The Just And The Unjust (46 page)

4

Bunting was not an eloquent speaker. His thoughts were clear and logical, and he put them plainly; but unlike Harry who could speak in many manners, and in all of them give the impression of naturalness and simplicity, Bunting had only one manner, and he unselfconsciously was natural and simple. Along with the virtue, he had the vice of unself-consciousness. Absorbed in what he wished to say, he never thought of standing off and looking at himself to see how he was doing, or of asking himself if this were the way he would like to be talked to. His custom was to instruct juries. He assumed (and not incorrectly) that when their duty was made plain they would do it without being coaxed or urged.

Bunting told them, with no effort to arrange his material to any advantage except that of orderliness, what the evidence was and what facts proceeded from it. He did not argue; he made statements. Though he respected the letter of his obligation in ethics not to assert outright his personal belief in the guilt of those he prosecuted, his whole presence and manner asserted it for him. Of course they were guilty! No rational person could doubt that the man against whom a grand jury found a true bill had committed the offence charged. The trial determined not whether he had done it, but whether he was going to be punished for it.

A miscarriage of justice, with some good, brave man in the interesting and dramatic plight of standing trial for what he never did, might get by in a book or a play where anything could be made plausible. In practice, in real life, it could be made plausible only to those ignorant of how a prisoner at the bar arrived there. He was not arrested on some random arbitrary suspicion, dragged in without ceremony, and arraigned out of hand. Experienced investigators found such overwhelming evidence against him that they knew he was the one, he must have done it, and then they arrested him. A justice of the peace heard his explanations, if he cared to make any, and noted them down for him. The district attorney's office checked all this over, saw the prisoner, saw the other witnesses, and satisfied that it could not be otherwise, charged him in a bill of indictment. When the Grand Jury found that bill a true bill, it meant that at least twelve and often twenty-three disinterested persons of generally admitted prudence and common sense agreed that the evidence showed that the prisoner must have done it The prisoner could be innocent still, just as a bet on a thousand to one chance could sometimes come off. It was not practical to take so remote a possibility into serious account.

In the case against Howell and Basso there was not even the one chance in a thousand. Abner could see that this, the incontestable, the uncontested, certainty that they were guilty as charged made Marty even drier and more matter of fact. He answered Harry by ignoring him; and here perhaps a lack of all art served as well as art could have. The singleness of purpose that was too busy to bother with what Harry said must surprise and then impress every listener. They were surprised because Bunting, obliged to sit still while Harry derided him and his case, did not take the opportunity to respond in kind. They were impressed because, though they would have enjoyed a joined contest, they after all respected the man who would not stoop to it.

The jury might be — and looking at them, Abner saw that they, or several of them, were cruelly bored; but Bunting's moral ascendancy of fixed purpose and unsmiling resolve compelled their attention. Whether they liked it or not, they listened while he told them that there were no facts in conflict and no issue in doubt. The point for them was
(a)
nobody denied that Frederick Zollicoffer had been kidnapped, and while still in the custody of his kidnappers, killed; (
b
) nobody denied that Howell and Basso assisted in the kidnapping. That was all there was to it. If the jury believed that the evidence established this point (and what alternative was there?), let them bring in a verdict of first degree murder and assign the death penalty as by law provided.

Bunting, his lips coming together firmly as he stopped speaking, looked at the jurors in a sharp, detached way to see if anybody did not understand. Because he never built his arguments to a high point, he was never in any danger of anti-climax, there was no effect to spoil. Bunting had concluded; but seeing some movement of mouth or expression of eye that did not satisfy him, he went drily on to conclude again.

He said, 'In conclusion, Members of the Jury, I will remind you of what this evidence shows, at the same time, about the character of the defendants. In law, Basso's refusal to plead and testify isn't a sign of guilt; but it is a good indication that he is non-co-operative, that he feels contempt for the law and for society. Howell says now that he didn't want to see Zollicoffer killed; but his character as a criminal is such that we may reasonably doubt it. He did not want to get caught, yes; I am sure of that; and at the time, the surest way not to get caught must have seemed to dispose of Zollicoffer and hide his body where it could never be found. I think he assented for that reason. I think the effect of leniency on such characters would be to prove to them, and incidentally to the criminal circles of several large cities, that you can get away with murder. I don't think you would want to give notice to a lot of city criminals that if they come across the county line here and commit their crimes they will get off easy. For this reason, too, the Commonwealth asks you for a verdict that will leave no doubt that here the law is fully enforced.'

