Losing Faith Part 9

I didn't do it. You have to believe me.

Aaron wouldn't believe a client who told him the same story, and so he fully expects Rosenthal's incredulity. But instead he sees in his mentor's eyes that Rosenthal will not abandon him. And that is oddly even more comforting than being believed.

NICOLAI GARKOV LOOKS LIKE a man who has just won the lottery. Even he must know how unseemly it is to gloat over another person's violent death, and yet here he is, grinning ear-to-ear before Aaron can even say h.e.l.lo.

Under other circ.u.mstances, Aaron would have brought Rachel to this meeting. But the last thing he wants is a witness to this discussion.

They are meeting in the same room on the third floor of the MCC where Garkov told Aaron not two days before that he would kill Faith Nichols-and maybe Aaron too-if she did not release him from this place. As he did then, Garkov is wearing the ill-fitting orange jumpsuit, and the guards who brought him in have left him constrained around the ankles but unlocked his handcuffs. Seemingly the only difference in today's scene is the look of pure joy on Garkov's face.

"I take it you've heard," Aaron says.

"Yes. Good news travels fast," Garkov says.

Aaron's only response is an icy glare. "You do realize that you're going to be the prime suspect in her murder?" he says.

"At first," Garkov says with an unconcerned air. "But"-he looks around the room-"I do have a fairly strong alibi, don't you think? Now, let's talk about something that matters, like when I can get out of here."

"It's not that simple-although I know you know that," Aaron says. "Everything is on hold until a new judge is appointed, and that's not going to happen until after the funeral. Then I'll make the bail application again. Be prepared for the fact that the new judge might well keep you here."

"Well, what's a few days in the grand scheme of things?" Garkov says. "And I suspect it is going to be that simple. I have every confidence that my next judge will see the wisdom behind house arrest, which apparently fell outside of Judge Nichols's understanding."

Aaron suspects that Garkov is correct. The next judge, being only human, will have severe concerns about ruling against Nicolai Garkov. Of course, Garkov could pull someone who is worthy of standing up to that challenge, but even if bail isn't reinstated, there is little doubt that whoever presides over Garkov's eventual trial will be more likely to acquit than Faith.

He also knows that another lawyer will be making that application. Now that he no longer has sway over the trial judge, Aaron Littman is superfluous to Nicolai Garkov's defense.

MOST MARRIAGES HAVE THEIR demarcations. Like the equator, these are imaginary lines that take on navigational importance. Some you know going in-the wedding, the day your children are born-the things that forever change the way the world was before.

The night you tell your wife that you've been unfaithful and that your lover has been murdered-oh, and that you were the last person to see her alive-is certainly one of them.

Aaron wrestled all day with whether he should venture so far out on a limb with Cynthia. In addition to all the usual considerations that counsel against confessing infidelity to a spouse, he'd be creating evidence that could be used against him later by law enforcement. Spousal privilege would prevent Cynthia from testifying about the things he would share, but that didn't mean she couldn't still hurt him in other ways, like leading the police to admissible evidence that they might never have otherwise found.

But he pushed away such fears because he trusts Cynthia. He wants her to know that he might end up being a suspect in Faith's murder, so she'll know not to unwittingly say anything that might incriminate him.

At least, he thought it was a good strategy.

When he arrives at home, Cynthia is in the kitchen. Their housekeeper, Eunice, normally prepares dinner for the girls, and Aaron is usually wining and dining clients. But sometimes Cynthia likes to prepare dinner herself. She finds it relaxing, she says.

She's wearing the yoga pants she favors as her at-home attire, and the blue hoodie Aaron bought her as a gift from the Ugg store near his office.

Cynthia is one of those women who looks her best without makeup, with her hair tousled and . . . wearing yoga pants and a blue hoodie. Aaron can't help but consider the cruel irony that as he prepares to confess how unworthy he is of her love, she has never looked more beautiful to him.

"I didn't hear you come in," Cynthia says when she first sees Aaron in front of her in the kitchen. Cynthia's pique from yesterday over the Garkov case has apparently been put aside. She seems sincerely happy that he's here.

