by Parnell Hall
“Sustained. Rephrase the question.”
“Yes, Your Honor. Mr. Hastings, what did you find?”
“I found evidence that Anson Carbinder is innocent of the crime.”
“Objection. Not responsive to the question. Move to strike.”
“Granted,” Judge Blank said. “It will go out. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you should consider that last question and answer stricken from the record. Put it from your minds and give it no weight.” He turned to Richard. “Mr. Rosenberg. The vice in a leading question lies in asking it. This is a friendly witness, in your employ. One would expect his testimony to be favorable. Without being led.”
“Yes, Your Honor. Mr. Hastings, let me put it this way. Did you find anything which in your opinion tended to indicate that the defendant, Anson Carbinder, might be innocent of this crime?”
“Yes, I did. I found evidence which, in my own opinion, would indicate that Anson Carbinder did not in fact kill his wife.”
“You did?”
“Yes, I did. And with all due apologies to the court, as a result of my findings, in my own mind there is no doubt whatsoever that he simply couldn’t have done it.”
“Oh?” Richard said. “And why is that?”
“Because Sam Kestin did.”
50
IN THE SILENCE THAT FOLLOWED, ADA WELLINGTON LUNGED to his feet. If his face had been red before, it was purple now. “Objection, Your Honor!” he roared. “Your Honor, that is the most outlandish—”
Judge Blank nearly broke the gavel. Wellington’s shout had triggered an outburst, and the courtroom was in an uproar. Judge Blank pounded it quiet, then sat rigid at his bench, his chin set, his eyes smoldering. I swear his lips never moved. “Attorneys,” he said. “In my chambers.”
With that, he stood up and stalked from the courtroom. After a brief pause, Richard and ADA Wellington followed.
So there we were, once again, in suspended animation, just as we were the time before, when Sam Kestin was on the stand. Only that had been a ploy, a stunt, a clever trick, the banker claiming his constitutional right not to incriminate himself, when all he’d been doing was playing poker.
This was something else.
From my position on the witness stand, I looked out over the courtroom. In the back row, Sam Kestin sat with his buddies, Marvin Wainwright, Ollie Pruett, Tim Hendricks, and Barry Brown. It seemed to me they were regarding him somewhat oddly—not the same hail-fellow-well-met there had been when they’d sat down. Of course, it isn’t every day a friend of yours is accused of murder in open court.
And it isn’t every day you hear yourself accused.
I had wondered how Sam Kestin was going to take it. On the whole, I’d have to say he did pretty well. After all, he had become the center of attention. The jurors, who at first couldn’t place the name, it having been so long since he’d testified, finally worked it out and were now whispering, nudging, and pointing. And the spectators, taking their cue from them, were turning around to look. The press were on their feet, and once their quarry was spotted, several reporters made their way up the aisle. I was too far away to hear what was said, but I could see them asking questions and Kestin refusing to comment.
That should have been enough to break him—it would have been enough to break me—but the banker sat there smiling, shrugging, declining to comment with a shake of the head, until the reporters finally gave it up as a lost cause and made their way back down the aisle, talking among themselves.
I’m sure they would have loved to have questioned me, had there been a chance, but they all knew better—no court officer would let them inside the rail. So there I sat, all alone, in my lofty perch on the witness stand, way up there in the front of the courtroom, like some cosmic director overseeing the whole scene.
Waiting for Kestin to crack.
Which I was sure he would. Because, for all his cool exterior, for all his apparent poise, there was one thing he couldn’t seem to do.
Look at me.
Since I had made that statement, Sam Kestin had been unwilling to meet my eyes. I suppose he could have considered me beneath contempt, but I didn’t think so.
I don’t know how long he might have sat there, surrounded by his friends, not looking in my direction, but at that moment the door in the back of the courtroom opened and Ricky Pomerantz came in. He didn’t look quite so much like a frog with his hat and coat on and standing up, but it was him, all right. He looked around, spotted his buddies, went over, squeezed in, and sat down.
