for rape. He gets picked out of a lineup because they all look alike, et cetera, and the case goes to trial. There the DA describes to a predominantly Caucasian middle-class jury how this kid beat, raped and sodomized a mother of two. Then a predominantly Caucasian middle-class witness describes the perp as a black kid with razor-notched hair and basketball sneakers and the predominantly Caucasian middle-class doctor gets up and describes the victim’s injuries in horrifying detail. What the fuck do you think is going to happen to Fred? He’s going to jail and he ain’t gonna be just visiting.”
Rune was quiet.
“So every time a shooter who Glocks some poor asshole five times in the head gets convicted by a cheating jury—i.e., a flawed legal system—that means there’s a risk that Fred Williams is gonna go down for something he
didn’t
do. And as long as that’s a risk then the world’s got to put up with people like me.”
Rune gave him a coy look. “So’s that your closing argument?”
Megler laughed. “A variation on one of them. I’ve got a great repertoire. Blows the jury away.”
“I don’t really believe what you’re saying but it looks like you do.”
“Oh, I do indeed. And as soon as I stop believing it then I’m out of the business. I’ll go into handicapping or professional blackjack. The odds are better and you still get paid in cash. Now, I’ve got some truly innocent clients arriving in about a half hour. You said you wanted to ask me about the Boggs case? Anything about that article I read?”
“Yes.”
“You’re doing the story?”
“Right. Can I tape you?”
His thin face twisted. He looked like Ichabod Crane in her illustrated copy of
Sleepy Hollow
. “Why don’t you just take notes.”
“If you’d feel more comfortable …”
“I would.”
She pulled out a notebook. She asked, “You represented Boggs by yourself?”
“Yep. He was a Section Eighteen case. Indigent. So the state paid my fee to represent him.”
“I really think he’s innocent.”
“Uh-huh.”
“No, I really, really think so.”
“You say so.”
“You don’t?”
“My opinion of my clients’ innocence or guilt is completely, totally irrelevant.”
She asked, “Could you tell me what happened? About Hopper’s death, I mean.”
Megler sat back in a thoughtful pose. He studied the grimy ceiling. The window was open a crack and exhaust-scented April air riffled stacks of paper.
“The district attorney’s case was that Boggs was in Manhattan, just driving through from, I don’t know, upstate someplace. Some witness said Boggs was standing on the sidewalk talking with Hopper and then they got into a fight over something. Hopper’d just gotten home from work and had just pulled into the courtyard of his building on the Upper West Side. The prosecutor speculated it was a traffic dispute.”
Rune’s eyes made a sardonic circuit of the room. “Traffic? But he was on the sidewalk, you said.”
“Maybe he parked after Hopper cut him off and got out of the car. I don’t know.”
“But—”
“Hey, you asked what the assistant district attorney said. I’m telling you. I’m trying to be helpful. Am I being helpful?”
“Helpful,” Rune said. “What was Randy’s story?”
“Part of the problem was that he
had
a story.”
“Huh?”
“I tell all my clients, if you’re arrested don’t take the stand. Under any circumstances. The jury can’t—the judge tells them this—the jury can’t draw any conclusions from the defendant’s not taking the stand. But Randy— against my advice, I wanta point out—did. If you do that the prosecutor can introduce evidence of prior convictions for the purpose of attacking your honesty. Only that—not to prove you have a criminal tendency. Just to show that you might lie. But what does the jury hear? Fuck credibility—all they hear is his string of arrests for petty crimes. Next thing you know, Boggs, who’s really a pretty
Rune was quiet.
“So every time a shooter who Glocks some poor asshole five times in the head gets convicted by a cheating jury—i.e., a flawed legal system—that means there’s a risk that Fred Williams is gonna go down for something he
didn’t
do. And as long as that’s a risk then the world’s got to put up with people like me.”
Rune gave him a coy look. “So’s that your closing argument?”
Megler laughed. “A variation on one of them. I’ve got a great repertoire. Blows the jury away.”
“I don’t really believe what you’re saying but it looks like you do.”
“Oh, I do indeed. And as soon as I stop believing it then I’m out of the business. I’ll go into handicapping or professional blackjack. The odds are better and you still get paid in cash. Now, I’ve got some truly innocent clients arriving in about a half hour. You said you wanted to ask me about the Boggs case? Anything about that article I read?”
“Yes.”
“You’re doing the story?”
“Right. Can I tape you?”
His thin face twisted. He looked like Ichabod Crane in her illustrated copy of
Sleepy Hollow
. “Why don’t you just take notes.”
“If you’d feel more comfortable …”
“I would.”
She pulled out a notebook. She asked, “You represented Boggs by yourself?”
“Yep. He was a Section Eighteen case. Indigent. So the state paid my fee to represent him.”
“I really think he’s innocent.”
“Uh-huh.”
“No, I really, really think so.”
“You say so.”
“You don’t?”
“My opinion of my clients’ innocence or guilt is completely, totally irrelevant.”
She asked, “Could you tell me what happened? About Hopper’s death, I mean.”
Megler sat back in a thoughtful pose. He studied the grimy ceiling. The window was open a crack and exhaust-scented April air riffled stacks of paper.
“The district attorney’s case was that Boggs was in Manhattan, just driving through from, I don’t know, upstate someplace. Some witness said Boggs was standing on the sidewalk talking with Hopper and then they got into a fight over something. Hopper’d just gotten home from work and had just pulled into the courtyard of his building on the Upper West Side. The prosecutor speculated it was a traffic dispute.”
Rune’s eyes made a sardonic circuit of the room. “Traffic? But he was on the sidewalk, you said.”
“Maybe he parked after Hopper cut him off and got out of the car. I don’t know.”
“But—”
“Hey, you asked what the assistant district attorney said. I’m telling you. I’m trying to be helpful. Am I being helpful?”
“Helpful,” Rune said. “What was Randy’s story?”
“Part of the problem was that he
had
a story.”
“Huh?”
“I tell all my clients, if you’re arrested don’t take the stand. Under any circumstances. The jury can’t—the judge tells them this—the jury can’t draw any conclusions from the defendant’s not taking the stand. But Randy— against my advice, I wanta point out—did. If you do that the prosecutor can introduce evidence of prior convictions for the purpose of attacking your honesty. Only that—not to prove you have a criminal tendency. Just to show that you might lie. But what does the jury hear? Fuck credibility—all they hear is his string of arrests for petty crimes. Next thing you know, Boggs, who’s really a pretty
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