Aaron is trying to come up with some way to begin when Cynthia says, "I heard on the news about your judge. How terrible. Do they know who did it?"

"No. Not yet . . . Actually, I have no idea what they know. But . . . look, I have something to tell you and it's important."

Cynthia turns away from the stirring she's engaged in at the stove. "Okay . . . ," she says hesitantly.

He motions for her to sit down in their breakfast room. When she does, he takes a seat beside her. He wants to take her hand but knows that would be a mistake.

Despite Aaron's grave setup, Cynthia looks impa.s.sive. Aaron wants to turn back, but it's too late for that. All he can do now to limit the pain is come out with it quickly.

"I had an affair with the judge, Faith Nichols," he says. "It's been over since the Matthews trial ended, but that's why Nicolai Garkov hired me. He wanted me to blackmail her to get an acquittal. And I saw her last night, to try to tell her . . ."

Aaron can now see the fear in his wife's eyes, and although he had more he was going to say, he puts everything else aside and blurts out, "I didn't kill her, Cynthia. I would never do such a thing."

I didn't do it. You have to believe me.

Cynthia's face constricts, as if she's just been struck. He can tell that she's fighting back tears even as she processes how her life just went straight to h.e.l.l.

Aaron's silent now, bracing himself for the barrage of questions he's sure is to follow: How many times? Was it ever in our bed? Did you wear a condom? What do you mean you saw her right before she was murdered?

But instead Cynthia asks something else. "Why . . . why are you telling me this now?"

"I . . . don't know if I should even be telling you at all, to be honest."

"You're being honest?!" Cynthia shouts at him. "An honest man doesn't f.u.c.k around!"

Aaron takes a deep breath. "You asked me why I was telling you now, and I was trying to answer."

Cynthia shakes her head violently. "Okay, sure. Go right ahead."

"I thought about telling you earlier, but I just thought that would hurt you for no reason. It was over, and the only rationale I could see for telling you was to make myself feel better . . . and that didn't seem to be good enough a reason. I-I'm so sorry, Cynthia."

"Stop it! Stop it! Stop it! I don't want to hear that you're sorry, Aaron. Sorry for what even? For having an affair or for telling me that you're going to be arrested for killing her?"

Neither of them says anything for a good ten seconds before Cynthia puts him out of his misery. "I can't even look at you anymore, Aaron. Just get the h.e.l.l out of my sight. Go to a hotel or something, and give me some time alone."

PART TWO.

19.

Judge Nichols's murder is covered by the New York tabloids with the hyperbole for which they are famous. The Post plastered its front page with JUDGE MURDERED! while the Daily News went with JUSTICE DEAD. Under both headlines was Faith's photograph, the official shot from the court's website.

The New York Times's coverage was more muted, but the story still merited two columns on the front page before jumping to the obituary section. Though long on biographical details (reared in Greenwich, Connecticut, attended Miss Porter's School before Smith College, then Yale Law School), the paper provided few details about the circ.u.mstances of Faith's murder besides the fact that she was bludgeoned to death in Central Park, with an anonymous source claiming the murder weapon was a tree branch. The article mentioned she was currently presiding over the Nicolai Garkov case and that she'd revoked his bail only the day before her murder, then left it to the reader to connect the dots.

In a sidebar story, the Times reported that Judge Nichols was only the fifth federal judge murdered since the Civil War. The deaths of two of the judges-John H. Wood of San Antonio and Richard J. Daronco of New York-were confirmed to have been in connection with their official capacity. Judge Wood was known as "Maximum John" for his tough sentences for drug traffickers and was shot in the back while leaving his home in May 1979. Charles Harrelson, the father of actor Woody Harrelson, was ultimately convicted and received two life sentences for the contract killing. A few years later, Judge Daronco was murdered by the father of a losing litigant. In 1989, Judge Robert Smith Vance of Atlanta was killed by a mail bomb, and while many speculated it was due to his refusal to overturn a conviction, that connection was never proven. The last federal judge murdered before Judge Nichols was John Roll of Arizona, who had the misfortune of being in the crowd on January 8, 2011, when a gunman opened fire, badly injuring U.S. congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords, as well as killing six others and wounding another twelve.

