by Parnell Hall
I found the number, punched it into the phone.
“Calling a witness.”
“What?”
One ring.
Two.
“Stanley?”
“Just a minute.”
Three.
Come on, come on, wake up, you son of a bitch.
Four.
Click.
“This is Phil Janson. I’m not in right now, but please leave a message after the beep.”
“Stanley?”
Beep.
“Phil, this is Stanley Hastings. The investigator. Anson Carbinder’s investigator. Phil. Can you hear me? Pick up the phone. If you hear this, pick up the phone. Please.”
Nothing.
Damn.
I slammed down the phone.
“Stanley, what’s going on?”
“There’s five eights.”
“What?”
“Hang on, Alice. I gotta make another call.”
“To who?”
But I was already flipping through the notebook. I found the number, punched it in.
41
SERGEANT MACAULLIF SLAMMED HIS CAR TO A STOP in front of the building on Eighth Street, opened the door, and got out. He stomped to the sidewalk, blew on his freezing hands.
“I can’t believe you came,” I said.
“Don’t be silly.”
“Silly? After what Richard did in court?”
“Exactly,” MacAullif said. “After what he did in court, you wouldn’t call me unless it was life or death. So what’s up?”
“You know who lives here?”
“Of course, I do. I was here myself, remember?”
“That was a while back.”
“Yeah, wasn’t it. So what’s the deal?”
“You hear this guy’s testimony?”
“No, I didn’t. I’m a witness, and I’m under the rule. Damn stupid rule, a cop can’t sit in court.”
“Hey, don’t look at me. It was Wellington asked for it.”
“You get me here three in the morning in the freezing cold to debate technical rules of law?”
“No. The thing is, this guy testified today.”
“Yeah? So what?”
I jerked my thumb at the door. “Let’s find out.”
MacAullif’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not going to tell me?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Three o’clock in the fucking morning and you’re not going to tell me?”
“I think the guy’s in trouble. I hope I’m wrong.”
“Trouble how?”
“What’d you hear about the testimony?”
“The guy’s a chickenshit, Wellington’ll tear him apart.”
“Yeah. Well, I don’t think he wants that to happen.”
“No kidding. Oh, you mean bad?”
“Yeah.”
“How bad?”
“Bad.”
“You think he’d kill himself?”
“I think he might. I hope I’m wrong.”
I was wrong.
Phil Janson hadn’t killed himself.
Someone else had done it for him.
42
JUDGE BLANK FROWNED DOWN FROM THE BENCH. “Why wasn’t I informed of this in chambers?”
“It just happened, Your Honor,” Wellington said.
“The witness is unavailable?”
“The witness is dead, Your Honor.”
“So you said. And you wish a continuance?”
“No, Your Honor. I wish to proceed.”
“How can you proceed without the witness?”
“I mean with the trial.”
“And what is the defense position? Does the defense wish a continuance?”
“I move for a mistrial, Your Honor,” Richard said.
ADA Wellington nearly gagged. “Mistrial? Did he say mistrial? What a perversion of justice that would be. When Your Honor hears the facts of the case—”
“I don’t wish to hear the facts of the case,” Judge Blank said. “I would like to hear arguments regarding procedure. You want to proceed, and the defense wants a mistrial. I am concerned with the grounds.”
“There are several,” Richard said. “The witness, Phil Janson, has been murdered. Once the jury hears that, how can the defendant get a fair trial? Every juror’s perception must be altered by this event. And you can’t keep it from them. Phil Janson testified yesterday. He was to be cross-examined today. If he’s not cross-examined, they’ll want to know why. If you tell them, it’s bad. If you don’t tell them, it’s worse. Either way, it colors their perception. There’s no way they can be fair and impartial. I move for a mistrial.”
“Unbelievable,” ADA Wellington said, shaking his head. “Absolutely unbelievable. Your Honor, without going into the specifics of the case, let me go into the facts regarding the death of this witness. The witness, Phil Janson, was discovered dead in his apartment at three in the morning by Sergeant MacAullif, the police officer who has already testified here in court. Acting on allegation and belief, Sergeant MacAullif entered Phil Janson’s apartment at 3:00 A.M. and discovered him lying dead on the floor. He had been killed by multiple stab wounds from a kitchen knife. The knife was found on the floor beside the body. It was apparently a knife from the kitchen of the decedent. Your Honor will note that this is identical to the method by which Barbara Carbinder was killed.”
“Objection,” Richard said. “That’s a conclusion on his part.”
“Yes, but we’re not taking evidence now,” Judge Blank said. “Proceed, Mr. Wellington. What else have you got?”
“The answering machine, Your Honor.”
“What about it?”
“There was one message on Phil Janson’s answering machine. It was from one Stanley Hastings, whom I understand is a detective in the employ of the defense. On the tape you can hear him identifying himself and asking the decedent to pick up. You can hear the voice, tense, urgent—”
“Objection,” Richard said.
“We have the tape. You can hear for yourself.”
“What was the time of this call?” Judge Blank said.
