TRUMPETER SWAN

By Brian Overland

Chapter 1. The Charge

Tacoma, Washington, 1961

Randall Sterling—whose suits were tailored on Savile Row, whose grandfather was

Sir John Sterling, “the Lion of Gray’s Inn,” one of the four Inns of Court in London—had an

excellent record. He lost few cases. But there was one man in the Pierce County Bar who

had a better record than he: the man he was about to introduce.

“Gentlemen of the Bar… or as I must now say, Ladies and Gentlemen, for our

venerable men’s club has finally started admitting women. Today it’s my honor to give an

award to a true genius, the greatest legal talent I know.

“He never had my advantages. He didn’t go to Yale or Harvard Law as I did. His

grandfather was not a famous barrister in England but a humble Norwegian farmer. He had

to work hard for everything he ever received in life. Just out of law school, he worked for a

couple of years as an insurance adjustor.

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“But when he finally got a practice of his own, he proved to be the most brilliant

litigator I’ve ever seen. I know, because I’ve lost to him repeatedly. I would’ve preferred to

have been less impressed but win more trials.”

This last remark was interrupted by laughter from the audience, gathered in the

marble-lined meeting room of the Tacoma Public Library, built by an Andrew Carnegie

Grant.

“He and I have a private joke. ‘When the laws and facts are on the other side,’ he

likes to say, ‘We defense lawyers have to resort to trickery and deceit.’”

There was another round of laughter.

“Like the fictional Perry Mason, he never gave up on a client. And like Mr. Mason,

he’s the only lawyer in the state who’s practiced more than five years and yet never lost a

case at trial. I don’t know how he does it.”

Now the audience burst into a round of applause.

“But today we’re here for another reason. For the last ten years, there’s been a dark

cloud over our country, one that finally began to disperse with the censure of Senator

McCarthy. In fighting the shadow cast by that cloud, there’s been one man in Tacoma who

never backed down. He never refused a client who was blacklisted, and he successfully

sued for libel on behalf of Councilman Williams. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Tacoma’s

own Jace Anderson, today’s recipient of the Pierce County Bar’s Freedom Award.”

The entire bar association, and its auxiliary members, rose to its feet, while J. C.

“Jace” Anderson walked up to the podium. He was still in his thirties, and he wore nice-but-

not-flashy suits from off the rack at Nordstrom’s. His tie was a plain blue. His shoes weren’t

polished. But today was his day.

2

He was not a tall man, but he had the all American good looks of a Jimmy Stewart

crossed with Alan Ladd. His hair had started to recede, yet he still had most of it.

“Thank you,” he said as the applause started to die down. He briefly held up the

plaque that Randy Sterling had handed him.

“This award doesn’t belong to me,” he said, “but to every man and woman who was

ever tarred by the word ‘Communist,’ for standing up for freedom of speech or due process;

for everyone who was ever blacklisted; for everyone who was ever fired because he at one

time or another went to the wrong meeting or had the wrong friends.”

Jace paused for a moment, feeling tightness in his throat. He cleared it and

continued.

“The irony isn’t lost on me. Just a few years ago, I probably wouldn’t be here

receiving applause. I’d be trying to clear my name, trying to convince you that I’m what you

call a ‘good American.’ I’d be defending my life.

“As a young man out of high school, I fought in the South Pacific for three years, and

I almost lost my life. If the men who risked their lives overseas weren’t ‘good Americans,’ if

the men who fought and died to stop Hitler and his pals weren’t patriots, then who the hell

ever was? But when I came home, I returned to a country I hardly recognized any more.

“I thank you all for this award. But what I really want is not an award. I just want to

see the America I grew up believing in: a country without a blacklist, Army-McCarthy

Hearings, or the Canwell Committee. A country in which free speech is more than a slogan.

My only wish, really, is that you’ll join me in this work.”

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He turned and walked away from the podium. At first the only reaction was silence.

After five or ten seconds, a few scattered hands began to clap. And then a few more, and

still more, until the room was filled with thunderous applause.

* * *

As Jace returned to his little law firm on Yakima Street, he looked forward to a quiet

hour in which to go over his case files. But his secretary, Suzie Swanson, informed him that

a client had been booked in his absence, and the man was already waiting for him in his

office.

