Part 18 (1/2)

”There's an old saw,” Harvey said, relentless now, ”that applies to all capital cases: the better the lawyer, the longer it takes.”

”I know.” He was too smart for me to pretend to optimism. ”I'm trying to convince the system that it made a mistake. And that's like trying to p.i.s.s up a rope.”

”Those aren't the words I'd have chosen, but they may be apt. Ted, we need your billing and your visibility here, not in Jacksonville.”

”Then we have a conflict.”

”How do you propose to resolve it?”

”By doing what I have to do,” I said.

And I kept working. I drove up to Bradenton with Barry Wellmet for a meeting with the firm's cocounsel on the milk price-fixing case. I met with local ZiDevco executives to discuss the witness list for the real estate lawsuit. The next day I interviewed five subcontractors whom we were considering as witnesses and began to prepare a detailed report on what they might say under both direct and cross.e.xamination at trial. I edited Barry Wellmet's brief in the S & L case, then met with Harvey Royal and worked on another revision. Work. The word sounded so clean, so meaty. So righteous.

So f.u.c.king absurd too, because all I was doing was battling and scheming so that people could wring money out of other people or keep others from wringing it out of them, while at the same time piling up my hourly fee. What did that have to do with something so rare as justice?

I hurried downtown one afternoon to meet Elroy at Buddy Capra's office on the fourth floor of the Criminal Justice Building. While Charlie Waldorf sat on the couch in the corner of the room, filing his fingernails with an emery board that looked as if he'd used it since he got out of law school, Capra laid out the state's deal. It hinged on Elroy testifying against his suppliers, Alfonso Ramos and Marty Palomino.

Elroy asked where this would take place.

”The grand jury is sitting now in Miami. They'd like to indict this spring. Your presence is requested,” Capra said, making a graceful gesture with his hand. ”After you testify, we'll drop the cocaine possession charge here. You'll walk away, Mr. Elroy, under the federal witness protection program.”

”To where?”

”I'm told your preference is California.”

”But not up in the mountains,” Elroy snarled, ”with a f.u.c.king grizzly bear for company.”

”California has held a lottery,” Capra said, ”and you've been won by the city of San Diego. They're thrilled that you're coming.”

”What do I live on?”

Finished with his nails, Charlie Waldorf said gruffly, ”The government will provide you with a new ident.i.ty and pay six months rent on an apartment. We give you walking-around money for ninety days. After that, Mr. Elroy, you're on your own.”

We rode down in the elevator, which piped a Vivaldi flute concerto to its pa.s.sengers. You got to listen to it on the telephone too, when you were put on hold. That was Charlie Waldorf's style; he was a Sarasotan.

Elroy and I walked west on Main Street in the afternoon heat. ”You couldn't have made a better deal,” I said. ”And there's the other part of it, which I hope you didn't forget.”

”What was that exactly, Counselor?”

”Jacksonville. Testifying about that fake confession in the Morgan case. You recall?”

Elroy scratched the stubble on his chin. ”Capra and the other guy didn't mention that.”

I said firmly, ”They didn't mention it because they didn't need to. But you have to do it. We start with a sworn affidavit. Now. Up at my office.”

”Can we get it done by seven? I got some nice p.u.s.s.y waiting at the motel.” He smiled, showing the gap in his teeth. I didn't know whether he believed me completely; but he wasn't about to test me, not with San Diego in the offing instead of Raiford.

When I surfaced from the pool that evening, Toba frowned and said, ”I have to tell you, trivial as it may seem to you, a man came to the door today and served me with a notice of deposition.”

I shook water out of my ears. ”For what?”

”That crazy woman who called me in the middle of the night from her bed with the thing sitting on her t.i.ts. The wolf spider.”

”Some lawyer actually wants to take your deposition about a bug?”

”Yes!”

I broke into laughter, then saw the look on my wife's face and said, ”Well, words fail me. And that's probably for the best.”

After dinner I asked Alan into the den. I sat in an easy chair, wearing a black sweats.h.i.+rt, old jeans, running shoes without socks -my I'm-mature-but-still-young look. Alan sprawled on one of the sofas, allowing himself room to twist his legs, stretch his muscular arms, and generally keep in constant wriggly motion. A thatch of black hair curled out of the throat of his sport s.h.i.+rt. Adjusting my horn-rimmed gla.s.ses, I felt old.

”I won't smoke, Dad, I know it annoys you and I know all about the smell in the air-conditioning ducts. But can I keep an unlit cigarette in my hand?”

I leaned across from the easy chair and placed a hand on his shoulder. I was trying to communicate my concern, which was deep. ”Alan, you talked to your mother about suicide. I have to take that seriously, and it frightens me. I'm sure it's hard to elaborate, but can you tell me what depresses you? I need to know.”

”I just feel useless. You said it-I'm a f.u.c.k-up. A failure.”

I'd never called him a failure, and the worst I might have said on other occasions was: ”I think you're f.u.c.king up your life.” But I didn't contradict. This wasn't court.

”I'd like you to go into therapy. Do you have anything against that idea?”

”No,” Alan said.

There was more, and I had to get through it; I remembered Elston's mother in Newtown. ”You can stay in the drug program or not,” I said to Alan. ”That's up to you. But I won't house a practicing addict. If I find out that you're doing any drugs at all, it'll be like a f.u.c.king hurricane around here without a hurricane warning. You can get down on your knees and beg and weep-I'll still kick your druggie a.s.s right out of here.”

Toba hunted down a recommended therapist in the high school system who took patients on a private basis for sixty-five dollars an hour. Her name was Dorothy Buford.

We went one evening to see her in her office at home; it was full of porcelain and ivory knickknacks and reminded me of my grandmother's house. Dorothy Buford was in her early thirties. ”I don't really want to talk to you two,” she said. ”I'd rather not have preconceived ideas. Have your son call me.”

”We'd like to tell you what the problem is,” I said.

”What you'll tell me, Mr. Jaffe, will be what your problem is. Tell that to your own therapist. Have your son call me. He'll tell me what his problem is.”

In the car on the way home, I laughed. ”You know, she's absolutely right. I like her.”

”I don't,” Toba said. ”I thought that was smarta.s.s.”

Sitting on the edge of the bed, unhooking her bra under her blouse and not looking at me, she said, ”Ted, I wish you weren't going on Monday.”

”I'll try to be back for the weekend.”

”Have you got a girlfriend up there in Jacksonville?”

”For G.o.d's sake, no.” Nevertheless, a picture of Muriel Suarez flashed into my mind unbidden. Well, what the h.e.l.l. You can't be indicted for your fantasies, which is why they're so much fun.

”If you do,” Toba said, ”I'll break your knees with a sledgehammer and cut off an inch of your c.o.c.k while you're asleep in bed.”