Decision (44 page)

“You heard your mother’s testimony.”

“Oh, yes,” he said indifferently. “I heard it.”

“You heard her say that your parents detected a noticeable change in you about your sophomore year in college. What was that?”

“I think I found out about girls,” he said dryly. “Or maybe it was boys. I don’t know
what
it was!” he added with sudden savagery.
“I
thought I was doing all right!”

“Not according to her,” Debbie said, referring to the transcript. “She says you came home ‘different’—in dress, manner, habits, beliefs. I quote from the attorney general: ‘Was there dope?’ And from Mrs. Holgren: ‘Some. But we felt that was an effect, not a cause—something he felt he had to do to satisfy some—some peer group that was watching him. To look big in their eyes.’ And the attorney general: ‘Watching him?’ And Mrs. Holgren: ‘Telephoning. Calling him away to meetings. Keeping an eye on him. Encouraging him.’ And the attorney general: ‘Encouraging him to do what, Mrs. Holgren?’ ‘Hate us. Hate his country. Hate everything we had reared him to be.’”

She laid down the transcript and turned again to her client.

“Did you change in all these ways, Mr. Holgren?”

He shrugged.

“Maybe. Kids do. Everybody grows up sooner or later, much as some parents hate to admit it. I think I probably just grew up.”

“What was this ‘peer group’ your mother talked about?”

“There wasn’t any ‘peer group,’” he said patiently. “That’s just an inadequate mother’s rationalization.”

In the audience, Mrs. Holgren clutched her handkerchief to her mouth to stifle some inarticulate, anguished sound. Earle gave her an impassive, appraising glance as though he had never seen her before. Some members of the jury began to look a little upset.

“Why do you say she was ‘inadequate’?” Debbie demanded sharply. “I’m sure she was doing her best.”

“Oh, yes,” he agreed, taking the cue, suddenly amicable. “I’m sure she was. I don’t know that I was all that easy a kid to understand, either. Maybe it was partly my fault. It’s hard to assess these things fairly. I’m sure we’ve all had similar problems, either as kids or parents.” And he smiled once more directly at the jury, whose members appeared mollified.

“So there was no ‘peer group,’ then,” Debbie said quickly.

“Of course not,” he said with a dismissing smile. “What would that mean, anyway?”

“I don’t know. I’m asking you.”

“Well, I don’t know either,” he said, smile broadening. “I took to running around a lot, but again, lots of kids do. And I was critical of my parents, probably, and what kid isn’t at that age? And they were pretty conservative and I guess I was pretty liberal, and again, what’s so unusual or unnatural about that kind of generation gap? But I didn’t ‘hate’ anybody. I didn’t ‘hate’ them or ‘hate’ my country. That’s absurd!”

This time it was Mr. Holgren who uttered some muffled, protesting sound. But Earle just continued to smile, not looking at his father, and no further sound came from him, and presently the jury relaxed again.

“How were you treated at the time of your arrest?”

“I was savagely beaten up,” he said, a note of genuine anger entering his voice. “His thugs set on me—”

“Your honor,” Regard said sharply. “I must object to that description of the law officers and good citizens of Pomeroy Station who apprehended this man. They are not thugs, nor are they mine. They are law-abiding citizens seeking to capture a man who had just blown up the plant and murdered three—”

“Your honor,” Debbie said with equal sharpness, “now I object.”

“The defendant’s remark and that of the attorney general will be stricken from the record,” Perlie Williams said. “Please proceed, Mr. Holgren. In order.”

“Yes, sir, your honor,” Earle said, not yielding much, “but I can’t help but feel indignant still at the way I was brutally treated. The jury has seen photographs of me taken after the arrest, they’re in exhibit here, and some of them were in the papers and on television. I wasn’t such a pretty sight, thanks to those who did it. Frankly,” he said, again addressing the jury with an intimate directness, “I felt like holy hell. I
hurt.
I
really hurt.
And when I get around to suing the state for false arrest, I’m going to include as many of the bast—as many of those who did it as we can find. Furthermore, counsel,” and he swung back to Debbie, “I was denied my rights as well. Nobody notified me of them and as you know it was not until early morning of the next day that you were permitted to visit me and I was permitted to have myself a lawyer.” He turned and glared at Regard for a moment. “That will be taken into account, too.”