He nodded briefly, nodded again to Judge Vredenburgh, and came over and sat down by Abner. He looked at his watch and said, 'Twenty-five minutes. That's not bad. See Jake?'

Judge Vredenburgh said, 'We will now take a recess for five minutes; after which I will charge the jury.'

Abner said, 'Jake and Jesse were there.'

Harry Wurts got up and came over to the Commonwealth's table. 'Well, gents,' he said, 'want to bet? Too late! Offer withdrawn in toto.' George Stacey came over, too; and Harry said to him,' Go on, George; give him the works. Ask him what he meant by trying to prejudice the jury against your client.'

Bunting said, 'I'd like to know what you meant by vindictive.'

'I meant you,' Harry said. 'What else is it? What's the difference between you and them? I'll tell you. They never meant to kill anyone; but you set out with malice prepense to burn them. Say, if I wrote the laws, I'd require the prosecutor who asked the death penalty and the jury that voted it to attend the execution. Then you might know what you were talking about.'

'I thought you did write the laws,' Bunting said. 'It certainly sounded like it, when you were giving them that stuff— there comes your man back; you'd better go hold his hand.'

George had been standing with an indecisive smile, probably waiting for Harry to indicate what they ought to do next. Abner said, 'George, there's something I want to see you about. Going to have any time to-morrow?'

'All day, I guess,' George said. 'I haven't got anything on.' Harry had started back to the defence's table. He stopped now and said. 'He wants to see you about being assistant district attorney and dog-robber in chief. Just say no. Why should you do all the dirty work?

George blushed. He looked away in confusion, showing that he might not be averse to the idea, if by any chance he were going to be offered the job; but Harry and Harry's kidding had taught him useful lessons in wariness. He said stiffly, 'Any time you like, Ab'. Basso had come in with Hugh Erskine, and George went over and seated himself.

Bunting looked at Abner and said, 'Are you going to run?'

'Unless Jesse changes his mind.'

'He doesn't change his mind,' Bunting said. 'Why didn't you tell me?'

'I didn't know until just now. We didn't settle it last night. And what do you mean, he doesn't change his mind? He changed something; because Jake said he was ready to plead Mason guilty. They weren't ready yesterday.'

'Look, Ab,' Bunting said, 'Jesse very likely would do what he could for Mason; but he won't do what he can't. I suppose he asked Jake not to make a fuss.' He picked up a pencil and began to bounce it lightly on its rubber eraser. 'There's such a thing as give and take,' he said. 'Did you mention Mason to him last night?'

'I may have said —'

'Yes. Well, don't get cocky about it; but he made up his mind long ago that he wanted you on the primary ballot. It's not the easiest thing in the world to get up a ticket. He didn't change his mind. He just decided that if you were worrying yourself about some idea you had about Mason well, that could be fixed. That's give.'

'Yes.' said Aber, 'and what's take?'

'Take's when you tell him you'll run.' Bunting paused and held the pencil poised. 'If he does something for you, you do something for him.' He gave Abner his faint, tight-lipped smile. 'Only, I wouldn't try to stick him on the deal, if I were you. A lot of people have tried to stick Jesse. Nobody I ever heard of ever did, except maybe Jared Wacker, and that wasn't politics.'

'This isn't any deal,' said Abner. He knew that his tone was huffy and he tried to modify it by laughing. 'He doesn't have to give me anything.'

'That's right. He doesn't. Just keep that in mind. But I guess you want him to.'

'What do you mean, I want him to?'

'For crying out loud!' Bunting said. 'Nobody's making you be district attorney. If you run, it must be because you want to. If you went into the primaries and tried to get the nomination on your own, do you know what you'd get? About twenty write-ins. If you ran as an independent, do you know what you'd get? You'd get the pants licked off you. Now, why don't you act your age? This isn't the college debating society election where you vote for the other fellow to show how modest you are. You may be the best man for the job, and I think you are; but nobody's going to bring it to you on a platter.'

