Rothberg.
McKensie didn't even bother cross-examining.
During his summation, Kevin developed the theme John Milton had suggested. Yes, Stanley Rothberg was guilty of adultery, Stanley Rothberg did not have the best character, but he wasn't on trial for those things. He was on trial for murder, and he was clearly innocent of murder.
It was obvious to everyone that Beverly Morgan's revelations had taken the wind out of McKensie's sails when he got to his summation. Kevin was surprised at how poorly he did, how he stuttered, paused, looked confused. After he sat down, there seemed to be no question in anyone's mind what the outcome of this trial would be.
And the jury reacted accordingly, returning a verdict of not guilty in less than three hours.
By the time Kevin arrived at the office, a celebration was in full swing. His victory was sure to be the lead story on the local television news, yet he didn't feel as good about it as he expected he would. He had felt better winning Lois Wilson's acquittal. When he examined his own feelings and the reasons for them, he realized it was because he had won that case with his own sweat, prodding, investigating, poking around until he found ways to discredit the prosecution's case.
But this time it was different. He wasn't fooling himself. What won the case was Beverly Morgan's testimony corroborating Stanley's claim. Despite the congratulations and compliments he received, he didn't feel as proud of himself. It was like winning an important baseball game because of rain after the fifth inning. It hadn't been a complete effort.
"I was just lucky," he told Ted.
"Luck had nothing to do with it. You structured the defense brilliantly."
"Thanks." He made his way back to Mr. Milton's office and knocked on the door. He was invited in, but he couldn't find the man.
"Over here," he said. He was suddenly standing by the large windows. "And congratulations."
"Thank you, but I was hoping to find you during the recess. I wanted to ask you about Beverly Morgan."
"Of course."
As Kevin joined him at the window, Mr. Milton put his arm around his shoulders and turned him so they were both looking out over the city. Darkness came late in the afternoon now. It was a sea of lights.
"Dazzling, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"All that power, all that energy concentrated in such a small area. Millions of people at our feet, incredible wealth, incredible energy, decisions being made that affect the lives of countless others." He held out his free hand. "All the drama of humanity, every known conflict, every known emotion, birth, death, love, and hate. It takes my breath away to stand above it all."
'Yes," Kevin said. He suddenly did feel overwhelmed. Mr Milton had a soft and enchanting quality to his voice. Hearing him speak and looking out at the lights twinkling like stars was mesmerizing.
'But you're not just standing above it all, Kevin," he continued, speaking in undulating tones that to Kevin seemed to be coming from within his own mind. It was as if John Milton had entered his very soul, had housed himself in some empty chamber in his heart and now truly possessed him. "You are above it all, and now we know, it will all be yours."
There was a long silence between them. Kevin simply stared out at the city John Milton continued to embrace him and hold him so he would stay close.
"You should go home now. Kevin." he finally whispered. "Go home to your wife and have your own private celebration."
Kevin nodded. John Milton released him and moved like a shadow to his desk chair. Kevin stared out a moment longer and then turned, remembering why he had come in.
"Mr. Milton, that note you sent me . .. How did you know Beverly Morgan had changed her story?"
John Milton smiled. In the subdued light of the desk lamp, he looked like he wore a mask. "Now, Kevin, you don't want me to give away all my secrets, do you?
Then you young upstarts would all start thinking you could take my place."
"Yes, but. ."
"I spoke to her," he said quickly. "I pointed some things out, and she relented."
"What did you say to change her mind?"
"In the end, Kevin, people choose to do what's best for themselves. Ideals, principles, whatever you call it, in the final analysis, they don't matter. There is only one lesson to learn: everyone has his or her price. Idealists think that's a cynical lesson to learn. Practical-minded folk like you and me and the other associates know it's the key to power and success. Enjoy your victory." He turned away to look down at some papers on his desk. "In a day or two, I will have another case for you."
Kevin stared down at him a moment and debated whether or not to pursue the conversation. It was obvious John Milton wanted to end it. "Okay," he said. "Good night,"
"Good night. Congratulations. You're a true John Milton associate now," he added.
Kevin stood by the door. Why didn't those words make him feel wonderful? he wondered. He walked out. As he started down the corridor, he thought about those city lights and standing by the window with John Milton beside him. His words returned. Strange, he thought, but they sounded so familiar. Where had he ...
And then he remembered. Those were Ted's exact words when he had described a similar experience at the windows in John Milton's penthouse. In his heart he knew it wasn't just a coincidence.
Who was John Milton? Who were the associates? What was he becoming?
12
A
cold, bleak rain had begun to fall over the city. Even though he was quite warm in the rear of the limo, Kevin shivered when they stopped at a traffic light, and he gazed out at people rushing to and fro, most caught without their umbrellas. Despite his having every reason to feel cheerful, the drops he saw streaking down storefront windows and over the windows of other cars looked like tears. He sat back and closed his eyes the rest of the way to the apartment house.
"Mr. Taylor," Philip cried, opening the lobby door for him as soon as he had stepped out of the limo. "Congratulations! I just heard the news bulletin."
"Thank you, Philip." He shook the icy drops from his hair.
"I bet it feels good to win such an important case. Everybody's goin' to know your name, Mr. Taylor. You must be very proud."
"It hasn't all quite settled in yet," Kevin said. "I'm still in a bit of a daze myself." He started for the elevator.
"Nevertheless, it looks like Mr. Milton's got himself a reason for another party, eh?"
"I wouldn't be surprised. Thanks, Philip." He stepped into the elevator and pressed 15. As the elevator began its climb, Kevin settled back, still feeling a strange mixture of emotions, elation with an undercurrent of anxiety. Something wasn't right; something just wasn't right. He found himself twisting his gold pinky ring back and forth.
He stepped out when the doors opened but stopped immediately because he thought he heard someone whisper his name. Turning quickly to his left, he was shocked to find Helen Scholefield in a nightgown, her back against the wall, her eyes wide, maddening.
"Helen!"
"I saw you and Charon drive up," she whispered. She glanced back at her apartment.
"I don't have long. She's sure to find me gone in a moment."
"What's wrong?"
"The same thing that happened to Gloria Jaffee will happen to Miriam. I refused to become part of it this time and tried to warn you with my painting, but if he's made her pregnant, then it's too late. He'll feed on her goodness, suck the life from her like a vampire sucks blood. You've got to find a way to kill him. Kill him," she demanded, her teeth clenched, her hands balled into fists. "Otherwise you'll be left with the same two choices Richard Jaffee had. Thank God he had too much conscience to do anything else . . . only Richard had a conscience." Her lips began to tremble. "They're all his.