Presumed Innocent (49 page)

"Mr. Molto, you know the basis of the ruling. It was discussed before the jury entered. You have established a physician-patient relationship. Any communications are privileged. And if you question another of my rulings in the jury's presence, sir, your examination will end. Proceed."

"Dr. Robinson, isn't it true that Mr. Sabich stopped seeing you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Your treatment of him ceased?"

"Yes, sir."

"Judge, I submit that these conversations are not privileged."

"You are in contempt, Mr. Molto. Proceed with your examination."

Molto looks over to Nico. Then he lets it all out. He considers his armaments and reaches for the nuclear bomb.

"Did Rusty Sabich ever tell you that he had killed Carolyn Polhemus?" There is the abrupt sound of people gasping throughout the courtroom. But I realize now why Nico was pounding on the podium. This is the question they brought Robinson here to answer. Nothing marginal like whether I used to sleep with her. They are taking one last blind shot. The judge, however, is enraged.

"That is all," he screams. "That is all! I have had it with you, Mr. Molto. Had it! If the other questions are privileged, how isn't that one?"

I whisper to Stern. He says to me, "No," and I say to him, "Yes," and I actually take his elbow and push him to his feet. There is a rare tone of uncertainty as he speaks.

"Your Honor, we would not object to the question, as phrased, being answered."

Larren and Molto are both slow to respond, the judge because of his wrath and Molto in sheer confusion. They both finally comprehend at the same time.

Molto says, "I move to withdraw the question."

But the judge knows what is occurring.

"No, sir. You will not make an inquiry so prejudicial in the presence of the jury and then seek to withdraw it. So the record is clear, Mr. Stern, are you waiving the privilege?"

Stern clears his throat.

"Your Honor, the question does seek to elicit privileged communications, but in my view the question, as framed, can be answered without invading the privilege."

"I see," says Larren. "Well, I suppose that's right. If it goes one way. You ready to take your chances?"

Stern's eyes trail off toward me for an instant, but he responds clearly, "Yes, Your Honor."

"Well, let's listen to the answer, then. We'll know where we stand. Ms. Court Reporter, would you please read back Mr. Molto's last question."

She stands, with the stenographic tape in her hand. She reads in a flat voice:

"Question by Mr. Molto: 'Did Rusty Sabich ever tell you that he had killed Carolyn Polhemus?' "

Larren holds up a hand so that the court reporter can resume her seat and prepare to take down the response. Then the judge nods to the witness.

"The answer to the question," says Robinson in his measured way, "is no. Mr. Sabich never told me anything like that."

The courtroom ruffles in a fashion that it has not to date, with an air of release. The jurors nod. The schoolteacher smiles at me.

Molto will never give up.

"Did you ever speak in any way about the subject of murdering Ms. Polhemus?"

"Objection to that question and to all further questions concerning communication between Mr. Sabich and the doctor."

"The objection is sustained. The objection is taken as a limiting motion and is granted. Any further inquiry being prohibited or irrelevant to these proceedings, I intend to terminate this examination. Dr. Robinson, you are excused."

"Your Honor!" shouts Molto. But Nico instantly has him by the arm. He leads Tommy away from the podium, as they exchange words. Nico nods to humor him, but he seems to have a firmness, a resolve that does not partake of Tommy's outrage.

The judge looks only at Nico.

"Do I take it, Mr. Delay Guardia, that the state rests?"

Nico answers. "Yes, Judge. On behalf of the people of Kindle County, the state rests."

Larren will dismiss the jury now for the weekend and hear the motion for a directed verdict. He turns to them:

"Ladies and gentlemen, I would ordinarily ask you to leave the courtroom at this point in time. But I am not going to do that. Your service in this case is now over—"

I do not understand these words at first, but when I feel Jamie Kemp's arms around me, then Stern's, I know what has occurred. My trial is over. The judge has gone on speaking. He tells the jurors that they may stay if they please. I am weeping. I put my head down on the table for a moment. I am sobbing, but I lift my head to listen, as Larren Lyttle sets me free.

