“You recall his testimony on the stand?”
“Yes. It was accurate except for what it left out, and his denials to you in cross-examination.”
“Before we go into that, do you want to tell your side of that thing about the aquarium, Callista?”
“I might as well. It was a foolish impulse. I loved the things, and I had a picture of them going hungry and dying off with the apartment closed. If I’d stopped to think, I’d have known of course that Edith would take care of them for me.” I can’t look across the room at you right now, Edith; I don’t dare. “After all she gave them to me herself. It was an impulse of—despair, I think. You see, until Sergeant Rankin made it plain to me, I actually hadn’t understood how things were going to look for me. I wasn’t thinking clearly at all until then. What he said—and did—showed me how it would be, that I’d be accused of murder and there’d be nothing to disprove it except my word—no tangible evidence in my favor, no one else with any first-hand knowledge of what happened. Naturally as a police officer, Rankin saw that aspect of it right away. Well, the aquarium—I wanted the little tropicals to die quick and easy, that was all.”
“I see. You said Rankin’s testimony was accurate except for what it left out, and those denials. Will you fill in that blank? Just tell what Rankin did, to the best of your recollection.”
“When we were going back to the living-room after I had shown him the brandy bottle, he grabbed hold of me from behind. I was still feeling sick and confused, and startled by what he’d said a minute before—something to the effect that no one would believe my story. I wasn’t expecting any physical approach like that. I guess I was aware that he’d started to get excited, but I supposed that being a policeman, he’d at least control himself. I said: ‘Take your hands off me!’—something like that—or stronger, I guess—‘Take your ugly hands off me, you fool!’ He didn’t let go. He said he could ‘give me a lot of breaks,’ as he put it, if I would—‘put out.’ I tried to break free of him, but couldn’t. A sort of stupid wrestling match across the living-room. I couldn’t get my wrist free. He forced me down on the couch. I tried to tell him then that I was ill, but it’s possible he really didn’t hear that. He was in a state of violent excitement—had opened his trousers and was trying to swing my legs up on the couch without letting go my wrist. I told him the Police Department would smash him for it and he’d wind up in jail no matter what happened to me. He managed to say: ‘The hell with that—who’s going to take your word against mine?’ I said that anyhow I could testify he was circumcised, and since he wasn’t Jewish that ought to give my word a little weight. It got through to him, and scared him. He gave me an open-handed slap across the face—just a nervous explosion, I guess, hardly knew what he was doing—and let go my wrist, stepped away from me across the room, got himself under control. When he turned back to me he was well behaved. He apologized, said there was something about me that made him lose his head. I think he spoke of having a wife and children, and then something more about it’s being my word against his. I don’t believe I was able to say anything except that I’d make him no promises about telling or not telling of it. He made his call to headquarters, and the aquarium thing was after that, I guess—yes, it was. What he testified about just sitting there till the others came—that was true. I don’t think he looked at me once after that remark I made—something about a spring morning warmed up in the oven.”
“Yes, that seems to have made an impression on him.” And yet after all, Cecil, wouldn’t we have done better to show Rankin as just one more creature caught in a drift of confusion, half ape, half civilized, like the rest of us?—or maybe we did succeed in doing that—I wouldn’t know. LaSalle and Miss Wainwright look quite angry on my behalf. The Face of the Hoag expresses a certain disappointment: ‘Wha’d he give up so easy for, and him a cop?’ The Face of Fielding says quite truthfully that it hasn’t a damn thing to do with the death of Ann Doherty. “Well, Callista, I suppose Gage and the others arrived quite soon, as he testified. Do you want to add anything about that?”
“No, I don’t think of anything important. It was all about as Rankin told it, and then I was taken to Mr. Lamson’s office.”
“And questioned there—do you happen to remember how long?”
“I think, from about two o’clock until seven in the evening, when I signed that transcript.”
“Callista, I will ask you: was there ever any genuine hostility between you and Ann Doherty?”
“When two women want the same man, there’s bound to be, Mr. Warner. As a person—if it were possible for me to think of her apart from Jimmy—I had nothing against her. It’s true to say I hardly knew her. We had nothing in common. She was a sweet, harmless girl who never did the slightest thing to rouse any hostility in me.”
“And I’ll ask you, Callista: did you ever, at any time at all, entertain any sort of intention of doing away with her, or in fact of doing her any kind of harm?”
“No. No, Mr. Warner. The worst I ever wished against her was that she would—let Jimmy go.”
“Callista, after signing that transcript in Mr. Lamson’s office, did you receive medical attention?”
“Oh—yes, I did. I sort of blacked out, after signing it. Came to in some kind of infirmary room—in this building, I guess it is. The police doctor was—all right.”
“Do you recall seeing me that evening?”
“Yes, you were there at the infirmary, soon after I came to myself.”
“You remember my explanation of why I couldn’t be there sooner?”
“Yes, you told me you’d been out of town, and Edith couldn’t get word to you until after six o’clock.”
“Did you see your mother or your stepfather that day?”
