The Winston Affair (22 page)

This was what he remembered now, lying in bed in that place so distant from where he was born and bred; and as the long hours before dawn passed, Barney Adams tried to piece together how and where he had failed his father or failed himself. But the flow of thought, as he well realized, was without importance or consequence. Nothing until now was of great consequence. And perhaps least of all, as he was coming to know, was the empty strut of being a hero.

Tuesday 9.40 A.M .

Kate Sorenson was the first witness for the defense, and she began her testimony soon after the court convened. Baxter took her to the Judge Advocate Headquarters, and then he picked up Adams at the Makra Palace. Lieutenant Moscow was riding with him, and he took the opportunity to wonder whether Adams would not have another interview with Winston.

“Why, Lieutenant?”

“Well, sir—”

“Go ahead,” Adams said.

“I mean—well, I don't want to talk out of turn. Harvey and myself, we're both in a peculiar position. We admire you a great deal and we feel that we have known you a long time, but when you come right down to it, sir—well, we don't know you enough to press our opinion.”

“What is your opinion, Lieutenant? I'm asking for it.”

“Let me put it this way. You're defending a man.”

“Yes?”

“I mean, a man it is hard to defend. Still—well, you have to defend the man, sir. You can't just defend an idea.”

“Do you think that I'm defending an idea, Lieutenant?”

“Well, to tell the truth—sometimes, yes, I do. A principle—let's say, a contention.”

“No,” Adams said thoughtfully. “That's not so. I'm defending Charles Winston. But I can't talk to him. You and Lieutenant Bender can talk to him if you wish. But I don't think it will make any significant difference.”

Adams had tried to be truthful, yet he was not wholly truthful. He couldn't trust himself to talk to Winston, just as now, standing in front of Kate Sorenson in full sight of the court and all the others in the room, he could not trust himself to look at Charles Winston. Yet he knew what Winston was in the only way that he could state it in his own thoughts: Winston was a body, and inside the body, the soul was dying.

Winston sat silently, the eyes empty behind the metal-rimmed spectacles.

Kate Sorenson was composed as she gave her name and rank; asked whether she knew the defendant, Lieutenant Charles Winston, she nodded at him and said, “Yes. There he is.”

“And when did you first see Lieutenant Winston, Lieutenant Sorenson?”

“The morning he was admitted to the NP Ward.”

“What was his condition at the time, Lieutenant?”

“He was sick, in a state of shock and profound depression. His blood pressure was very high, his pulse rapid.”

Major Smith objected, on the grounds that Lieutenant Sorenson was not competent to define his condition medically. Colonel Thompson upheld the objection and ordered question and answer stricken from the record. Colonel Thompson's face bore the marks of a sleepless night His bloodshot eyes were angry and tired.

“May I ask her opinion, sir?”

“Not on a medical question, no—you may not.”

“May it please the court, am I not allowed to ask Lieutenant Sorenson her opinion of the condition of another human being?”

Mayburt passed a note to Thompson, but he shook his head with annoyance and said, “No—no, you may not. Not under circumstances where it would be inevitably interpreted as a medical opinion. Lieutenant Sorenson is not a physician, and not competent to give medical evidence.”

“Very well—Lieutenant Sorenson, what are your duties in your ward?”

“I am chief nurse.”

“Then it was your duty, was it not, to assign Lieutenant Winston to a bed?”

“It was.”

“Where did you assign him?”

“We have six psychopathic isolation rooms. Two of them were empty. I placed him in one of those rooms with a wardsman on inside attendance.”

“Was this on Major Kaufman's instructions?”

“I know my work, sir. I was not instructed what to do in this case. It was routine accommodation.”

“Who assigned the guard to Lieutenant Winston's room?”

“Major Kaufman did that. He called the Provost immediately, and a military police guard was in the ward within the hour.”

“Now, Lieutenant, I am going to ask you what your own duties and responsibilities toward Lieutenant Winston were during the next five days. Try to answer my questions in terms of what you did, not in terms of Major Kaufman's instructions. Nor am I interested in any conversations between Major Kaufman and yourself. Now, what were your duties and responsibilities toward Lieutenant Winston?”

“Since he was a special case, he was put directly under my supervision—that is, in nursing terms.”

“Did he have a private nurse at all times, Lieutenant?”

“I assigned a wardsman to be in the room at all times.”

“Why did you take these measures?”

“Because he was a suicidal depressive.”

Major Smith rose to object, but Mayburt said, “If you are going to offer an objection, Major, I would like to note that the witness is merely specifying details of her work.”

“May it please the court, I still object.”

With Mayburt's comment on the record, Thompson had no other course open than to overrule.

“How often did you see the patient, Lieutenant?”

“I took Lieutenant Winston's pulse and temperature three times each day. I saw him at least six times each day. I spoke with him. I supervised his physical therapy—that is, baths and massage.”

“Did he make any attempt to communicate with you, Lieutenant?”

“You asked me not to repeat conversations. He spoke to me quite often, as I said. I seemed to have his confidence.”

“Did he communicate anything in writing?”

“Yes, he wrote a letter to me, which he gave me on the fourth day after he was admitted.”

