Final Argument: A Legal Thriller Part 44

Nickerson . ..

I asked, "Did Neil pay off Floyd Nickerson, Connie?" And I added, gently, "If you know."

Neil screamed, "Con! Shut up!"

A broken word rose to her lips, but she was unable to utter it. And it no longer mattered.

Chapter 33.

WE STAYED IN Jacksonville for a week after the hearing. Toba was in a form of shock. The revelations in Judge Fleming's courtroom, which the media took such pleasure in relating for the next several days, were like poison for her to absorb. I realized later that I knew what Bill Clinton felt like in the early part of his candidacy; I decided I'd never run for President.

I wanted to say to Toba, "Darling, it's been fourteen years. That's a lifetime ago." But, wisely, I didn't. For one thing, the word darling was definitely out of favor for a while. For another, infidelity of that sort doesn't have a statute of limitations.

Toba forgave me in time, because not to do so would have crippled our lives. She thought things over and decided she loved our marriage as it was: whole. It gave her security and freedom and love, and it had a history; what better combination is there?

She was silent and tearful for that week in Jacksonville and scowled at me for the next month in Sarasota, but then one Sunday I persuaded her to go with me out in the boat. On the bay I said, "Who's your best friend? Tell the truth."

"You are."

"So let's drop anchor and do what friends do."

She laughed at that, and the worst was over.

For us, but not for me. Day after day, when I was alone, I relived that moment in the courtroom when I had asked Connie the subject of the argument.

You.

That argument had led to Solly's death and the malignancy of Darryl's thirteen years on death row. Each time that realization flashed clear to me, my heart beat violently, my stomach throbbed with pain.

How much blame did I deserve? That evening when Connie had toppled into the pool, I had ended the love affair as cleanly as I knew how. I'd had no ulterior motive in going to the party; Connie had asked me with Toba, and in view of Solly's sudden interest in my career, it seemed fair to go. By recommending me to Royal, Kelly, he had been trying to get rid of me. I saw that clearly now.

I told him I loved you... . I told him all that had happened. I taunted him. I told him about c.u.mberland Island.

How could I have stopped her from doing that?

There's a price to pay for every act. In this case, the wrong man paid.

And now Connie and Neil would pay their small share. They were not arrested right there in court, but once the court reporter had delivered the transcript of the hearing to the state attorney's office, Muriel Suarez filed charges, and the wheels of public justice began to clunk slowly forward.

The charges that could stick were only second-degree murder and perjury. Neil hired lawyers from both Tallaha.s.see and Was.h.i.+ngton, and the feeling around the Duval County Courthouse was that he would eventually cut a deal for fifteen years pen time, of which he'd serve two or three, and Connie would walk out the door with a suspended sentence. After all, Neil contributed heavily to both political parties, he was on the cutting edge of land development (without which Florida couldn't survive these hard times), and he and Connie were white.

Neil's great fear, I heard, was that he might not survive prison. There were men at Raiford who identified easily with someone who had languished on death row for more than a dozen years, and had little to lose by meting out vengeance to a white man who had done that to a brother. So be it.

As for Connie, it was rumored that she would leave Florida, and even the United States, and I believed it instantly. She had earned that ravaged face; her agony and shame weren't feigned, and she couldn't look anyone in the eye who knew what she had done. I imagined her growing old in some Mediterranean hideway, sitting at a table on her terrace with a drink in her hand and a confusion in her eyes as if somehow life, which once had promised so much, had failed her, cheated her. Enough people would be fond of her but she would never be sure what they knew or really thought, and she would die not knowing.

So that left Darryl.

In court that memorable day, I made a motion for his immediate release. But even Horace Fleming, unusual jurist that he was, couldn't comply without flagrantly breaking the law. Leaning down into the clamor, he said, "Mr. Jaffe, get the transcript of this last bit from my court reporter, and make a formal motion in writing. You look a little on the ragged edge-it shouldn't take you more than all night. The Morgan man's got to sleep somewhere, so let him go back to the jail and bunk down one more time. It won't kill him, and we know some things that would've-ain't that right?"

