Kane and Abel/Sons of Fortune Read online

  “All rise, Mr. Justice Deakins presiding.”

  The procedure Jimmy had described took place exactly as he predicted, and they were back out on the street five minutes later, facing the same journalists repeating the same questions and still failing to get any answers.

  As they pushed their way through the crowd to their waiting car, Nat was once again surprised by how many people still wanted to shake him by the hand. Tom slowed them down, aware that this would be the footage seen by the voters on the midday news. Nat spoke to every well-wisher, but wasn’t quite sure how to reply to an onlooker who said, “I’m glad you killed the bastard.”

  “Do you want to head straight home?” asked Tom as his car slowly nosed its way through the melee.

  “No,” said Nat, “let’s go across to the bank and talk things through in the boardroom.”

  The only stop they made on the way was to pick up the first edition of the Courant after hearing a newsboy’s cry of “Cartwright charged with murder.” All Tom seemed to be interested in was a poll on the second page showing that Nat now led Elliot by over twenty points. “And,” said Tom, “in a separate poll, seventy-two percent say you shouldn’t withdraw from the race.” Tom read on, suddenly looked up but said nothing.

  “What is it?” asked Su Ling.

  “Seven percent say they would happily have killed Elliot, if only you’d asked them.”

  When they reached the bank, there was another hustle of journalists and cameramen awaiting them; again they were met with the same stony silence. Tom’s secretary joined them in the corridor and reported that early polling was at a record high as Republicans obviously wished to make their views known.

  Once they were settled in the boardroom, Nat opened the discussion by saying. “The party will expect me to withdraw, whatever the result, and I feel that might still be my best course of action given the circumstances.”

  “Why not let the voters decide?” said Su Ling quietly, “and if they give you overwhelming support, stay in there fighting, because that will also help convince a jury that you’re innocent.”

  “I agree,” said Tom. “And what’s the alternative—Barbara Hunter? Let’s at least spare the electorate that.”

  “And how do you feel, Jimmy? After all, you’re my legal advisor.”

  “On this subject I can’t offer an impartial view,” Jimmy admitted. “As you well know, the Democratic candidate is my closest friend, but were I advising him in the same circumstances, and I knew he was innocent, I would say stick in there and fight the bastards.”

  “Well, I suppose it’s just possible that the public will elect a dead man; then heaven knows what will happen.”

  “His name will remain on the ballot,” said Tom, “and if he goes on to win the election, the party can invite anyone they choose to represent him.”

  “Are you serious?” said Nat.

  “Couldn’t be more serious. Quite often they select the candidate’s wife, and my bet is that Rebecca Elliot would happily take his place.”

  “And if you’re convicted,” said Jimmy, “she could sure count on the sympathy vote just before an election.”

  “More important,” said Nat, “have you come up with a defense counsel to represent me?”

  “Four,” responded Jimmy, removing a thick file from his briefcase. He turned the cover. “Two from New York, both recommended by Logan Fitzgerald, one from Chicago who worked on Watergate, and the fourth from Dallas. He’s only lost one case in the last ten years, and that was when his client had committed the murder on video. I intend to call all four later today to find out if any of them is free. This is going to be such a high-profile case, my bet is that they will all make themselves available.”

  “Isn’t there anyone from Connecticut worthy of the shortlist?” asked Tom. “It would send out a far better message to the jury.”

  “I agree,” said Jimmy, “but the only man who is of the same caliber as those four simply isn’t available.”

  “And who’s that?” asked Nat.

  “The Democratic candidate for governor.”

  Nat smiled for the first time. “Then he’s my first choice.”

  “But he’s in the middle of an election campaign.”

  “Just in case you haven’t noticed, so is the accused,” said Nat, “and let’s face it, the election isn’t for another nine months. If I turn out to be his opponent, at least he’ll know where I am the whole time.”

  “But …” repeated Jimmy.

  “You tell Mr. Fletcher Davenport that if I become the Republican candidate; he’s my first choice, and don’t approach anyone else until he’s turned me down, because if everything I’ve heard about that man is true, I feel confident he’ll want to represent me.”

  “If those are your instructions, Mr. Cartwright.”

  “Those are my instructions, counselor.”

  By the time the polls had closed at eight P.M. Nat had fallen asleep in the car as Tom drove him home. His chief of staff made no attempt to disturb him. The next thing Nat remembered was waking to find Su Ling lying on the bed beside him, and his first thoughts were of Luke. Su Ling stared at him and gripped his hand. “No,” she whispered.

  “What do you mean, no?” asked Nat.

  “I can see it in your eyes, my darling, you wonder if I would prefer you to withdraw, so that we can mourn Luke properly, and the answer is no.”

  “But we’ll have the funeral, and then the preparations for the trial, not to mention the trial itself.”

  “Not to mention the endless hours in between, when you’ll be brooding and unbearable to live with, so the answer is still no.”

  “But it’s going to be almost impossible to expect a jury not to accept the word of a grieving widow who also claims to have been an eyewitness to her husband’s murder.”

  “Of course she was an eyewitness,” said Su Ling. “She did it.”

  The phone on Su Ling’s bedside table began to ring. She picked it up and listened attentively before writing two figures down on the pad by the phone. “Thank you,” she said. “I’ll let him know.”

  “Let him know what?” inquired Nat.

  Su Ling tore the piece of paper off the pad and passed it across to her husband. “It was Tom. He wanted you to know the election result.” Su Ling handed over the piece of paper. All she had written on it were the figures “69/31.”

  “Yes, but who got sixty-nine percent?” asked Nat.

  “The next governor of Connecticut,” she replied.

  Luke’s funeral was, at the principal’s request, held in Taft School’s chapel. He explained that so many pupils had wanted to be present. It was only after his death that Nat and Su Ling became aware just how popular their son had been. The service was simple, and the choir of which he was so proud to be a member sang William Blake’s “Jerusalem” and Cole Porter’s “Ain’t Misbehavin’.” Kathy read one of the lessons, and dear old Thomo another, while the principal delivered the address.

  Mr. Henderson spoke of a shy, unassuming youth, liked and admired by all. He reminded those present of Luke’s remarkable performance as Romeo, and how he had learned only that morning that Luke had been offered a place at Princeton.

  The coffin was borne out of the chapel by boys and girls from the ninth grade who had performed with him in the school play. Nat learned so much about Luke that day that he felt guilty he hadn’t known what an impact his son had made on his contemporaries.

  At the end of the service, Nat and Su Ling attended the tea party given in the principal’s house for Luke’s closest friends. It was packed to overflowing, but then as Mr. Henderson explained to Su Ling, everyone thought they were a close friend of Luke’s. “What a gift,” he remarked simply.

  The headboy presented Su Ling with a book of photographs and short essays composed by his fellow pupils. Later, whenever Nat felt low, he would turn a page, read an entry and glance at a photograph, but there was one he kept returning to again and again: Luke was the only