Adams went to the table and took a sheet of paper which Moscow held out to him. He gave the paper to Sorenson.

“Will you examine that, Lieutenant, and tell me whether this is the letter Lieutenant Winston wrote to you.”

“This is the letter,” she said, handing it back to him.

Adams asked that it be stamped for identification and entered as evidence. Wells and Jacobs scribbled furiously and passed notes to Smith, who rose and asked whether he could see the letter.

He read it hastily and then said, “I object to this being put in evidence as a letter to Lieutenant Sorenson from Lieutenant Winston. There is no evidence that Lieutenant Winston wrote this. May it please the court, unless Lieutenant Winston testifies to the authenticity of this letter, there is no way of proving that he wrote it.”

Thompson reached for the letter, read it, and then passed it to Mayburt. The letter went along the line of officers.

“What is your opinion on this point, Captain Adams?” asked Thompson.

“I have Lieutenant Sorenson's testimony.”

“You must have anticipated this, Captain?” Mayburt said.

“Yes, sir, I did.”

Suddenly speaking up, Major Cummings said, “I'm no lawyer, but I find it difficult to understand why that letter shouldn't be read into the record. Could you give us an opinion, Colonel Mayburt—in terms of the law?”

“I would prefer that the court heard Captain Adams first How did you anticipate this, Captain Adams?”

“I have a handwriting expert who is prepared to testify.”

“How is he qualified and who is he?” Mayburt asked curiously.

“His name is Professor Nahrawal Chatterjee, and he is Full Professor of Philology at the local university. He took his degree at Oxford, and his thesis for his doctorate was a study of comparative chirography, based on historical deviations from original scripts.”

Colonel Burnside, speaking for the first time, said in his slow, pleasant drawl, “I am sure, Captain, that you can make it a little clearer for us uninitiated ones.”

“Yes, sir—chirography is the science of handwriting. Dr. Chatterjee studied the manner in which script writing evolved in the West and in the Orient, and attempted to explain the variations. I have not had time to read his book, but only to glance through it. He has been called upon by the local constabulary on four separate occasions. He has also testified on occasion at the litigation of wills.”

“I would say that he is sufficiently qualified—wouldn't you, sir?” Mayburt asked Thompson, who had no choice but to agree and order the witness to be brought into the court. He told Lieutenant Sorenson to stand down, but not to leave the courtroom.

Professor Chatterjee came into the court, and studied it with curiosity and diffidence as he was sworn in. He was a thin, nearsighted man of about sixty, stooped, white-haired, and wrapped in the folds of white cotton that constituted the native dress of the land. He looked at the letter, read it carefully, and then examined the specimens of Winston's handwriting that Bender had obtained early that morning in the presence of a military police witness.

“Professor Chatterjee, are both documents written by the same person?”

“Oh, yes. Yes, indeed—without any question of doubt.” His voice was thin and high-pitched, his accent the precise and singular result of Oxford. “You see, Captain, such handwriting as this cannot be imitated except perhaps by a professional forger. To a very large extent, it is uncontrolled and emotionally blocked. At one point the
t's
are upright, at another they lie over, as do the
l's
and
d's
. Here and there—an unfinished word. The uneven enlargement and diminution of the letters demonstrate considerable emotionable instability.”

“In your opinion, sir, is this the writing of a sane man or an insane man?”

Major Smith rose, but before he could speak, Thompson snapped out, “You will not answer that question!” And to Adams, “You know that he is not competent to answer that question. That is a question for a physician, not for sideshow fakery!”

“May it please the court,” Adams said, “and with all due respect, I must object to the court's comment and ask that it be stricken from the record.”

“I think you forget yourself, Captain Adams.”

“I am trying not to forget myself, sir.”

“May I ask you to explain that comment?”

“May it please the court, I am merely trying to act within the framework of proper procedure. With all due respect, I repeat my request.”

“Your request is denied, sir!”

Meanwhile, Mayburt had passed a note to Thompson—a note which brought an angry shake of Thompson's head. A second note followed this.

Then, unexpectedly, Colonel Burnside interrupted once more with his pleasant drawl, “Would the court have any objections to my putting that same question to the witness?”

Taken aback, Thompson passed the question on to Mayburt, who said, “I see no reason why the witness should not testify within his own competency. There have been cases where tests and drawings have been used to measure emotional balance.” And to Chatterjee, he said, “Are such matters procedural within the limitations of your science, professor?”

“To a degree. I have no desire to indulge in what one might call side-show proceedings. I cannot describe people or read character from handwriting. But emotional factors have been carefully and scientifically charted.”

“Then I see no way in which the court can deny your question, Colonel Burnside,” Mayburt said carefully.

Burnside repeated the question, and Chatterjee answered, “In my own opinion, sir, I must say that this is the handwriting of an insane man.”

Tuesday 10.37 A.M .

Lieutenant Winston raised his head and fixed his watery eyes on Kate Sorenson as she began to read the letter. It was the first time Adams had seen any evidence of hurt or sorrow upon his face. As she read on, the corner of Winston's mouth began to twitch slightly and his eyes became bright with tears.