The Just And The Unjust (52 page)

Several of the jurors nodded their heads intelligently. Watching them, Abner could see that any resentment they might have felt was gone. Some of them probably found the large words and bookish phrases hard to follow and would have trouble telling anyone what it was the Judge had said; but they responded to the tone, to the careful anxious look. They melted with simple ingenuousness at the sight and sound of a good man.

Judge Irwin said, 'Now, in the present case, the case just past, I ought to say — Judge Vredenburgh explained to you very carefully and clearly what the law was. If these defendants took part in a kidnapping, and their victim was killed before he came to be released, they were guilty of first degree murder. As jurors, you were not bound to follow his instructions unless they applied to what you found to be the facts. You had a right to find, if that was what the evidence meant to you, that neither of these men took part in any kidnapping. If that was what you found, then the law Judge Vredenburgh told you of would not apply. How could it, if these were not the kidnappers?'

He smiled painfully, as if he waited for an answer. Then he shook his head. 'To find that they were not the kidnappers you would have to doubt the evidence of numerous witnesses, even including one of the defendants himself: It is not impossible that you should do this; but I wish to ask you, I wish you to ask yourselves, whether this was what you did, whether you felt a reasonable doubt that Howell and — er — Basso took part in the kidnapping of Frederick Zollicoffer.'

Judge Irwin shook his head again. He looked at them with something like compassion. He said, 'If you did, well and good; you have done rightly, and nothing I have said can have in it any reproach for any of you. If you did not — well, Members of the Jury, I think if you did not, you have something on your minds and consciences to give you pause. I hope you will reflect on it soberly and searchingly. You were sworn to give a true verdict according to the evidence. I do not see how a verdict can be true if it says that a certain crime described to you by law so that you know exactly what it is, has not been committed, when the evidence never at any time by anyone contradicted, shows that it must have been committed.'

Judge Irwin smiled again faintly. 'So, Members of the Jury,' he said, 'you are once more judges of the fact. We must leave the case with you. We hope you will well and truly try it. That will be all. You are discharged. You may present your slips — not, I think, to-night; it is rather late — any time to-morrow, or on following days during office hours to the office of the clerk of Quarter Sessions.'

He nodded, looked at Judge Vredenburgh, who looked at Nick Dowdy. Nick hoisted himself up and struck his block. He said, 'All persons take notice that the Court now stands adjourned until to-morrow, Friday, morning at ten o'clock, a.m.'.

4

Everitt Weitzel stooped and set a metal stop to hold open the door of the Attorneys' Room. 'Air it out some,' he said to Abner, who was accompanying him. He lifted a hand to the side of his mouth, winked, and said, 'Needs it bad!' Then he remembered that Abner might not be feeling like a joke and said, 'That was awful tough luck! Those men never should have got off like that.' He bobbed his head, and went on, 'Those are the gentlemen there, wanted to see Marty'.

They stood together with their hats on in that bored yet inquisitive stance of young newspaper men still secretly excited by their own romantic picture of themselves, and so making an effort to pretend that the power that they had to admit people to print was really nothing much, and the knowledge of inside stories just a matter of course.

Everitt said, 'This is Mr. Coates, the assistant district attorney.'

They turned their blank, sagacious faces politely, stepping aside from the press of people. One of them mentioned the names of both their papers. Their manner became more offhand, showing that this was old stuff to them, and that they supposed that it was old stuff to Abner, who, being from the district attorney's office, might very likely equal them in first-hand knowledge of what everything, at least locally, was all about.

Abner said, 'Mr. Bunting will be busy for a while'. In fact, Marty had walked over to speak to Frederick Zollicoffer's widow and her brother-in-law; and Abner had been glad of a chance to separate himself from that painful little circle. 'I think he'll see you if you want to wait.'

One of them said, 'Don't want to bother him —'

The other said, 'What we wondered is; any chance of seeing the prisoners a minute —'

Abner said, 'Better ask Mr. Wurts about that'.

Harry, with a group of people around him, was lounging on the leather couch across the room. John Clark, sitting beside him, had just given him a cigar; and through a break in the crowd Abner could see Harry's flushed face, the eyes intent a moment on the cigar tip as he brought a match to it. Harry removed the cigar, and laughed out loud in the puff of smoke. Mr. Clark's large, pale, reserved features displayed the smile of a man who has seen forty years of court and law and still finds much to amuse him, but mildly.

