by Jane Haddam
“And I take it very few people didn’t go down that hall,” Gregor said.
“Half the population of Philadelphia went down that corridor,” George Edelson said.
All three of the women had turned around. They were waiting patiently for the conversation to be over. Lida Arkmanian was not going to be patient much longer.
Gregor made the introductions.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Bennis said to George Edelson in her best Main Line debutante voice. Then she turned to Gregor. “Do not get started,” she said. “It’s a public hearing. Donna called Russ and asked about it. If it’s a public hearing, we can be here.”
“It’s very important to let him know he has our support,” Lida said. “Even if he thinks he doesn’t want it. Even if, even if he did something—” She started to tear up.
Donna patted her on the shoulder. “He hasn’t done anything,” Donna said firmly, “except somehow get himself involved in a mess somebody else created. Just you wait. Gregor will figure it all out.”
“It’s definitely a public hearing, and I’m not in the least upset that the three of you are here,” Gregor said. “If I’d thought of it, I’d have had you bring half the membership of the church. I’m for putting as much pressure on him as possible. He’s going to have to start talking to somebody sometime. It would be better sooner rather than later.”
The big swinging double doors at the back of the courtroom opened, and after a bit of shuffling Tibor came in, handcuffed and shackled, dressed in a jail uniform, and flanked by two guards. Gregor saw Bennis tear up and then push the tears back by sheer force of will.
“I thought they didn’t allow that anymore,” she said. “I thought the Supreme Court said the defendant had to be in ordinary clothes.”
“That’s for the jury trial,” George Edelson said helpfully. “The court was afraid that prison clothes would prejudice the jury. They’re prejudiced enough as it is, if you ask me.”
Tibor did not turn to look at them. He stared straight ahead until he got to the defense table. A young, harried-looking man was sitting there. Gregor assumed he was from Legal Aid or the Public Defender’s Office. Tibor sat down next to him and shook his head.
“What’s that?” Bennis demanded.
“My guess is that Tibor is refusing the services of yet another attorney,” Gregor said.
“He turned me down yesterday,” George Edelson said.
“He should have Russ,” Donna said. “He’s always had Russ for everything. He’s got to know he can trust Russ no matter what’s going on.”
“He couldn’t trust Russ to plead him guilty to something he’s not guilty of,” Gregor said. “And he couldn’t trust Russ to hide anything that the court needs to know.”
“Do you think he’s going to plead guilty?” Bennis asked. “Do you think he’d really do something like that?”
“There isn’t a deal on the table,” George Edelson said. “And it’s a capital murder case.”
Lida Arkmanian blanched.
Gregor explained. “Most judges won’t let a defendant plead guilty to a capital murder charge if there isn’t a deal on the table to forgo the death penalty. You don’t want—”
The bailiff was suddenly at the front of the court, droning out a string of words and numbers that went by without Gregor being able to take them in.
Then the bailiff said, “All rise,” and everybody stood up.
The judge who walked in from behind the bench was an older man, tall and broad but also a little stooped. The bailiff announced him as “the Honorable Roger Maris Oldham presiding.”
The judge sat down. Everybody else sat down.
Bennis turned around and leaned as close to Gregor’s ear as she could get. “I know him,” she said. “He went to school with Bobby and Chris. Not that he could stand either of them, mind you, because he was Dudley Do-Right and they definitely weren’t.”
“He’s very fair,” George Edelson said.
The bailiff was glaring at them. He’d already read out a stream of numbers and case codes. Gregor gestured at Bennis frantically. He did not want them all removed from court.
Bennis turned forward again. Roger Maris Oldham leaned over the bench and asked, “Is that Mr. Hernandez? You’re appearing for the defendant?”
Mr. Hernandez stood up. “Excuse me, Your Honor. I don’t know that I am.”
The judge got a half-bemused, half-furious look on his face. “Well, Mr. Hernandez,” he said. “You were sitting at the defense table. You rose to talk to me from the defense table. On most occasions, those would be clear indications that you were speaking on behalf of the defendant.”
“Yes, Your Honor. I did come here this morning to speak on behalf of the defendant. But Mr.—Father Kasparian has indicated to me since I got here that he does not want me to appear on his behalf.”