“You did what?” asked Jace. “Why would you ever let someone in there without—”

“Because this case is special,” said Suzie.

“It is? How?”

“This man is your best friend.”

Jace shrugged and shook his head. Suzie was a great legal secretary, but he

wondered if he let her get away with too much. Beyond that, people talked, which was

annoying. She was known around town as “Swinging Sue,” but she was a great secretary.

But Jace didn’t let this talk get to him. Because he knew such talk tended to stop

after people met his wife, Brooke, the most beautiful woman in the Tacoma area. He’d been

blessed that way. With her fashionably styled black hair, Brooke was said by many to

resemble the new First Lady, Jacquelyn Kennedy. But he thought Jackie didn’t come close.

Neither did their best friend, Elliot Swan.

Ah, so that’s probably who’s in my office: Elliot! I suppose even Suzie knows he’s our

friend.

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Elliot Swan didn’t look like an ordinary man so much as a character played by Cary

Grant. At the moment, he had a look of worry and fatigue in his eyes, as if he’d had no sleep

the night before, which Jace had never seen in those eyes. One of the eyes had a mild black-

and-blue circle all around it. Jace had never seen a bruise on Elliot, either, not so much as a

mark or blemish.

Did he trip and fall?

Yet even with these flaws, Elliot Swan was, as Jace reluctantly would admit, the most

handsome man anyone knew. His aura went beyond the benefits of good DNA. He was tall

with perfect bone structure that made Jace look ordinary by comparison; but it was

everything else about the man that made him seem sent from Valhalla.

His short blonde hair was always perfectly cut, with every hair in place. Nothing, not

even a gale, ever disturbed a strand of that hair. His tan corduroy jacket was tailored, with

lovely brown elbow patches. And when he stood, he displayed an elegance and ease of

movement that one would never associate with the smell or grime of Tacoma. As in Edwin

Arlington Robinson’s poem, Richard Corey, he glittered when he walked.

All of this made the red eyes and the bruise more difficult to believe. Elliot started to

rise and extend his hand, but Jace said, “No, Elliot, that’s all right. No formalities needed

between friends. What can I do to help?”

After looking down and taking a long pause, Elliot said, “I’ve been trying to reach

you for hours.”

“I’m so sorry,” said the young lawyer. “The four of us just got back from out of town,

and then there was the awards banquet. I gave Suzie some time off as well. I’m afraid that

in all the excitement, I forgot to…”

5

“It’s all right,” said Elliot. “I got a friend to bail me out.”

“You got a friend to what? Bail you out? For Christ’s sake, why would anyone…?” Jace

upbraided himself for acting unprofessionally. He took a few breaths to make himself calm

down, and then said: “I’m sorry for the outburst. Just tell me in your own words what

happened.”

“You see,” said Elliot, “I was at the Dorian Gray club last night. You’ve heard of the

Dorian—”

“Yes. You’ve spoken of it from time to time. What happened?”

“Almost nothing,” said Elliot. “I had a polite conversation with a nice man, and then

we engaged in an innocent dance—no groping, no close touching, I swear. But an

undercover policeman was on the premises. And he saw us dancing.”

Jace nodded. He knew all about Elliot’s lifestyle—or rather, he knew enough—but he

never expected Elliot to get in trouble for it. After all, this was 1961. Schools had been

desegregated thanks to the Brown v. Board of Education decision, Jim Crow laws were

under attack, and the country as a whole was supposed to be emerging into a new, more

enlightened way of thinking. At least that’s what people told themselves.

He got up from behind his desk and started pacing. “All right,” he said. “So you were

dancing with another man, and a cop saw you. Did anything else happen I should know

about? Was anything said in conversation that could be construed as a proposition of some

kind? Any… er, flirting that went over the line and became graphic?”

“No, not a word. I dislike that kind of talk anyway and save it for the bedroom. I have

a near-photographic memory, and I remember everything said that evening. But I was

arrested while at the club.”

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“So he saw you dancing with a man? That’s it?”

Elliot nodded.

“What was the charge?”

“There were three,” said Elliot. “Violation of the sodomy law, something called the

‘sexual psychopath law, and lewd and indecent conduct.’”

“Who else was arrested?”

