Norma and Jean were called to the stand, and both testified that Miriam had told them about Kevin’s jealousy of John Milton. They related how he had even demanded she get an abortion after she announced her pregnancy. He had accused her of making love with John Milton and declared the child was Milton’s. They said Miriam was terribly upset and was actually afraid of Kevin at this point.
In cross-examination, Kevin tried to get both of them to talk about Gloria and Richard Jaffee, but they gave his assertions no support, and when he brought up Helen Scholefield and the things she had told him, they both said that Helen had never said anything like that to them. Lungen then reexamined Jean, who revealed that Helen was still at Bellevue for psychiatric treatment.
“So even if she had said any of these fantastic things, we could hardly consider them sensible,” Lungen concluded. Then he turned to the jury and added, “And surely, Mr. Taylor, a bright young attorney who had just won a major case in these courts, would have realized that.”
Paul, Dave, and Ted were then called up. Each testified to John Milton’s good character and charitable acts. They talked about his love of the law and all that he had done for each of them and their wives. They stressed the familial nature of their firm and vehemently denied that John Milton was a womanizer or had ever made advances to their wives. Each commented about Kevin’s seeming inability to grasp that nature and his distrust of John Milton’s intentions.
Kevin announced that he would not bother to cross-examine any of the associates because they would lie, oath or no oath. They were John Milton’s sons, sons of the devil, he added. The judge pounded his gavel to quiet down some snickering in the audience.
The prosecution then offered the physical evidence—the cross dagger. Even though Kevin wasn’t contesting that he had stabbed John Milton with it, a forensics expert was brought in to testify to his fingerprints. Kevin was placed at the scene of the crime, and the police officers who had arrived at the scene testified that Kevin’s hand was bloody and that he did not deny he had killed Mr. Milton, even though he refused to answer any questions.
Confident, Lungen rested the prosecution’s case.
Kevin was going to take the stand himself and offer his story, but he decided it would be better to first build some supportive evidence. He intended to begin with Beverly Morgan. However, when it came time to begin his defense, Beverly Morgan was unable to appear. She was comatose in the hospital, suffering from acute alcoholic poisoning. The attending physician did not hold up much hope for her.
Since another assistant district attorney, Todd Lungen, had argued the state’s case, Kevin was able to call Bob McKensie to the stand. However, McKensie’s recollections of their clandestine meeting were quite different from Kevin’s. McKensie admitted to Kevin’s concerns about John Milton’s law firm and that Kevin had claimed the firm would go to any lengths to win a client’s acquittal, no matter how guilty he or she might appear. Yes, he said, Kevin had come to see him to discredit the firm.
“But it was apparent to me,” McKensie added, “that his motive was revenge. He believed his wife was having an affair with the man.”
Kevin couldn’t believe his ears. “You’re lying! I never said anything like that!” he declared. Lungen objected to Kevin’s outburst, and the judge sustained.
“Either you continue questioning the witness or he will step down.”
“But your honor, he’s lying.”
“That’s for the jury to decide. Any other questions for Mr. McKensie?”
“Yes. Did you recommend I see Father Reuben Vincent?”
“Yes I did,” McKensie said.
“Good. Now tell the court why you made such a recommendation, please.”
“Because I thought he could help you. He is a licensed psychiatrist. He could counsel you and help you to find other ways to deal with your jealousy.”
“What?”
Stoically, McKensie stared back.
Kevin spun around and looked into the audience where Paul Scholefield, Ted McCarthy, and Dave Kotein sat. He thought they were smiling contentedly. Norma, Jean, and Miriam sat beside them, Norma and Jean comforting her. Miriam looked as sad to him now as she had looked during Lois Wilson’s trial. She ran the back of her hand over her cheeks to wipe away tears.
For a moment he thought he was back at the Lois Wilson trial. It was the moment before he was going to question the little girl. He could do it or not. Was he there? Had all this been a dream? Could he turn back time?
The judge brought him back to reality. “Mr. Taylor?”
He looked back at McKensie, who had the same smile on his face as the associates. Of course, Kevin thought. Of course.
“I should have known,” he laughed. “I should have realized. What a fool. I was a perfect fool, a perfect victim, wasn’t I? Wasn’t I?” he demanded of McKensie. The lanky man crossed his legs and looked up at the judge for assistance.
“Mr. Taylor?” the judge said.
“Your honor,” Kevin said, moving toward the witness stand and shaking his finger at McKensie, “Mr. McKensie was part of it. . . the cases he lost, the deals he made . . .”
Lungen rose to his feet. “Objection, your honor.”
“Sustained. Mr. Taylor, I’ve warned you about these speeches. Save them for your final arguments or I’ll find you in contempt.”
Kevin stopped and looked at the faces of the jury members. Most looked amazed, confused. Some looked disgusted. He nodded, a sense of overwhelming defeat washing over him with the impact of an ocean wave. But surely, Father Vincent, a priest . . . He was his last hope.
He called him to the stand.
The small elderly man looked very distinguished in his double-breasted suit and tie. He looked more like a psychiatrist and less like a priest.