“No. They came, I understand, but weren’t allowed to see me.”
“So it adds up this way—correct me if I’m wrong: you had a miscarriage about nine o’clock Sunday evening, were in a state of partial or total collapse the greater part of the night. Then official questioning, briefly interrupted by attempted rape, from noon Monday until seven in the evening. Then medical attention. Do you think of anything you want to add at this time, Callista?”
“No, I—” There must be something. I am not ready— “No, I don’t think so, Mr. Warner.”
“You may cross-examine, Mr. District Attorney.”
The Hunter is coming forward—
CHAPTER 8
Whosoever now, Ananda, or after my departure, shall be to himself his own light, his own refuge, and seek no other refuge, will henceforth be my true disciple and walk in the right path.
Reputed saying of GAUTAMA BUDDHA
I
“The chips are down now, aren’t they, Callista?”
She’ll understand that the best answer for that one is no answer. But I might—Cecil Warner remained on his feet by the defense table until he could reassure himself that Callista did understand. She was watching the prosecutor with outward calm, her hands folded—white hands, actually strong, now seeming small and frail.
“Mr. District Attorney, I have one or two old-fashioned quirks. It was natural for Mr. Warner to use my first name because he is a friend as well as my attorney. From you I would prefer a reasonable formality, do you mind?”
Yes—good—perhaps. Too highbrow for the jury, but it may upset his pace a little. Warner sat down, forcing upon himself once more the resolution that he would not intervene except as strategy required it. She was, within obvious limits, on her own, and must fight in her own way. He must protect her to the full extent of his position and powers, but the jury must not feel that she was being overprotected. His own words must have the force of economy, and not be wasted merely to relieve his own anguish.
T. J. Hunter was brooding over it. The hour was 4:15, the sky beyond the high windows altogether dark
. The day would end with whatever Callista was able to say now, and perhaps in some short redirect examination after Hunter had finished. Closing arguments tomorrow, and probably Terence’s summing up: T.J. was not likely to call rebuttal witnesses, and his method did not call for long-winded oratory at the end. The case was likely to go to the jury tomorrow afternoon or evening. I am not ready.
“Very well, Miss Blake. I’m a plain man myself with only a commonplace education, and I’m afraid I’m a little bit given to plain speech. Did you kill Ann Doherty?”
“No.”
“Why—she died of aconite poisoning, didn’t she? And drowning? We’ve all heard that testimony.”
“Yes.”
“Are you saying someone else gave her the poison?”
“She found the poisoned brandy in my apartment without my knowledge, she drank it without my knowledge. When she drowned in that pond, I was not there. I found her too late.”
“That is still your story, Miss Blake?”
“Objection!”
“Sustained.” Except for silence, his graceful body stooped slightly forward as though setting itself for a predatory leap, Hunter gave no sign of noticing the interruption. “Do you wish to take an exception, Mr. Hunter?”
“No, your Honor. Miss Blake, in your direct testimony I recall that you chose to qualify one of the remarks made by your friend Edith Nolan, a remark concerning your artistic ability. I believe you said she overrated you. Does that mean that in your estimation, your own estimation, you are really not much of an artist?”
“No, that isn’t what I said.”
“Then you do consider yourself an artist?”
“Yes, but with less ability than Miss Nolan gives me credit for.”
“I see. In how many lines, Miss Blake?”
“Drawing and painting. Nothing else worth mentioning.”
“Not in fiction?”
“Objection! The question is wholly improper.”
“Sustained.”
“Exception. I was using the word in the purely literary sense—literature, fiction-writing, is surely one of the arts.”
“Mr. Hunter, since the question of Miss Blake’s literary ability has never been introduced at any time in this trial until you mentioned it just now, the Court does not find your explanation altogether acceptable. You may have your exception of course. As you continue, you will avoid sarcasm and innuendo. Miss Blake is entitled to the same respect as any other witness.”
“I regret it very much, your Honor, if anything I said had the sound of sarcasm. It was not so intended. Miss Blake, as an artist, in your own estimation, do you share the attitude which I understand is fairly common in some quarters, that an artist is—well, a sort of privileged character? Not to be judged by the standards we apply to ordinary mortals?”
“I do not, and I never knew any artist who held that attitude.”
“Have you met a great many of them?”
“No. A few.”
“But never met one who felt that he was, let’s say, a special sort of being? Someone apart?”
“Special perhaps, or apart, but not specially privileged.”
“Not even the beatniks?”
“I don’t know anything about the beatniks.”
A swift small worm of pain ran down Cecil Warner’s left arm, puzzling him. He said with care for the sound of his voice: “Is all this leading anywhere? Does it have any possible relevancy?”
“If the Court please,” said T. J. Hunter melodiously, “there has been a great deal said about Miss Blake’s state of mind at various times. I have not objected to it. This is in many ways an uncommon case. I am inclined to agree with a remark made by my very honored adversary a little while ago in his opening, when he pointed out how much depends on whether we can or cannot believe Miss Blake’s word. He is naturally convinced that she is telling the truth. I am not. She is now on the stand, having affirmed that she will speak truthfully. It is my necessary task to test her credibility in any proper manner that is open to me, and my present line of inquiry is directed to that end.”
