Decision (33 page)

“Your honor,” Debbie said sharply, “I object to the implications of counsel’s remarks and counsel’s tone and I ask that his last sentence be stricken from the record.”

“I think not,” Judge Williams said. “Mr. Stinnet did not object to counsel’s reference to ‘tricks’ and just now he did not name anyone in his own comment. I take it you both are agreed on television. The court has no aversion to it. Our space here is limited and it will have to be done on a rotating-pool basis, but it is perfectly agreeable to the court. The court will accept whatever arrangement the networks agree on. Now if we could return to the selection of a jury, bailiff will call the first prospective juror, please.”

“Before that, your honor—” Regard said. Perlie Williams smiled rather wryly.

“Yes? What is it now?”

“Well, your honor,” Regard said earnestly, “there’s a lot of mighty fine folks outside there who have a great interest in what’s goin’ on in here, and it just occurred to me that maybe it would be a kindly act to string up some loudspeakers and broadcast the proceedin’s directly to them. I’m just wonderin’ if your honor’s tolerance would extend to that?”

“Your honor,” Debbie said, “we really must object. The temper of that crowd out there is already inflamed enough. I think it would be entirely too prejudicial to my client and entirely too much of a handicap to me. I think it would make a three-ring circus out of these proceedings and create a constant hostile pressure on my client and me which would be most deleterious—”

“Miss Donnelson,” Perlie Williams said in a kindly voice, “these folks, as counsel for the state accurately says, are vitally interested in what is going on here. I don’t really think an arrangement such as Mr. Stinnet suggests is going to create any more hostility to your client than obviously already exists. We don’t want it to be said that anybody tried to curtail their First Amendment rights to receive all the information they can, and receive it instantaneously and directly, now, do we?”

“Your honor,” Debbie said, “you know and I know, with all respect, that the First Amendment has nothing to do with it, since it covers the dissemination, not the reception, of information. Loudspeakers would be a most strained interpretation of—”

“Ah, but Miss Donnelson,” Judge Williams said. “Ah, Miss Donnelson,
somebody will say so.
Somebody will argue that loudspeakers
do
disseminate information and that they cannot be curtailed, under the First Amendment. And God knows we have enough problems with this case already, don’t we, without that? No, I think we will accept your suggestion, Mr. Stinnet. It won’t do any harm, in the court’s estimation, and it might do some good in moving things along. And now if we could return to the jury? Bailiff?”

“Your honor,” Debbie was on her feet before the bailiff could respond, “we wish to announce that we waive all rights of selection and challenge.”

There was a startled stir from the audience. Regard was also on his feet like a shot.

“Your honor!” he protested, for a moment looking genuinely, even comically, dismayed. At Debbie’s side her client poked her arm with an audible chuckle and said, quite loudly, “Good for you!”

“Your honor,” Regard said, recovering rapidly but still obviously taken aback, “this is most irregular!”

“I don’t know of any law that says we
have
to select or challenge prospective jurors,” Debbie remarked. “It is a right, not an obligation. Am I not correct, your honor?”

“You are,” Perlie Williams agreed. “You intrigue me, counsel. I’m interested in the reasoning behind your decision. Would you care to share it with the court? You don’t have to, but it would be interesting.”

“Gladly, your honor,” Debbie said crisply. “Because our point that the climate here is such that it is highly prejudiced against the defendant has been brushed aside; request for a change of venue based upon that obvious prejudice has been denied; television has been admitted; loudspeakers have been approved; and now I want the country to see exactly what I was talking about. Therefore it is obvious that counsel for the state must have a completely free hand in selecting exactly the type of jury he wants—prejudiced, biased, completely unfair—the only kind that can possibly be selected in this jurisdiction given the atmosphere I objected to. My perfectly valid and soundly based objection was dismissed. Very well, let him have his way. The country can judge for itself.”

“Your honor,” Regard said, breathing hard but managing to keep his temper. “I object most strongly, both professionally and personally, to opposing counsel’s remarks. They themselves are prejudicial to me, prejudicial to a fair public judgment of this case, prejudicial to potential jurors themselves. I object, your honor. I object!”