“Father Vincent, will you relate to the court the substance of the conversation you and I had concerning John Milton.”
“I’m afraid I have to decline that request on the basis of doctor-patient privilege,” he said.
“Oh no, Father. You can say anything. I waive all that.”
Father Vincent looked to the judge.
“It’s his right to do so,” the judge said. “Go on with your testimony.”
Father Vincent shook his head sympathetically. “Very well.” He turned toward the jury. “Mr. Taylor was referred to me by Bob McKensie. I had one session with him during which I detected great anger and antagonism. He revealed his desire to do harm to Mr. John Milton because he believed Mr. Milton had impregnated his wife. He rationalized his desire by declaring that Mr. Milton was an evil man, a devil in disguise.
“I tried to point out this rationalization and lead him to an understanding of what he was feeling in the hope that he would be able to deal with his anger and suspicions. We were to have more sessions together.
“But that night, Mr. Taylor phoned me and told me he had killed John Milton. He was hysterical but, in my opinion, quite aware of what he had done.”
“I’m not interested in the psychiatric end to all this,” Kevin snapped. “I came to see you in your role as a priest, an expert on the occult and the devil. Wouldn’t you consider yourself an expert on these matters? Haven’t you done very scholarly research on them?”
“Scholarly research on the devil? Hardly.”
“But . . . didn’t you give me a Bible to give to Mr. Milton as a way of testing whether or not he was the devil?” Rather than reply, Father Vincent started to smile. Kevin practically lunged at him. “And didn’t you provide me with a cross that was a dagger as well?”
Father Vincent looked at him and then turned slightly to the jury again. “Absolutely not. These statements are as fantastic to me as they must be to all of you.”
Kevin reddened. He turned back to look at the associates. Their smiles were wider, deeper. Norma and Jean were turned to Miriam, who had her hands over her face. He looked at Bob McKensie, who now seemed to be laughing.
“Even priests! Even priests!�
�� Kevin shouted, raising his hands toward the ceiling. “You’re one of his sons, too, aren’t you?” he demanded, turning back to Father Vincent. “Aren’t you?” He spun around. “How many more of you are there here?”
“Mr. Taylor.” The judge rapped his gavel. Kevin turned to him and pointed a finger of accusation.
“You’re his, too. You’re all his. Don’t you see?” he screamed at the jury. “They’re all his sons.”
In the end the court marshals had to subdue Kevin so the prosecution could cross-examine Father Vincent. Lungen presented him with the Bible.
“This was the Bible found at John Milton’s feet. You’ve already said you didn’t give it to Mr. Taylor to use for some voodoo test of the devil, is that not so?”
“Yes.”
Lungen opened the Bible. “In fact, would you read to the jury what is written here?” He handed the Bible to Father Vincent.
“‘To John. May this bring you comfort whenever you need some. Your friend, Cardinal Thomas.’”
“So much for that part of his ridiculous story,” Lungen said, taking the Bible back and returning it to the exhibit table.
Kevin had no other witnesses, nothing else to offer in his own defense, but the prosecution recalled Paul Scholefield, Dave Kotein, and Ted McCarthy and had them each testify that they had seen the cross dagger in John Milton’s apartment from the first time they had entered it. It was something he had picked up on one of his European holidays and, they all agreed, something he had cherished.
“Certainly, it wasn’t something Father Vincent had given Kevin to use to kill the devil,” Paul Scholefield said.
In his closing argument, Lungen contended that Kevin Taylor, a proven successful criminal trial lawyer, had committed a cold-blooded, premeditated murder and then devised this ridiculous story about the devil to get the jury to think him insane so he would get away with it.
“Trying to employ some of the very skillful yet conniving techniques he employed as a defense attorney for other clients. No,” Lungen concluded, “there’ll be no confusing of this jury.” He pointed at Kevin. “Kevin Taylor, driven by an insane jealousy of a talented, debonair older man, plotted against that man and stands guilty of murder. This is one time a clever defense attorney will not manipulate the truth.”
The jury agreed. He was found guilty of murder in the first degree, and he was sentenced to twenty-five years to life.
Epilogue
He moved like one in a daze. At first no one bothered with him; practically no one spoke to him. He thought maybe he had become invisible, or maybe he wasn’t really here in a maximum-security prison in upstate New York.
Miriam came to visit on the third day, but mostly they just stared at each other. She seemed a thousand miles away anyway, and when she did speak, some words were lost, like a television set on the blink. What he remembered of their conversation was broken up into phrases: “Your parents and mine . . . I tried to play piano . . . Helen’s back.”
“Isn’t it wonderful,” she remarked at the end, “that John Milton had put aside a trust fund for our child? It was something he did for the Jaffee child, and there are trusts for Ted and Jean and Norma and Dave. Paul and Helen are talking about adopting.”
Of course, she was still pregnant. There was no reason for her not to be. He understood that now. He understood that it was too late for her.
“I don’t want my parents to have the baby,” he finally said.
“Have the baby?” She smiled with confusion. “What baby, Kevin?”
“His,” he said.
“Oh no, not that again.” She shook her head. “I was hoping you would stop saying those things now that it’s over.”