“The point is well taken,” said Judge Mann. Warner heard or imagined a note of weariness or doubt. “Are you making a formal objection, Mr. Warner?”
“No, your Honor. I only wish the prosecutor would get to the point, if there is one.”
A mistake; he’ll catch me up on it too. “There is one,” said Hunter mildly. “Perhaps I can make it clearer to counsel later on. Miss Blake, you must have believed—did you not?—that something—maybe not your position as an artist if you say it wasn’t that—but something excused you, made it appear all right to you to enter blithely on an adulterous relation with James Doherty.”
“I did not enter on it blithely, nor make excuses for myself. I was aware that such a relation is contrary to the principles we give lip-service to in this part of the world.”
She can’t—she mustn’t—
“And also contrary to law?”
“Mr. Hunter, I’m afraid I never stopped to find out whether this is one of the states where adultery is listed as a crime.”
With deepening terror Warner understood that she was already becoming raw and recklessly angry, though Hunter had scarcely begun. I must be heard.
“I take that to mean that you hold yourself above the law?”
“I object, your Honor. I submit that in his opening Mr. Hunter laid considerable polite stress on the fact that the indictment charges murder and nothing else. If now he has elected himself some kind of guardian of public morals, if Callista Blake is to be tried after all for a violation of sex conventions—”
“Sir, that’s uncalled-for and unjust. My question was phrased in general terms. I think nothing could bear more directly on the credibility of the witness than her respect for law, or lack of it.”
“You were asking,” said Judge Mann, “in general terms, whether or not the witness considers herself above the law? That was the meaning of your question and the extent of it?”
“It was, your Honor.”
“I must overrule your objection, Mr. Warner.”
“Exception.”
“Yes, certainly. Answer the question, Miss Blake.”
“I do not consider myself above the law.” At least she’s quieter; her hands not shaking. “Like everyone, I’ve probably broken a number of minor laws without even knowing it. As for the matter the prosecutor specifically mentioned, adultery, I don’t know, as I said, how the state of New Essex technically regards that action. If it’s a crime, then I’m a criminal—on that charge.” No more, Callista! LOOK AT ME! “I’m quite aware you can’t have a human society without laws. I try to respect them so far as I’m able—I—”
“Miss Blake,” said Judge Mann, “there is no need to go beyond the question. For your own sake I must instruct you not to do so. Limit your answers to what Mr. Hunter asks, so far as you can.”
He may have saved her—I don’t know—I don’t know.
“You respect the laws so far as you are able—now what does that mean, Miss Blake? At what point, please, does it become impossible for you to respect the laws?”
“No one could answer that exactly. As a lawyer, you certainly know that many laws are obsolete or foolish. Dead-letter laws—Sunday blue laws—that sort of thing. I would never willingly break any law that the majority considers important.”
“I see. You have decided then that the majority doesn’t consider the law against adultery important?”
“I don’t know—I’ve already said I don’t even know what laws New Essex has about that. If people are ever prosecuted for it—I suppose they are—I never heard of it.”
“Your answer isn’t quite responsive. Do you mean you believe that in breaking the seventh commandment you were merely doing
what everyone does more or less?”
“I didn’t say that. I—”
Warner let his voice go: “I will inquire again whether the District Attorney believes he is trying a case of adultery.”
“I will reply again that I wish to discover Miss Blake’s attitude toward law itself, as it bears on the reliability of her statements.”
Judge Mann spoke with acid: “Gentlemen… Mr. Hunter, your point may be still defensible, but I think you’re going too far afield. I suggest you bring your inquiry back to factual evidence and the material of direct testimony.”
“Very well, your Honor. Miss Blake, do you have a clear recollection of those letters of yours which were read in court this morning?”
“Very clear.”
Warner saw him take them up from among the exhibits; fought back his surge of resentment that those hands, clean, excellently shaped, well manicured, should be handling them at all. “I recall, Miss Blake, that before these letters were read, quite a point was made about seeing to it that the jury heard a correct interpretation. This seems like a good opportunity to clear up one or two points and give the jury your own views on what they mean—that is, I take it you have no objection?”
“You needn’t make such a production of stage politeness.” Callista, don’t! “I’m prepared to answer any legitimate questions as well as I can.”
Hunter’s eyebrows rose and fell. He read to himself, slipped the first page under and read on. “Well—‘my love (you know it) is nothing like what could happen for you with anyone but me. And there’s my cure for jealousy—if I could apply it, if I could make my head rule a little more, my crazy heart a little less.’ That appears, Miss Blake, to be among other things an admission that you did experience what’s usually called jealousy. ‘Something that could not happen with Ann. Or anywhere in her world.’ That’s jealousy, isn’t it?”
The Edgar Pangborn Megapack Page 60