The newspaper man said, 'We meant the other fellow, Mr. Coates, the Leming fellow —'

'And maybe Smalley —' his companion said.

Abner said, 'I think their attorneys could fix it up for you. I don't think Mr. Bunting would feel that he ought to arrange it.'

'Who's that? Servadei?'

'Yes.'

'I know him.' The sagacious look deepened to a contemptuous knowingness. 'He's a lulu! What's the girl's lawyer's name?'

'Clark. Over there on the sofa.'

'The D.A. won't mind if we try, will he?'

'I don't think so,' Abner said.

'Well, much obliged, Mr. Coates,' one of them said. 'Glad to meet you.' The other said, 'Oh, by the way, Mr. Coates, there isn't another telephone we could use anywhere around here, is there?'

Abner looked over to the telephone on the wall by the lavatory door. Maynard Longstreet, the receiver to one ear, his knuckle jammed in the other, his lips against the mouthpiece, was obviously dictating with difficulty to a rewrite man on one of the city papers for which he was the correspondent. 'One in a booth out in the main hall,' Abner said.

'Thanks a lot!'

Someone had come up behind him and Abner, turning, found that it was Kinsolving, the Federal Bureau of Investigation agent. His weighty calm was undisturbed. 'Well, Mr. Coates,' he said, 'those are the breaks! They fooled me.'

'They fooled us, too,' Abner said. 'I didn't think they had a chance.'

Kinsolving tapped him on the arm with two blunt fingers, opened his mouth, and then shut it, looking past Abner. Looking too, Abner saw that George Stacey had drawn near. 'Well, Counsellor,' Kinsolving said to George, 'I want to congratulate you. It isn't everybody who could have got those clients of yours off .'

George blushed under Kinsolving's amiable stare; but he said, fairly coolly, 'Well, Officer, if you insist on beating the boys up, what can you expect?'

Kinsolving chuckled. 'Stick to your guns, eh, Counsellor? Well, if you want my opinion, that yarn of Howell's wasn't ever at issue. I was just going to say to Mr. Coates here. Best line you and Mr. Wurts had was: Are you people going to burn a man who maybe didn't actually take a gun and shoot anybody? That would be my guess, Counsellor. They don't think it out, sometimes. You heard what the Judge, the other Judge, said to the jury. Well, I must get along. If you'll tell Mr. Bunting, Mr. Coates, that I'll ring him up to-morrow, or ring his office up. I think the Bureau may have a little additional stuff you could use on Leming. Good night.' He nodded and went out the hall door.

Looking after him, George said, 'I know damn well what they did to Howell. That was no joke about his kidneys. They gave him a real going-over.'

A hand struck Abner on the back. Art Wenn said, 'Too bad, Ab. Too bad!' The effect of his concave profile, the jutting chin below, the bulbous forehead above, was to give his tucked-in smile a secret quality of half-concealed satisfaction. He might not go so far as to be glad that the Commonwealth lost its case; but since Abner had told him that they expected to win, it probably caused him no pain to find that Abner was wrong.

However, Art immediately laughed, bringing the hidden smile out in the open, so it was plain that there was not much malice in him. 'George,' he said, 'looks like we need new blood in law enforcement around here!' He laughed uproariously. From his pocket he drew a pack of oblong cards and held one up. On it was a slightly blurred cut of his own head and shoulders with the words: 'For District Attorney, ART WENN in large letters; and in small letters: 'your vote and support respectfully solicited.'

'That's the answer,' he said.

'Here, take some!' The joke of pressing his campaign cards on two men who, it was perfectly certain, wouldn't vote for him made him laugh until the tears came into his eyes.

The group about Harry and John Clark on the sofa was breaking up. Attracted by Art Wenn's noise, several of those leaving stopped. Joe Jackman, who had been busy over his brief case on the window ledge packing up his transcript, said, 'Hello, Wenn. What's so funny?'

Art said, 'Ab and Stacey here are getting up a Wenn for District Attorney club — Say, Pete!' he said to Van Zant, who was at the door, 'got to see you! Say, I just had those papers from the bank! Say —'

'Come on,' Van Zant said, 'I can't wait'.

They went into the hall, and Joe Jackman said, 'How'd you like to vote for that? They must be crazy to nominate him!'