“It most certainly should be by the jury,” Debbie said as Regard ignored his look; and added thoughtfully, “And by any other jurisdiction that may consider the matter.”

“That means us, kid,” Moss whispered wryly, “and don’t you forget it.” “We can’t, Moss,” Tay responded seriously. “We have to take those things into account.” “Maybe,” Moss said grimly. “Maybe.” “You know we do,” Tay replied, “and no ‘maybe’ about it.”

“Why do you think it is,” Debbie inquired in a puzzled tone, “that you got involved in all this, Mr. Holgren? Why would workers at the plant testify that you were around there a lot? Why would Boomer Johnson testify that he saw you in the woods above the plant just prior to the explosion and then just after in the company of a young woman and an infant whose general description tallies with the bodies found in the well? Why would your mother testify that some sort of ‘power group’ was putting pressure on you to hate your parents and your country, and that you responded? Why were you apprehended near the entrance to the old mine shaft? Why would these things happen to an innocent man, Mr. Holgren?”

“Well, you know,” he said, hunching forward confidentially in his chair and looking straight at the jury, not at her, “I have asked myself these questions many times while I have been under false arrest during the past three weeks. I’m glad you’re playing devil’s advocate for me, Miss Donnelson, because I know these are things that are very puzzling to me, as they must be to everybody, and I want to answer them as best I can.” He paused and shook his head, baffled. “I’ve been giving it a great deal of thought and all I can come up with is that there must be some conspiracy, some sinister plot which has selected me for its target in the hope that I can be made a symbol and a rallying point for an organization devoted to the political ambitions of some individual or individuals who feel they can profit from framing me…

“I was up in the woods above the plant”—there was a startled excitement in the audience, sharp looks from the jury; he smiled calmly and waved a monitory hand—“don’t everybody get excited now, this was
after
the explosion,
after
the time when our young friend Boomer claims he saw me and some unidentified young woman and child up there—I
was
there
after
because I, too, was looking for the individual—or individuals—responsible for the dreadful crimes that occurred there that day. Prior to that time I had been mingling in the outskirts of the crowd—the honorable attorney general can probably find a dozen people who saw me, if he
really
wants to look—but after the explosion I decided I would do what I could to help, because I did do a lot of jogging around there and I am pretty familiar with the area. So I went on up and started looking. I knew where the old cave was—”

Debbie looked at him through narrowed eyes, face expressionless but mind whirling: was he really so egotistically unbalanced as to push his luck this far? He was. “—because I had stumbled on it one day when I was exploring around just out of idle curiosity, and because I like to know the lay of the land.” He grinned suddenly. “I’m like young Boomer. I too like ‘my own perch’—I too have ‘a independent mind.’” Audience and jury joined him in a small, patronizing chuckle for Boomer’s grammar. Then he resumed his narration seriously again. “So I knew the cave. It occurred to me that if somebody else knew it, namely the guilty party, he might consider it a good place to hide. I had just stepped into it to explore when I realized I didn’t have a flashlight, so I started back out—and just then the good, law-abiding citizens of Pomeroy Station, as he calls them—and I’m not saying they aren’t, your honor, I’m sure they are, they were just kind of excited at the time—jumped me and beat me and took me into custody without so much as a by your leave, or my rights, or anything. I was only trying to help, and look what happened!”

He gave the jury an injured look and shook his head in wonderment.

“As I said,” he concluded solemnly, “I can only figure that somebody must have decided that I was to be made the scapegoat for an organization intended to further somebody’s political ambitions. As to why certain people have testified to certain things, well”—he shrugged—“it’s always possible to suborn witnesses.”

“Your honor,” Regard said with a dangerous glint in his eye, “is this individual charging me with suborning witnesses?”

“Oh, no,” Earle said airily. “I just said it was possible to do that, I didn’t say anybody
did
it. I just said it was
possible.”
His tone became suddenly vicious. “Surely the great attorney general isn’t denying that
some
time, at
some
place, at
some
point in history, witnesses
have
been suborned by somebody, is he? It
is
a humanly conceivable act, isn’t it? It
has
been done, right? It
could
happen again, right?
Some
place,
some
time, by somebody?”

