“Mr. Ehrengraf,” the young man said. “Gee, I didn’t know if you would show up. I figured you’d wash your hands of me.”
“Why should I do that, sir?”
“Because they say I killed Robin. But I swear I didn’t do it!”
“Of course you didn’t.”
“I could have killed Jan, for all I knew. Because I was unconscious at the time, or in a blackout, or whatever it was. So I didn’t know what happened. But I was away from the apartment when Robin was killed, and I was awake. I hadn’t even been drinking much.”
“We’ll simply prove where you were.”
Telliford shook his head. “What we can’t prove is that Robin was alive when I left the apartment. I know she was, but how are we going to prove it?”
“We’ll find a way,” Ehrengraf said soothingly. “We know you’re innocent, don’t we?”
“Right.”
“Then there is nothing to worry about. Someone else must have gone to your house, taking that fire axe along for the express purpose of framing you for murder. Someone jealous of your success, perhaps. Someone who begrudged you your happiness.”
“But who?”
“Leave that to me, sir. It’s my job.”
“Your job,” Telliford said. “Well, this time you’ll get well paid for your job, Mr. Ehrengraf. And your system is perfect for my case, let me tell you.”
“How do you mean?”
“If I’m found innocent, I’ll inherit all the money Robin inherited from her father. She made me her beneficiary. So I’ll be able to pay you whatever you ask, eighty thousand dollars or even more.”
“Eighty thousand will be satisfactory.”
“And I’ll pay it with pleasure. But if I’m found guilty, well, I won’t get a dime.”
“Because one cannot legally profit from a crime.”
“Right. So if you’ll take the case on your usual terms—”
“I work on no other terms,” Ehrengraf said. “And I would trust no one else with your case.” He took a deep breath and held it in his lungs for a moment before continuing. “Mr. Telliford,” he said, “your case is going to be a difficult one. You must appreciate that.”
“I do.”
“Of course I’ll do everything in my power on your behalf, acting always in your best interest. But you must recognize that the possibility exists that you will be convicted.”
“And for a crime I didn’t commit.”
“Such miscarriages of justice do occasionally come to pass. It’s tragic, I agree, but don’t despair. Even if you’re convicted, the appeal process is an exhaustive one. We can appeal your case again and again. You may have to serve some time in prison, Mr. Telliford, but there’s always hope. And you know what Lovelace had to say on the subject.”
“Lovelace?”
“Richard Lovelace. Born 1618, died 1657. ‘To Althea, from Prison,’ Mr. Telliford.
Telliford shuddered. “ ‘Stone walls and iron bars,’ ” he said.
“Have faith, sir.”
“I’ll try.”
“At least you have your poetry. Are you sufficiently supplied with paper and pencil? I’ll make sure your needs are seen to.”
“Maybe it would help me to write some poetry. Maybe it would take my mind off things.”
“Perhaps it would. And I’ll devote myself wholeheartedly to your defense, sir, whether I ever see a penny for my troubles or not.” He drew himself up to his full height. “After all,” he said, “it’s my obligation. ‘I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not Honour more.’ That’s also Lovelace, Mr. Tellford. ‘To Lucasta, Going to the Wars.’ Good day, Mr. Telliford. You have nothing to worry about.”
The Ehrengraf Alternative
“What’s most unfortunate,” Ehrengraf said, “is that there seems to be a witness.”
Evelyn Throop nodded in fervent agreement. “Mrs. Keppner,” she said.
“Howard Bierstadt’s housekeeper.”
“She was devoted to him. She’d been with him for years.”
“And she claims she saw you shoot him three times in the chest.”
“I know,” Evelyn Throop said. “I can’t imagine why she would say something like that. It’s completely untrue.”
A thin smile turned up the corners of Martin Ehrengraf’s mouth. Already he felt himself warming to his client, exhilarated by the prospect of acting in her defense. It was the little lawyer’s great good fortune always to find himself representing innocent clients, but few of those clients were as single-minded as Miss Throop in proclaiming their innocence.
The woman sat on the edge of her iron cot with her shapely legs crossed at the ankle. She seemed so utterly in possession of herself that she might have been almost anywhere but in a jail cell, charged with the murder of her lover. Her age, according to the papers, was forty-six. Ehrengraf would have guessed her to be perhaps a dozen years younger. She was not rich — Ehrengraf, like most lawyers, did have a special fondness for wealthy clients — but she had excellent breeding. It was evident not only in her exquisite facial bones but in her positively ducal self-assurance.
“I’m sure we’ll uncover the explanation of Mrs. Keppner’s calumny,” he said gently. “For now, why don’t we go over what actually happened.”
“Certainly. I was at my home that evening when Howard called. He was in a mood and wanted to see me. I drove over to his house. He made drinks for both of us and paced around a great deal. He was extremely agitated.”
“Over what?”
“Leona wanted him to marry her. Leona Weybright.”
“The cookbook writer?”
“Yes. Howard was not the sort of man to get married, or even to limit himself to a single relationship. He believed in a double standard and was quite open about it. He expected his women to be faithful while reserving the option of infidelity to himself. If one was going to be involved with Howard Bierstadt, one had to accept this.”
“As you accepted it.”
“As I accepted it,” Evelyn Throop agreed. “Leona evidently pretended to accept it but could not, and Howard didn’t know what to do about her. He wanted to break up with her but was afraid of the possible consequences. He thought she might turn suicidal and he didn’t want her death on his conscience.”
“And he discussed all of this with you.”
“Oh, yes. He often confided in me about his relationship with Leona.” Evelyn Throop permitted herself a smile. “I played a very important role in his life, Mr. Ehrengraf. I suppose he would have married me if there’d been any reason to do so. I was his true confidante. Leona was just one of a long string of mistresses.”
Ehrengraf nodded. “According to the prosecution,” he said carefully, “you were pressuring him to marry you.”
“That’s quite untrue.”
“No doubt.” He smiled. “Continue.”
The woman sighed. “There’s not much more to say. He went into the other room to freshen our drinks. There was the report of a gunshot.”
“I believe there were three shots.”
“Perhaps there were. I can only remember the volume of the noise. It was so startling. I rushed in immediately and saw him on the floor, the gun by his outstretched hand. I guess I bent over and picked up the gun. I don’t remember doing so, but I must have done because the next thing I knew I was standing there holding the gun.” Evelyn Throop closed her eyes, evidently overwhelmed by the memory. “Then Mrs. Keppner was there — I believe she screamed, and then she went off to call the police. I just stood there for a while and then I guess I sat down in a chair and waited for the police to come and tell me what to do.”