The judge sat back. “I’ve been hearing about this all day yesterday,” he said, “but I wasn’t sure I believed it. Sit down, Mr. Hernandez. Father Kasparian, if you would please rise.”
Tibor stood up. Gregor spent a useless moment trying to gauge his mood. There didn’t appear to be any mood to gauge.
“Father Kasparian,” the judge said, “you are within your rights, of course, to serve as your own counsel, and to defend yourself. I will say that I find the idea of doing so in a capital case to be completely insane. You may be a very intelligent man. You may be justifiably convinced of your own innocence. But the law is not a game. There are no automatic do-overs if you get things wrong. And if you get things wrong in this matter, the consequences could be literally a matter of life or death. Do you still insist that you want to act as your own counsel?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Tibor said.
“Very well, then,” the judge said. “But I want to tell you something else. I have heard all about your behavior since your arrest yesterday, and I want you to understand, without ambiguity, that I will not stand for it here. This is an arraignment. It is not enough for you to stand on the Fifth Amendment here. Nobody is denying your right to refuse to incriminate yourself. Such right notwithstanding, you are required to enter a plea to this charge. Do you understand that?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“The charge is one of capital murder, willful murder in the first degree. The State will contend that you did willfully and with malice aforethought bring about the death of the Honorable Martha Handling on the ninth of September in this year. Do you know what that means?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Tibor said.
“Is there any reason for this court to be concerned about your ability to speak and understand that English language? Do you need an interpreter?”
“No, Your Honor. I have lived in Philadelphia for many years. I am competent both in speaking and understanding English.”
“All right,” the judge said. “Then we’ll begin. Please sit down, Father Kasparian. If the attorney for the Commonwealth will please rise.”
The attorney who rose from the prosecution table was not somebody Gregor recognized, but it hardly mattered. He kept staring at Tibor’s back. Now that he was seeing Tibor in person, this whole thing made even less sense than it had when he’d only heard about it.
Gregor wasn’t sure how he would have expected Tibor to behave if he’d actually been guilty of a murder, but this was not it. The problem was, it wasn’t the way he’d have expected Tibor to behave if he had been wrongly accused, either. The back was straight and unbending and without a hint of compromise. Tibor’s voice, when he spoke, was dead flat and without affect.
The attorney for the Commonwealth had sat down. Tibor was standing up again.
The judge said, “You have heard the charges against you. How do you plead?”
Bennis sat forward on her chair, tensed. Gregor couldn’t help himself. He sat forward, too.
Tibor’s back did not bend or shake, or even stoop. His voice, when it came, was clear and almost without accent.
“If it plea
se the court,” he said. “I plead nolo contendere.”
PART TWO
ONE
1
There were reporters in the court. Of course there were. Gregor didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it before. Cameras were barred, except by special permission of the judge, but reporters came in like the rest of the public, and there was no chance they would have skipped this particular arraignment.
It wasn’t only the reporters who were making a fuss, however. They were restricting themselves to scribbling furiously on notepads. The guard at the door had collected cell phones, probably to ensure that there were no phone pictures of the arraignment.
Lida Arkmanian didn’t need a cell phone to cause a disturbance, and although Bennis and Donna were better, they weren’t exactly quiet.
“What does it mean?” Lida wailed, and kept wailing, minute after minute, while the judge brought his gavel down over and over again.
Gregor tried not to think of what that gavel pounding reminded him of.
Bennis turned around and said, “He can’t do that, can he? He can’t plead nolo contendere to a murder charge.”
“For God’s sake,” George Edelson said. “What the hell does he think he’s doing?”
That last thing was the most important question. If Gregor could have gotten close enough to Tibor to shake him, he’d have asked it himself.
The judge’s gavel started to do some good. The crowd began to quiet down. Gregor realized the bailiff was bellowing, and hadn’t been heard over the rest of the din. The judge looked as if his patience had been tried, found wanting, and thrown in a ditch.
“Watch out,” George Edelson said. “I think the excrement is about to hit the fan.”