He turned to Muriel Suarez. "You want to oppose that motion, State, go right ahead. I can tell you, it'll be a hard crop to grow."

"The state will not oppose, Your Honor," Muriel said in a barbed voice.

I sat down with Darryl for a while in the judge's chambers and explained the whole procedure and what his options were. He was still in handcuffs.

"You can probably sue the state and win," I explained, "but you'll grow a beard to your knees before it's over. On the other hand, you file suit against Neil Zide and Connie Zide, and my blind old dog, if I had one, could win that case."

Darryl laughed deep in his belly. "You a lawyer to the end, ain't you. You gonna do that suit for me?"

"No, my friend, I am not. But Gary Oliver will. He'll make you rich."

He mulled that over. "Then I send that boy to school. His sisters too, if they wants to go. If they's enough money."

I placed my hand on the meat of his shoulder. "Darryl, if Gary does it right, you can go over to the high school playground in the Blodgett Project, round up every kid in sight, and you can send them all to FSU and Grambling and Tuskegee Inst.i.tute and even Princeton, to keep Tahaun and the girls company."

The next morning, in Judge Fleming's court, Gary filed the motion for release, and the state attorney's office nolle-prossed it, dropping all prosecution.

At noon, Darryl was formally released from the county jail and the Florida state prison system. Gary, Tahaun, and I were waiting for him outside, in the mercy of the warm winter sunlight. His son approached Darryl with an outstretched hand. After thirteen years in a cage on death row, Darryl could fit his worldly possessions into a battered twelve-by-twelve cardboard carton, which he carried under his arm like a purse. His clothes, his two decks of worn playing cards, and his toothbrush were inside it. He sniffed the air as though it were honey.

My eyes misted, but I said, "You want to go somewhere for a beer?"

"Hey," Darryl rumbled at me in The Jury Room, where he slowly sipped a Heineken, "you remember that day you come see me at Raiford? Day I put these round your neck?" Setting the beer bottle down, he raised those huge hands. "Remember what I try to do to you?"

"Yes, I remember."

"Lucky for me you was such a tough little f.u.c.ker."

That was as close as he ever came to thanking me. And I understood: he knew I had saved his life, but he knew too that it wouldn't have needed saving if the world I lived in hadn't first put him in chains, degraded it and imperiled him.

Toba and I flew home to Sarasota.

A storm howled in from the Gulf that evening. During the night the rain overflowed ditches and gushed down the fairways of Longboat Key. The leaves of banana trees bowed under the lash of water. At dawn the rain stopped; the planet still spun, therefore the sun appeared to rise. I looked out the window where our garden seemed to have soared three inches during the night. A stray cat fell out of a palm tree and cried for food. Birds rushed about the beach, a little crazed. The flying fish in the bay began to surge.

With carnal intent I stroked the back of my slumbering wife. Later I scratched the stubble on my jaw. Should I let my beard grow? It might come out even grayer than my hair, but so what? Yes, I will. I will, therefore I can.

I called Kenny Buckram's office and asked him if he thought the public defender's office in Sarasota would have a place for me, and if so, would he put in a good word?

"Are you serious?"

"Of course."

"I meant are you serious that you think you need a good word from me?"

"Well, the Bar a.s.sociation is still after my a.s.s-last night I heard the hoofbeats of the posse-and Diaz over in Miami would like to string me up from a cottonwood tree."

"Don't worry about it, Ted."

That's what my mother said too. More important, Judge Ruth said it. I received copies of his letters: one to the Bar a.s.sociation, one to the state attorney in Tallaha.s.see. To the Bar a.s.sociation he wrote: "This court would look unfavorably on further hara.s.sment of Mr. Jaffe for any-the court repeats, any-actions of his in this jurisdiction." And to the state attorney, he said, in effect: "I personally will intervene with the governor if you don't get that little f.u.c.k Diaz off my buddy's back."

