Reversible Errors (21 page)

Arthur proceeded through the preliminary questioning of Erno. Erdai was already thinner than when Arthur had seen him in prison three weeks ago, and his lungs had begun to fail. The marshals had hiked a canister of pure oxygen on wheels onto the witness stand at Erno's feet, and the protrusions on a clear tube connected to the cylinder were bolstered in his nose. Despite that, Erno seemed of good cheer. Although Arthur had told him it was unnecessary, Erno had insisted on wearing a suit.

"Your Honor, for the record." At the prosecution table, Muriel Wynn had arisen to renew her objections to the proceedings. Arthur had phoned Muriel a dozen times about Rommy's case, but he hadn't seen her in person for several years. She had aged agreeably. Slender people always seemed to, Arthur thought. There was gray in her tight black hair, but she wore more makeup now, a concession not so much to age, he surmised, as to the fact that as a prominent figure she was often photographed.

Muriel and he had been peers in the Prosecuting Attorney's Office and Arthur valued his relationship with her, as with most of his former colleagues. It chagrined him to recognize that after today, she would regard him the way prosecutors viewed most defense lawyers: another decent mortal whose soul had been sucked out of him by the vampires he represented. Yet his duties to Rommy had left Arthur with little choice. He could not have told Muriel what was coming without risking that she would have demanded delays in order to investigate Erdai's claims, hoping all the while that Erno would become too sick to testify, or even that he could be pressured in the institution to recant.

With a brio that had always seemed to Arthur partly inspired by her size, Muriel argued to Harlow that Gandolph had exhausted the chances the law allowed him to avoid being put to death.

"So you think, Ms. Wynn," asked the judge, "that even if the po-

Chapter
16

june 12, 2001

Brno's Testimony

"state your name, please, and spell your last name for the record" "Erno Erdai," he said and recited each letter. From the bench above the witness stand, Judge Harlow repeated Erno s surname to be sure he had it. "Air-die?" asked the judge. That was like Harlow, Arthur thought. He'd grant anyone the courtesy of calling him by the right name, even after he found out Erno had shot five people in his lifetime and left four of them dead.

Judge Kenton Harlow was most often described as 'Lincolnesque.' The judge was lean and nearly six four, with a narrow beard and large, imposing features. He had a direct style and a rousing commitment to constitutional ideals. But the comparisons to Lincoln hardly came unbidden. He had been the model of Harlow's adult life. The judge's chambers were decorated with a variety of Lincoln memorabilia, everything from first editions of the Carl Sandburg biography, to numerous busts and masks and bronze figures of Honest Abe at all ages.

As a lawyer, a teacher, a renowned constitutional scholar, and as an Assistant Attorney General of the United States in charge of the Civil Rights Division in the Carter Administration, Harlow had fulfilled the credo he attributed to Lincoln, a faith in the law as the flower of humanism.

Arthur proceeded through the preliminary questioning of Erno. Erdai was already thinner than when Arthur had seen him in prison three weeks ago, and his lungs had begun to fail. The marshals had hiked a canister of pure oxygen on wheels onto the witness stand at Erno's feet, and the protrusions on a clear tube connected to the cylinder were holstered in his nose. Despite that, Erno seemed of good cheer. Although Arthur had told him it was unnecessary, Erno had insisted on wearing a suit.

"Your Honor, for the record." At the prosecution table, Muriel Wynn had arisen to renew her objections to the proceedings. Arthur had phoned Muriel a dozen times about Rommy's case, but he hadn't seen her in person for several years. She had aged agreeably. Slender people always seemed to, Arthur thought. There was gray in her tight black hair, but she wore more makeup now, a concession not so much to age, he surmised, as to the fact that as a prominent figure she was often photographed.

Muriel and he had been peers in the Prosecuting Attorney's Office and Arthur valued his relationship with her, as with most of his former colleagues. It chagrined him to recognize that after today, she would regard him the way prosecutors viewed most defense lawyers: another decent mortal whose soul had been sucked out of him by the vampires he represented. Yet his duties to Rommy had left Arthur with little choice. He could not have told Muriel what was coming without risking that she would have demanded delays in order to investigate Erdai's claims, hoping all the while that Erno would become too sick to testify, or even that he could be pressured in the institution to recant.

