I Will Fear No Evil (26 page)

Mr. Train said, “Counselor, I hope you’re right. But unless that cadaver was nailed down, two gets you ten that some eager medical student has chopped it up.”

The Judge said, “I’m afraid Alec could be right. Jake, it may be a matter of great urgency to perpetuate the evidence—
all
the evidence. Verb. sap. We all know how key evidence has a way of disappearing when big money is involved. And besides eager medical students—well, we all know that almost any illegal act is for sale at a price. Films and records can be stolen, others substituted, ostensibly respectable witnesses can be bribed. Let’s speculate for a moment that Brother Schmidt is opposed by nameless dishonest persons, persons willing to bribe, suborn, and so forth. Such crime is not cheap. Does anyone have a guess as to how much money might be used to destroy or change the evidence?”

Jake said, “I won’t guess. But in the case of four nameless females I can find out.”

Joan said, “I can help a little on this. Marla and Elinor lost their father before they were of age and his estate wound up minus and no insurance to speak of. So I supported my daughter Roberta until she died and kept her kids in school until they flunked out, then continued to support them until each married—one of their grievances against me is that I stopped their allowances when they married. But I continued a credit watch on them, as I did not want any descendant of mine to become a charge on the taxpayers. Much the same with the other two girls except that Jim Darlington outlasted my daughter Evelyn, and both girls—Johanna and June—married while their parents were living. To put it briefly, unless one of them has come into some windfall, all four could not scrape together enough money to tackle any really expensive crime.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” said McCampbell. “Just the same, Jake, time is of the essence in preserving evidence—and I want you to know that this court will give you all possible legal help in protecting and perpetuating any evidence you dig up. Unh, Alec and I plan to be away four days—but I’ll leave my emergency wavelength with Sperling and will bounce back here if you need me.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Wait a minute,” said Alec Train. “There
is
money in this case. Mac, you know how I am about fees.”

“Yes. Larcenous.”

“Ignore him, Brother Schmidt. I tailor my fees, all the way from zero up to outrageous. In this case I did not want the job, so I demanded an outrageous retainer against a, yes, larcenous per diem—and Parkinson paid without a quiver. Through Mrs. Seward but there was no question as to who called the tune. The question is: Will Parkinson go on paying . . . and is he willing to hire his friendly, neighborhood safecracker to go after some necessary link? I don’t know—especially as it isn’t his money, but his mother-in-law’s.”

“I don’t know,” answered Jake, “but I always assume that my opponent might cheat if I fail to cut the cards. I’m going after that evidence with all possible speed. Sorry, Joan, I should have anticipated this—I’m getting old.” (He is
not
. Tell him so, Boss.)

Joan Eunice patted his hand. “Jake, you are
not
getting old and there was no reason to anticipate this. Gentlemen, let me say again, I don’t care a whit if my granddaughters win. If they win, they lose—because if they prove me legally dead, I have cut them off with that shilling. And, thanks to Eunice Branca and Dr. Boyle and Jake Salomon, I’m young and healthy and enjoying life and not distressed at the idea of losing a fortune that has become a burden to me.”

Alec Train said, “Brother Schmidt Joan Eunice honey, don’t you realize that it is unAmurican to talk that way about millions of dollars?”

She grinned at him. “Brother Alec, if I come out of this broke, I’ll bet you a million dollars that I can net a million dollars after taxes in the next five years, starting from scratch. Jake, will you back my bet? Since it calls for me starting broke?”

“Certainly.”

“Wait a minute!” Train protested. “I’m just a poor but honest lawyer. Will you make that bet fifty cents? Mac, will you lend me fifty cents?”

“Not without security. Joan Eunice, listen, please. I don’t doubt that you are willing to tackle the world broke. But I know in my heart that you are indeed Brother Johann Schmidt . . . who okayed a loan to me when I really needed it. Old Eata Bita Pi didn’t let me down . . . and I’m not going to let Brother Schmidt down.”

“Thank you, Brother Mac.”

Jake growled, “You frat house aristocrats made me sick when I was in college and I don’t like it much better today. Judge, the only good reason for giving Joan Eunice a hand is because it’s the fair thing to do. Not because she—he—okayed a loan years ago to some snot-nose fraternity brother.”

