Decision (31 page)

“Mmmm,” he said. “And what do you think?”

“What I think is immaterial, Mr. Justice. You know that. You’re a lawyer.”

“I’ve found in my own practice,” he said with some irony, “that a certain amount of personal conviction helps in mounting an effective defense.”

“I do have convictions!” she exclaimed angrily.

“I’m sure. But not so many about Earle Holgren.”

“About what Earle Holgren stands for,” she said in the same harsh tone. “What he represents. His ideals, his dreams, his belief in what is best for America—”

“Injuring my daughter is best for America,” he said with a sudden release of tightly held bitterness. “Killing Justice Pomeroy’s. Murdering a woman and child. These are things that are best for America.”

“If you feel that way,” she said swiftly, “and if he does, then you should disqualify yourselves if this case comes up to the Court. Obviously you are not objective. Obviously you cannot be judicious. Obviously your honor as a liberal demands that you step aside.”

“You’re conceding your case,” he said, and knew he had struck home. “You’re jumping ’way ahead. How can you give him a good defense with that state of mind? You’re beaten before you start, Miss Donnelson. Your client would be wise to get another lawyer.”

“He has chosen me to represent him,” she said, flushing but standing her ground, “and I intend to do so to the best of my ability.”

“Then perhaps you will secure his freedom and our whole discussion will be academic. What is the purpose of it, in any event? The matter has not come before us, it may not. You know I cannot comment one way or the other about it or about what I would do in such an eventuality. Why are you here?”

“Because I want to tell you—” she began. “Because I want to beg of you to remain true to your instincts and your reputation. Because I want you to fight for justice on the Court as you have always fought for it all your professional life, in government and out. I don’t know whether I can win this case in these courts or not, but if it does come up to the Supreme Court, then I just want you to know that I, like all who believe in real justice and the rule of law in America, will be looking to you to fight the battle as you always have.”

He studied her for what seemed to her a long time, gaze disbelieving, moody and inward-turning.

“Miss Donnelson,” he said finally, “do you realize that a few yards from here my daughter is lying in a coma from which she may or may not recover, as the result of the crime of your client?”

“No one has proved he did it!”

“No,” he said quietly. “But you know, and I know, that he did. And we also know that the climate in this state and in the country is such—”

“Thanks to Regard Stinnet!”

“No, not thanks to Regard Stinnet!” he said harshly. “Thanks to the American people getting damned well fed up with senseless crime and violence. Regard Stinnet couldn’t ride this wave if it weren’t already about to break. He’s not a genius, except at capitalizing on public opinion. And he’s got a great deal of it with him on this. So leaving aside the question of the facts entirely, there’s enough emotionalism building up to carry this case against your client just on the grounds of circumstantial evidence, let alone what anybody can or can’t prove about the facts.”

“That’s exactly why it’s up to you and other fair-minded members of the Court to stop it if it comes up to you,” she said promptly.

“Miss Donnelson,” he inquired, “have you been listening to what I’ve said? I said that my daughter is lying in there in a coma because of this—this individual of yours. How do you expect me to be objective about it?”

“But you’re
Tay Barbour!”
she cried, seemingly almost in tears. “People
expect
you to be objective and fair! You can’t do anything else! It wouldn’t be
you!”

He shook his head as if to clear it of demons, then rested chin on hand, staring down at the floor with eyes that were far away and bleakly unhappy.

“Miss Donnelson,” he said finally, “everybody tells me that. I tell myself that. I tell them that. But if you want to know the real truth, in my heart of hearts I
just don’t know.
I just
don’t know
what I would do if Janie—if Janie doesn’t recover… I admire your spirit and your guts, to come to me at such a moment and make your appeal. It takes more courage than I would probably have, if the positions were reversed. But I can give you nothing definitive, nothing you can depend upon—you shouldn’t anyway. In the job you have to do, the immediate issue is all that should concern you and the ultimate future should be left to take care of itself. That’s the only way to commit yourself entirely to a case, as I presume you know. Don’t look to me, at least right now, for any certainties beyond what happens today and tomorrow. All I can promise is that I will do my best to be fair, should it come to me, because that is my nature. But whether I can or not, at this moment I simply do—not—know.”

