Murder at Ford's Theatre - Margaret Truman [124]
“You should enroll in law school, detective,” LeCour said. “And I think you watched too much of the O. J. trial.” He stood to indicate the meeting was over.
Klayman was tempted to say he hadn’t watched any of that infamous murder trial, but didn’t bother. Good soldiers, good cops, didn’t argue with superiors. He’d said his piece, and it was time to go. The afternoon would be spent again trying to find witnesses to the drug shooting that had occurred in Southeast, no easy task. Anyone who was in a position to have seen the killing go down was adopting the all too familiar see-and-hear-no-evil posture. You couldn’t blame them. Word got around fast when someone from the neighborhood snitched on a friendly drug dealer. Still, sometimes you got lucky. You had to try.
SMITH SAT WITH JEREMIAH LERNER in a room reserved for attorney-client conferences. The young man was subdued, although not without an occasional demonstration of testiness. He asked almost immediately why he was still in jail. “I was bailed out, man.”
“That’s right,” Smith said, determined to not allow his client’s volatility to deter his own professional demeanor. “But I’ve applied to the court on your mother’s behalf to have her take responsibility for you while you’re out on bail. The judge wants your father to sign off on that. We’re trying to reach him. He’s on a trip to Mexico City.”
“He won’t care,” Jeremiah said glumly.
Mac didn’t offer his agreement. Instead, he said, “You’ll be out of here as soon as that hurdle has been cleared. Now, let’s get down to business. There are things I must know from you in order to mount a proper defense. Let’s start with why you lied about knowing the victim.”
Jeremiah repeated that he was afraid such an admission would lead the police to suspect him. Smith made notes as Jeremiah talked, not offering his own comments about how that lie had dug a deeper hole for him. After a series of other questions, he got to the shoe issue.
“The imprint of your shoe was found in the alley, Jeremiah. There’s a possibility that we can defuse that through expert testimony. But my question to you is, why was it found there in the first place? Remember, what we say to each other here today is protected by attorney-client privilege. It doesn’t ever go beyond us.”
“I was there, man.”
Jeremiah’s blunt statement caught Smith by surprise. He removed his half-glasses and sat back. “You were in the alley that night?”
Jeremiah nodded.
“With Nadia?”
“Yeah.” He leaned into the table. “But I didn’t kill her, man. I swear it.”
“Why were you there?”
“I came to see her. I knew she was at the theatre that night and figured we could go out, get something to eat, you know, then—”
“Don’t assume I know anything, Jeremiah. What did you intend to do, get something to eat and go somewhere to make love?”
“Right. Correct.”
“So, what happened then?”
“So, she gave me a hard time. Man, she could be a bitch sometimes. She said she’d go with me if I had any loot.”
“She wanted money?”
“Right. I got really pissed off. I hit her once, nothing hard, like a slap.”
“What happened then?”
“She yelled at me and went into the theatre.”
“What did you do?”
“I split.”
“Where did you go?”
“Some bar. I don’t remember.”
“So you weren’t at your apartment as you said previously.”
“What difference does it make?”
“It can make all the difference in the world in a murder trial, Jeremiah. Was anyone else in the alley when your confrontation with Nadia took place? Anyone else see it?”
“No.”
“What about the man who identified you in the lineup?”
“Him” He guffawed. “Maybe he was the old geezer sleeping it off back there.”
“Then there was someone else.”
“Yeah, the old drunk. He was out like a light.”
“Maybe he wasn’t out as much as you think. Is that the last time you saw Nadia?”
“That’s right. And she was alive, man. I swear it on a Bible.”
The meeting lasted an hour. When he left, Smith got into his car and dialed Annabel’s gallery.
“Mac, I’m