“The court will admonish counsel for the defendant to be perhaps a little more polite in her references to counsel for the state,” Judge Williams said, “but I don’t see what else I can do. She doesn’t have to select or challenge if she doesn’t want to, counsel. What would you suggest?”

“But she is simply, deliberately, laying the groundwork for an appeal!” Regard said angrily.

“What else would you have a good lawyer do, counsel?” Judge Williams inquired. “Isn’t that part of her duty as defense attorney?”

“I am also, your honor,” Debbie said blandly, “making my contribution to opposing counsel’s, and your honor’s, desire for a speedy trial. We’re going to save a great deal of time for you, here. I should think counsel for the state would be gratefully applauding my action, instead of puffing up like an indignant catfish.”

“I will suggest to counsel for the defense again,” Perlie Williams said, “that she restrain her tendency to indulge herself in that kind of verbiage. There
is
an atmosphere here which is not friendly to her client, as she truly says, and she will not make it more friendly by such tactics.”

There was a burst of applause, long and loud, which caused Earle Holgren to swing around angrily. An immediate hail of boos responded and Debbie yanked hard at his arm. He gave her a glance but turned back. She stood up with dignity.

“I thank your honor for his generous suggestion,” she said, “and I shall try to abide by it. Meanwhile, jury selection may proceed without us.”

And after a few more moments of grumbling from Regard, endorsed with further applause from the audience but not in the slightest moving Debbie, it did. Regard recovered his poise, took his time, by noon had dismissed twenty of the sixty-seven called. Judge Williams recessed court for an hour, a much-diminished crowd again applauded its favorites and harassed the defendant as they made their separate ways to lunch. After lunch the process resumed. By 3 p.m. Regard had dismissed thirty of the forty-seven remaining, went carefully back over the seventeen left, dismissed five, got his twelve. He made very sure that all were college graduates, professional people: six men and six women; six whites and six blacks; one twenty-three, one twenty-seven, one sixty-five and one seventy, the remaining eight ranging between fifty and fifty-five.

“I intend to get a balance,” he remarked at one point to Perlie Williams, “and since counsel for the defense will not help me, I intend to make sure it
is
a balance.”

At the end of the process Judge Williams congratulated him and Debbie stood up.

“Your honor,” she said, “I wish to congratulate counsel for the state on the good job he has done in selecting his jury. I, too, believe he has selected a well-balanced panel that will very adequately discharge the task he desires it to perform.”

“I repeat to counsel for the defense,” Perlie Williams said with some sternness, “that she does herself no good with that kind of remark. Counsel had her chance and refused it. Now whatever happens is at least as much counsel’s responsibility as anyone’s. I think that is quite clear on the record. No appeal can be based upon the nature of this jury, I believe. It has been selected with scrupulous fairness by Mr. Stinnet. Would counsel not agree?”

Debbie gave him a cool look.

“I will leave that judgment to others.”

“I admire your tenacity, Miss Donnelson,” Judge Williams said. “I don’t think it helps your client very much; but it is, in its own rigid way, admirable. And possibly more effective than seems likely at the moment. Time is the only possible judge of that… Speaking of time, it is now almost five p.m., and it has been a long day. Court will be in recess until nine a.m. tomorrow, at which time counsel for the state will open his case.”

And with a quick rap of his gavel and a pleasant nod to the audience, he left the chamber. A comparatively quiet opening day appeared to be coming to a quiet and routine close. For several minutes all was orderly and as expected.

The Pomeroys and the Barbours moved slowly out as the rest respectfully made way for them. The elder Holgrens had already gone, slipping out a side door of the courthouse to avoid the crowd. The defendant was being taken out in his square of police—four instead of the previous eight, which for a second puzzled him a little; but no sounds came from outside so he supposed the crowd had mostly gone, now that the novelty had worn off. The remainder of the audience was slowly moving out. The defendant just had time to call over his shoulder to his counsel, “You know, you’re damned good!” in a surprised and admiring tone that brought a wry smile to her tightly pursed lips, when he and his guards came out of the entrance into the late afternoon sunshine.

At once things began to happen, very fast.

First came a sudden roar of sound. It was instantly apparent that the crowd, far from dispersing, had regathered during the afternoon, very quietly, to almost its morning strength.

