Phillip Margolin

Phillip Margolin has been compared by admiring reviewers to both Scott Turow and John Grisham-in other words, he is a writer capable of adding that chill edge of darkness to the hot legal thriller. Among his best-selling novels are ‘The Burning Man’, ‘Gone but Not Forgotten’, and ‘After Dark’. As a criminal defence attorney himself, he’s had more than his share of headline-grabbing murder cases and has argued before the Supreme Court. It is difficult to understand how he can keep topping himself-whether before a jury or his growing legion of fans-but so far he has managed never to disappoint.
In this exquisite little tale, a relieved career criminal knows he has an alibi to die for-one that puts him far from the scene of the murder of which he is accused. There is no meticulously thought-out courtroom scene here, as the protagonist has figured out a better way to handle the situation.

Angie’s Delight

Larry Hoffman was so nervous that he actually bounced in place while the guard unlocked the door that led from the jail into the contact visiting room. His future depended on the person who was waiting on the other side of the thick metal door. Would he see some wet-behind-the-ears, recent law-school grad, who would use his case for practice, or would he meet a wily old veteran who knew what it would take to save his ass? When you were down on your luck, the gods decided whether you lived or died. In Larry’s case, the particular god in question was the clerk who assigned lawyers from the court-appointment list.
Larry heard a metallic snap, and the guard stepped back so his prisoner could enter the concrete-block room. Larry froze in the doorway for a moment. Then, a shudder passed through his undernourished five-nine frame, as he exhaled with relief. Seated at the circular table that took up most of the narrow room was a man in his forties attired in a gray three-piece suit that looked expensive. The man smiled confidently. His hair was sandy blond and a thick, well-groomed moustache covered his upper lip. When he stood, Larry could see that he was well over six feet tall and he was impressed by the lawyer’s trim, athletic physique. The man in whose hands Larry’s life rested looked relaxed, like someone who had been around the block, like someone who knew the ropes, like someone who would not be buffaloed by a belligerent DA or a prosecution-prone, defendant-eating judge.
“Mr. Hoffman,” the lawyer said in a pleasant baritone, “I’m Noah Levine and I’ve been appointed to represent you.”
Larry grasped the lawyer’s hand, the way he would have gripped a log had he been cast into the sea without a life jacket. Levine’s handshake was solid.
“Sit down, Mr. Hoffman,” Levine said with an easy smile.
“Thanks for comin’ over so fast. They told me I wouldn’t see no one until this afternoon.”
“You are charged with murder, Mr. Hoffman. There is no time to waste.”
All right!! Larry thought gleefully, I have me a tiger.
“Larry... May I call you Larry?”
“Yeah. That’s cool.”
“Larry, before I talk to you about the facts of your case, I want to explain the attorney-client relationship. Have you ever been in jail before?”
“Oh, yeah. This is my, uh, let’s see... the third time.”
“And you’ve had a lawyer before?”
“Twice. They were both jerks. All they wanted me to do was plead guilty.”
“Well, Larry, we aren’t pleading to anything,” Levine told him confidently. He wore steel-rimmed glasses. Behind the lenses were steely blue eyes. “We are going to take names and kick ass.”
Larry grinned broadly. This guy was all right!
“Now, Larry, I don’t know what your other lawyers told you, but with me, anything you say is confidential. If you tell me you killed fifty people and they’re buried in your backyard, that stays between us.”
“Hey, I didn’t kill nobody.”
“What I’m saying is, if you did, I couldn’t give a shit, because I’m your attorney, Larry, and my mission in life is to clear you of this accusation of murder.”
“That accusation is false. I did not off the dude.”
“I don’t have any of the police reports, yet, but didn’t the papers say that there were witnesses?”
“That was from the day before when I kicked O’Malley’s ass.”
“Yes. There was a fight.”
“There wasn’t no fight. I smacked the motherfucker around with a lead pipe to let him know I meant business. He never even threw a punch.”
“And this was in front of witnesses?”
“Damn straight. It was a lesson. I wanted those other little shits to know what would happen if they tried to keep my money.”
“What money was this?” Levine asked.
Larry paused. He looked a little nervous.
“This stays between us?”
“It would be unethical for me to tell anyone anything you tell me in confidence. If I were to tell even my wife, I could face disbarment.”
Larry’s head bobbed up and down. “Okay, then. The, uh, money... It was from selling my dope. Those motherfuckers are my dealers. Tyrone, Kaufman, and that fucker O’Malley. He was holding back. Tyrone, he told me. So, when they came over to pay me, I knew O’Malley would be short and I smacked him around to make my point.”