“Thank you,” she said gravely, standing up and holding out her hand. “Thank you for leveling with me. Taylor Barbour’s fairness is worth the equivocations of a thousand other men, and I’m not worried. I know you will be honest and you will be fair.
You will guard the law.
That is all I can ask.”

He stood up too, ignoring her hand.

“But we can’t ask that of you, can we?” he asked with a sudden savage bitterness. “You are determined to set a murderer free.”

She retreated a step, face suddenly white.

“Only through the law,” she said, voice quivering but determined, thinking, then, that she meant it. “I am determined to exhaust all the resources of the law. I, too, wish to guard the law.”

“‘The law’!” he echoed, almost in a whisper. “How much it twists people, and how much they twist it.”

There was silence while they stared at one another, no longer in the tenuous shallow intimacy of a discussion between strangers but truly strangers now. At last she gave him an odd, jerky little bow.

“Thank you, Mr. Justice. I appreciate your taking the time.”

He nodded, seemingly not even seeing her. He said nothing. After a moment she said, “Well—good-bye,” turned, clutching her enormous cloth bag to her as if it were some protective shield, and walked away.

He remained for several moments motionless. He had revealed his true uncertainties to her as to no one else, not even Moss and Sue-Ann to whom he had appeared adamant and unyielding, the perfect servant of the law. At this odd moment, before this odd witness, he had suddenly stopped trying to convince himself and others by bluster and insistence, and told the truth.

He could not say why. Perhaps because she was so determined and demanded so much of him. He did not know.

He became aware that a couple of nurses were staring. He took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders, braced himself and turned down the corridor toward Janie’s room.

You’re
Taylor Barbour, he told himself with a bitterness more devastating than any he had turned upon her. Don’t forget that. It’s very important.

To somebody.

It was important to the Chief Justice for one, as that decent soul sat in his quiet office and thought of the day’s just concluded Monday session and the cases announced for argument and review. Seven Justices had come through the red velvet curtains when the Clerk cried, “Oyez! Oyez!” All eyes in the audience kept returning to the two vacant chairs. Their silent emptiness made him and his colleagues distinctly uncomfortable. He could feel the uneasiness along the bench even as they were matter-of-factly setting down their work for the term’s concluding days.

Finally he said something about it.

“I might take official recognition of what everyone knows: Justice Pomeroy and Justice Barbour are—unavoidably detained—and cannot be present at today’s session of the Court.”

A little murmur rippled across the audience, upset and angry, with a distinctly personal note that said disturbingly much about the mood of his countrymen.

“It is likely,” he went on, “that they may be absent for several more days. I think I can say on behalf of my sister, my brethren and myself, that we send our absent brethren our deepest sympathies and condolences and hope that the Lord may restore them to us and to as much peace of mind and comfort of heart as may be possible under the circumstances of their absence.”

“And let’s hope the law wipes out the maniac who did it, too,” a male voice said clearly from the audience, and immediately there was consternation in the chamber, where such demonstrations simply do not occur. The Clerk and the Marshal jumped up and glared out sternly over the audience; several of the uniformed guards stepped through the side curtains and stared about importantly; members of the media in the press section also stood up and looked around; and suddenly, here and there through the assemblage, perhaps seventy-five in a group of about two hundred, lapels were turned over, handbags were held up, and the red-and-black shield of Justice NOW! appeared.

For a split second the Chief Justice considered ordering the chamber cleared. As instantly instinct said No! Nothing would have been more inflammatory at such a moment. Nothing would have played more directly into the hands of those leading the movement.

He turned to the Clerk and the Marshal, the guards and the media, and waved them down with a quick, decisive hand.

