Death Penalty (44 page)

Anderson looked at me. He smiled. I knew he would be fair.

“Cardiac arrest. The ravages of old age, basically.”

“Death by natural causes?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“Would it be fair then, Doctor, to say you found felonious death because of the reputation of the defendant and the circumstances reported to you, not because of the condition of the body in and of itself?”

He paused. Then he smiled. “A smoking syringe is hard to ignore, Mr. Sloan. Especially in some hands.”

“Maybe. But you based your finding as to cause of death on what was told to you and not what you found physically, is that correct?”

“As I said, it was a process of elimination.”

“But you found nothing toxic in the body, right?”

“That's correct. If you're going to kill someone, at least under these circumstances, potassium would be the vehicle of choice because, after an hour or two, it can't be detected.”

“Like the little man who wasn't there? He wasn't there again today. Gee, I wish he'd go away?”

He laughed. “A bit more scientific than that, Mr. Sloan. It is a matter of deduction.”

“Like Sherlock Holmes?”

“Without the assistance of Doctor Watson, but like that. The process of elimination.”

“I have nothing further,” I said.

Eddie Rand got up and made a show of going over some of the findings in the report. I could hear Miles Stewart's anxious breathing behind me.

“You are a fuck-up,” he whispered in my ear.

Rand was going over the report again.

I stood up. “Objection. These questions have all been asked and answered before. The prosecutor is asking nothing new.”

“Sustained,” Judge Hathaway said.

Rand shrugged. “I have nothing more,” he said.

“Any more witnesses?” the judge asked.

“No, Your Honor. The people ask that the defendant be bound over for trial on the charge of first-degree murder.”

“Any argument, Mr. Rand, to back that up?”

Rand turned so that the camera in the back of the courtroom could catch his profile. Eddie, I thought, was in danger of going Hollywood, despite the rural setting.

“I don't believe any argument is necessary,” he said. “We have shown that a crime was committed and that there is reasonable cause to believe the defendant committed it.”

Rand sat down. He looked over at me and winked. It was the kind of wink a player makes to the other team after scoring the winning point.

“I presume you may have a word or two to say, Mr. Sloan?” The judge leaned back in his chair.

“Your Honor is entirely correct,” I said, getting up and walking up to the bench.

“The prosecutor has stated exactly what he must prove for a defendant to be bound over for trial. He has to show a crime was committed. He has to show that reasonable cause exists to believe the defendant committed it.”

The expression on Rudy Hathaway's face was unreadable. No one could tell what he was thinking.

“Let me address the last part first, if I may,” I said. “I must agree with the prosecutor that he has shown reasonable cause to believe that the defendant's actions were criminal within the meaning of the charge.”

“I want another lawyer!” Stewart shouted, standing up. The deputy behind him put a hand on his shoulder and pressed him back into his seat.

“It's a little late for that now, Doctor,” the judge said. “Mr. Sloan is your lawyer and he is making an argument to the court on your behalf. I would advise you to be quiet. If not, the law allows us to gag defendants who tend to cause disruption in legal proceedings. I consider that fair warning, Doctor.”

I looked back at Stewart. If he had a full syringe I knew who would get the needle at that moment. I nodded to him and smiled, then turned back and looked up at the judge.

“So, basically, I have no quarrel with the second part of the prosecutor's duty. It's the first part, the foundation, that I submit has not been met. He has not proven that a crime has been committed.”

I could hear some exclamations behind me, but nothing more audible from Stewart.

I had memorized some Michigan cases and I now quoted them to the judge. He made a show of jotting down the citations.

“Basically, those cases, and others, say autopsy findings cannot be based on evidence outside the physical findings, no matter how persuasive they might otherwise be. In a murder case, a cause of death must be established, a felonious cause, an unnatural cause. That is not the case here. An old man died when his diseased heart stopped. I submit that is the only admissible cause of death shown. No matter how appealing conjecture might be, it can't be the ruling fact in an autopsy. You can call it process of elimination, deduction, or whatever else, but it boils down to guesswork, nothing more.”