“The defense is not communicative on this point. But according to Sergeant MacAullif, he received a phone call at approximately two-thirty this morning from the investigator, Stanley Hastings.”
Judge Blank held up his hand. “One minute. The defendant’s investigator called the police officer?”
“That’s right, Your Honor. When he couldn’t reach the witness himself he became concerned, he communicated with Sergeant MacAullif, and he was present when Sergeant MacAullif entered the apartment.”
“And just how did the officer enter the apartment?”
“As it happened, the door was ajar,” Wellington said. “If I could continue, all these matters are somewhat secondary to what has actually happened here.”
“Which is what?”
“I already mentioned the answering machine. Perhaps even more interesting is the phone itself. We are in the process of tracing Phil Janson’s phone calls. But one we already know. The last one. Phil Janson’s phone had a redial feature. You know, you press a button and it automatically calls the last number dialed. Well, that number happened to be Anson Carbinder’s apartment.”
“You see, Your Honor,” Richard said. “This is exactly the type of insinuation and innuendo that will prejudice the jury.”
“Insinuation? Innuendo?” Wellington said. “I just stated a simple fact. The facts of the matter are somewhat damning, but they are nonetheless facts.”
“That may well be,” Judge Blank said. “But I’ve not heard anything yet to justify your position. The death of this witness, sensational as it is, is certainly prejudicial and will make it difficult for the jury to evaluate the case.”
“No, it won’t, Your Honor,” Wellington said. “If I may be allowed to continue. There have been other developments that leave the matter in no doubt.”
“Other developments?”
&nbs
p; “Yes, Your Honor. Which I am eager to get to. Only, it’s difficult with this spectacular elimination of a witness to handle first. The fact is, another witness has come forward who can shed some light on this matter.”
“Another witness?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“May I point out that you have finished your presentation. The defendant is putting on witnesses now.”
“This is a defense witness, Your Honor.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“This is a defense witness. I am referring to Mr. Ollie Pruett, who is one of the witnesses on the defense witness list. He has come forward and offered to shed some light on the situation.”
“Objection, Your Honor!” Richard shouted. “He can’t do that. That’s tampering with a witness.”
“Nothing of the sort,” Wellington said smoothly. “This witness came forward of his own accord.”
“I take it the defense knows nothing of this?”
“Your Honor, not only do I know nothing of this, but I find it indicative of highly unethical conduct.”
“You watch your ethics and I’ll watch mine,” Wellington snapped.
Judge Blank frowned. “Gentlemen, we will have none of that.”
“I’m sorry, Your Honor,” Wellington said. “But once you understand the situation... Well, the fact is, this witness came forward because he doesn’t wish to lie.”
“Objection, Your Honor!” Richard shouted. “That’s an outrageous statement!”
“One moment, Mr. Rosenberg. I assure you, you will get your chance. But I am going to hear this charge.” Judge Blank held up his finger. “Mr. Wellington, I warn you to watch your tongue. But I am going to ask you now exactly what you mean.”
“Exactly what I say, Your Honor. The witness, Ollie Pruett, does not wish to perjure himself, as the other witnesses have done.”
“Other witnesses?”
“The other defense witnesses. Their testimony is perjured, Your Honor. That is why a mistrial would be a gross miscarriage of justice. For the defense attorney to suborn perjury, and then cry mistrial when his perfidy is found out.
“Your Honor, Your Honor!” Richard cried. “I know you told me to be quiet, but this is too much!”
ADA Wellington raised his voice to drown him out. “That’s what the witness, Ollie Pruett, will testify to, Your Honor. That he was asked to lie. That all the witnesses were asked to lie. About Anson Carbinder being at the poker game. Because, in point of fact, Anson Carbinder was never there at all.”
43
“WHAT A MESS.”
I had to agree with Richard there. It certainly was a mess.
We were alone in Richard’s office. It occurred to me, it seemed like we were always alone in Richard’s office. Ever since this case began. That’s because Anson Carbinder never sat in on our little meetings. He always had something better to do.
I must say, I resented him for it.
I couldn’t resent him for it now. After ADA Wellington’s showing, Judge Blank had rescinded bail, and Anson Lover-Boy Carbinder had been unceremoniously hauled off to the hoosegow.
It occurred to me, it was about time. Is that vindictive? You bet. I’m sorry, but it was my first murder trial. The first case I’d been asked to gather evidence for. And what had I been allowed to do? Aside from bug MacAullif about the time of death, absolutely nothing except take witness statements from a bunch of yuppie poker players.
All of whom were lying their ass off.
“How bad is it?” I said.
Richard looked at me, cocked his head. “That’s like asking the hangman if it’s going to hurt. It’s bad. It’s real bad.”
“Wanna fill me in?”
Richard had just come from a post-trial conference with his client. I sure would have liked to have been a fly on the wall. I didn’t know what was said, but I had an idea as to the tenor of the conversation. Richard’s shirt collar was unbuttoned, and his tie was pulled down. I can’t recall ever seeing him like that. Except when I asked him for that raise.