“Counselor, your point is well taken. I think I can truthfully say that I have never allowed fraternal bonds—including Shriner, which you and I are—to affect my behavior on the bench—”

“The hell it hasn’t, old buddy mine; you rule against me just for the hell of it. Ask anybody.”

“Even when I’ve been forced to instruct this Irishman in the finer points of the law. I would have helped in this matter in any case; both as a citizen and as a ward of the Court Joan Eunice is entitled to any help a court can offer in establishing her identity. But I confess that my emotions were aroused by a circumstance that I did not dream existed. Not that Joan Eunice is my fraternity brother—that is simply a pleasing coincidence—but that she—he at that time—gave me a hand when it mattered. Uh”—he stared at his glass—“no need to go into details. You know them, Joan Eunice?”

“Yes.”

“You can tell Jake later. Let me list the things I think are necessary in this case; both of you lawyers check me and I’m going to stick a fresh tape in this thing so that we can all have copies.” He turned to his clerk’s recording equipment. “That is I
think
I am going to. Damn! Excuse me, Joan Eunice. I wonder if Sperling has gone home.”

(Let’s look at that thing, dear.) “I’m ‘Brother Schmidt’ any time you feel like swearing, Judge. May I look at your recorder? It’s a bit like one I have at home.”

“Go ahead. I sometimes wish we still used shorthand reporters.”

“Thank you.” (How about, Eunice?) (It’s Betsy’s idiot baby sister, no huhu. You whistle Yankee Doodle or think about Judgie Wudgie and don’t bother me.) (Om Mani Padme Hum. Om Mani Padme Hum. Om Mani Padme—) (Got it, dearie.) “Recording with a fresh tape, Judge; set for three copies, and erase memory.”

McCampbell said, “I’m amazed every time I find someone who understands machinery.”

“I don’t, really. But Eunice Branca taught me to run one somewhat like yours.” (Boss, you’re learning how to lie—just tell the truth but not all of it.) (Honey girl, I
invented
that way of lying way back when your great-grandmother was a virgin.)

“First, Eunice Branca’s death must be established. As it was murder, we will assume extensive records with positive identification including fingerprints—and since they are police records, we must also assume that they are vulnerable to any determined and well-financed attempt to destroy or replace them. Then Mrs. Branca’s body must be followed into surgery and positive identification of the body again established at that point. Johann Schmidt’s body must also be followed to that point and positively identified just before surgery. Then we must be certain beyond any doubt that the brain was removed from the Schmidt body—Joan Eunice, this must be distressing to you. Would you like to retire to my washroom? There’s a couch in there.”

“Please go ahead, sir; I’ve learned to live with it.” (Makes
me
feel like throwing up, Boss.) (Me, too, darling—but we aren’t going to; we’re going to look solemnly serene. Om Mani Padme Hum.) (Om Mani Padme Hum. Let’s make a Lotus; this chair is big enough.) (Yes, darling. Om Mani Padme Hum.)

“—and finally, in court, we will take Joan Eunice’s fingerprints, have them compared by experts with each earlier set, and thereby forge the final link. Joan Eunice, do I simply switch this off now?”

(After the three copies pop out, it will shut itself off.) “When the three copies pop out, it will erase and shut off. Jake, we’re keeping these gentlemen from their fishing.”

“Those fish aren’t restless,” the Judge assured her. “Just a moment.” He stepped to his closed-circuit viewphone. “Evelyn.”

“Yes, Judge.”

“How are things outside? Quiet?”

“Judge, how did you guess? I’ve got three men in the infirmary and the building is buttoned up. You might take a look on three and four, and then play back the sixteen o’clock spot news.”

“How badly were your men hurt?”

“Nothing serious. One with a lungful of sneeze gas when we had to clear the main entrance and seal the riot doors, one with a flesh wound on a cheekbone, and the third with cracked ribs. My guess is the newsies bought ’emselves a riot, as cameras were in position when the trouble started.”

“I see. Are we going to need the Guard?”

“I wouldn’t say so. The police have the streets around us pretty well patrolled and our own people are either staying overnight or being taken off the top by chopper. Message from Judge Anders—says there’s no reason for you not to go fishing and he’ll assume that he’s presiding judge pro tem. He’s staying in his chambers tonight.”

“I’ll call him and thank him. Off.”

The Judge switched to view three, studied it. “Doesn’t look too rough. Just the same they ought to tear this building down and build a stronger one farther from any Abandoned Area.” He switched to view four. “Oh oh!”

