The Man Who Wasn't There Page #12

WALTER:

Have a seat.

Ed glances around but the swing is the only seat. He sits

next to Walter.

ED:

Thanks. Thanks for seeing me, at

home.

WALTER:

Oh, hell. Drink?

ED:

No thanks.

WALTER:

Sure you don't need one?

ED:

I'm fine.

WALTER:

OK. Boy. Jesus!

ED:

Yeah. What do I, uh...

WALTER:

Well, of course, I, uh, it's out of

my league, criminal stuff. I do, uh,

probate, real estate, title search,

uh... I'd be absolutely worthless,

something like this. Absolutely

worthless.

He belches.

WALTER:

'Scuse me, just finished dinner. Um.

Frankly, Doris'd be better off with

the county defender.

ED:

He a good man?

WALTER:

Bert's OK, sure, he's a good man. I

won't kid you though, Ed, nobody

around here has any experience with

this kind of, er... And I hear they're

bringing a prosecutor up from

Sacramento. Capital offense. Taking

it seriously... Hmm...

ED:

So--

WALTER:

Taking it seriously.

ED:

So, who should I--

The front door opens and someone speaks through the screen:

VOICE:

You want any coffee, Dad?

Ed looks around at the voice.

VOICE:

Oh, hello, Mr Crane.

She steps out:
it is Birdy Abundas.

Ed rises, and they awkwardly shake hands.

ED:

Hello, Rachel.

BIRDY:

I'm so sorry... I was sorry to hear.

ED:

Yeah. Thanks.

WALTER:

Coffee, Ed?

ED:

I'm fine. Thanks.

WALTER:

No thanks, honey.

BIRDY:

OK. Nice to see you, Mr Crane.

They watch her go back in.

WALTER:

Damnit! She's a good kid.

Ed nods.

A beat.

ED:

...So, uh, who should I--

WALTER:

Well, there's Lloyd Garroway in San

Francisco. Probity--you know, no one

ever said anything iffy about Lloyd

Garroway. Conservative. Jury might

like that. Might like that here.

He takes a sip of his drink.

WALTER:

...Probity.

ED:

Uh-huh. Is he the best then, for,

uh...

WALTER:

Well, the best, the money-is-no-object

best, for a criminal case, any lawyer

would tell you Freddy Riedenschneider.

Out of Sacramento. 'Course, I don't

know how you're fixed for money.

ED:

Uh-huh. He's the, uh...

WALTER:

Yeah, the best.

He sniffs.

WALTER:

...Yeah, Riedenschneider. Wish I

could tell you more. Hell, I wish I

could handle it myself. But I'd be

absolutely worthless for this kind

of thing.

He takes a musing sip.

WALTER:

...Criminal matter? Freddy

Riedenschneider.

He thinks.

WALTER:

...No question about it.

ED AT A TABLE:

It is a long table with chairs stretching down both sides,

one side for prisoners, the other for visitors. The room is

empty except for a guard and an elderly woman who sits across

from a younger woman at the far end of the table. The younger

woman, in a prison smock, is wailing. The elderly woman is

holding her hand.

Ed sits across from an empty chair, clutching a flower-printed

toiletries kit. There are echoing voices suggesting large

spaces outside the room.

He sits and waits.

Approaching footsteps.

The door opens. A large prison matron steps aside to let

Doris enter.

Doris looks lost in a prison-issue jumper that is too big

for her. Her hair is uncurled and bedraggled. Not only is

she not made-up, she has a couple of bruises and a cut on

her lip.

As Ed stands, she gives a hollow look around.

ED:

Honey... I brought your make-up.

She looks at him.

DORIS:

Honey.

ED:

How are you?

She shrugs.

DORIS:

I don't know what's going on. I--

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