“The man I was dancing with. Dick Ratchet. He’s an old friend, nothing more.”

“Okay,” said Jace. “Now I have to ask you the most important question of all. What, if

anything, did you say to the police when they took you in?”

“That’s where I did well,” said Elliot. “I told them I wouldn’t answer anything

without my lawyer present. No one could get ahold of you, so they kept pushing me. For

hours. But I said nothing.”

“Good,” said Jace, once again noticing the bruise on Elliot’s face. God damn it, he said

to himself. Someone is going to pay for this. I’ll see to it personally, if it’s the last thing I do.

“That’s good news,” he said. “Now listen to me carefully. You did the right thing. As

far as I can see, you denied them from having much of a case. From now on, you’re going to

stick to that policy. Say nothing about this matter without my being there. Promise?”

“Promise,” said Elliot nodding.

“Now we’ve got to do everything possible to get you acquitted. This is a medieval,

stupid law. I can’t believe it’s still on the books.”

Elliot sighed and leaned back in his guest chair. “But I can assure you, Jace, that it is

very much on the books. People like me have been held in terror of it forever.”

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“But I don’t understand. Why go after you? They didn’t even catch you doing

anything. Not really. That’s why their case is so weak.”

“I hope you’re right,” said Elliot.

“I can’t promise anything just yet. But let me do a little background research and talk

to the prosecutor. I might be able to get an audience today. Hopefully I can get this whole

thing dropped.”

But if I ever learn the name of the policeman who hit you, thought Jace, I’ll have the

goddamn bastard’s badge, I swear to God.

* * *

The County Prosecutor, Thomas J. Proctor, had a nice office. Unlike Jace’s, there

were no two-foot-high stacks of legal folders or piles of memos. Nearly the whole office

consisted of beautifully maintained leather furniture and leather-bound law books. Behind

Mr. Proctor’s head was a framed law degree from Stanford Law School, alongside another

certificate that testified to his membership in the Supreme Court Bar Association of the

United States.

The only signs of activity were a set of neatly maintained file cabinets at the side of

the room and a Rolodex, alongside a notepad, phone, and pen.

But the prosecutor didn’t need to have file folders all over. Except in rare cases, the

Prosecutor himself didn’t try anything—he assigned such work to his staff. But he had the

final say on what to pursue and what to drop. It was more a political than a law office.

Like Jace, Thomas J. Proctor had a commanding view… not just of Mount Rainier, but

Commencement Bay, the third deepest harbor in the world, and Brown’s Point, at the far

north of Tacoma. A large oil tanker occupied the middle of the bay, like a sovereign.

8

Despite the Prosecutor’s genteel surroundings, Jace couldn’t help notice that the

man’s face was rough and unpleasant, as though he were a gangster or a prizefighter who

had gone the distance one too many times. And there were other strange things about him.

Every so often, a trace of Southern accent seeped into his conversation.

Proctor smiled as Jace was admitted. He stood, walked over to Jace as he came

through the door, and shook hands.

“This is an honor. I was there at the awards ceremony this afternoon. Already

people are talking about you as a great man. Maybe a Congressman someday.”

The suggestion went right past Jace, who wasn’t there to discuss a political career.

“Thank you, Mr. Proctor, but I’m here to—”

“Please, call me Thomas. I consider you quite the guest of honor. And that’s why, by

the way, I’m willing to talk to you directly. Normally, I’d tell you to wait until I have an

attorney assigned and say you’d have to talk to him. I’m making an exception for you.”

“I appreciate that,” said Jace. “But I don’t want to waste your time.”

“You’re not. What did Shakespeare say? ‘Let us do as adversaries do in law; strive

mightily, but eat and drink as friends.’ Can my secretary get you some coffee? Or some

Frango mints from Frederick & Nelson, perhaps? Cuban cigars?”

“That’s quite all right, sir, I’m not hungry or thirsty.”

“No, no: not ‘sir’! Remember… Thomas.”

“Fine,” said Jace. “But I have to ask you: Do you have any intent on pursuing a case

against my client, Elliot Swan?”

The Prosecutor leaned back and glanced at the ceiling. “Let’s see… Elliot Swan. Oh

yes. Your close friend.” He glanced up at the ceiling again, pretending to take time to recall.