And Sam Kestin got up.
He slid out of the row and went out the back door.
He could have just been going to the bathroom, and he might have come right back, but I was not to know it, for at that moment a voice said, “Mr. Hastings,” and when I looked around, there was a court officer standing next to the witness stand.
“Come with me.”
51
IT WAS THE FIRST TIME I’D EVER BEEN in a judge’s chambers. For the most part it looked like in the movies and on TV. A little starker, perhaps. A little less plush. But still, the elements were there—the desk, the chairs, the shelves of law books.
Judge Blank was seated behind his desk. Richard and Wellington were seated off to either side.
There was one chair smack in front of the desk, and this was where I was invited to sit. I did so, feeling very much like a schoolboy who had just been summoned to the principal’s office.
The look on Judge Blank’s face did nothing to dispel that impression. “Mr. Hastings,” he said. “You’ve just made a statement in open court which, at best, could be considered irresponsible and, at worst, contempt of court. In the event of the latter, it is entirely possible that Mr. Rosenberg here, in conspiring to allow you to make such a statement, could find himself guilty of misconduct. I am telling you this up front, so that you are aware of the gravity of the matter.”
He exhaled. “And all this, I might add, is on top of being responsible for making an unfounded accusation of murder. I have been attempting to ascertain from Mr. Rosenberg what grounds you have for making such a statement. He feels you should be allowed to speak for yourself. From which I gather that some of your opinions may be exclusively your own.” With a glance at Richard, Judge Blank added, “Which would not excuse him from the responsibility of having presented them.”
He turned back to me. “At any rate, I would like this matter cleared up. You will pardon me if my patience is somewhat short. You have just testified in court. I am concerned with whether that testimony is true. If so, you will be the only defense witness not to have committed perjury.”
“It’s true.”
Judge Blank glared at me. “I don’t recall asking you a question.”
“Sorry, Your Honor.”
“Not as sorry as you’re going to be.”
My god, he even sounded like a principal. I held my tongue.
“All right, let’s get on with it,” Judge Blank said. “You say Sam Kestin is guilty of the murder?”
“Yes, I do.”
“On what do you base that statement?”
“On the investigation that I made.”
“Yes, yes, I understand,” Judge Blank said impatiently. “I am asking for the specifics.”
“Yes, Your Honor. You understand a good deal of what I am about to say is based on hearsay.”
“Yes, of course. You question the witnesses, that goes without saying.”
“Actually, Your Honor, my wife questioned some of them.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I’m sorry, but that happens to be the case. A good deal of the facts I am about to present were actually gathered by her.”
Judge Blank turned to Richard. “You didn’t mention this.”
“It’s one reason I thought the witness should speak for himself.”
“You just accused a man of murder on your wife’s say-so?” ADA Wellington said incredulously.
Judge Blank raised his hand
. “Please. Let’s not have a brawl. The circumstances are unusual. They seem to get more unusual by the minute, but let us take it for granted that they are unusual and push on. You say your wife made some of these investigations for you. Would you please tell us what the two of you found?”
“Yesterday, during the noon recess, my wife approached the young woman Connie Maynard and asked her who cut her hair. My wife then made an appointment with this person to have her hair done. During the course of which, she pumped the hairdresser for information. One of the first things she learned was that, prior to her attachment to Mr. Carbinder, Connie Maynard had been dating Sam Kestin. It was actually through him that they met.”
“Are you saying that’s a motive for murder?” Wellington said.
“Not in and of itself. But there were other things.”
“Such as?” Judge Blank said.
“My wife next ascertained where Anson Carbinder went to school. It turns out he lived in Great Neck and attended public high school.
“So did Sam Kestin.
“So did Barbara Carbinder.
“An interview with one of the teachers proved useful. He remembered Anson Carbinder and Sam Kestin quite well because they were the top two students in his class. Indeed, they were the top two students in the school.