“What exactly did you say would happen if he held back any more money?” Levine asked.
“I said I would kill his ass.”
“That’s what I was afraid of.”
“But I didn’t do it. Someone else wasted him.”
“Do you have any idea who it was?”
“Nah. O’Malley was askin’ for it. I’m not the only guy he pissed off.”
“Unfortunately, you’re the only person who threatened to kill him in front of witnesses. And it doesn’t help that O’Malley was beaten to death by a blunt instrument.”
Larry shrugged. “It wasn’t me. That’s all I can tell you.”
“Well, Larry, we’ll need to give the jury something more than your word. Do you have an alibi for the time of the murder?”
“When was it?”
“Saturday, between two and three in the morning.”
“Saturday! Between two and three!” Larry repeated excitedly.
Levine nodded.
“Oh, man, I must be livin’ right. I have a great alibi...”
Suddenly, Larry paused. He ran his tongue across his lips.
“Uh, there might be a little problem.”
“Yes?”
“What if my alibi involves something illegal?”
“That could present difficulties, but remember, you’re charged with murder and you’re feeing a possible death sentence.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Besides, the bitch will never testify against me.”
Levine looked interested. “Who are you talking about?”
“The bitch who was in the movie. Angie something. I don’t remember her last name. She’s some runaway I picked up at the bus station.”
“I’m not following you.”
“Okay. Look, selling dope ain’t all I do. It’s tough to make ends meet, so I got this other deal goin’ with a couple of the independent video stores. Like, for special customers, I make these movies.”
“What kind of movies?”
“Adult movies. Porno. I film ‘em at my house, then I dupe ‘em and sell ‘em to these few guys. Sometimes, they’re special order. You know, some guy has a fantasy, I do it for him on a video.”
“What does this have to do with your alibi?”
“Okay. On Saturday, between one and three, I was doing this rape thing for this guy.”
“A rape thing?”
“Yeah. He was real specific. He wanted a video. It had to be a redhead. She gets lured into the bedroom. Then, she gets beat up and tied to the bed. Then she gets raped and beat up some more. So, I go to the bus station. The girl’s perfect. Young, big tits. The hair was a problem. She was brunette. But we dyed her hair.
“I told her I was a movie scout, which, I guess, was technically true. I laid the thing out. She gets two hundred bucks for doing the movie. She was so fucking stupid. She bought the whole thing. She even believed it would all be acting and that she’d get paid.”
Larry laughed and shook his head. “The bitch sure looked surprised the first time she got hit.”
Levine looked upset for a second, but he composed himself.
“If you beat up this girl and raped her, what makes you think she’ll testify for you?”
“That’s the good part. We don’t need her. See, I filmed this shit in my bedroom. I worked the camera part of the time and a guy named Rodney beat her up and raped her. Then, Rodney worked the camera.”
“Well, this Rodney isn’t going to admit he did that.”
“Oh, I ain’t countin’ on Rodney. He’s outta here, anyway. The guy’s a drifter. I don’t know where he’s gone.
“No, the thing that’s gonna save my ass is the TV. See, the TV was on all the time. It was next to the bed. You can see it in the video. And I’m in the picture too. This guy wanted two guys rapin’ her, so I took my turn. And I did her second, which was between two and three in the morning. You can tell that by the show that’s on the TV.”
“Aren’t you worried about being identified if the police see the video?” Levine asked.
“Nah. First, this bitch is long gone. We dumped her in a vacant lot and told her what we’d do to her if she ever went to the cops. She was so scared, she’s probably hit Alaska by now.
“Second, you can’t tell from the movie if it’s real or fake. I’d just say she was acting and no one could prove otherwise.”
“How can I get ahold of the video?” Levine asked.
“It’s still at my house. I was gonna dupe it and bring it to my people, but I was arrested for wasting O’Malley before I could do it.”
“Is there only one copy?”
“Yeah.”
“Then I better act fast. Tell me where it is and I’ll have my investigator pick it up. I want to put it in my safe.”
“Fuckin’ A!” Larry shouted. “I got to say this. I was really scared I’d get another asshole for a lawyer, but you are really good.”
Levine smiled modestly. “Why don’t you wait to congratulate me until the charges are dropped. Now, where do I find the tape?”
“It’s in my bedroom in the closet. There’s a lot of tapes, so you’re gonna have to look for it.”
“How will the investigator know which one to take?”
“It’s labelled Angle’s Delight. I think it’s up by the front on the top shelf.”
Levine stood.
“You’ll let me know if you get it, right?” Larry said.
“I don’t want an innocent man sitting in jail for one second longer than is necessary. If we can pin down when the shows on the TV were aired and you’re in the picture, you’re home free.”