Faith's funeral is held the Monday morning after her death. It is a family-only event, the location itself a closely guarded secret.

The following day is the public display, a memorial service at Saint Patrick's Cathedral. As much as Aaron would rather not go, his absence would be conspicuous, and so he has no choice but to join close to one thousand of his fellow members of the bar to pay his final respects.

Despite the grim circ.u.mstances, the event has the feel of a bar a.s.sociation meeting. Nearly every member of the judiciary from the Southern District of New York and the Second Circuit Court of Appeals attends, and the city's most prominent lawyers jockey for their attention. There was some buzz that the governor, and maybe even the vice president, would be on hand, but according to the program that's given to Aaron when he enters the church, Edward Kheel, New York's senior senator, and Faith's benefactor for the Supreme Court, is the highest-ranking government official in attendance.

Even in the best of circ.u.mstances, Aaron's not a fan of any gathering of his fellow members of the bar, which is often little more than a mix of egotistical rantings and groveling for business, sometimes coming from the same person. Today's chitchat is even more labored than usual. In the ten minutes since he's arrived at Saint Pat's, Aaron has had two conversations in which the factoid about Woody Harrelson cited in the Times was referenced, and in both cases the lawyer who shared the information acted as if this were highly confidential information.

Aaron's now cornered by Steven Schwartzfarb, a short, pudgy bald man who works at a small white-collar boutique law firm. He chats Aaron up whenever he can in the hope that Cromwell Altman will throw some conflict work his way, which Aaron has never done and never will.

"I hear your man Garkov has a target on his back on this one," Schwartzfarb says.

Aaron offers a polite smile. He's not going to discuss with Schwartzfarb of all people the possibility that Nicolai Garkov killed Judge Nichols, that's for sure.

"I'll tell you one thing, this is definitely going to slow up the other prosecutions," Schwartzfarb continues. "All of the U.S. Attorney's Office resources are now going to be put toward finding who killed her. It'll be like 9/11 all over again. Remember? They stopped prosecuting securities fraud and focused entirely on ant.i.terrorism. We had to let two a.s.sociates go back then because there just wasn't enough work anymore." Schwartzfarb shakes his head mournfully, as if the two fired a.s.sociates are casualties of the attack as much as the nearly three thousand souls who were in the two towers that day. "I guess the silver lining is that Garkov is going to end up being a full-employment act for lawyers, right? They're going to want to talk to everyone he ever spoke with. You got those guys lawyered up yet? Because, you know, I won't have any conflicts and so if I can help in any way . . ."

Aaron has tuned out even before Schwartzfarb's ham-fisted request for work. Someone is approaching the podium.

"It looks like the service is about to begin," Aaron says. "I'm going to grab my seat. Good to see you again."

Sam Rosenthal is sitting two-thirds of the way back from the stage on the aisle. He moves over a seat when Aaron joins him.

"How you holding up?" Rosenthal asks.

Rosenthal and Aaron haven't discussed Faith's murder since that first time in the office. Rosenthal hasn't even mentioned Nicolai Garkov, for that matter. Aaron is grateful for the respite, knowing it is likely the calm before the storm.

Aaron looks about for a moment. He wants to be absolutely sure no one is eavesdropping.

"I've been better," he says.

"I just finished chatting with your old buddy Fitz," Rosenthal says.

"And how is the good United States attorney?"

"Wanting to be mayor."

"Yeah, right. President is more like it."

"The good news is that he's focused on Garkov."

Aaron nods that this is indeed good news. There's no need for him to say what they're both undoubtedly thinking: that's subject to change if they ever find out that Aaron was sleeping with Faith, not to mention that he was with her right before she was murdered.

"Get this," Rosenthal continues, "Fitz actually suggested that he might try the case himself."

Aaron smiles at the thought of it. "I don't think he's even seen the inside of a courtroom in the last decade."

Rosenthal laughs with him, but this moment of levity is interrupted when New York's highest-ranking Catholic, Patrick Cardinal McKeowen, approaches the podium. He's dressed in the traditional ceremonial garb, pointy hat and all. McKeowen welcomes the crowd and then segues seamlessly into an invocation of G.o.d's awesome plan, which forever remains a mystery to those who are subject to it.