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“You know that man is guilty, Jace, as much as I do. My advice is: as soon as I get someone

on my staff assigned, take the best offer you can get. We’re reasonable men here. We’ll

bargain it down.”

Jace shook his head. “Did you say, ‘the best offer I can get’?”

“Yes. The sodomy law provides for up to ten years in prison. But I…. I like you, Jace.

And I’m sure whomever I assign—I’m thinking of your friend Randy Sterling—will bargain

it down to a fraction of that. Yes, I think we can do that.”

Whom is this man kidding?

Jace crossed his arms and shook his head. “I don’t believe I’m hearing this. You know

as well as I that this is a total bullshit case.”

Proctor smirked. “Do I? I wasn’t aware that ‘total bullshit case’ was a term they

taught in law school. I’m sure it sounds better in the original Latin: bovem de stercore.”

Jace repeated the literal translation to himself. The shit of a bull. Yes, I’m sure you

know all about that, he said to himself silently.

“Look, Mr. Proctor—”

“Tom.”

“Fine: Tom. I went to the law library this afternoon and spent an hour reading up on

this. The sodomy law has rarely been used except against low-lifes and street hustlers.

Because the people in this state don’t care about sex; they just don’t want to see it. As

County Prosecutor you should know that.”

Proctor nodded slowly. “So what you’re saying is that we should use the law

selectively, never prosecuting the rich, but only the poor?”

“I didn’t say that,” said Jace. “That’s not what I meant.”

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“Le me explain something,” said Proctor. “When I first ran for Pierce County

Prosecutor, I ran on a platform of treating rich and poor the same. The problem with the

law today is that the people you call ‘low-lifes’ are targeted unfairly. Prosecuting Elliot

Swan would make the perfect statement: the law applies to everyone, the beautiful and rich

as much as the poor and unwashed.”

“How noble. But Elliot Swan is not a rich person oppressing people. He’s not so rich

anyway; he only seems to be. He’s never hurt anyone in his whole life. “

Proctor flashed an odd little grin. “Did he now? But the law is the law. It applies to

the popular and loved as much as to the unpopular.”

“In that case,” said the young lawyer, “I have to point out that you’ve got nothing.

You have an overzealous cop who saw my client dance with another man. There’s no law

against that. The cop saw no one commit any physical acts. Even if my client was so inclined

to engage in such behavior—and I’m not admitting he is—the cop would’ve had to follow

him home, sneak into his apartment, and spy on him. And we know that didn’t happen,

because Mr. Swan was arrested while at the club. In short, you’ve got nothing about the

night in question. Why waste taxpayer’s money on this?”

The prosecutor leaned back in his thick, padded leather chair and put his hands

behind his head. “You ever read Mark Twain?”

“Of course,” said Jace. “What’s that got to do with it?”

“There’s a famous scene in which Aunt Polly punishes Tom Sawyer, and Tom

protests his innocence. Aunt Polly says, ‘Even if you didn’t do it, there’s plenty of times you

did do something and got away with it.’ The ‘night in question’ isn’t what’s important here.”

“But that would be a miscarriage of justice, sir. Surely you wouldn’t proceed—”

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“Yes, I would. Because the People have a case. A very good one. That’s why you

really ought to settle.”

“Again I have to ask: what case?”

“Let me ask you something, my friend, and you don’t have to answer. In the event

we all go to trial, do you plan to put your client on the stand?”

Jace cleared his throat. “That,” he said, “is a decision which my client and I will make

at the appropriate time, not before.”

“Which is your right. But let’s say you don’t put him on the stand. Fine. So much is at

stake for the man’s reputation, the jury is going to wonder: Why doesn’t he just get on the

stand and say he’s not a homosexual? They’re going to wonder that a lot. They’ll infer he’s

guilty no matter what the judge says. And they’ll convict him.

“Alternatively, let’s say you do put him on the stand. Then he’s going to deny what

he is, opening the door to the People putting on a long list of rebuttal witnesses. It won’t

matter that there’s no evidence for him committing an act on the night in question. He’ll be

proven to be homosexual, and that’s what the jury will convict him for.”

