Jennifer sighed. “That brings us to a problem, Your Honor.”
Judge Stevens said grimly, “I imagine it does. It is easy to confuse a live witness, but it is difficult to confuse a computer.”
Carter Gifford nodded smugly, “Exactly, Your Honor.”
Jennifer turned to face Gifford. “The FBI used the IBM 370/168, didn’t it?”
“That’s right. It’s the most sophisticated equipment in the world.”
Judge Stevens asked Jennifer, “Does the defense intend to challenge the efficiency of that computer?”
“On the contrary, Your Honor. I have a computer expert here in court today who works for the company that manufactures the 370/168. He programmed the information that turned up the name of my client.”
“Where is he?”
Jennifer turned and motioned to a tall, thin man seated on a bench. He nervously came forward.
Jennifer said, “This is Mr. Edward Monroe.”
“If you’ve been tampering with my witness,” the prosecuting attorney exploded, “I’ll—”
“All I did was to request Mr. Monroe to ask the computer if there were other possible suspects. I selected ten people who had certain general characteristics similar to my client. For purposes of identification, Mr. Monroe programmed in statistics on age, height, weight, color of eyes, birthplace—the same kind of data that produced the name of my client.”
Judge Stevens asked impatiently, “What is the point of all this, Miss Parker?”
“The point is that the computer identified one of the ten people as a prime suspect in the bank robbery.”
Judge Stevens turned to Edward Monroe. “Is this true?”
“Yes, Your Honor.” Edward Monroe opened his briefcase and pulled out a computer readout
The bailiff took it from Monroe and handed it to the judge. Judge Stevens glanced at it and his face became red.
He looked at Edward Monroe. “Is this some kind of joke?”
“No, sir.”
“The computer picked me as a possible suspect?” Judge Stevens asked.
“Yes, sir, it did.”
Jennifer explained, “The computer has no reasoning power, Your Honor. It can only respond to the information it is given. You and my client happen to be the same weight, height and age. You both drive green sedans, and you both come from the same state. That’s really as much evidence as the prosecuting attorney has. The only other factor is the way in which the crime was done. When Paul Richards committed that bank robbery ten years ago, millions of people read about it. Any one of them could have imitated his modus operandi. Someone did.” Jennifer indicated the piece of paper in Judge Stevens’ hand. “That shows you how flimsy the State’s case really is.”
Carter Gifford sputtered, “Your Honor—” and stopped. He did not know what to say.
Judge Stevens looked again at the computer readout in his hand and then at Jennifer.
“What would you have done,” he asked, “if the court had been a younger man, thinner than I, who drove a blue car?”
“The computer gave me ten other possible suspects,” Jennifer said. “My next choice would have been New York District Attorney Robert Di Silva.”
Jennifer was sitting in her office, reading the headlines, when Cynthia announced, “Mr. Paul Richards is here.”
“Send him in, Cynthia.”
He came into the office wearing a black raincoat and carrying a candy box tied with a red ribbon.
“I just wanted to tell you thanks.”
“You see? Sometimes justice does triumph.”
“I’m leaving town. I decided I need a little vacation.” He handed Jennifer the candy box. “A little token of my appreciation.”
“Thank you, Paul.”
He looked at her admiringly. “I think you’re terrific.”
And he was gone.
Jennifer looked at the box of candy on her desk and smiled. She had received less for handling most of Father Ryan’s friends. If she got fat, it would be Father Ryan’s fault.
Jennifer untied the ribbon and opened the box. Inside was ten thousand dollars in used currency.
One afternoon as Jennifer was leaving the courthouse, she noticed a large, black, chauffeured Cadillac limousine at the curb. As she started to walk past it, Michael Moretti stepped out. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
Close up, there was an electric vitality to the man that was almost overpowering.
“Get out of my way,” Jennifer said. Her face was flushed and angry, and she was even more beautiful than Michael Moretti had remembered.
“Hey,” he laughed, “cool down. All I want to do is talk to you. All you have to do is listen. I’ll pay you for your time.”
“You’ll never have enough money.”
She started to move past him. Michael Moretti put a conciliatory hand on her arm. Just touching her increased his excitement.
He turned on all of his charm. “Be reasonable. You won’t know what you’re turning down until you hear what I have to say. Ten minutes. That’s all I want. I’ll drop you off at your office. We can talk on the way.”
Jennifer studied him a moment and said, “I’ll go with you on one condition. I want the answer to a question.”
Michael nodded. “Sure. Go ahead.”
“Whose idea was it to frame me with the dead canary?”
He answered without hesitation. “Mine.”
So now she knew. And she could have killed him. Grimly she stepped into the limousine and Michael Moretti moved in beside her. Jennifer noted that he gave the driver the address of her office building without asking.
As the limousine drove off, Michael Moretti said, “I’m glad about all the great things that are happening to you.”
Jennifer did not bother to reply.
“I really mean that.”
“You haven’t told me what it is you want.”
“I want to make you rich.”
“Thanks. I’m rich enough.” Her voice was filled with the contempt she felt toward him.
Michael Moretti’s face flushed. “I’m trying to do you a favor and you keep fighting me.”
Jennifer turned to look at him. “I don’t want any favors from you.”
He made his voice conciliatory. “Okay. Maybe I’m trying to make up a little for what I did to you. Look, I can send you a lot of clients. Important clients. Big money. You have no idea—”
Jennifer interrupted. “Mr. Moretti, do us both a favor. Don’t say another word.”
“But I can—”
“I don’t want to represent you or any of your friends.”
“Why not?”
“Because if I represented one of you, from then on you’d own me.”
“You’ve got it all wrong,” Michael protested. “My friends are in legitimate businesses. I mean banks, insurance companies—”
“Save your breath. My services aren’t available to the Mafia.”
“Who said anything about the Mafia?”
“Call it whatever you like. No one owns me but me. I intend to keep it that way.”
The limousine stopped for a red light.
Jennifer said, “This is close enough. Thank you for the lift.” She opened the door and stepped out.
Michael said, “When can I see you again?”
“Not ever, Mr. Moretti.”
Michael watched her walk away.
My God, he thought, that’s a woman! He suddenly became aware that he had an erection and smiled, because he knew that one way or another, he was going to have her.
23
It was the end of October, two weeks before the election, and the senatorial race was in full swing. Adam was running against the incumbent Senator John Trowbridge, a veteran politician, and the experts agreed it was going to be a close battle.
Jennifer sat at home one night, watching Adam and his opponent in a television debate. Mary Beth had been right. A divorce now could easily have wrecked Adam’s growing chances for victory.
When Jennifer walked into the office after a long business lunch, there was an urgent message for her to call Rick Arlen.