“The defendant was seen with the syringe just before the man died,” the judge said. “That's not guesswork.”

“Yes, it is. It may have been something he was looking at. Perhaps he was gauging the effect of medical care received, or the quality of the equipment used. We have no way of knowing if that syringe was full, empty, used, or new.”

I met Rudy Hathaway's eyes. “Everyone presumes my client went up there to kill Sean Cronin, to put him out of his misery, whatever. Yet he brought nothing with him. Nothing was found on him or in his effects. He would have no way of knowing that a potential deadly drug was on hand. This whole case is based not on fact, but on suspicion.”

Hathaway looked troubled.

“It can't be suspected that a man was killed,” I continued. “It must be shown by medical evidence. The body was examined just hours after death. There was no attempt to hide anything. Nothing was found that would be toxic. Only suspicion. Suspicion can poison the mind, but it can't kill the body.”

For effect, I waited for a minute. I was making a good argument, I thought, although I didn't expect to win. I expected Hathaway to duck the issue and bind Stewart over. I could take another shot when the trial came up. If, that is, I was Stewart's lawyer. Given my circumstances, by that time I might not be anyone's lawyer.

I looked at Rudy Hathaway. “They haven't proven a felonious cause of death,” I said. “They haven't proven that a crime was committed. I ask that the charge be dismissed.”

I returned to my seat.

“You're fired, you son of a backstabbing bitch!” Stewart rasped in my ear.

I ignored him.

The judge looked at Eddie Rand. “Any rebuttal, Mr. Rand?”

He stood up at his place. “None needed, your honor. The autopsy report says it all. Sean Cronin was murdered.”

Then he sat down.

Rudy Hathaway appeared to be lost in thought, and
then he spoke as he stood up. “I want to see both lawyers in my chambers.”

He stomped off the bench, and Rand and I followed him in.

Rudy left the robe on as he sat behind his desk. He fished out a short cigar, lit it, and puffed for a minute.

“I notice you said nothing about Miss Doreen all through this business, Charley. How come?”

“That had nothing to do with my point about the autopsy. Obviously, if you bind Stewart over, it's something that has to be brought out at trial. Justice may be blind, but she's not stupid. A jury has to know the full background. The prosecution can't play favorites, even up here.”

“I can offer Miss Doreen immunity if she'll testify against Stewart,” Rand said. “It'll be no problem, Judge.”

Hathaway made no reply. He took out the cigar and studied it as if he had never seen it before.

“A trial won't be for just one day,” he said. “It will be a media circus and it could last weeks.”

“We don't get much live entertainment around here, Judge,” Rand said. “I think the people will love it. A thing like this sure beats the county fair.”

Hathaway did not laugh. “I was thinking of the Cronin girls,” he said. “I don't think they'd love it. Did you see Miss Donna? God, it was a torture for her. I thought she might have a heart attack right there on the stand. And Charley didn't even ask a question.”

“She'll be all right,” Rand said, but he didn't sound as if he meant it.

“It would be a circus,” the judge repeated. “Doctor Death. Mercy killing. It wouldn't be just a bunch of media jerks. A trial would bring up the wackos, the right-to-life bunch, the right-to-death bunch, and God knows who else.” He looked at me. “Am I right, Charley?”

I nodded.

“What difference does that make?” Rand demanded, but without real fire. “There's been a murder here.”

Hathaway puffed again on the cigar, emitting another puff of smoke.

Things seemed to be going my way, so I decided to keep my mouth shut.

The phone rang. Hathaway frowned. “Damn it, I told them to hold my calls.”

He picked up the receiver. “What is it?” he snapped. “I'm a little busy here, in case you didn't notice.” Then his face seemed to relax. “Oh, him! Sure, I'll talk to him. I always have time for that.”

He smiled before he spoke again. “Hey, Judge, how are you doing?”