“A bad conviction,” Jace started to say. “And you’re forgetting—”

“Wait a moment,” said Proctor. “It gets worse. The original charge won’t even

matter, because what we’ll really get him for at that point is perjury, a serious crime. And

even worse than that is what it does for you. Because if he’s guilty of perjury, then you’re

guilty for suborning perjury, and you’ll have trouble that right now you can’t even imagine.”

Jace of course knew about suborning perjury; every lawyer did. It was among the

most important rules in the canon of legal ethics. A lawyer must not knowingly use false

testimony.

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“Oh come on,” he said with a wave of his hand. “No lawyer is ever found guilty of

that, because all he has to do is say, ‘My client maintained his innocence and I chose to give

him the benefit of the doubt.’ That’s every lawyer’s defense. My client can say he’s a left-

handed Buddhist Polo player, and I’m entitled to take him at his word. That’s in the real

canon of ethics.”

Proctor shook his head. “Except that you’re the one lawyer who can’t take him at his

word, can you, because you know Mr. Swan; you know him very well. You have

independent knowledge of his lifestyle. I’ve heard this from a number of people.”

“So you’re saying it’s a crime to be friends with a—that is, an alleged—homosexual?”

“No, I never said that. But suborning perjury is a crime, or rather a violation of legal

ethics. They’ll take your license to practice law, you’ll be disbarred, and your glorious

career will be over. You’ll be ruined.”

Jace frowned. If this were the Middle Ages, maybe this would be the point at which

he’d challenge the prosecutor to trial by combat. It would feel good to knock this man off

his horse by using a really long, sharp lance.

“But Mr. Proctor, what about that talk of good will? Strive mightily, but eat and drink

as friends.”

“Consider this the ‘strive mightily’ part,” said the prosecutor. “Besides, the way I see

it, I’m looking out for you. I don’t want to see you destroy your career. Nor do I really want

you to go to court and get a loss. Keep that perfect record, my young friend. Settle out of

court. I’ll assign someone who will offer much less than ten years in prison.”

“I don’t understand,” said Jace.

“What don’t you understand?”

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“I don’t understand why you’re doing this, why you’d make a political statement on

the corpse of a man who’s never harmed you or anyone else.”

Proctor’s rough faced turned slowly into a smile. “He’s a friend of yours, so this can’t

be the easiest of situations. But remember what we were all taught in law school… or

should have been.”

“What?” said Jace.

“If you’re too close to a situation to represent your client objectively, maybe he

needs a different lawyer. I say this, of course, with the greatest respect. You’re a marvelous

young attorney with a great future. As I say, I’m looking out for you.”

Are you really?

There were so many things Jace wanted to say. Such as: That’s what you want, isn’t it,

you son of bitch. You want anyone on this case but me! Because of my record. Because I’m a

fighter. Because you know I’ll dig in and not fold like a house of cards, the way anyone else

would. Because maybe there’s more here than meets the eye.

Instead, he let out a long deep sigh. “You’re right,” he said. “I need to stay calm and

objective. Because frankly, sir, my friend Elliot Swan deserves one thing above all.”

“What’s that?”

“The best defense he can get. And I’m going to give it to him. And you, sir, you won’t

know what hit you.”

* * *

Jace drove back home, telling himself: The Prosecutor won’t come clean on why he’s

perusing this. But there’s got to be something going on. Something about this whole thing

smells very, very bad.

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Yet for all that, maybe the prosecutor was right. Maybe Jace was too close to this

case to represent it objectively.

Brooke greeted him at the door with a glass of white wine, chilled the way he liked

it. It was a dry wine, one of the California labels, with a smooth taste. And he said to

himself: She’s not just the most beautiful woman in Pierce County. She’s the most beautiful

woman on Earth. She wore a fashionable blue dress that with knee-length hems. Her dark

hair was coiffed at just below-the-neck length, and her big round eyes were blue—very

blue—matching a summer sky.

The two boys, Marcus and Sean, were playing happily in the living room.

He should have felt like one of the most fortunate men alive. But Brooke’s words

reminded him of the dread he was feeling.

“What’s wrong?” she said. “You look haggard. I can always see it in your eyes when

something’s wrong.”

“Sit down,” he said. “I have something to tell you.”