Within a month I was offered a job in the special defense division of the public defender's office. I would be based in Sarasota County but would travel all over the state. The salary was not quite a third of what Royal, Kelly guaranteed me.

"What do you think?" I asked Toba.

"I think it would be crazy," she said. "Cathy's talking about graduate school. Alan's out there in art school, and he may want to go on to college. What if we lose this lawsuit to the spider woman? We just can't afford it."

"We won't lose the lawsuit," I said firmly. "And I can't afford not to take the job. I want it. It will make me feel I'm a useful human being instead of a parasite."

She had seen that look in my eye before. But she didn't back off or sulk. She hugged me and said, "Do it, Ted. We'll work things out."

I took the job. Toba and I went to services at our local temple that Friday evening, and a line from the prayerbook struck me and stayed with me: There will we serve with awe as in the days of old.

(Please continue ...).

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And of course they help sales. Writers have to live and eat (just like real human beings).

Other good books by Clifford Irving are available. The t.i.tles follow, and they link to Kindle. Or you might want to visit the author's website at:.

cliffordirving.com.

TRIAL A Legal Thriller.

"The courtroom scenes are breathtaking . . . gripping suspense . . . riveting!" - Publishers Weekly FINAL ARGUMENT A Legal Thriller.

"A courtroom thriller, a mean streets thriller, a Florida cracker thriller, a gritty prison thriller, and an Everyman study of good and evil all rolled into one. And every part of it is terrific. What a wonderful piece of storytelling!"- Donald Westlake, The New York Times DADDY'S GIRL: A True Thriller of Texas Justice "Irving builds suspense with skill and makes the people come to life . . . a fine book." - Houston Chronicle Clifford Irving's PRISON JOURNAL (a/k/a JAILING) "A tale of intelligent triumph under remarkable stress. It has the ring of truth and is highly recommended." - Times of London TOM MIX AND PANCHO VILLA a Romance of Revolutionary Mexico and the 20th Century American West "Fabulous, big, rawboned wild-blooded adventure tale that gives the sights and sounds and smells of a turn-of-the-century world real enough to touch. Clifford Irving has written a novel to make any writer proud and many readers grateful." - Los Angeles Herald Examiner Clifford Irving's AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF HOWARD HUGHES.

"It's almost impossible to know where fact leaves off and fiction begins, if indeed that distinction should be made. This is a hypnotizing narrative, a brilliant study of money's power to corrupt absolutely." - Robert Kirsch, Los Angeles Times THE ANGEL OF ZIN A Holocaust Mystery.

"Exciting, dynamic, and marvelously written."- Publishers Weekly FAKE! the Life of the Master Art Faker of the 20th Century "The wild, true story of three men who raped the art world . . . one of the most sophisticated suspense sagas of our time . . . fantastic." - Chicago Tribune THE SPRING A Legal Thriller.

"An extraordinarily entertaining and thoughtful combination of Lost Horizons and Presumed Innocent. Not only is it a mystery--on at least two levels--but it poses troubling questions concerning prolonged life and its ultimate value."- Booklist STRANGER TO THE KINGDOM (formerly THE VALLEY) a mythic novel of the Old West "A superb novel that grips the reader from start to thrilling finish. Its solidity is that of a Greek myth." - Times Literary Supplement PROJECT OCTAVIO the Rise and Fall of the Howard Hughes Autobiography Hoax "Brilliant." Newsday "A masterpiece." CBS Radio THE DEATH FREAK A CIA Thriller (an Eddie Mancuso and Vasily Borgneff novel) "A suavely persuasive, anti-Establishment thriller with the bitter aftertaste of Campari and vodka. A clever, cynical, and compelling novel." - Time Magazine THE SLEEPING SPY A CIA Thriller (an Eddie Mancuso and Vasily Borgneff novel) "A dazzling combination of high suspense and hijinks, and some most unusual killings." - Los Angeles Times THE 38TH FLOOR A Thriller of International Politics "Some smas.h.i.+ng skullduggery, with shadowings, chases, and a marvelous climax." - Sunday Telegraph THE LOSERS A New York Thriller "A serious book built out of thriller elements." - London Sunday Times CLASH BY NIGHT (formerly ON A DARKLING PLAIN) A first novel "A fine debut." - New York Times THE BATTLE OF JERUSALEM A Personal History of the Six-Day War, 1967 "Clifford [Irving] was there, he saw what happened, and he tells it the way it happened." Irwin Shaw BOY ON TRIAL A Legal Thriller.

not yet reviewed.