With a brio that had always seemed to Arthur partly inspired by her size, Muriel argued to Harlow that Gandolph had exhausted the chances the law allowed him to avoid being put to death.

"So you think, Ms. Wynn," asked the judge, "that even if the police knew facts establishing Mr. Gandolph's innocence, the Constitution-our Constitution, the federal Constitution," said Harlow, archly implying that the state lived by the legal equivalent of jungle rules- "you think the times up for me to consider them?"

"I believe that's the law," said Muriel.

"Well, if you're right," said the judge, "then you have very little to lose by hearing what Mr. Erdai has to say." Always the best lawyer in the courtroom, Harlow smiled benignly. He told Muriel to take her seat and instructed Arthur to put his next question.

He asked where Erno presently resided.

"I'm housed at the Medical Wing of the Rudyard State Penitentiary," Erno said.

"And for what reason are you housed there?"

"I have stage-four squamous-cell carcinoma of the lung." Erno turned to the judge. "I got about three months."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Mr. Erdai," said Harlow. By habit, the judge seldom looked up from his notes and even in this moment of solicitude he did not vary from that practice. Arthur had tried several major cases in front of Harlow, and the judge had expressed continuing approval for Arthur's unassuming style and his diligence. For his part, Arthur revered Harlow, whose casebook he'd studied in law school. The judge was a great man. He was also often a handful. Harlow could be cranky, even volcanic. He was an old-fashioned liberal, reared during the Depression, and he regarded anyone who did not share his brand of democratic communalism as an ingrate or a greedy child. For years now, Harlow had conducted a running battle with the far more conservative Court of Appeals, ruing their frequent reversals and regularly attempting to outflank them. Arthur had taken advantage of that ongoing contest for Gandolph's benefit. Harlow made no secret of his resentment of the new legislation that gave the Court of Appeals, rather than judges at Harlow's level, the right to cut off successive habeas corpus proceedings in death-penalty cases. As a result, the judge had been immediately taken with Arthur's suggestion that Harlow evaluate Erno s credibility, because, by tradition, the Court of Appeals could not ignore his findings. In effect, this returned to Harlow a large measure of the power to decide whether the case proceeded.

"Have you ever been convicted of a crime, sir?" Arthur asked Erdai.

"I have. Four years ago I got into an argument at a bar with a guy I once investigated and ended up shooting him in the back. He'd come at me with a gun to start, but I shouldn't have shot him. He recovered, fortunately, but I pled guilty to Aggravated Battery and got ten years." Erno had drawn the microphone, which resembled a blackened seed- pod on a stalk, right next to his lips. His voice was husky, and he tended to exhaust his breath, requiring occasional lapses. But he appeared calm. Speaking slowly, more formally, Erno's vague, gargling accent, a little bit of Dracula, was slightly more distinct than when he was talking in his preferred mode of Kewahnee tough guy.

Arthur continued exploring Erno's background, starting with his birth in Hungary and proceeding through his employment at TN. Harlow took careful notes. Ready to launch into the big stuff, Arthur faced Pamela at counsel table to be certain he hadn't missed any preliminaries. Radiant with anticipation, Pamela shook her head minutely. Perversely, Arthur felt a bit sorry for her. In her first year of practice, Pamela was about to enjoy a triumph she might never equal. After this, it was possible that Pamela would never be content with what satisfied other lawyers. Then again, Arthur realized, the same could well be true for him. He found himself pleased by the prospect that the next question might change his life. And so he asked it.

"Calling your attention to July Fourth of 1991, Mr. Erdai, can you tell us what you did in the early-morning hours of that day?"

Erno adjusted the piece in his nose. "I killed Luisa Remardi, Augustus Leonidis, and Paul Judson," he said.

Arthur had envisioned a hubbub in the courtroom, but instead there was prolonged silence. Harlow, who had a computer screen on the bench where the court reporter's transcription appeared, actually looked up to watch the words fly by. Then he put down his pen and pulled on his jaw. From beneath the bird's nests of his untamed whitish brows, his gaze settled on Arthur. The judge allowed himself nothing else in his expression, but the intensity of his look seemed to reflect admiration. To bring this kind of evidence forward on the eve of execution-that, in Harlow's view, was the epitome of what the legal profession stood for.

