didn’t even think of it.
I don’t believe in coincidences, especially where murders are involved. They might exist, but it doesn’t make sense to act
as if they do.
I tell Willie to be careful, and not to tell anyone that he has Waggy.
Just in case.
I T’S TIME FOR ME TO TALK TO MY CLIENT .
There is no sense in our trying to construct a strategy to counter the prosecution before we know Steven’s version of the
events. And time is a-wasting…
Kevin makes the arrangements, though I go to see Steven by myself. I find the first significant meeting like this, the one
in which the client is called on to state the facts as he sees them, to go better when it’s just one-on-one. Clients seem
to open up more.
Steven is clearly relieved to see me and hear that I am staying on the case. He expresses the proper concern for Laurie, but
he is certainly more focused on his own predicament. I have to admit, if I were facing life in a seven-by-ten-foot cell, I’d
be a tad self-centered as well.
What Steven has been living is not a life. He spends twenty-three hours a day in his cell, eats food just south of miserable,
and is treated with a complete lack of respect and dignity. Any ability to control any part of his own existence has been
taken away from him, and the desperation in his eyes is the same I have seen countless times with countless clients. I imagine
it’s sort of like being a Cubs fan.
What Steven doesn’t fully realize is that, compared with most of the inmates, he is living life in the fast lane. Because
he has not been convicted of anything, he is isolated from the other inmates in a cleaner area with relatively kindly guards.
Should he be convicted, he’ll look back on these days with a wistful nostalgia.
I decide to hit him right between the eyes with my first question. “Steven, where were you the night of your father’s murder?”
He doesn’t blink. “I was home until about seven o’clock, then I drove to Paterson.”
“Why did you do that?”
“My father called and asked me to. He said he had something to show me that I needed to see right away.”
“Did he say what it was?” I ask.
“No, but he sounded upset, and I was worried because my father never sounded upset. He was always in complete control of everything.”
“And you had no idea why?”
Steven shakes his head. “I assumed it had something to do with his work.”
“Why would you assume that?”
“He had just been very intense and secretive about it lately. But his calling me might have had nothing to do with that. He
certainly wasn’t doing any of the work in downtown Paterson.”
“Did you meet your father that night?”
Steven shakes his head. “No, I went to the restaurant he specified, I think it’s called Mario’s, but he never showed up. He
told me to wait outside, but after about an hour I went in and had a beer. I waited another hour after that, then tried to
reach him on his cell. When I couldn’t get him, I went home.”
This part of the story checks out. Steven got a parking ticket outside Mario’s, probably when he was in having his drink,
which is how the police and prosecution knew he was there. Walter Timmerman’s body was found about two blocks away.
“Why didn’t you tell any of this to the police?”
“They never asked; they never talked to me at all. Then they arrested that other guy, and I figured he had done it, so I didn’t
think to go to them with it. Is that somehow bad for me?”
“We’ll deal with it,” I say, even though we may not be able to. “Were you and your father close?”
“Yes and no. It was kind of day-to-day.”
“He took you out of his will.”
Steven surprises me by laughing. “About a hundred times, but he always put me back in so he’d have something he could threaten
me with.”
“But you didn’t care?” I ask.
“No, and it drove him crazy. I mean the money would have been nice, but having an actual, real-life
I don’t believe in coincidences, especially where murders are involved. They might exist, but it doesn’t make sense to act
as if they do.
I tell Willie to be careful, and not to tell anyone that he has Waggy.
Just in case.
I T’S TIME FOR ME TO TALK TO MY CLIENT .
There is no sense in our trying to construct a strategy to counter the prosecution before we know Steven’s version of the
events. And time is a-wasting…
Kevin makes the arrangements, though I go to see Steven by myself. I find the first significant meeting like this, the one
in which the client is called on to state the facts as he sees them, to go better when it’s just one-on-one. Clients seem
to open up more.
Steven is clearly relieved to see me and hear that I am staying on the case. He expresses the proper concern for Laurie, but
he is certainly more focused on his own predicament. I have to admit, if I were facing life in a seven-by-ten-foot cell, I’d
be a tad self-centered as well.
What Steven has been living is not a life. He spends twenty-three hours a day in his cell, eats food just south of miserable,
and is treated with a complete lack of respect and dignity. Any ability to control any part of his own existence has been
taken away from him, and the desperation in his eyes is the same I have seen countless times with countless clients. I imagine
it’s sort of like being a Cubs fan.
What Steven doesn’t fully realize is that, compared with most of the inmates, he is living life in the fast lane. Because
he has not been convicted of anything, he is isolated from the other inmates in a cleaner area with relatively kindly guards.
Should he be convicted, he’ll look back on these days with a wistful nostalgia.
I decide to hit him right between the eyes with my first question. “Steven, where were you the night of your father’s murder?”
He doesn’t blink. “I was home until about seven o’clock, then I drove to Paterson.”
“Why did you do that?”
“My father called and asked me to. He said he had something to show me that I needed to see right away.”
“Did he say what it was?” I ask.
“No, but he sounded upset, and I was worried because my father never sounded upset. He was always in complete control of everything.”
“And you had no idea why?”
Steven shakes his head. “I assumed it had something to do with his work.”
“Why would you assume that?”
“He had just been very intense and secretive about it lately. But his calling me might have had nothing to do with that. He
certainly wasn’t doing any of the work in downtown Paterson.”
“Did you meet your father that night?”
Steven shakes his head. “No, I went to the restaurant he specified, I think it’s called Mario’s, but he never showed up. He
told me to wait outside, but after about an hour I went in and had a beer. I waited another hour after that, then tried to
reach him on his cell. When I couldn’t get him, I went home.”
This part of the story checks out. Steven got a parking ticket outside Mario’s, probably when he was in having his drink,
which is how the police and prosecution knew he was there. Walter Timmerman’s body was found about two blocks away.
“Why didn’t you tell any of this to the police?”
“They never asked; they never talked to me at all. Then they arrested that other guy, and I figured he had done it, so I didn’t
think to go to them with it. Is that somehow bad for me?”
“We’ll deal with it,” I say, even though we may not be able to. “Were you and your father close?”
“Yes and no. It was kind of day-to-day.”
“He took you out of his will.”
Steven surprises me by laughing. “About a hundred times, but he always put me back in so he’d have something he could threaten
me with.”
“But you didn’t care?” I ask.
“No, and it drove him crazy. I mean the money would have been nice, but having an actual, real-life
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