He summarized his day, how it had started out so well, with the award that

vindicated them for all of the misery they’d endured the last few years, all the Red Menace,

McCarthyism, mutually assured destruction, and madness. A younger, idealistic president

was in the White House now, giving them hope for the future. Maybe their two sons would

grow up in a world without World War, despite the existence of nuclear weapons.

If only President Kennedy wasn’t so gung ho on filling what he called the “missile

gap.”

But after the ceremony, Jace had come back to his office and seen Elliot waiting for

him there. He omitted any description of the bruises on Elliot’s face, but he related to

15

Brooke what Elliot had told him, along with the meeting with the Pierce County Prosecutor.

As he told all this, tears came to Brooke’s eyes, as if she were fighting off a breakdown.

For a while, she said nothing. And then, under her breath, she said: “The goddamn

bastards! What’s wrong with them? What did Elliot ever do to them?”

Jace nodded. “You don’t think I know that? Something about this doesn’t smell right.

But the Prosecutor may have been right about one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“That maybe I’m too close to this,” he said. “It’s like representing my own brother.

I’m not sure I should do this.”

Brooke raised her dark, lined eyebrows and put down her glass of wine, nearly

spilling it as she did.

“What?” she said. “Are you serious? You’d consider not representing him?”

Jace’s throat felt tight and a little sore. He started to open his mouth, but he formed

words only with effort.

“I’m considering what’s best for Elliot. He needs someone who can represent him in

a professional manner, without emotion clouding the mind.”

“No,” insisted Brooke, “that’s not what he needs. It’s not what he needs at all.”

Jace paused. “What, then?”

“He needs the best lawyer in Tacoma—the best lawyer, maybe, in the whole

country. He needs the defense of a lifetime. Promise me, Jace; promise me by all the stars in

Heaven, you’re not going to let Elliot spend another day in jail, not one!”

“But, Brooke—”

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“Have you forgot? Have you forgotten all he’s done for you, for us? Don’t you realize

he’s is the one man in all the world who would, without hesitation, give you a kidney or

even a lung? How can you think of doing anything other than saving Elliot’s life!”

“It’s because,” said Jace, “I am thinking of his life. Maybe I just can’t give him the best

defense.”

She picked up her glass of white wine, lifted it a couple of inches, and then slammed

it down on the table. “You are the best defense, don’t you know that? Everyone in Tacoma

knows it! You have a perfect record. You’re the only attorney around who’s never lost a

trial.”

“In court, yes.” He shook his head. “Oh Brooke, Brooke… I not sure that record

means anything.”

“How?” she demanded. “How could it not mean anything?”

“I worry that it’s illusion. I’ve had some very close trials, and I’ve been lucky. And I

did what my mentor, Abraham Meisner, always told me. “

“Yes…?”

“Settle the hard cases, try the easy.”

“But… isn’t it up to the Prosecutor to try cases?”

“Of course. But what Abe meant was, when you have a difficult case, settle it quickly,

don’t go to trial. But when you think you can win, push hard on the pre-trial negotiations.

Ask for the moon. That way the Prosecutor has to try it. That’s what Meisner meant by

‘Settle the hard cases, try the easy.’ Brooke, it’s just a trick, aided by some good luck here

and there.”

She shook her head. “What does it all mean?”

17

“It means that my great record is a ruse: If I don’t think I’m going to win at trial, I

settle out of court. I go to trial on cases I think I can win. But this is different. This is the one

I’d have to win. I couldn’t settle. Everyone thinks I’m a miracle worker. I’m not. I’m more of

a showman.”

Brooke wiped some tears from her eyes, took a sip of wine and put the glass down.

She stood, walked over to him, and put her arm around him. She hugged him and gave him

a kiss on the cheek.

“Now you listen to me,” she said, “very carefully. You’re not just lucky. I knew who

you were when I met you back at the U Dub.”

“Who? Who am I?”

“You’re the most brilliant man I’ve ever known, that’s who—the most brilliant and

the bravest and the best. And that’s why you’re going to take this case… take it, and win.”

Jace shook his head. “If I failed, if Elliot had to spend one more day than necessary in

jail because of my failure, I’d never forgive myself.”

“But you won’t fail. You’ll save him and keep him out of jail. Because you’re the one

man in the world who can do it.”

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