After the cardinal reads a few benedictions, George Vanderlyn, the head of Faith's old law firm, Windsor Taft, says that he knew Faith was destined for greatness from the first time he laid eyes on her, which makes Aaron recall that Faith referred to Vanderlyn as Vanderleer because of the way he always stared at her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

Judge Francis Petrocelli follows Vanderlyn to the podium. He tells the crowd that the entire judiciary has suffered a great loss, and then Senator Kheel tries to wax poetic, but it comes out sounding too much like a campaign speech.

The final speaker is Faith's husband, Stuart Christensen.

When you're sleeping with another man's wife, you learn quite a bit about the cuckold as well. And so even though they've never met, Aaron feels as if he knows Stuart intimately. According to Faith, Stuart is smart, but not nearly as much as he thinks he is; he never wanted children, which Faith knew going in but hadn't realized that it was actually a manifestation of his narcissism, which, to her mind, made it less acceptable than had it been a life choice; and he was not very good in bed, which Faith also knew going in, but she changed her mind about its importance somewhere around the two-year mark.

Nothing in the eulogy causes Aaron to doubt Faith's a.s.sessment. Stuart seems a touch too happy to be there, and he goes on ten minutes too long, which reminds Aaron of a comment Faith once made-that her husband took too long to do everything except the one thing where she wanted him to last.

When the service ends, as the others start a new round of glad-handing, Aaron tells Rosenthal that he's going to head back to the firm.

"Let's work the room a little bit," Rosenthal says. "We don't have to stay long, but you should say h.e.l.lo to some people."

Rosenthal is already thinking about a defense, in the event one is needed. He'd like the people in this room to tell the FBI that Aaron was no more upset about Faith's death than any other lawyer who attended the memorial service.

The truth interferes with that strategy, however. Aaron simply cannot stay another moment in this room. He feels claustrophobic and fraudulent, pretending to be a professional acquaintance of a woman he knew far greater than that.

"I just can't, Sam. I'm sorry, but I've got to go."

Rosenthal's nod releases him, and Aaron heads for the exit as fast as he can. He makes it only as far as the church steps, however. While his eyes are still adjusting to the bright sunlight, he hears his name.

He stops and turns to see Clint Broden jogging to catch up to him. "Just the man I wanted to see," Broden says when he finally catches up.

A few years back, the American Lawyer ran a profile of Aaron and Broden under the headline of THE t.i.tANS, referring to them as the two best white-collar criminal defense lawyers in the country. It had the compare-and-contrast you'd see in a high school English term paper, with everything from their family upbringings (Aaron being Jewish, Broden a Roman Catholic) to their pedigrees (Harvard College/Yale Law for Aaron, Saint John's/Fordham Law for Broden) to their physical differences (Aaron at six foot two, Broden at five foot six) becoming a comment on how they approached their cases differently.

"Hey there. What can I do for you, Clint?"

"I met with Nicolai Garkov yesterday," Broden says. "He wants to make a switch."

Aaron's initial thought is that Garkov must have something on Broden. But Faith's successor as the trial judge hasn't been selected yet, so maybe Broden was picked on the merits.

"Did he offer you a hundred grand for the initial consult, Clint?"

Broden's grin reveals he understands the reference. "Look, Aaron, we're going to need to talk seriously about what's going on here, but this obviously isn't the time or place for that discussion."

That's fine by Aaron, who'd like nothing more than to extricate himself from this encounter. "Well, you know where to find me," Aaron says, and immediately starts his way down the stairs.

He's only taken a single step, however, when Broden says, "I almost forgot. Nicolai asked me to convey to you that he's very sorry."

Aaron turns a quarter so he's looking Broden in the eye, despite being a step below him. "I've been fired before, Clint. And, as Nicolai knows, I wasn't very enthusiastic about taking the case in the first place."

"I apologize," Broden says, not sounding at all contrite. "That was poorly phrased. I meant to say that he extends his sincere condolences for your loss."

20.