He is addressing the jury:

"I have reflected on this case at length over the last twenty-four hours. At this time, normally a defense lawyer makes a motion for a judgment of acquittal. And most often a judge decides to let the case proceed. Usually there is enough evidence so that a reasonable jury might find a defendant guilty. I think it's fair to say that there ought to be. No man ought to be brought to trial without sufficient evidence that some fair people might conclude beyond a reasonable doubt that he is guilty. I think justice requires that. And I think that in this case justice has not been done. I understand the prosecutors have suspicions. Before yesterday, I might even have said that there were reasonable grounds for suspicion. Now I'm not so sure of that. But I cannot let you deliberate on evidence like this, which is so clearly inadequate. It would be unfair to you and — most importantly — to Mr. Sabich. No person should be held on trial on evidence such as this. I have no doubt that your verdict would be a ringing not guilty. But Mr. Sabich should not have to live with this specter a moment longer. There is no proof of motive here, no concrete evidence that there was ever an intimate relationship. There is no effective proof, so far as I am concerned, after yesterday, to give any reasonable person grounds to believe that Mr. Sabich even had carnal relations with Ms. Polhemus on the night of her death. And, as we have just seen, there is not a shred of direct proof that he murdered Ms. Polhemus. Perhaps he was there that night. The state might be entitled to that inference. If the prosecutors had ever found that glass, I might be more confident. But under all the circumstances, I cannot let the case proceed."

"Your Honor." Nico is on his feet.

"Mr. Della Guardia, I understand you are despairing at this time, but I am speaking and I would like you to hear me out."

"Your Honor—"

"I have a few words to say about Mr. Molto."

"Judge, I want to move to dismiss."

Larren starts, actually draws back. In the courtroom, there is a larger stir and then the serial sound of people moving. I know without looking back that the reporters are fleeing for their phones. The TV guys will have to get their camera vans down here. Nobody was planning for the shit to hit the fan at this point. Larren bangs his gavel and demands order. Then he opens his large hand to indicate that Nico may proceed.

"Judge, I just wanted to say a couple of things. First, it seems like a lot of people have started to think that this case is some kind of frame-up or sham. I deny that. I want to deny that. On behalf of all members of the prosecution. I think we were right to bring this case—"

"You had a motion, Mr. Delay Guardia?"

"Yes, Judge. I hoped when I came to court this morning that you would let the case go to the jury. Some judges would, I think. I think that's the right thing. But some judges probably wouldn't. And since you've apparently made up your mind—"

"I certainly have."

"For Mr. Sabich's sake, I don't think there should be any question about whether this was a proper legal decision on your part or not. I disagree with you. We do disagree. But I don't think it's fair to pretend that I think you're outside the law. And I certainly don't want anyone thinking I'm looking for excuses." Nico turns, if only barely, to look over his shoulder in the direction of Stern. "So for those reasons, I would like to accept your judgment and move to dismiss this case."

"That motion is allowed."

Larren stands.

"Mr. Sabich, you are discharged. I cannot tell you how sorry I am that any of this has taken place. Not even the pleasure of seeing you free can make up for this disgrace to the cause of justice. I wish you Godspeed."

He bangs his gavel. "Case dismissed," he says, and leaves.

Turmoil. My wife. My lawyers. Reporters. Onlookers, I do not know. They all wish to touch me. Barbara is the first. The feeling of her arms around me so firmly, her breasts girdled against me, her pelvis squeezed against mine is astonishingly stimulating. Perhaps this is the first sign of the regeneration of my life.

"I am so glad." She kisses me. "I am so glad for you, Rusty."

She turns from me and hugs Stern.

