The Brass Verdict

Elliot’s story. There were no hard questions. Elliot was asked broadly about what he did and when. It ended with Kinder presenting a search warrant to Elliot that the investigator explained granted the Sheriff’s Department access to test his hands, arms and clothing for gunshot residue.
    Elliot smiled slightly as he replied.
    “Have at it, gentlemen,” he said. “Do what you have to do.”
    Golantz checked the clock on the back wall of the courtroom and then used a remote to freeze the image of Elliot’s half smile on the video screen. That was the image he wanted the jurors to take with them. He wanted them to think about that catch-me-if-you-can smile as they drove home in five o’clock traffic.
    “Your Honor,” he said. “I think now would be a good time to break for the day. I will be moving with Deputy Kinder in a new direction after this and maybe we should start that tomorrow morning.”
    The judge agreed, adjourning court for the day after once more admonishing the jurors to avoid all media reports on the trial.
    I stood at the defense table and watched the jurors file into the deliberation room. I was pretty sure that the prosecution had won the first day, but that was to be expected. We still had our shots coming. I looked over at my client.
    “Walter, what do you have going tonight?” I asked.
    “A small dinner party with friends. They’ve invited Dominick Dunne. Then I am going to watch the first cut of a film my studio is producing with Johnny Depp playing a detective.”
    “Well, call your friends and call Johnny and cancel it all. You’re having dinner with me. We’re going to work.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    “Yes, you do. You’ve been ducking me since the trial began. That was okay because I didn’t want to know what I didn’t need to know. Now it’s different. We’re in trial, we’re past discovery, and I need to know. Everything, Walter. So, we’re going to talk tonight, or you’re going to have to hire another lawyer in the morning.”
    I saw his face grow tight with checked anger. In that moment, I knew he could be a killer, or at least someone who could order it done.
    “You wouldn’t dare,” he said.
    “Try me.”
    We stared at each other for a moment and I saw something about his face relax.
    “Make your calls,” I finally said. “We’ll take my car.”

Forty-one
    Since I had insisted on the meeting, Elliot insisted on the place. With a thirty-second phone call he got us a private booth at the Water Grill over by the Biltmore and had a martini waiting on the table for him when we got there. As we sat down, I asked for a bottle of flat water and some sliced lemons.
    I sat across from my client and watched him study the fresh fish menu. For the longest time I had wanted to be in the dark about Walter Elliot. Usually the less you know about your client, the better able you are to provide a defense. But we were past that time now.
    “You called it a dinner meeting,” Elliot said without taking his eyes from the menu. “Aren’t you going to look?”
    “I’m having what you’re having, Walter.”
    He put the menu to the side and looked at me.
    “Fillet of sole.”
    “Sounds good.”
    He signaled a waiter who had been standing nearby but too intimidated to approach the table. Elliot ordered for us both, adding a bottle of Chardonnay to come with the fish, and told the waiter not to forget about my flat water and lemon. He then clasped his hands on the table and looked expectantly at me.
    “I could be dining with Dominick Dunne,” he said. “This better be good.”
    “Walter, this
is
going to be good. This is going to be where you stop hiding from me. This is where you tell me the whole story. The true story. You see, if I know what you know, then I’m not going to get sandbagged by the prosecution. I am going to know what moves Golantz is going to make before he makes them.”
    Elliot nodded as though he agreed it was time to deliver the goods.
    “I did not kill my wife or her Nazi friend,” he said. “I have told you that from day one.”
    I shook my head.
    “That’s not good enough. I said I want the story. I want to know what really happened, Walter. I want to know what’s going on or I’m going to be moving on.”
    “Don’t be ridiculous. No judge is going to let you walk away in the middle of a trial.”
    “You want to bet your freedom on that, Walter? If I want off this case, I will find a way off it.”
    He hesitated and