"You may ask another question," the judge said to Arthur.

Only one was possible.

"Did Romeo Gandolph have a role of any kind in those murders?"

"No," said Erdai evenly.

"Was he present?" "No."

"Did he plan or assist in these murders?" "No."

"Did he help you after the fact in any way to conceal the crime?"

"No."

Arthur stopped then, for effect. There was motion, finally, in the back of the courtroom, as two of the reporters fled for the corridor where it was okay to use their cell phones. Arthur gave some thought to checking Muriels reactions, then decided it might be taken as gloating and avoided looking her way.

"Mr. Erdai," Arthur said, "I would like to ask you to tell the story in your own words of what happened on July Fourth of 1991, what led up to it, and what occurred in the Paradise restaurant. Take your time. Just tell the judge as you remember it."

Weakened, Erno placed one hand on the rail to face slightly in Harlow's direction. His gray suit, too heavy for the weather, bagged noticeably.

"There was a gal," he began, "who worked out at the airport. Luisa Remardi. A ticket agent. Not to speak ill of the dead, but she was a little bit of a tart. And I made the mistake of getting involved with her. You know, I thought it was just for kicks, Judge, but I sort of fell into it. As soon as I did, I began seeing signs she was stepping out. And this made me into a complete head case. I admit it." Erno touched the knot of his tie to loosen it slightly, while Harlow, in his tall leather chair, tossed his glasses down 011 his blotter so he could watch Erdai without distraction. Erno breathed deeply, preparing to go on.

"So I started keeping an eye on her. And naturally one night, I see what I figured. This would be July 3rd. Luisa meets up with some guy in the airport parking lot, some deep dark corner, and she, you know, she hops him right there in his car. This'll tell you how crazy I was. I watched the whole thing. Every jiggle. Forty minutes or so."

Erno had his momentum now and Arthur was reluctant to interrupt, but evidentiary formalities required it.

"Could you identify the man with Ms. Remardi?"

"No clue. I didn't care much who it was. Just that she was jumping around on somebody else's pogo stick." There was a titter and Erno's eyes flashed up to the bench. "Sorry, Judge."

Harlow, who could be salty in private, waved it off.

"So finally she's had her fill and drives away and I follow. And she ends up at Gus's. At the restaurant there. Paradise. And I run in after her. It turns into a scene, I can tell you that. I'm calling her a tramp, and she's yelling back at me, I don't own her, I'm a married man for Chrissake, I can't make different rules for her than me. You can imagine." Erno shook his sallow face and looked down at the walnut rail of the witness stand as he absorbed the sad memory.

"Naturally, this caught Gus's attention. He gave his employees July Fourth off, I guess, so he was there by himself. He comes over and tells me to scat and I tell him to eff himself. At that point I grabbed Luisa to haul her out. She's screaming, whaling on me, and all the sudden now here's Gus again, this time with a gun. You know, in my time, I had some stones. And I've been in there, I've seen Gus. He's not gonna shoot nobody. I tell him that. At which point Luisa reaches up and grabs the pistol. 'Yeah, but I will,' she says.

"And she would have. So I go after the revolver. I'm trying to jerk it away from her and kaboom. Just like in the freakin movies. I swear, when Gus had the pistol in his hand, I looked and the safety was on, but I guess wrestling around- Well, anyway, there's a hole right through the center of her. Smoke coming out of it, too. She looks down there, you know, like, What the heck is this, and the smoke is still rising. Then the blood starts to spread.

"Gus starts off to call an ambulance and I tell him, 'Wait.'

" 'Wait? What for I wait? She be dead?' What it was, was I needed a minute to think it through, Judge. To come to grips. Because I can see just how this is going down. Twenty years I worked for that airline and as soon as he lifts that phone, I can read all the headlines. Executive poking employee. Security head involved in shooting. Adios job. Just me and my missus having many happy-type content evenings together. And that isn't the worst of it yet. I already have another accidental shooting way back when. The wrong prosecutor looks at this, I could damn well end up doing time.