“It’s over. I repeat, I don’t want my parents bringing up this baby.”
“All right, they won’t,” she said, not cloaking her anger. “Why should they?”
“They shouldn’t. Nor should yours.”
“I’ll bring up our child.”
He shook his head. “I tried, Miriam. In the end I tried for you, to save you. There’ll be a moment, one final moment near the end, when you’ll realize all this and you’ll think of me as I am now, and if you are still able to, you will shout my name. I’ll hear you, but there will be nothing I can do.”
“I can’t take this, Kevin. It’s hard enough for me to come here, but I can’t take this talk. I won’t come back until it stops, do you understand?”
“It doesn’t matter anymore. It’s too late,” he repeated.
She jumped up. “I’m going. If you want me to come back, write and promise you won’t talk like this when I do,” she said and started away.
“Miriam!”
She turned back.
“Ask them where Helen’s painting is and go look at it if they haven’t destroyed it. Look at it closely.”
“It wasn’t destroyed. It was sold. Bob McKensie bought it. He likes that sort of thing.”
Kevin laughed. In fact, it was the mad sound of that laughter that drove her out.
He spent his time trying to understand. How did his demise fill any of their purposes? So he had discovered who John Milton really was and what the firm was really doing. What could he do with this information? Bring it to McKensie, and then when he got no satisfaction, bring it to another assistant district attorney or the district attorney himself? How would he know who was untouched and who was? He couldn’t force Miriam to get an abortion, and she didn’t believe the things he was telling her. Even if he had taken her away, the baby would still have killed her. John Milton would still have had his child.
No one would believe the things he had learned, and there was nothing he could do to stop them, so why did they manipulate him into killing John Milton?
The answers came a few days later. He was sitting in the cafeteria, chewing mechanically on his food, shutting away the sounds and sights around him.
Suddenly he was aware of the close presence of other men, two rubbing shoulders, one on the left and one on the right of him, and two or more standing directly behind him. He had vaguely noticed the two who were now beside him before. Whenever he did see them, he found them staring at him, smiling licentiously, so he turned away quickly. Other than that, they seemed indistinguishable from the other inmates, all of them a blur.
“Hi there,” the one on his right said. His smile revealed a mouth filled with greenish-yellow teeth. His lips twisted away from them in a lustful smile.
“Bet you’re lonely already,” the man on his left said and placed his right hand on Kevin’s left thigh.
He started to pull back, but the inmate standing directly behind him pressed his legs against his back. He was aware that this man had an erection poking him as well. His stomach churned with revulsion. The man on his left tightened his grip on Kevin’s thigh. He wanted to scream, but the small crowd of inmates that had gathered behind him, on his sides, and directly in front of him blocked out any immediate rescue.
Then the half-dozen or so who were standing in front of him parted, and the inmate sitting directly across from him stood up quickly and backed away so that a tall, muscular black man could approach the table and sit there. His biceps bulged against his sleeves, and his neck muscles stretched emphatically against his smooth, thin skin. He looked invincible, hardened, a man sculptured by the system, toughened and trimmed. He had bright, black eyes with the whites around them as clear and as pure as fresh milk.
He smiled, and the men around him smiled, too. All eyes were on him. It was as if their energy, their very life force, came from him.
“Hello, Mr. Taylor,” he said. Kevin nodded. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
“Me?” His voice cracked. The smiles on the faces of the inmates around him widened.
“Or someone just like you.”
“Oh,” he said, looking from the man on his right to the one on his left. So he was to be passed around like some whore.
“Oh no, no, Mr. Taylor,” the black man said. “You misunde
rstand. You’re not here for that. They can get that any time from any one of the others,” he added, and the man on his left took his hand off Kevin’s thigh instantly. Both he and the man on the right shifted so their bodies were no longer pressed up against his, and the man behind him stepped back. He released a breath of relief. “No, you’re more important than that, Mr. Taylor.”
“I am?”
“Yes, sir. You see, Mr. Taylor, everyone here has been framed, just like you.” The crowd around him laughed. They all smiled down at him. “Everyone here had lousy attorneys.” Some nodded angrily. “Everyone needs to file for an appeal.”
“What?”
“Yes, sir, you got it. Now, the irony is, we have one of the best law libraries going, but we don’t have the skills, the knowledge you have.
“But . . .” He sat back and placed his big hands palms down on the table. “You’ve finally arrived and you’ll help us . . . help each and every one of us, and as long as you do, you’ll always be known around here as Mr. Taylor and be treated with respect. Ain’t that right, boys?”
Everyone in the group nodded.
“So. Right after you finish your lunch there, why don’t you mosey on up to the law library and meet Scratch. He’s the inmate who serves as head librarian, and he’s waiting to be of assistance to you, Mr. Taylor. You and Scratch . . . hell, you two are going to be like Siamese twins around here.”
There was more laughter.
“You just go up there, and Scratch will tell you where to start, who to help first. Understand, Mr. Taylor?”
They all leaned in, all eyes on him, everyone poised.
“Yes,” he said. “I do. Finally.”
Judgement Day Page 53