'I know,' said Abner, 'but do you mind very much if I still don't like the way it's run? What right has Jesse to decide who's going to be what? Does he own the county?'

Bunting said, 'Standing off and saying you don't like the way things are run is kid stuff — any kid can work out a programme of more ice cream and less school and free movies and him telling people what to do instead of people always telling him —'

Abner said, 'I don't want any more ice cream, thanks.'

'Maybe you don't; but what you're saying is the same damn thing. If things were run according to your ideas instead of the way they are run, it would be much better. Who says so? Why you say so! That's what the dopes, the Communists and so on, all the boys who never grew up, say. Who's going to be better for it? Their fellow-men? Horse feathers! I don't say some of them don't hope so; but the only thing they can be sure of is that it would be better for them.'

In Cambridge Abner had seen a few people who said they were Communists. Naturally they had not bothered to explain their ideas to Abner. If they had, he would not have known what to say; they seemed queer and set apart, like poets, or homosexuals, so that it was hard to think of them as real people. He did not pretend to understand them, and he would admit that they all seemed to have something wrong with them; but on the other hand, Marty had probably never seen a Communist, so how did he come to know so much about them? Abner said, 'So you say.'

'What I say is,' Bunting said, 'until you have some responsibility, do something besides kick, or try to heave in a few monkey wrenches, you aren't going to know what you're talking about. Sure, one way to get rid of the rats is burn down the barn! That's brilliant. Wait until it's been up to you for a few years, until you've had to decide, until you've seen how a few of those brilliant ideas turn out. Wait until you have to do the work instead of the talking. Then you may begin to know something, not just think you know.' He pulled open the table drawer before him and tossed the pencil into it.

'I never claimed to know much of anything,' Abner said.

Bunting looked past him to the door of the Judge's chambers. Judge Irwin was coming out, drawing his robe together over his blue serge suit. He carried his bald head and distinguished thin face bent forward, moving in nervous haste; but he was soon brought to a halt by two state policemen. They had left their seats at the end of the row and stood talking together in such a position that they blocked Judge Irwin's route to the bench steps. Judge Irwin pulled up, hesitating with the quaint but pleasant delicacy of a shy man.

One of the troopers, hearing or sensing a movement behind him, glanced over his shoulder. His companion looked, too; and they stepped away in confusion, apologizing. Judge Irwin smiled in gentle embarrassment. Abner could hear him say, 'Thank you —' as though it were their courtroom, not his. 'I thought I would come in and hear the charge.'

Still more confused, one of the troopers said, 'Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.'

'Well, you'll learn!' Bunting said, looking back to Abner. 'God, how you'll learn!'

Judge Irwin passed along the bench quickly and took his seat. Bunting said, 'We'd better shut up. I guess Vredenburgh's ready.'

5

Judge Vredenburgh said, 'Members of the Jury: in this bill of indictment the two defendants on trial before you are charged, together with Roy Leming, with murder. It is averred that they did kill and murder within this county one Frederick Zollicoffer.'

He paused, tilting his head to rest a moment against the high carved back of the chair, his eyes focusing on something far off which he seemed to look at with a stoical severity. He said, 'Two only of the defendants named in the bill are on trial before you, because there has been a severance or separation of the defendants for the purposes of this trial. Therefore, your duties in this case relate only to Stanley Howell and Robert Basso.'

He cleared his throat, looked at the desk before him, and then directly at the jurors. 'You have listened patiently and closely to the testimony for three days. You have indicated by your attention that you know the seriousness of your task. You were picked after a painstaking examination of many members of the panel in order that both sides might be satisfied that each of you was intelligent and unprejudiced. You have noticed, no doubt, how you have been guarded and perhaps restricted. This surveillance was not at the whim of the Court. The law requires it. The law is solicitous that the defendants shall have a fair trial, and also that the Commonwealth's case shall be fairly and impartially heard apd tried.'