Then came the tossing of several tear-gas canisters at the prisoner, his guards and the group of reporters and cameramen that preceded them, which swiftly had them all gasping, choking, and staggering blindly about.

And then came another great roar of “Justice NOW!” and with it a flying wedge of perhaps twenty men, dressed in what appeared to be black jump suits, the shield of the organization emblazoned on their chests, carrying rifles and wearing gas masks, charging through the helpless group around the prisoner with a ruthless determination that shoved aside the few police who had been stationed along the edge of the crowd. The rush took the attackers, virtually without opposition, straight to their objective.

Within thirty seconds from his appearance on the steps Earle Holgren, blinded and gagging, was captured. His arms were swiftly roped at his sides, his stocky form was carried like a sack of potatoes to a waiting blue van. It roared off. Behind it the crowd broke and began running for its cars, apparently heading for some prearranged rendezvous.

A final great shout of animal satisfaction, happy, exultant, gratified, expectant, filled the world. Inside the entrance the Pomeroys, the Barbours and Regard shrank back stunned while out front the tear-gas victims continued to stagger, gasp and vomit, and in their midst Debbie, managing by some feat of sheer willpower to remain on her feet, screamed, “Save him! Save him! Save him!”

For a long, bitter moment the Justices stared at Regard and he stared back. Finally Tay ground out, “You created this monster. Now do what the lady says and save him!”

Regard’s face was a study. But finally he nodded.

“Yes, God damn his worthless, evil soul, I suppose I’ll have to. But,” he added grimly, “I can’t do it alone. You’d better come with me, Mr. Justice. And you too, Moss, it’s goin’ to take the three of us, with this crowd.”

Again there was a bitter moment while the two Justices looked at one another. Moss was wavering, Tay could feel it. He grasped his arm desperately.

“Moss, we must. It can’t end this way. We’d never recover from it. The Court wouldn’t recover. The
law
wouldn’t recover. We’ve got to try. We’ve
got
to.”

And at last with a deep, deep sigh, Moss inclined his head.

“Come on!” Regard yelled. “Put your handkerchiefs over your noses and run like hell!”

And stopping only to scoop up Debbie, whom he grabbed around the waist with a cry of “Come on, gal, we’re goin’ to get your worthless baby!” he led the way through the still staggering tear-gas victims and the remnants of the crowd to his blue Mercedes, unlocked and yanked open the doors, shoved her in and, after Tay and Moss had scrambled into the back seat, started the engine, turned on the siren and flashing red light that he had clapped on the roof, and shot onto the street.

“Where—?” Debbie began and started to retch. “Where—?”

“Don’t you puke on my leather!” Regard roared. “You hang your head out the window if you have to! But NOT ON MY LEATHER!”

“I am not,” she gasped, after an obviously titanic and successful struggle, “going to
puke
on your precious leather! Where are we going?”

“I know where we’re goin’,” Regard said, his face beginning to gleam with the excitement of the chase as the speedometer passed sixty. “Just don’t try to get out, sweetheart. Stay with me and I’ll get you there. Okay,
counsel?”

“Yes,
counsel,”
she said, sounding more herself by the moment. “Is it the usual place where you have your lynchings?”

“And don’t be God damned smart, either,” he snapped, “because unless we get there in time, this really is goin’ to be one and you’ll
really
have somethin’ to tell your friends up north. Now, hang on!”

And as they all did, he gunned it up to eighty and shot through the outskirts of the city while cars and pedestrians scattered desperately in all directions.

Ten minutes later they began to be blocked by other cars, but with the siren and the constant use of his horn and the recognition that instantly came as they saw his familiar vehicle, he managed to eel on through at a still rapid pace and presently they were on the edge of a large open field. In its center stood an enormous oak and under one of its branches, from which dangled a rope, a blue van with a ladder against its side.

On its top stood four of the black-suited squad from Justice NOW!, still wearing their masks. In their midst, tightly pinioned, the rope around his neck, stood Earle Holgren. He was cold sober now and white as a sheet but the look of arrogant defiance was still there. It was obvious that if they killed him he had no intention of giving them the satisfaction of seeing him break first. With a roar of engine, squeal of brakes, scream of siren and a final long, steady blast on his horn, Regard swung in alongside the van, cut the motor, reached under his seat, grabbed a bullhorn and jumped out.