The room filled with crowd roar, the screen showed a milling mob. Moving slowly through the crowd were two police Merrimac tanks, their loudspeakers monotonously repeating the warning-to-disperse. “Brother Schmidt, does your house have a copter landing?”

Joan shook her head. “No, it’s designed so that a copter
can’t
land on it. It seemed the safer choice when it was built.”

“Well . . . I could put you into any enclave by copter. Or you could stay here overnight.”

Jake said, “Judge, my car is a Rolls-Skoda. We’ll be all right.”

“I can’t force you to stay. But let’s get a playback on the news and see what stirred up the lice.” McCampbell punched the time in, then punched for playback.

“Headline of the Hour! Brain Transplant Fraud! Our earlier flash has been confirmed; the sensational brain transplant of Tycoon Johann Smith was a hoax. The question is: Did he die a natural death? Or was he murdered? The latter theory seems likely in view of today’s bald-faced attempt to steal his enormous fortune through claiming in open court that his alleged former secretary, a woman of doubtful reputation going by the name of ‘Blanca’—”

Salomon growled, “Judge, would you mind shutting off that damned rot?”

McCampbell switched it off. “Seems I started something. Can’t say I’m sorry. I will
not
let my courtroom be turned into a circus.”

Joan Eunice said meekly, “I’m sorry, Judge.”

“Eh? Joan Eunice, you are not at fault. You were forced into court needlessly and against your will; you did nothing. As for me, I hold to the old-fashioned ideal that a courtroom is where the Sovereign is present in person, dispensing equity and justice to all . . .
not
bread-and-circuses for the rabble. As long as I’m on the bench I’ll run it that way, no matter how many news snoops get sore or how many illits want a livelier show.”

“I’m sorry your bailiffs were hurt.”

“Well, so am I. But they aren’t conscripts, they are career people who know it is hazardous. And they are necessary—if that bill ever passes to disarm bailiffs, that day I quit the bench . . . and the Law as well. Jake?”

“Yes, Mac?”

“You can risk your neck if you want to, but even a Rolls-Skoda is not a Merrimac. Enough people can tip it over, then they can build a bonfire around it and roast you like chestnuts . . . and there are characters out there who would do it just for kicks. No, not a word out of you; I’m not going to let her leave this building in a ground car even if I have to reconvene court for three seconds and make her a ward again. She leaves by copter. The question is: Where does she go? You could sleep in my chambers, Joan Eunice; there is a buttery in the bar and the washroom is a complete bath and that couch opens into a bed. Lumpy, I’m afraid.” (Ask Judgie Wudgie if
he
goes with the bed!) (I didn’t hear you—and pipe down.)

“I was going to say,” Jake said mildly, “that I have a house in Safe Harbor. Unstaffed and empty but it’s a safe rendezvous. You could have your Chief Bailiff tell my driver and Shotgun to wait until this quiets down, then pick us up there—although I would bet on those boys to drive through any mob and not let the car be tipped; they’re mean.”

“No doubt. And wind up with a hit-and-run, too; we’ll do it the easy way. Either of you want to use my washroom while I phone Evelyn and the roof?”

A few minutes later Jake and Joan were about to leave; the Judge’s copter was waiting for them, he having brushed aside remarks about fish. Joan said, “Judge? I think you know I am grateful, but I would like to show my thanks by doing something—money, I mean—for those men who were hurt.”

“No.”

“Why not? Oh, I know it was not my fault but nevertheless they were hurt because of me. You know I can afford it.”

“Because they are officers of the Court and I would have to treat it as constructive bribery. Tell her, Jake.”

“He’s correct, Joan—although he’s being stuffy about it.”

“Not too stuffy. Joan Eunice, there is an enclave home for dependents of police, bailiffs, firemen, and such, killed in line of duty. Jake can tell you about it. I would rather not hear what you do about it.”

“I see.” Joan ignored the fact that Jake was waiting with her robe, stepped closer to McCampbell, turned her face up, and put her arms around his neck. “Does this constitute bribery?”

“I think so,” McCampbell answered, putting his arms around her. “But I won’t analyze it.”

“Of course it’s bribery! Get away from him, Brother Schmidt! I handle his bribes.”

“Shut up, you noisy Mick.”