This was then followed by some grunts, some yeses, a few “un-huhs,” but nothing much else. Then Hathaway did speak. “Yeah, we're just about done up here. I was just about to go out and give my Solomon-like decision.”

There was another pause while he listened.

“Sure,” he said. “He's right here. You want to talk with him?”

He looked up, grinned, and handed me the phone.

“Hello,” I said, puzzled.

“Charles, this is Judge Bishop.”

I almost dropped the phone.

“Rudy says you folks are just about through up there.”

“That's right.”

“Well, that's convenient. Charles, could you arrange to be in my chambers tomorrow morning? Say, eight o'clock?”

“What's the problem, Judge?”

“We can discuss that then. I trust I can count on you?”

“Should I bring an attorney?”

There was a pause. “At this point, Charles, I don't think it's necessary. I would appreciate seeing you alone.”

“With Harry Sabin? Like the last time?”

“Please be here at eight o'clock, Charles. We can talk then.”

He hung up and I handed the phone back to Hathaway.

“God, I just love that guy, don't you?” Hathaway beamed. “The Bishop. You can always count on him if you're in trouble. He's always ready to help a friend. Right, Charley?”

“Depends on the friend,” I said, my heart beating at a trip wire pace.

Hathaway's look was confused. “Well, he's a great guy in my book.” He took a final, big drag on his cigar.

“I guess there's no reason to put this off. Let's go out and face the lions.”

Rand and I walked out with the judge, then took our seats. The crowd in the courtroom quieted down. Even though Stewart was glaring at me, he said nothing.

“The court has carefully listened to the testimony given in this matter,” Rudy Hathaway said in his professional judicial voice, stem and crisp. “And the court has carefully examined the autopsy report and listened to counsels' arguments.”

He looked out in the direction of the camera. “The first function of a preliminary examination is the proof of a crime. The people must show that a crime actually happened. The test is not reasonable cause to believe it happened, but that it did happen. And that is a problem in this case.”

I heard the rising murmur in the courtroom.

“I listened to Doctor Anderson. The crime of murder must first be established by evidence as to the cause of death. Here, a very old man, a very sick old man, died. He died in suspicious circumstances. However, there was nothing found in the body to show that he died of anything other than natural causes. He may have been poisoned by potassium chloride, but ‘may have' doesn't
answer the test imposed by the law. A murder may have been committed here, but again, ‘may have' does not meet the standard imposed. It must be proved.”

He paused. “In this case, it was not. On that basis, the charge of murder is dismissed.”

Behind me the courtroom erupted. The judge left the bench and the clerk rapped unsuccessfully for order. Deputies kept the news people penned in the spectator section.

I turned and looked at Dr. Miles Stewart. To me, he appeared to be in shock.

“What does this mean?” he asked, almost in a whisper.

“The charge that you murdered Sean Cronin has been dropped.”

“I'm free?”

“Of this charge, yes. You're still on appeal in the other matter. Your bond has been canceled, and as I told you, they'll send you to prison on the original conviction until a bond can be posted.”

“How long?”

“Days, maybe weeks.”

“You had better do it quicker than that.”

“I'm not doing it at all.”

“You're my lawyer!”

“You fired me.”

His face grew red. “Then I want the fee I paid you back.”

I shook my head. “Sony. You paid to have me defend you on this case. I did, and I won. I earned the money, Doctor. On the other case, the appeal, let your new attorney contact me. We can come to some agreement on that fee.”

“I don't want another attorney. You can't weasel out of this!”

I stood up and looked down at him. “You got by this
one by the skin of your teeth. If you do the potassium shuffle again, they'll get you one way or the other. You're out of business, Doctor.”

“You're scum, Sloan, nothing but scum.”

I smiled. “Say hello to the boys in your cell block for me, will you? Be sure to tell them you're a virgin. That way they'll be gentle.”

His mouth worked but nothing came out. The deputies quickly took him away.

Eddie Rand was standing before the bench as though he were lost. I grabbed his arm and led him into the judge's chambers.