The Innocent Woman

Your Honor, I don’t choose to make one. The district attorney is making an accusation with no foundation whatsoever. I don’t need to respond to such a charge. If I did—if I had to answer to such unfounded charges—well, then the prosecutor would be free to make them at will. He could sit there accusing me of infraction after infraction until he found one I’d actually committed. In which case, were I an honest man who didn’t wish to lie, I would have to refuse to answer on the grounds an answer might tend to incriminate me. At which point he would know what to charge me with.”
    Steve Winslow smiled. “But that does not happen to be the law. The district attorney can’t pester me with charges on a whim to see which of them I’ll deny. And he sure as hell can’t make them in front of the jury without prejudicing the case against my client. If he does so, it should constitute a mistrial.”
    “See?” Dirkson said. “He didn’t deny the charges. I told you he wouldn’t.”
    Judge Wylie took a breath. “Mr. Dirkson. Mr. Winslow’s point is well taken. Unless you have foundation for those charges, he has no need to respond to them.”
    “I have foundation, Your Honor. I told you. The defendant admitted the whole thing to Larry Cunningham.”
    “Then why don’t you ask Mr. Cunningham?” Steve Winslow said.
    Dirkson’s face purpled. “I asked Mr. Cunningham!” he said. “ That’s the question you objected to, and that’s why we’re in here!”
    Judge Wylie nodded. “Mr. Dirkson is certainly right on that score.”
    “Well, then let’s not be hasty,” Steve said. “The way I see it, the matter has arisen. It’s prejudicial, and so inflammatory a judicial admonition to ignore it would not suffice.
    “But, on second thought, I don’t want a mistrial. Then the defendant could be arrested and tried again. I don’t want that. I want the case to go to the jury. There’s no evidence against her, they’re going to acquit, so why should I interfere with that?”
    Judge Wylie looked at him. “You’re withdrawing your objection?”
    “That’s right.”
    “And your assignment of misconduct?”
    “Certainly. If the district attorney has any evidence against me, let’s hear it now.”
    “One moment,” Judge Wylie said. “Mr. Winslow, it would seem almost as if you had been dared into this. I would be very unhappy if it turned out you had waived any of the defendant’s rights in order to settle a personal grudge.”
    “I assure you that is not the case, Your Honor.”
    “I should also point out that if any of the prosecutor’s allegations turn out to be true, you could expect to find yourself disbarred.”
    Steve smiled. “You’ll never eat lunch in this town again?”
    Judge Wylie’s face darkened. “This is no laughing matter.”
    “I understand, Your Honor,” Steve said. “I’m an attorney at law. If I violate the law, I risk disbarment. Naturally, I know that. However, I will consider myself warned.”
    Judge Wylie frowned. He found Steve Winslow’s attitude insolent, but he didn’t know what he could do about it. It also bothered him that he couldn’t figure out what Winslow was up to. But there wasn’t anything he could do about that either. He took a breath. “All right, gentlemen. Let’s proceed.”

47.
    W HEN J UDGE W YLIE RESUMED the bench he said, “The objection and the assignment of misconduct have been withdrawn. Mr. Dirkson, you may proceed.”
    “Thank you, Your Honor,” Dirkson said. “Mr. Cunningham, is it or is it not a fact that the defendant, Amy Dearborn, admitted to you that on the evening of the murder she met with her attorney, Steve Winslow, prior to her meeting with the police, and that he sent her uptown so that she could take a cab to the office in order to build up an alibi?”
    “No, that is not a fact,” Cunningham said.
    “I put it to you that it is. I put it to you that you are lying and committing perjury in order to protect the defendant from a charge of murder.”
    “I’m doing nothing of the sort.”
    “Do you deny that Amy Dearborn got a message from Frank Fletcher on her answering machine?”
    “No, she says she did.”
    “And when did she say she got that message?”
    “When she got back from the restaurant.” Cunningham looked at Dirkson triumphantly and said, “Which would be sometime after eight o’clock.”
    Dirkson exhaled noisily. “Thank you, Mr. Cunningham, for that impartial estimate of the time. But