The Last Innocent Man

“You know, when I got into this business, I saw myself as a knight in shining armor defending the innocent, the unjustly accused. How many innocent people have I represented, Greg? After a while you realize there aren’t any innocent men, only a lot of guilty ones who can pay pretty good for a smart lawyer. So at first you rationalize what you’re doing, but eventually you’re just in it for the money.”

“Look, Dave, I know what you’re going through. I’ve been through it, too. Anyone who practices criminal law and has a conscience has to deal with the conflict between that idealized crap they teach you in law school and the way the real world is, but the picture you’re painting isn’t accurate either.

“You are a good lawyer and you do good, honest work. There are innocent people who get arrested. There are people, like that college kid, who are guilty but shouldn’t be convicted. In order to help them, you have to help people like Tony Seals. It’s the system that’s important. It’s the only thing that keeps this country from being Nazi Germany. You think about that.”

“I do, Greg. Look, I know what you believe and I respect you for it. My problem is, I don’t know what I believe in anymore. I know what I used to believe in, and I’m beginning to think I sold that out when the money started getting too good.”

Gregory started to say something, then changed his mind. He remembered the agonies he had gone through over this same question. He never had to find an answer, because he’d stopped taking criminal cases, except those that interested him, when he’d started doing more and more work for the union. Greg had made his fortune by winning big verdicts in personal-injury cases and dealing tough at negotiating sessions for union contracts. Getting out of criminal law was no problem for him.

David was different. He had no interest in any other area of the law. He had tried to branch out, but he had always come back to his criminal practice. And why not? He made a good living at it and he loved what he did. Only now he was beginning to question his worth because of his work.

“You want to go get a drink?” Gregory asked. It was quiet in the evening offices. A few associates staying late to work on problems assigned by the partners made an occasional disturbance in the dark rhythms. David stood up and put on his suit jacket.

“I think I’ll just go home.”

“I could tell Helen to set another place for dinner.”

“No, I’d rather be by myself.”

“Okay. Just promise me you won’t let this drag you down.”

“I’ll try,” David said, making an effort to smile.

After David left, Gregory walked back to his office. He looked at his watch. It was late. He was working too damn late recently. He’d have to cut that out. He sighed. He’d been telling himself that since he started practice, what was it, over twenty years ago. That was a long time, twenty years.

He sat at his desk and started to proofread the brief he had been writing. Poor David. There were advantages to being in your fifties. Growing up was hell and you never really stopped. You thought you did when you got out of your teens. Then you found out that the crises were just starting.

David was a good boy, though. A sound thinker. What he needed was a case he could believe in. There had been too many hard cases lately. He needed to feel his worth again. A good case would come along. It was the law of averages.

PART II

THE LAST INNOCENT MAN

1

Judge Rosenthal looked across the courtroom toward the clock that hung above the empty jury box. The last witness had just been excused, and there was plenty of time before lunch.

“You might as well argue now, gentlemen,” he said to the two attorneys seated at opposite tables in front of the bench. Walter Greaves struggled to his feet. He had been fighting a battle with arthritis, and, the judge reflected sadly, he seemed to be losing. That was too bad. He’d known Wally for thirty years, and he had a genuine affection for him.

The judge let his eyes wander over to opposing counsel. Larry Stafford provided a perfect contrast to Greaves. He looked so healthy that he made the judge self-conscious about his own physical condition. There had been an upsurge of work during the past few weeks, and he had been passing up his noontime squash games. He was suddenly aware of the pressure of his waistband against his belly. The pressure made him feel guilty and uncomfortable, and he tried to take his mind off it by listening to Greaves’s argument.

When Greaves sat down, the judge nodded at Stafford. The young lawyer had been before Rosenthal on a few occasions representing Price, Winward, Lexington and Rice, Portland’s largest law firm. Rosenthal considered him to be conscientious and thorough, if not exceptionally bright.