“The audience is reminded,” he said with a smile of gentle reproof, “that demonstrations of any kind whatsoever are forbidden by the rules of the Court. However, I think it safe to say that my sister and brethren and I can appreciate the depth of public feeling which this event has created in the country, for it has created equally deep emotions here. Though this Court has no jurisdiction in the matter,” he added with deliberate slowness and emphasis, “like all Americans we too wish to see justice done and hope that it may be swiftly accomplished… And now if we may return to the agenda—”

And smoothly he proceeded with the session’s business, not daring to glance at his colleagues, though he heard both Wally Flyte and Clem Wallenberg alongside him expel tensely held-in breaths of relief as the audience obediently settled back and resumed respectful attention.

Later when they adjourned and disrobed an impromptu post-mortem took place in the Conference Room.

“Dunc,” Wally said, holding out his hand, “congratulations. That was a tight moment and you handled it exactly right.”

“Superbly,” Mary-Hannah said while the others expressed agreement. “Did you notice how
many
of those labels there were? It’s scary.”

“Terrifying,” Ray Ullstein agreed soberly. “I didn’t quite realize—”

“I didn’t think it would get here so fast,” Hughie Demsted said.

“I got about thirty letters this morning,” Clem Wallenberg said. “There’ll be more.”

“Got some myself,” Rupert Hemmelsford said. “I’m glad you explained we have no jurisdiction, Chief.”

“I tried,” The Elph said, “but whether it will receive sufficient prominence in the media to do any good—”

“Oh, I think it will,” Justice Flyte said. “I’m sure your whole statement will be run, plus explanations of just what our jurisdiction is. People are reasonable—”

“Not anymore,” Justice Wallenberg said dourly. “This fellow Stinnet has his finger on something. He started it forty-eight hours ago or such a matter, remember, and already it’s here at the Court. If the fallout is here now, imagine what it’s going to be like if the case itself comes here. Sister and brethren, we’re really going to be on the hot seat then.”

“Personally I’m not afraid of it,” Justice Demsted said. Justice Wallenberg shot him an annoyed look.

“Who the hell said
I’m
‘afraid’? I assume none of us is
‘afraid.’
It’s just not going to be very pleasant, that’s all. We’re going to need all of Dunc’s grace and diplomacy to see us through.”

“Plus our own guts and character,” Justice McIntosh said. Her expression became thoughtful. “I wonder what Moss and Tay will do if he’s convicted and the case comes here.”

“By rights,” the Chief Justice said, “disqualify themselves.”

“Yes, by rights,” Hughie Demsted said. “But I’m not so sure if it were one of my kids that I’d be so noble. I might be tempted to hold my seat and sit in judgment. And it would not be a gentle judgment, I’m afraid.”

“It will be a terrible dilemma for them,” Justice Ullstein agreed gravely. “And its early coming, I think, probably inevitable. Almost every major death sentence eventually gets appealed here. One of this notoriety almost certainly will.”

“Well,” Justice Hemmelsford said, “let’s hope it’s delayed awhile. In the normal course of things it may not reach us until next term and by then maybe the novelty and the impetus of Justice NOW! will have worn off. It may be easier to decide a lot of things by then.”

“I think you’re very optimistic, Rupe,” Wally Flyte remarked. “I think this case is going to go through the courts down there and be on our doorstep before we know it. Vengeance is stalking this country—vengeance for a thousand—a million—crimes of pointless and inexcusable violence in these recent years. Something has snapped, with this case. Maybe it’s the instinct of thirty years of public life, but I can just feel it. This isn’t going to be your ordinary slowpoke case this time. This is going to be justice—if you’ll excuse the expression—NOW! The country’s out for blood, and Regard Stinnet is its shepherd. Mark my words. You’ll see.”

And as the next few days unfolded, they did.

There seemed to be no stopping the apparently irresistible growth of Justice NOW! Wally Flyte appeared to be correct.

The country really was out for blood.

Something really had snapped.

Regard’s thesis had apparently been adopted by a majority of his countrymen: when all was said, this was indeed an attack on the Supreme Court. It seemed to have coalesced everything.

The tired shrug, the hopeless shake of the head, the saddened and frustrated “What can you do?” suddenly were gone. An apparent majority had decided that they knew what to do and were rapidly proceeding.

There were some on the other side seeking what they regarded as balance and reason. They might as well have been talking to the wind.