Hard Rain Falling - Don Carpenter [63]
“I have to go,” she said. “My boy friend, this boy, anyway, is out in the parking lot waiting for me. We have to go to this dance and picnic thing.”
So that had been it. She had wanted to show off to her new boy friend. Or maybe old boy friend. Look at me, I got friends in jail. God damn women!
On the following Monday he met his lawyer in one of the little conference rooms.
The lawyer’s name was Costigan and he was a short trim man with snapping eyes and a sharp, very intelligent face. He got right down to business. “I understand you have well over two hundred dollars down in the property room. Is that correct?”
“Yes,” Jack said.
“That’s not enough to pay my fee,” Costigan said.
“Then you’re shit out of luck, aren’t you,” Jack said.
“I’m entitled to something for my services, don’t you agree?”
“Sure. But I thought the District Attorney assigned you to me.”
“District attorneys don’t assign. They’re just lawyers. Stanley merely asked me as a favor to take your case. Judges do the assigning when assigning is done. The point is this: when you go down to muni this afternoon you’re going to be bound over for the grand jury and the judge is going to assign you an attorney. He’ll pick me. We worked it out. But the point is, I think I’m entitled to some money for my work. You have two hundred; do you know where you can get more money?”
“No.”
“Then, don’t you think you at least ought to give me a hundred? I know how it is in that tank, but I ought to get something.”
“No. You don’t get any of it. I’m gonna need it all.”
“Then,” the lawyer insisted, “I’m not to be paid anything?”
“I guess not.”
Costigan shrugged quickly and said, “All right. I just thought I’d ask. How do you want me to handle the case? Do you want me to plead you guilty or not guilty?”
“To what charge?”
“Why, kidnaping.”
“Hell no. I thought—”
“Never mind what you thought. If you plead guilty at muni the judge will hold you for superior court, and then you can change your plea to not guilty and skip over the grand jury. I’ll ask for a continuance to work up my case until the heat blows over and the nominations are all made, and you can change your plea to guilty of contributing, and we can hear it before a judge and pass up the jury trial. It’s all very simple. All you have to do is cooperate. We handle San Francisco from here, tell em you pleaded guilty to kidnaping, they might as well bury their charges, and then when nobody’s looking, switch to contributing.”
“Why is he doing this for me?” Jack asked.
The lawyer looked surprised. “Forbes? Stanley Forbes? Hell, why do you think?”
“It beats me,” Jack said.
“You’re innocent, aren’t you?” Costigan raised his eyebrows. “Isn’t that reason enough?”
“I guess so.”
“Then you’ll cooperate?”
“Shit, why not?”
Costigan smiled quickly. “That’s thinking. Anything I can do for you? You’ll probably draw a year upstairs. You might even get out to the farm, but you’ll be out of circulation for a year, anyway. Anybody you want me to call?”
“No.”
“Okay.” The lawyer smiled. “I know it’s rough in there. Just bear up. I was in jail myself once; got caught down in Carmel with a bunch of beer in the car. Had to stay in jail all goddam night. I know how it is.”
They shook hands formally, and later in the day, at the afternoon session of municipal court, met again; Jack pleaded guilty to the charge and was held for superior court, just as Costigan had said. The judge did not even have to appoint Costigan as his attorney, because when Jack’s name was called, Costigan stepped forward and said he was acting as the accused’s counsel. It simplified matters. Everyone, Jack thought, was doing his utmost to simplify matters, to make the administration of justice run smoothly. Even he was. He could have balked, he could have been stubborn and ethical, but it wouldn’t have done anything except run him right into the gas chamber. And if he had really been guilty, it would