“I can give it to you in a nutshell,” Richard said. “Anson’s alibi was faked, as you know. As the whole fucking courtroom knows. As anyone who watches the evening news is going to know. It may even be the goddamn lead story.”
“Where was he?”
“Where do you think?”
“With the bimbo?”
“Bingo. Right on the button. And what a wonderful whoop-de-do that would be.”
“Would be?”
“If I let him tell it. I mean, what a great defense position—No, I wasn’t murdering my wife, I was in bed with a busty blonde, whose pinup photos have already been introduced as evidence in court. You think the media’s having fun now? This is tame. This is nothing. All we need is Anson to change his story—Well, I was lying about the poker, I was actually getting laid.
“What a hell of a fellow that sketches him to be. The hero in detective fiction cheerfully marches into the gas chamber rather than besmirch the reputation of the woman he spent the night with. And then there’s Anson, doing just the opposite.”
“You mean you can’t use it?”
“Right. I can’t use it.”
“As a matter of ethics?”
Richard looked at me. “Ethics? Are you out of your mind? I’d use it in a flash if I thought it would do any good. The problem is, if Anson claims that, there’s not one man, woman, or child in the courtroom who’s gonna believe him.”
“So what can you do?”
“I have no idea. All I know is, if that’s the truth, I can’t go with the truth. So I gotta find something else.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. I gotta think this out. Which is why you’re here.”
I’d been wondering why. Actually, I was still wondering.
“What do you mean?”
“I want you to ask me questions. Like you’re doing now. Help me to roll with the punches. Figure this thing out.”
“Okay. First off, what’s Anson’s story?”
“I told you. He was shacked up with the broad.”
“Then he got home at two in the morning, found his wife dead?”
“So he says.”
“Is that part the same—that he undressed in the dark, slipped into bed, and then felt the blood?”
“Absolutely. Which makes sense. All the more reason to be sneaking in if he’s coming from the bimbo rather than the poker game.”
“So what does he do then?”
Richard made a face. “This is where it gets sticky. Actually, the whole thing’s sticky. But it appears our boy made some calls.”
“To whom?”
“To the bimbo, for one. He calls her up and tells her, We have a small problem.”
“And what does she do?”
“Freaks out. Goes into hysterics. At which point Anson decides counting on her for an alibi probably isn’t the swiftest move in the world. All right, he told his wife he was playing poker. It’s the story he’s been telling all along, and his poker buddies are all primed to back him up. So why not let ’em? He calls the game, tells ’em what happened, asks for help.”
“And they all agreed?”
Richard shrugged. “Some more readily than others. It was Sam Kestin’s house, he’s the one Anson talked to, he took charge, whipped the others into line.”
“And the big hand?”
“They made it up, natch.. Which is why I didn’t hear it from Anson. He didn’t know about it, ’cause they didn’t have time to plan it on the phone. When he called, they broke up the game and started working the alibi out. And what they agreed on, aside from to do it in the first place, was there ought to be something specific they remembered to establish that Anson was there. So they decided on the big hand. Which wasn’t nearly as difficult a concept for them as it was for me. They all play this high/low shit, so what sounded like absolute gibberish made perfect sense to them. And they all grasped it instantly—there was a big hand, Anson
looked like he was going low, but went high and took it all.”
I shook my head. “They all agreed to commit perjury in a murder trial?”
“Yeah, I know,” Richard said. “But you gotta understand how this developed. It was a gradual thing. First off, they’re not all for it, they’re just going along. And to begin with, it’s not to tell it, it’s just not to deny it.
“In the second place, it’s not perjury. No one’s thinking trial. They’re all thinking, Anson’s in a tight spot, we tell this story to get him out of it.
“You have to understand, none of these guys think Anson killed his wife. They know where he was, banging the bimbo. That’s where he’s been every time they’ve had a poker game the last six months. It’s something they laugh about. Suddenly they’re not laughing. Anson calls up, While I was at the babe’s, some burglar got in and killed my wife. You gotta back me up, ’cause I can’t tell the cops I was there.”
Richard shrugged. “No, they don’t want to do it, but they do. Then he gets arrested and bound over for trial, and the way the cops and I play it, they don’t tell their story right away. To anyone but you. Before they know it, they’re on the hook to tell it in court. And they do. In come cases, very reluctantly.”
“Right,” I said. “What about the phone call?”
“What phone call?”
“You know. Phil Janson. The last redial. What does Anson have to say about that?”
“He called him. Said he had cold feet and was afraid he was going to blow it.”
“Not that he couldn’t go through with it?”
“No, just that he was nervous as hell.”
“And what did Anson do?”
“Gave him a pep talk, told him he’d be fine.”
I tried to keep the skepticism out of my voice. “And Phil Janson bought it?”
“According to my client.”
“Jesus Christ.”
Richard put up his hands. “I said it was a mess.”
“That you did. Has Anson got an alibi for last night?”
“As a matter of fact, he does.”
“Don’t tell me.”
“That’s right. She was there.”
“Great.”
“Yeah. And it’s just their word for it, because he lives in a town house, so who’s to see him going in and out?”
