The Last Innocent Man

“Sounds like an excellent idea,” Gregory said as he pushed away from the table. It was Saturday evening and the trial was in recess for the weekend. David had rested after Terry Conklin had finished his testimony Friday afternoon. From all accounts it looked as if victory was assured. Even Rudy, the jail guard, who rarely expressed his opinion about a case, had made a comment about Stafford’s being out soon.

As it did almost every year, the cold of autumn had given way to a week of false spring that fooled the flowers into opening to the October air and brought back pleasant memories of summer. Gregory lit up a cigar and the two friends strolled onto the terrace. The dark river was at peace, and so was David.

“What’s on the menu for Monday?” Gregory asked.

“I don’t know,” David answered as he sank into a lawn chair. “Monica said she might have some rebuttal, but I can’t imagine what it could be.”

“Maybe she’s going to have one of her investigators go out to the motel and try to get some pictures that show a face.”

“Not a chance. I had Terry’s work double-checked by two other professionals before I used it. Given those lighting conditions, there’s no way Ortiz could have seen the killer’s face.”

Gregory leaned back and puffed on his cigar. It was quiet on the terrace. The breeze was cool, and the lights from the houseboats across the way appeared to wink on and off as the boats twisted with the current.

“What do you know about Ortiz, Dave?” Gregory asked after a while.

“Why?” David asked. He felt dreamy, fatigued by too much food and too much wine and lulled by the sounds of the river.

“I don’t know. It just seems strange that he would be so certain, if those pictures are accurate.”

“The mind plays strange tricks sometimes. Don’t forget, he’d just been struck on the head, and he was coming into a darkened room from the outside. There are probably a hundred explanations a psychiatrist could give you.”

“You’re right. Anyway, if it helps you lock this up, I don’t care what he saw.”

“Confusion to our enemies,” David toasted, taking a sip from the wineglass he had carried with him. Gregory raised his cigar.

“If nothing else, this case has at least raised your spirits.”

“What do you mean?”

“You were a pain in the butt to have around the office for a while. I guess I can say it now, because you seem to be over your blue period.”

“I don’t…Oh, you mean that Seals business.”

“And a few others.”

“Was I bitching and moaning that much?”

“Enough so that I was getting a little worried about you. What you need to do is settle down. Find a good woman.”

“Like Helen?”

Greg nodded.

“They don’t make ’em like that anymore,” David said lightly, picturing what it would be like to see Jenny every morning when he woke up, and to kiss her every evening.

“I’ve gotta go to the bathroom,” Gregory said. “Save my place, will ya?”

“My pleasure,” David said, sipping some more wine. Somewhere up the river a tanker’s horn sounded. For a brief moment David felt disoriented, then recognized the unsettling feeling created by a sense of deja vu. The night seemed to belong to two times, and he struggled with his memory to fit the past into the present. Softly, like the night breeze, it came to him. The evening he first met Jenny had been an evening like this. A still river, night sounds, the breeze. Even the air had smelled the same. It was a vivid memory now, warm and real, as if David had been transported back in time and Jenny would soon appear on the terrace, profiled against the sky. He smiled. It was a good memory, a calming thought.

David recalled the first time he had seen Jenny on the fringe of the small group. He remembered his impressions. How beautiful she had seemed.

Then, like the last piece in a Chinese puzzle box, a new thought slipped into place, and David’s inner peace shattered. Something else had happened that day. The interview with the young girl who had been the victim in the Seals case. David sat up. His heart was beating rapidly.

“Coffee’s on,” Helen Banks called from the doorway.

David did not answer. He was thinking back. Trying to be sure and hoping he was wrong.

“Did you hear me, Dave?”

David stood up. He felt sick at heart.

“Is something wrong?” Helen asked.

“I just remembered something I must do. I’m afraid I’ll have to skip coffee.”

“Oh, Dave. Can’t you just take a day off and relax?”

David touched her shoulder and tried to gather his thoughts. He could be wrong. He prayed he was wrong.

“If I don’t check on this,” he said, managing a smile, “I won’t be able to sleep tonight.”

“If you’re determined…” Helen said with a sigh.

“Determined to what?” Gregory asked.

“I’ve got to leave, Greg. Something I just remembered, and it can’t wait.”

Gregory looked at him hard. He discerned the lines of worry on his young friend’s face and knew that whatever was bothering David was serious.

“Can I help?”

“No. Thanks. This is something I have to do alone.”

And he was alone. More alone than he had ever been.