Desperate Measures (46 page)

He put his glasses on again and looked at the section she was pointing to. “Of course.”

“Will you describe it to the court, please.”

“It's a description of a series of incidents that often indicate a progression which culminates in eventual mayhem. It starts with childhood animal cruelty and advances step-by-step to a murderous rampage.”

“Will you please read the final sentence of that section before the line break.”

He cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses, then read: “Statistics bear witness to the truth of the nature of violent behavior, that without aggressive intervention the child who tortures the cat becomes the adolescent who terrorizes his peers and the adult who is seized by uncontrollable furies that lead to murderous rampages.”

“Thank you,” Barbara said when he handed the book back to her. “What is meant by the phrase ‘aggressive intervention'? Ice baths? Whips? Beatings?”

He smiled a thin, frosty smile. “No, of course not. It is intervention with purpose, imposed if necessary on the subject. It can be counseling or medication or both, sometimes within the confines of a hospital.”

“In your opinion, is Dr. Minick capable of such intervention?”

“Yes. At least he was when he was still active. I assume it holds true to this day.”

“The passage you read to the court started with the phrase ‘statistics bear witness.' Do you recall that?”

“Of course.”

“Does that mean that in most cases what follows is true?”

He hesitated, then said, “That is close enough, I suppose.”

“And does that mean that it is not true in each and every case?”

“Yes. There is no one hundred percent guarantee where human behavior is concerned.”

“Have you examined Alex Feldman personally?”

“No.”

“Have you spoken with him?”

“No.”

“So you base your findings solely on his medical records to the time he was eighteen. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Because statistically, you know you can rely on them. Is that correct?”

“That's absolutely correct.”

“I see. Did you carry an umbrella today to court, Dr. Jacoby?”

“Objection,” Novak called out. “Immaterial.”

“I have a point to make, Your Honor,” Barbara said. She glanced at Judge Mac and thought he already had taken her point.

“Overruled. You may answer the question, Doctor.”

Jacoby looked bewildered, then shook his head. “I did not.”

“Why not?”

“It wasn't raining.”

“But according to the Weather Bureau, statistically on this date we can expect rain,” she said. “Do you mean to say that human behavior is more statistically reliable than the weather?”

“Yes, it is,” he said positively.

She smiled and picked up another of his books, read the title and gave the date of publication, then opened it. “On page two hundred twelve you wrote, ‘There is nothing, absolutely nothing as mysterious as human behavior; unraveling the vagaries of changeable weather, the unpredictable volcanic eruptions, the indeterminate movement of atomic particles, all pale, become child's play compared to attempting to comprehend the unfathomable depths of the human psyche. Statistics hint at what we might expect, but can never predict with unfailing accuracy any future act of anyone individual human being.' Are those your words, Dr. Jacoby?”

“Yes, but in context—”

“‘Yes' is enough,” she said. “No further questions.”

When Novak did his redirect, Barbara listened attentively, but there was nothing new, just more—much, much more—of the same, with language that became ever more pompous and stilted.

To Barbara's surprise Novak called Calvin Strohm next; she had been expecting him to call Dr. Minick. She was disappointed; she and Dr. Minick had looked forward to having him appear as a state witness. She suspected that Jacoby had explained to Novak the folly of calling him.

Calvin Strohm was young, thirty-one, open-faced, blond, and very clean looking. Barbara thought it strange how some people gave the impression of being cleaner than others, when, she felt certain, they all probably bathed and shampooed with about the same frequency. But Strohm appeared clean and fresh and not like a candidate for Mensa. The way he looked around at everything and everyone except Alex suggested that he had never testified in court before.

He gave his background: high school, community college, two years in the army, then the sheriff's department.

“Did you have occasion to call on Dr. Minick and Alexander Feldman early in June?” Novak asked then.

“Yes, sir, I did.”

“Tell the court how that came about.”

“Well, Gus told me—”

“Excuse me, Deputy Strohm. Was that Gus Marchand?”