(continued ...).

Author's Bio:.

(at the request of some readers).

h.e.l.lo. I'm Clifford Irving, a man who's had an eventful time on the planet. I was once on the cover of Time Magazine, and Hollywood made a movie about part of my life. Richard Gere played me.

I traveled twice around the world before most people living in it today were born; I stood guard in an Israeli kibbutz, crewed on a 56' three-masted schooner that sailed the Atlantic from Mexico to France, smuggled whisky from Tangier to Spain, and one spring I lived on a houseboat on Dal Lake in Kashmir from where I rode horseback intoTibet.

Growing up in Manhattan, I studied painting at the High School of Music & Art. At Cornell University I chased beautiful but unconquerable Ivy League coeds, rowed on the crew, and dreamed of becoming a great writer. I sailed to Europe, settled on the decadent Mediterranean island of Ibiza, and wrote my first novel. I sent it to a literary agent in New York. G. P. Putnam's Sons published it.

Was it really as easy and as quick as that? Of course not. I was lucky. And determined.

I taught at UCLA graduate extension school, with Betsy Drake and Cary Grant among my pupils. I became a correspondent to the Middle East for NBC. And I kept writing books.

In 1970, I created a writing event which became the Howard Hughes Autobiography Hoax. Many believe that the threat of the book's publication, with its revelations of the Hughes-Nixon bribes, caused Nixon to approve the Watergate break-in.

My reward in 1972 for these accusations (and lunacy) was 16 months in three federal prisons.

Over time I wrote write 20 books that were published to varying degrees of success in the USA by Putnam, McGraw-Hill, and Simon & Schuster, as well as translated into many languages.

All of my books are on Nook and Kindle at affordable prices: $2.99 to $5.99. That's less expensive than a paperback and half the price of a movie. A good read is one of the amazing pleasures offered to us by civilization.

"Move over, Butch and Sundance, it's not that I love you both less, just that I've come to love Pancho and Tom more" said the New York Times Book Review about Tom Mix and Pancho Villa, which I believe is my best book. Trial, followed by Daddy's Girl, and Final Argument all legal thrillers are the top sellers.

My ma.n.u.scripts, notes, journals and correspondence are stored permanently at the Center for American History at the University of Texas (Austin), which acquired the archive in 2013.

(continued ...).

Further descriptions and reviews:.

TRIAL.

A Legal Thriller.

"Terrific! Don't begin this book at bedtime or you'll be up all night . . . Trial is like a birchbark canoe or a seven-layer cake. You can go crazy trying to figure out how it's made, and it's made by a master." - Caroline See, Los Angeles Times "Riveting legal edge-of-the-seater, has Texas and American justice systems by the tail." - Daily Telegraph (London) "Jet-propelled . . . colorful, down-and-dirty characters . . . most readers will want to read this at one sitting." - Library Journal A thrilling adventure into the real world of criminal law, a powerful novel that deals with murder, the morality of justice and the perils of love, Clifford Irving's book sets a new standard for courtroom fiction.

A Texas lawyer, Warren Blackburn, defends two accused murderers in two separate cases. One of his clients is a former beauty queen and brazen owner of a topless nightclub, who shot her multimillionaire doctor lover she claims in self-defense; the other is a homeless illegal alien accused of killing a man for his wallet.

Without warning, the two cases become one, and Warren's entire life and career are threatened.

William Safire in The New York Times called Trial "the novel of the year."