Today, I elect to make my once-only exit through the heating plant. I do not wish to face the press's disordered melee. I gather Barbara, Stern, and Kemp toward the end of the lobby and then we drop out of sight. But of course there is no escaping. Another gaggle is waiting when we reach Stern's building. We make our way upstairs with little comment. From somewhere a luncheon has appeared in the conference room, but there is no opportunity to eat. The phones ring. And the secretaries soon report that the reception room is a mob scene, with reporters spilling out into the halls. The hungry monster must be fed. I cannot deny Stern this moment. He deserves it, and the consequences of this kind of success in a celebrated case, in terms of both economics and professional stature, will enlarge Stern's career for years to come. He is now a lawyer of national standing.

And so, after half a corned-beef sandwich, we all descend to the lobby of the building to again confront the jostling, shouting crowd of reporters, the microphones, the recorders, the brilliant lights that rise up around me like a dozen new suns. Stern speaks first, then me. "I don't think that anybody, under these circumstances, can say anything adequate, especially in a short period of time. I am very relieved that this is over. I will never fully understand how it happened in the first place. I am grateful that I was represented by the best lawyer on the face of the earth." I dodge the questions about Della Guardia. I am still not settled in my own mind. There is already a large part of me that is content with the idea that he was merely doing his job. No one asks about Larren, and I do not mention his name. In spite of my gratitude, I doubt that after last night I could bring myself to praise him.

Back upstairs, there is now champagne, the same vintage as Kemp popped the night before. Was Stern preparing for victory, or does he always keep a case on ice? There are still many visitors in the offices. I stand among them with Kemp and Stern and drink toasts to Sandy. Clara is here, Sandy's wife. Mac arrives. She weeps as she embraces me in her chair.

"I never had any doubt," she says.

Barbara finds me to say that she is going to leave. She has some hope that Nat's return can be advanced one day. Perhaps the camp director can arrange a seat on the DC-3 that flies back and forth from Skageon. This will require many phone calls. I see her out through the lobby. She embraces me again. "I am so relieved," she says, "so, so glad it turned out this way." But something between us is impenetrably sad. I cannot, right now, fully imagine Barbara's inner states, but I think that even in this moment of rapturous gratefulness and relief she recognizes that something suspended still remains. In the aftermath of all of this, to go beyond our old troubles will require a treacherous journey across nearly unspannable chasms to grace and forgiveness.

In Stern's offices people keep arriving. A number of cops are here, lawyers around town who have come to congratulate Sandy and me. I feel ill at ease among the many outsiders, so few of whom I know. And my initial euphoria is long past, given way to a suppressed melancholy. At first I believe I am exhausted, and full of pity for myself. But eventually I recognize that my disturbance seems to arise, like black oil percolating from the earth, from something more particular, an idea that seems to demand time for contemplation, and quietly as I can, I leave. I do not say that I am going. I slip out with the excuse that I am finding the head. Then I drift out of the building. It is late afternoon. The shadows are longer and off the river a breeze is up that is rich and full of summer.

The night editions of the papers are on the stands. The
Tribune
head is half a page:
JUDGE FREES SABICH
. And the kicker: Calls Prosecution 'A Disgrace.' I pay my quarter. "Decrying a 'disgrace to the cause of justice' Kindle County Superior Court Judge Larren Lyttle today dismissed murder charges against Ro
at K. Sabich, former Chief Deputy in the Kindle County Prosecuting Attorney's Office, ending Sabich's eight-day-old trial. Judge Lyttle sharply criticized the case presented by Kindle County Prosecuting Attorney Nico Della Guardia and stated at one point that he believed some of the evidence against Sabich, a former political rival of Della Guardia's, was manufactured by the prosecution." Both papers play it the same way. Nico takes it in the chops. A made-up case against a past political opponent. Ugly stuff. It will run coast to coast. My friend Nico will be doing the hurt dance for a long time to come. The press, blind as ever to half tones or grays, makes no mention of Nico's final gesture of decency in dismissing the case.