Murder at Ford's Theatre - Margaret Truman [93]
There was silence, broken only by what sounded like sniffling.
“Ready?” they heard Smith say.
Smith came from the room to the foyer, followed by Jeremiah and his mother.
“He’ll cooperate,” Smith said. “He’s not running anymore.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
THE APPREHENSION OF JEREMIAH LERNER as the targeted suspect in the murder of Nadia Zarinski was, in fact, the lead story on every TV and radio newscast that evening. In a sense, it was refreshing news. Washingtonians, like the rest of the country, had been numbed by a daily dose of unpleasant war stories from the Middle East, tales of childish squabbling among members of Congress, and countless pundits carrying form-over-substance to new heights. The arrest of a U.S. senator’s son for murder was almost palliative.
Smith had to wait until the eleven o’clock news to see reports of the scene with which he’d been involved. He’d accompanied Jeremiah to First District headquarters, where Jeremiah was booked, and then to the central cellblock, where he was placed into a cell. He would remain there until a probable cause hearing could be scheduled, within ten days of his arrest if established procedure was honored. At that hearing, the U.S. Attorney’s office would present evidence it felt was sufficient to charge the defendant with murder. Whether the government would opt to indict directly, or take its case before a grand jury, was its call.
Mac had called Annabel from police headquarters to tell her he’d be late. He didn’t have to explain why. TV had told her all she needed to know.
He walked into the apartment a little before eleven. The strain of the day and evening was readable on his face. Annabel made him a drink while he changed from his suit into shorts, a T-shirt, and sandals, and they sat on the terrace.
“It’s bad, isn’t it?” she said.
“Yeah, it is,” he said. “Jeremiah made it a lot worse than it had to be by running. I don’t think they have that strong a case against him, but it doesn’t matter, does it? He’s been convicted by the press, and Senator Lerner and Clarise have been thoroughly trashed.”
“What is the evidence against him?”
“A couple of people who say he’d dated the girl, and his lying about it. And one of his shoes matches a print found at the scene. And, there are the accusations that he’d roughed up previous girlfriends. We’ll be able to keep that out—it’s more prejudicial than probative—and all the pretrial publicity raises some due process issues. But, yes, the damage has already been done.” His sigh was long and pained. He closed his eyes, slowly shook his head, opened his eyes, and smiled at his wife. “Just think, Annie, a few days ago I was a dumb and happy, low-profile professor turning out future Supreme Court justices, or at least well-trained ambulance chasers.”
“Want to give up?”
“Did you have to put it that way? No, I’m in this to the end. Yale will carry much of the burden, write the motions and pleadings, handle all the preliminary hearings. I think there’s been a classic rush to judgment here, Annie, by the police and the U.S. Attorney. Jeremiah hasn’t made it easy on himself. Cops love to nail unpleasant people, and juries tend to convict abrasive, arrogant defendants. Jeremiah Lerner fits all those categories, and more.”
“The political fallout has to be big,” she said.
“Big and nasty. As you know, Lerner has spoken of possibly running for president next time around. What his son might have done shouldn’t have any bearing on his qualifications, but it will, if only by extension.”
“What about Clarise and the NEA?”
“Same story. Those on the committee who are against her will use this messy family situation to indicate she’s—well, imply that