The Last Innocent Man

“I trust you, Dave. Especially after the way you worked so hard to defend me when, in your heart, you thought I was guilty. I still remember your closing argument. So forceful. So sincere. And all the time you thought I was guilty as sin. A man who can lie like that can be trusted.

“I’ve wanted to discuss, I guess you’d call it my philosophy, for a long time, but until I learned about this attorney-client privilege, I couldn’t take the risk. Now I feel a lot better, knowing that anything I tell you is confidential.”

David couldn’t move or speak. He felt wasted. Gault studied him, then burst out laughing. David half expected, hoped, that Gault would say this was all a joke.

“Puts you in a predicament, don’t it? Stafford rots in prison because you folded at trial…”

David’s head jerked up and he started to say something, but Gault raised his hand.

“Hey, old buddy, I’m not being critical. It’s just the word goin’ around. I do a little reporting, remember. That means interviewing. There are a lot of lawyers who figured that you could have kept Johnson off the stand if you wanted to. But you didn’t, did you? And we both know why, don’t we?”

Gault winked and David felt his heartbeat quicken.

“What do…?”

“It’s okay, old buddy. We all have our little secrets. And yours is safe with me. I got a tad suspicious when I ran into you and Stafford’s old lady in that cozy dinner spot, so, in the interests of good journalism, I decided to follow you. It turned out to be pretty easy, especially at night.

“Hey, don’t get uptight. I’m nonjudgmental. Shit, a guy who’s murdered a couple of people can’t go around throwing stones at someone for dickin’ a married woman, can he?”

“You son of a bitch,” David said hoarsely.

“Hell, I’m worse than that. But there’s no reason to take this personally, and as I said, your secret is safe with me, just like I know mine is safe with you.”

“You’d let an innocent man stay in prison for something you did?” David said, immediately feeling ridiculous for asking the question of a man like Gault.

“What choice have I got? To get him out, I’d have to put me in.”

Gault walked back to the desk and replaced the wig.

“Tom,” David said cautiously, “I think you need help. It’s a good sign that you’ve decided to talk to me and-”

Gault shook his head, amused.

“None of that psychiatric horseshit, please,” he said, wandering out of David’s line of vision. “I’m not crazy, old buddy. I’m a sociopath. Read your textbooks more carefully. See, I know what I’m doing, I just don’t give a shit, because I don’t have the same moral structure you have.” Gault was directly behind David and the writer’s voice was low, soft, and vaguely menacing. “In fact, Dave, I don’t have any moral structure at all.”

Gault stopped speaking. It was completely quiet in the house. David’s heart was racing with fear. He wanted to run, but he couldn’t move.

“A sociopath operates on a pleasure-pain principle,” Gault continued. “If you and a sociopath were all alone in a dark house with no one around for miles, a sociopath is the type of person who could kill you, just for kicks, if he thought he could get away with it.”

David heard a click near his ear, and he remembered the jagged slash that seemed to divide Darlene Hersch’s neck in two. He dived forward, putting as much distance between himself and Gault as he could. There was a chair across from him and he crashed into it, twisting to face Gault and bringing his hands up to fend off an attack.

Gault watched motionless from the fireplace. He had a switchblade in his hand and he was smiling.

“Not a bad move for a fella who’s not in tip-top shape. Of course, you should never have let me get behind you in the first place.”

David stood up. He was looking around desperately for a weapon.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Gault said, “but a weapon wouldn’t do you any good. If I wanted to, I could kill you anyway.”

Gault paused, and David knew it was true. He felt defeated and strangely calm, now that he knew he was going to die.

“But I don’t want to kill you, old buddy,” Gault said, his grin back in place. “Hell, you’re my friend and my lawyer. Why, you saved my life, and it would be plumb ungrateful of me to carve you up the way I did Darlene.”

Gault pocketed the knife and David started to shake all over.

“Being egotistical,” Gault continued, “I have great faith in my ability to judge people, and I made a little bet with myself. Tom, I said, Dave is your pal and an honorable man. If you tell him something in confidence, you can count on Dave’s sense of professional ethics and his friendship to keep your secret. You can trust a man like Dave to die rather than reveal a client’s confidence. Even if it means that an innocent man has to spend the rest of his life in prison. That’s what I said to myself. Now, am I right?”

David wanted to answer Gault, but he couldn’t speak.

“Am I right?” Gault asked again, his mouth a grim line and his eyes hard and cold.

“Why are you doing this to me?” David asked.