“Anson Carbinder, he recalls, was the valedictorian, beating out Sam Kestin by a percentage of a grade point.
“He recalls it as a great rivalry. Neither of the two were particularly athletic but competed fiercely in the chess club. Anson, again, holding a slight edge.
“Unfortunately, the man knew nothing of the students’ social life. Fortunately, there was another teacher there who did. A classmate of theirs who had subsequently returned to teach. She remembered them quite well, not for the academic prowess, but because they had been rivals for the affection of the same girl.
“That girl was Barbara Branstein.
“Who became Barbara Carbinder.”
“And that’s your motive?” ADA Wellington said sarcastically.
I looked at him. “What’s your beef, Wellington?”
He didn’t catch it, but out of the corner of my eye I could see Richard having a hard time controlling his face. It’s tough not to break up yourself, under those circumstances, when you know someone else is on the verge of going, but I knew a smile would be fatal. I squared my jaw, tried not to look at Richard.
Fortunately, Judge Blank stepped in. “All right,” he said. “I can see how this might breed contempt. But to kill Barbara Carbinder? Why her?”
“It fits the psychological profile, Your Honor.”
“Psychological profile,” Wellington said. “Give me a break.”
“I will thank you to hold your tongue,” Judge Blank said. “At the moment I am interested in the man’s thought process, not your opinion of it. Now, why do you say it fits?”
“If the motive is jealousy and revenge—as I believe it to be—then what we are dealing with here is a very sick individual and a very angry individual. The question is, who is he angry with? Aside from the psychological analysis that the man is angry with himself, you have two obvious choices: Barbara and Anson Carbinder. The woman who betrayed him, and the hated rival who stole her away. You have a subconscious resentment, repressed and lying dormant for years and years and years. And what triggers it? Same thing. Exact same thing. The guy does it again. Anson Carbinder sees Sam Kestin with an attractive woman and once again steals her away.
“It’s the last straw.
“Kestin cracks.”
“Bullshit!” Wellington exploded.
Judge Blank turned on him. “I warned you to hold your tongue.”
“I’m sorry, Your Honor, but this is too much. This is all theory and speculation. He hasn’t a single fact.”
Judge Blank took a breath. “You will agree, Mr. Hastings, that your story is a little thin.”
“There’s more, Your Honor.”
“Well, let’s have it.”
“All right, let’s look at the evidence. What are the main things the prosecution has against Anson Carbinder, aside from the alibi that exploded in his face? Well, you got the insurance policy he took out on his wife, and the private detective she hired to get the goods on him. Pretty damning on the one hand, and pat on the other. One wonders how these things transpired. With a little bit of research in each instance, I think it can be shown the ideas originated with Sam Kestin.”
Judge Blank’s eyes showed the first flicker of interest. “Do you have any proof of this?”
I wished I did. “Only indirect, Your Honor. Anson Carbinder, when pressed, recalls that the idea to insure his wife actually came from Connie Maynard.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Not at all. The reason was somewhat convoluted. If his wife found out about the affair, she’d cut him out of the will. So he should insure her life in his name, so in the event that happened, he wouldn’t lose out when she died.”
Judge Blank blinked. “Miss Maynard came up with that?”
“Of course not. That’s the whole point. Sam Kestin did.”
Judge Blank put up his hands. “Wait a minute. Now you’re saying Sam Kestin and Connie Maynard conspired in this crime?”
“No, I’m not. Not necessarily. Most likely, she was an unwitting accomplice. But, you gotta understand, this was a young woman who knew where the gravy was. She’d been intimate with Kestin, she was still friendly with Kestin. He was a banker who knew about money matters, and she was all too willing to take his advice.”
“This is pure speculation,” Wellington said. “All you have is a self-serving declaration from the defendant himself. There’s no offer of proof.”
“Try the private detective.”