“Your honor,” Regard said, breathing a little heavily, “I will not dignify talk like that by replying. Are you through with your client, counsel? Because I’d like to get at him.”

There was a rather nervous laugh in the room, followed by vigorous applause. But the jury was not amused. They all looked grave and concerned. Earle had shaken them and Debbie decided to let it go at that.

“Your honor,” she said, “unless my client wishes to add something of his own—”

“Oh, no,” Earle said complacently, leaning back with his expansive air, “I think that pretty well states the case as
I
see it.”

“It’s been a long afternoon so far,” Perlie Williams said, “and likely to get longer. The court will stand in recess for twenty minutes, after which we’ll resume. It is my intention to go right on as long as it takes to wind this matter up today.”

“That murderous little bastard is a complete phony,” Moss said glumly as he and Tay headed for the men’s room, “but I’m afraid he’s made some points.” “Which we will have to consider, if and when,” Tay said with equal glumness as they queued up. “He’s one clever, amoral son of a bitch.” “He hasn’t got away with it, yet,” Moss said, not too hopefully. “I don’t know,” Tay said, and sighed. “I just don’t know.”

When court reconvened the attorney general stood for several moments simply looking quietly and intently at the defendant. Presently, though his eyes never left Regard’s and his defiant and sardonic look never changed, this began to get to Earle Holgren. He shifted in his chair, put one arm up on the back of it, thoughtfully felt his beard with his other hand, began to look more and more sullen and angry. Finally he spat out:

“Yes?”

“Are you questioning me?” Regard said softly. “It’s really my job to question you, you know. I thought that was what you wanted—you’ve offered yourself here, when you didn’t have to.”

“Get on with it, then,” Earle said angrily. “Just get on with it.”

“Oh, we’ve got plenty of time,” Regard said lazily; and then, since Judge Williams also appeared to be getting a little restive, he dropped it and became serious.

“Your name is Earle William Holgren, otherwise known as—?”

“A lot of things,” Earle replied with an insolent grin, quite himself again now that battle had been joined. “I think you probably have them all written down there.”

“Oh, I do,” Regard said. “I just wanted to see if you could remember them. As you remember all the back roads and wood paths of South Carolina. You have, in fact, known South Carolina since the age of ten, have you not, since your parents purchased a small estate near Pomeroy Station? You are entirely familiar with the area, aren’t you, Earle?”

“I came here as a boy, yes,” Earle said; and added in a tone that brought an uneasy stirring in the audience, “And if you want to address me, my name is
Mr.
Holgren.”

And he lolled back, amicably insolent, his younger-Santa Claus resemblance quite pronounced this afternoon. Only the eyes were alert, shrewd, always hooded, always moving, darting here and there to sweep his opponents’ faces from under the bushy salt-and-pepper brows.

“What were you doing with this exhibit,” Regard inquired, pointing to the detonator, “when Mr. Boomer Johnson saw you?”

“Mr.
Boomer
Johnson?”
Earle echoed, amused. “That
is
playing for the down-home vote, isn’t it, Mr. Stinnet?”

“Just answer the question, please,” Regard said patiently.

“I collect them,” Earle said. “I love funny things.”

“Go right ahead and hang yourself,
Mr.
Holgren,” Regard suggested with an amicability of his own. “I don’t care if you want to give me smart-aleck answers. It only antagonizes the jury more. Please continue.”

“I found it in the woods,” Earle snapped, suddenly scowling.

“You didn’t bring it with you.”

“No, I found it, I said!”

“After you had already put it there on a previous occasion?”

“Your honor—” Debbie began, but her client shot her an impatient look and she subsided.

“I’ve told you I found it,” he said, more quietly. “Did
Mr.
Boomer
Johnson
see me put it there on a previous occasion? Did anybody? I don’t recall any testimony.”

“There is none,” Regard agreed calmly. “I just wanted to see what kind of lies”—Debbie moved, Judge Williams frowned—“what kind of testimony you would give about it. We are to take it, then, that you just happened to find it there, and that when Mr. Johnson saw you, you were just fondling it, as it were?”