“Yes, sir. Gus, he told me that this guy was scaring his daughter, Rachel, and would I go with him and put the fear of the law in the guy. He said he didn't fear the Lord, or the devil, but maybe the law would mean something to him. So me and Gus went over….”

He told it more or less the same way Dr. Minick had related the incident.

“On that day how did Alexander Feldman react to Mr. Marchand's accusation?”

“Well, Gus, he didn't get to go in. Dr. Minick wouldn't let him in. And Alexander Feldman looked really mad. He was scary looking. He said he didn't do anything and went in his room and slammed the door hard enough to shake the house.”

“What else did Gus Marchand tell Dr. Minick that day?”

“He said he wasn't through, and that Alexander Feldman wouldn't get away with spying on his daughter and that he would put forty houses on that piece of ground next door and let him have some company.”

“Was there another occasion when you went to Dr. Minick's house to see Alexander Feldman?”

“Yes, sir, there was. The day Gus got killed.”

“Tell us about that occasion, Deputy,” Novak said.

“I got the call on the car radio, me and Steve Philpott got there at just about the same time, and he went out to see if anybody was hanging out in the barn or garage, and I took a look inside and saw that Gus was on the floor, and they were saying he was dead. Bakken and Wilberson, I mean. And they were saying how nobody could have gone in without they would have seen them, and I called Steve back to the house and told him I would go check on the frea—check on Feldman and make sure he was not going anywhere before the sheriff and the homicide guys got there. So I went over there again. I went around to the back and I could see them, Minick and Feldman, I mean, at the kitchen table eating. And I said something, and Minick stood up and put his hand on Feldman's shoulder, like to hold him down, and he came to the door, and I told him Gus was dead. He said he knew that, he had been over there.”

“How did Feldman look that time, Deputy?”

“He looked wild, kind of crazy, and real mean. He grabbed up his sunglasses and stuck them on like he was trying to hide his eyes.”

“Then what did you do?”

“I just told them to stay there because someone would come around to ask some questions, and I got out of there and back to Gus's house.”

“Did you drive to Dr. Minick's house that evening?”

“No, sir. I walked through the woods, like I thought someone else might have done. I wanted to see if the woods got too thick or anything to walk.”

“Did the woods get too thick?”

“No, sir. It's an easy walk, just a few minutes at the most, not hurrying any.”

Barbara started her cross-examination by asking Strohm if he had known Gus Marchand very long.

“Most of my life, I guess.”

“In what capacity? I mean, were you a neighbor, a friend?”

“My folks live out that way, and I did until I moved to Springfield four years ago. Gus was in our church, and he was my Sunday-school teacher when I was small.”

“So you knew the whole family, Gus Marchand, his wife, and his children?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Did you also know Dr. Minick and Alex Feldman?”

“I seen Dr. Minick around, not Feldman.”

“Had you ever seen Alex Feldman before the day you drove to Dr. Minick's house with Gus Marchand?”

“No, ma'am.”

“But you had heard about him?”

“Well, I guess so. People talk.”

“Yes, they do. Were you on assignment the day you drove to Dr. Minick's house with Gus Marchand?”

He hesitated a moment, then shook his head. “No, ma'am. I just went because Gus asked me to.”

“When Alex Feldman denied the charge of spying on Rachel, did he also tell you to go ask her in person if it was true?”

“I don't recall that,” he said. “Did you ever ask her about it?”

“No, ma'am.”

“Had Mr. Marchand filed an official complaint?”

“I don't know. I don't think so.”

“Do you know if he filed a complaint after that day?”

“I think he was going to if he wouldn't have died like that.”

“But did he ever file an official complaint?”

“No, ma'am. Not that I know of.”

Bit by bit she drew it out of him that Gus had approached him after church, to enlist his services in warning Alex to stay away from Rachel.

“Were others taking part in that conversation? Other than you and Mr. Marchand?”

“There were a couple of others,” he said.