Coming up now was Hermann Mapes. 'Tough luck, Ab,' he said. As clerk of the Orphans Court, Hermann was naturally a good party man, and would have none of Wenn's political reasons to enjoy Bunting's defeat; but Abner guessed that Hermann, too, found something not entirely displeasing in it There is always a little satisfaction in seeing the professionally just, reformers and clergymen, judges and prosecutors and police officers, set back. Hermann's long inquisitive nose twitched with this satisfaction. He gave Abner a covert glance to see how Abner was taking it, ready to enjoy Abner's embarrassment if he showed any.

Joe Jackman said, 'It's tough on Ab and Marty; but I have to say I didn't mind. Won't have to do it up now. That would have printed to eight hundred pages.'

Mr. Servadei, who had been talking to Harry and John Clark, stopped, holding his straw hat, and said, 'Excuse me, Mr. Coates. My understanding with the district attorney is that Leming's plea is Monday. I'm planning to be here. If that doesn't come out convenient, you have only to let me know. I could arrange to make it almost any other day. Would you mind telling Mr. Bunting?'

The others had fallen silent, looking away from Mr. Servadei with a speculative, essentially hostile, reserve that he was probably used to. Probably the small-town impudence of stares at the back, the smalltown naivety of mixing contempt with uncontrollable curiosity, amused Mr. Servadei. He had found some way to answer in his own mind the charge, silently made by such behaviour, that he was a dirty little shyster. Perhaps he let himself think, when he saw unspoken disdain, of his money in the bank, of big men in the city glad to be his friends, of cases he had won by his superior brains; and so, perhaps, he could feel almost genial toward these self-righteous rustics with their couple-of-thousand-dollar incomes, their pettifogging over the deeds and debts of farmers and shopkeepers, their half-learned law soon half-forgotten. They could not despise him without showing it; and that was the measure of their capacity. Mr. Servadei could despise them, and did, and never gave them a sign of it; and that was the measure, he might think, of his capacity.

Malcolm Levering, who had taken off his tipstaff's jacket and put his coat and hat on, looked in at the hall door. 'Ab,' he said, 'telephone. In the library. Guess this line is busy.'

'Thanks!' Abner said. He said to Mr. Servadei, 'Mr. Bunting will let you know if any change is necessary.'

Mr. Servadei bowed and went out.

Going after him, Abner went past the stairs and the barred passage to the jail. The door under the lighted glass sign was ajar. The telephone lay off its cradle on the desk. Taking it up, he said, 'Yes?'

'Ab,' It was Bonnie.

'Hello,' Abner said. 'What did Cousin Mary say?'

'Did you really wonder?' Bonnie said. 'Darling, how did it come out?'

'How did what —oh! Not so good. As a matter of fact, it was second degree.'

'You lost?'

'Well, we didn't win. The jury wasn't having any.'

'Oh. I'm sorry you lost. Do you mind my calling?'

'No, of course not. I wish we'd got it; but —'

'I know you do, darling — where are you? They switched me over to something.'

'In the library.'

'Who's there?'

'No one.'

'Do you love me?'

'Yes,' Abner said, 'I — '

'All right, my dear. Good night.'

Most of the people in the Attorneys' Room had left. Maynard Longstreet, all this time talking, now hung up, put his hat on the back of his head, and walked over past the empty fireplace. 'Well, jerks,' he said, 'get enough justice for one day?'

Bunting, who was coming in from the courtroom, said, 'And enough journalism, too, professor.' Mr. Clark arose from the couch and said, 'Where have you been, Marty? Make me wait around here all night! About that guilty plea for Susie. No. We'll stand trial'.

'See?' said Maynard. 'Once they think they can get away with something! The jury lets them off. The school-board lets them off. I hope you stew in it! So long.'

'Suits us,' Bunting said to Mr. Clark. 'We've got you down for Tuesday. I wouldn't count on another break, if I were you.'

'I stopped counting on anything with a jury in it thirty-five years ago, son,' Mr. Clark said. 'Go thou and do likewise.'

From the sofa, Harry Wurts said, 'What you don't grasp, Marty, is the issue.'

Bunting said, 'You made your speech'.

'Now, I'm going to make another; and you'd better listen, wise guy! I don't say we didn't have luck —'

'You don't, huh?'

'I don't. But the point is, a couple of men's lives are at stake; and you feel bad because you couldn't kill them! Why don't you use your imagination? My God, if you had to kill some kittens you'd probably take them over to the vet! But two of your fellow men —'