“I beg your pardon?” Judge Blank said.
“Robert Tessler, the private detective Barbara Carbinder hired. If you check it out, you’ll find that suggestion also originated with Sam Kestin.”
“Check it out how? Kestin won’t talk, and Barbara Carbinder is dead.”
“True. But the detective agency is still open for business. I called them this morning under the guise of running a credit check. They were no help in the case of Sam Kestin, but they gave a glowing credit reference for Timmy Hendricks. They’d obviously done some work for him at some time, which is where Sam Kestin had heard of them, and why he recommended them to Barbara Carbinder.”
“Very thin,” Wellington said.
“Perhaps a bit,” I said. “The problem is, we don’t have the resources of the police. And the other problem is, it’s not our job.”
“I beg your pardon?” Judge Blank said.
“Solving the crime. It’s not our job to prove who did it, only who didn’t. Which is how we got so far behind in this case.”
“Just a minute,” Judge Blank said. “You’re not off the hook here. And I’m damned if I’m going to listen to a lecture on the workings of the judicial system. Let’s understand the situation here. You made a statement on the witness stand that could lay you open to prosecution. You are attempting to justify yourself. So far, I haven’t seen conclusive proof that you have.”
“As I was saying, Your Honor, I’m ill equipped to get such proof. I’d say the proof probably exists in the records of the telephone company.”
“The telephone company?”
“Yes, Your Honor. The police did an excellent job of tracing the telephone calls from Phil Janson’s apartment on the night he was killed. In particular, his call to Anson Carbinder. I’d think a little effort applied to Sam Kestin’s bill would probably be illuminating.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why do you think Phil Janson made the call? Because Sam Kestin told him to. Kestin called him up, told him he looked shaky on the stand, gave him a pep talk, and told him to call Anson Carbinder and assure him he wasn’t going to crack. Why? So there’d be a record of that call. So when Kestin bumped him off, Carbinder’d be on the hook.”
“Yo
u call that proof?” Wellington said. “First off, you don’t even know if such a call exists. But say the police check and find Sam Kestin made that call—it doesn’t prove what you say it proves. In fact, it couldn’t. How could he tell him he looked shaky on the stand? He’s under the rule. He didn’t see him on the stand.”
“Let’s not go off on a tangent,” Judge Blank said. “The point is well taken. Even if it turns out Kestin made the call, it doesn’t prove anything. They both testified in court. It’s only natural they’d want to compare notes.”
“Exactly,” Wellington said. “It doesn’t prove anything at all.”
“Do you have anything else?” Judge Blank said.
“Okay. Go back to the private detective.”
“What about him?”
“He finished his job. He got the goods on Carbinder and reported to the wife.”
“So?”
“So, what did she do? Did she confront him with the evidence? She got it a whole week before she was killed. So, did she use it? From everything we know, she did not. And the question is, why? We don’t know why, but the fact is, she changed her mind. Either that or she was waffling, not sure she should go through with it.
“And for Sam Kestin, it’s the last straw. He’s shown her her husband’s a louse. He got her the private detective, the private detective’s got the goods. She has everything she needs to divorce him, and she and dear sweet Sam Kestin can live happily ever after.
“Only, she won’t do it. She dumps him again in favor of her two-timing schmuck of a husband with a mistress she knows about. Which is what drives the guy over the edge.”
“Filibuster!” ADA Wellington said.
Judge Blank looked at him. “Huh?”
Wellington pointed at me. “That’s what’s going on here. Filibuster. The guy’s on the hook. He knows as soon as he stops talking he’s going to be charged, so he won’t stop talking. But the fact is, he’s got nothing. Everything he’s giving you is sheer speculation. A relationship between Barbara Carbinder and Sam Kestin? I mean, a present-day relationship. Does he have one shred of evidence to support that? Not at all. He’s throwing up a smoke screen to try to keep us from seeing what he’s doing. And what he’s doing is stalling.”
