Free Defender of the Innocent: The Casebook of Martin Ehrengraf by Lawrence Block Page B

particular shade of blue that Ehrengraf would never have chosen for himself, was well tailored and expensive. It was logical to assume that the man within the suit was abundantly supplied with money, an assumption the little lawyer liked to be able to make about all his prospective clients.
    Now he said, “Won’t you take a seat, Mr. Crowe? You’ll be more comfortable.”
    “I’d rather stand,” Ethan Crowe said. “I’m too much on edge to sit still.”
    “Hmmm. There’s something I’ve learned in my practice, Mr. Crowe, and that’s the great advantage in acting
as if
. When I’m to defend a client who gives every indication of guilt, I act
as if
he were indeed innocent. And you know, Mr. Crowe, it’s astonishing how often the client does in fact
prove
to be innocent, often to his own surprise.”
    Martin Ehrengraf flashed a smile that showed on his lips without altering the expression in his eyes. “All of which is all-important to me, since I collect a fee only if my client is judged to be innocent. Otherwise I go unpaid. Acting
as if
, Mr. Crowe, is uncannily helpful, and you might help us both by sitting in that chair and acting as if you were at peace with the world.”
    Ehrengraf paused, and when Crowe had seated himself he said, “You say you’ve been charged with murder. But homicide is not usually a bailable offense, so how does it happen that you are here in my office instead of locked in a cell?”
    “I haven’t been charged with murder.”
    “But you said—”
    “I said I wanted you to defend me against a homicide charge. But I haven’t been charged yet.”
    “I see. Whom have you killed? Let me amend that. Whom are you supposed to have killed?”
    “No one.”
    “Oh?”
    Ethan Crowe thrust his head forward. “I’ll be charged with the murder of Terence Reginald Mayhew,” he said, pronouncing the name with a full measure of loathing. “But I haven’t been charged yet because the rancid scut’s not dead yet because I haven’t killed him yet.”
    “Mr. Mayhew is alive.”
    ‘Yes.”
    “But you intend to kill him.”
    Crowe chose his words carefully. “I expect to be charged with his murder,” he said at length.
    “And you want to arrange your defense in advance.”
    “Yes.”
    “You show commendable foresight,” Ehrengraf said admiringly. He got to his feet and stepped out from behind his desk. He was a muted symphony of brown. His jacket was a brown Harris tweed in a herringbone weave, his slacks were cocoa flannel, his shirt a buttery tan silk, his tie a perfect match for the slacks with a below-the-knot design of fleur-de-lis in silver thread. Ehrengraf hadn’t been quite certain about the tie when he bought it but had since decided it was quite all right. On his small feet he wore highly polished seamless tan loafers, unadorned with braids or tassels.
    “Foresight,” he repeated. “An unusual quality in a client, Mr. Crowe, and I can only wish that I met with it more frequently.” He put the tips of his fingers together and narrowed his eyes. “Just what is it you wish from me?”
    “Your efforts on my behalf, of course.”
    “Indeed. Why do you want to kill Mr. Mayhew?”
    “Because he’s driving me crazy.”
    “How?”
    “He’s playing tricks on me.”
    “Tricks? What sort of tricks?”
    “Childish tricks,” Ethan Crowe said, and averted his eyes. “He makes phone calls. He orders things. Last week he called different florists and sent out hundreds of orders of flowers to different women all over the city. He’s managed to get hold of my credit card numbers, and he placed all these orders in my name and billed them to me. I was able to stop some of the orders, but by the time I got wind of what he’d done, most of them had already gone out.”
    “Surely you won’t have to pay.”
    “It may be easier to pay than to go through the process of avoiding payment. I don’t know. But that’s just one example. Another time ambulances and limousines kept