Larry sprang to his feet when the guard told him his attorney was waiting to see him. It was four in the afternoon and he was thrilled that Levine was back so quickly. When the guard opened the door, Larry rushed into the room. He stopped dead, just as the door locked behind him.
“Who are you?” he asked the skinny young man in the ill-fitting brown suit. The man smiled nervously. He had short brown hair and thick tortoiseshell glasses. Larry noticed coffee stains on the frayed cuffs of his cheap white shirt.
“I’m Marty Long, your court-appointed counsel. I would have been over sooner, but you wouldn’t believe my day,” the young man said with an anxious chuckle. “First, I get stuck in Judge Lourde’s courtroom. Then, just when I thought I could get in to see you, there was this emergency at the office. Anyway, I’m here now. So, let’s get started.”
“Wait a fucking second. Where’s Levine?”
“Who?” Long said, looking up from the papers he was pulling out of a worn attaché case.
“My lawyer. Noah Levine. The guy was here this morning. He knew all about my case. He said he was court appointed.”
Long looked confused. “We don’t have a Noah Levine in the Public Defender’s Office. I guess there could have been a screw-up.” He laughed. “It happens all the time. I’d better check to make sure there aren’t two lawyers working on this case. Actually, it would be a relief if you did have another lawyer. I’m swamped right now, and I was wondering how I was going to have time to do all the work on this, uh, it’s a murder case, right?”
Larry stared open-mouthed at the fidgeting lawyer. What a toad, he thought. Thank God, he had Levine on the case.

Tom Farrell helped ease his daughter into the front seat of the rental car. He had cranked the seat back so it was reclining. He hoped this would make it easier for Angie to sleep on the ride to the airport. They would take a five o’clock flight home to Nebraska.
As soon as she was settled in her seat, Farrell reached across and fastened Angle’s seat belt. He avoided looking at her face. Whenever he saw the scars, the broken nose, and the bruises, it made him start to cry. He loved her so much, it broke his heart to think that something he might have done had caused her to run away. His pastor assured him it was the drugs that had destroyed Angie’s childhood, but he wondered if he had driven her to them with the pressures he put on her to be perfect. The months she was gone had been hell for Tom and his wife. He vowed that they would never lose her again.
As soon as Angie’s seat belt was fastened, Farrell sat back and started the car. He was driving out of the hospital parking lot when Angie said, “Daddy,” in a voice so low he could barely hear her.
“What is it, sweetheart?”
“I’m suh... sorry.”
Angie started to cry and Tom choked back his own tears.
“Don’t apologise, princess. What happened is in the past. We’re all starting over, as of today. Okay? I know some of this has been my fault and I’m going to change too.”
The dam had broken when Angie saw Larry Hoffman’s picture on the front page of the paper her father carried into her hospital room, along with the story of his arrest for murder. She had cried so hard during most of her account of the rape and beating that Farrell had a hard time understanding his daughter.
Farrell’s original plan had been to kill Larry Hoffman in the contact room at the jail, then take whatever the justice system threw his way. It had been even easier than he’d hoped to gain Hoffman’s confidence. By posing as his court-appointed defender, he could make certain that the slimebag was guilty of the things Angie had tearfully told him he had done to her before he ended Hoffman’s sorry life. Farrell’s plan had changed when Larry told him the significance of the videotape for his alibi.
“I love you and Mom, so much,” Angie said.
“We love you too. Now, try to nap. We’ll be home by tonight. Mom will be waiting at the airport.”
“Get me home soon, Daddy. I don’t want to be here anymore.”
“I will sweetheart. I just have one stop to make.” Angle closed her eyes and Farrell headed toward the airport. On the way, he passed the landfill on the edge of town where he had stopped before going to the hospital. As they sped by, he glanced quickly at the mountain of garbage under which he had buried the false ID he had used to gain entrance to the jail and the videotape he had viewed once to make certain he was doing the right thing.