“Exactly how did Gus Marchand refer to Alex Feldman that day?”

“I don't know. We just knew who he meant.”

“Well, he must have called him something.”

“He might have called him a freak, something like that. Or Doc Minick's freak.”

“What else, Deputy Strohm?”

“Devil freak,” he said in a low voice. “He sometimes called him that.”

“Anything else?”

“Maybe devil spawn, something like that.”

“Did he ever once refer to him by name?”

He hesitated longer this time, looking at Novak's table uneasily before he answered. “I don't think so. Everyone knew who he meant.”

“All right. Now, on the day of the murder, was it your first thought that the devil freak must have killed Gus Marchand?”

“No! I mean, they said nobody could have got in there without them being seen, and I knew he was mad at Gus, like that, but I didn't jump to a conclusion that fast. I just wanted to make sure he didn't go nowhere.”

“Deputy Strohm, at this time I want you to take a close look at Alex Feldman. Will you do that, please.”

Reluctantly he glanced at Alex, then away.

“I mean examine him, Deputy,” she said brusquely.

He looked again, his own face set in tight lines. Alex flinched slightly, but he held still for the scrutiny.

“Is that how he looked on the two occasions you have talked about?” she asked when Strohm faced the back of the courtroom again.

“No, ma'am. He looks calm now, not wild or mean.”

“I see. Deputy, did you hear Dr. Jacoby's assessment of Alex Feldman earlier today?” He said no. “To refresh the court's memory, I'll repeat just a portion of it. ‘Alexander Feldman has no muscles in more than half of his face. He can't help it if he looks fearsome.' ” She walked back to her table. “No more questions.”

After taking her seat once more, she pressed Alex's hand. “I'm sorry,” she said. “That was hard, but I had to do it.”

He nodded. His hand was cold under hers. “It's okay,” he said.

It isn't!
she wanted to cry out. It's filthy, damnably rotten, anything but okay! That ignorant, know-nothing with his scrubbed baby face should be shaken until his teeth fall out. Alex turned his hand over and held hers for a moment.

“Barbara, it's really all right,” he said. “In fact, I'm getting a whole new cast of characters and story lines.” His hand holding hers belied his comforting words; his hand was shaking.

Then they listened to Novak take Deputy Strohm back over the same ground, emphasizing that no one could have approached the Marchand house except by the woods. And that he had not rushed to judgment but had been guided by reason, and had shown initiative….

When he was excused, Judge Mac said it was time for the midday break, and they would resume at one-thirty.

As soon as the judge was out of the courtroom, Dolly said to Frank, “I suppose you feel it necessary to deliver Alexander to us for luncheon as you did before.” Pointedly ignoring Barbara, she turned to Will and said, “I'm afraid that this time we'll have to excuse you.”

“I already asked him to come along,” Alex said. “If you decide to kidnap me and spirit me away, there should be a witness to testify that it was against my will.”

Good God, Barbara thought then, he was laughing.

Meanwhile, a man had come around the row of seats to the front of the room and to her table, his hand extended. “Courtney Innes,” he said. “I've been observing you. You have a very interesting courtroom style. It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Holloway.”

He was beautiful, just as Alex had said, with flowing platinum-blond hair and brilliant blue eyes, a large square-jawed face with a good tan, and dazzling white teeth. A lot of teeth, she thought at first, but probably just the usual number; he simply was revealing them all in a broad smile. He held her hand a fraction of a second too long and released it as if he regretted the need to do so.

“Perhaps later we can share a drink and have a bit of a talk,” he said, holding her gaze almost hypnotically. “Later.” He turned and rejoined Dolly and Arnold Feldman, and they walked out together.

“Good Lord,” Barbara said. “Alex, he'll wrap you up and take you home with him.”

“That's why I want Will along,” Alex said. “Let's beat it.”

She looked at Will. He shrugged. “With any luck, he'll let me go home with him, too,” he said. “Ready, gang? Let's do it.”