The judge waited until the courtroom was entirely quiet. Then he looked at Father Tibor and said, “Father Kasparian, do you have any idea what you’re talking about? Do you know what nolo contendere means?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Fine,” the judge said. “Explain it to me.”
Gregor had no doubt that Tibor knew what the phrase meant, but, like the judge, he wondered what the man was trying to do. It would help if Tibor would show some emotion. Instead, his back was straight, his voice was colorless, and he was calmer than anybody else in the room.
“To plead nolo contendere,” Tibor said, “means that I acknowledge that the police have enough evidence to arrest me, and the prosecution has enough evidence to convict me, but I do not plead guilty, and I do not admit to any guilt.”
The judge sat staring for a while. He was as clear of emotion as Tibor had been—except, Gregor thought, that he looked interested.
“Do you understand, Father Kasparian, that you are here charged with capital murder? That as a capital case, the result of a conviction, by whatever means, could result in the death penalty?”
“Yes,” Tibor said.
“Did I notice a little hesitation, Father Kasparian? Because if I were in your position, I’d be showing a great deal of hesitation right now.”
“I am not hesitating,” Tibor said.
“Are you prepared to be executed?” the judge said.
This time, Tibor did hesitate. “From my understanding,” he said, “it is not usually the case that men are executed in this state except after a jury trial.”
The judge suddenly seemed to unwind. “Ah,” he said. “I see. You hope that by entering such a plea, you will avoid a death penalty that might be imposed after a trial.”
“No,” Tibor said.
“No? But you just said that was what you were doing.”
“Please excuse me, Your Honor,” Tibor said. “You asked me if I was prepared to be executed. I only said that, as I understand it, that would not be a plausible outcome for this kind of plea.”
“And you’re willing to trust in the plausibilities?”
“I think it is too early to think about it.”
The judge stared over his desk at Tibor. The stare went on for a long time, second after second. For once, everybody in the courtroom was absolutely silent.
Then the judge leaned even farther toward Tibor, so far that his body stretched almost across the desk. “Father Kasparian,” the judge said, “I have no idea where you heard about the plea of nolo contendere. You’re not a lawyer, you’re not even willing to speak to a lawyer. But a lawyer could have told you what I’m going to tell you now, and saved both of us a lot of trouble. I will not accept a plea of nolo contendere in this case. It is not a proper plea to the charges here made, and would not be acceptable to any judge in any court in the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania. I will ask you now, one more time, to enter a proper plea to these charges before this court. Guilty or not guilty, Father Kasparian. Take your pick.”
Tibor seemed to sway a little. “I have the right to remain silent,” he said finally.
“I’ve told you before, Father Kasparian. You do not have the right to remain silent in the matter of a plea. Guilty or not guilty, Father Kasparian?”
Tibor stood where he was, not budging.
“All right, then,” the judge said. “I hereby enter a plea in this case of not guilty.”
“I have not said it, Your Honor,” Tibor said.
“It doesn’t matter if you’ve said it or not,” the judge said. “A plea must be entered, and I cannot enter a guilty plea for you. But here’s what I can do: I am recommending to the court that will try you that your right to represent yourself be revoked. It is my considered judgment that you’re either incompetent to represent yourself or attempting an elaborate maneuver to evade justice. Whichever one it is, you won’t be getting away with it any longer. The plea in this case has been entered as not guilty. This hearing is over. Gentlemen, please return Father Kasparian to his jail cell. Maybe if he sits in it long enough, he’ll appreciate the wisdom of getting himself a lawyer to get himself out of it.”
And then, just like that, it was over. The bailiff said, “All rise.” The judge and everybody else rose for a single ceremonious second. Then Tibor was handcuffed again and led out of the room in shackles.
“For God’s sake,” George Edelson said again.
“Gregor, what’s going on here?” Bennis demanded.
“Out in the hall,” Gregor said.
They all trooped out into the front foyer, passing other people coming in, another prisoner being led through in handcuffs and shackles. Gregor made a quick look around, but Tibor was already gone.
“Gregor, you can’t just keep shutting me up,” Bennis said. “What just happened in there? What in the name of hell is going on?”
“He got that judge angry,” Donna said. “I could see it. It can’t be a good idea to get the judge angry.”
“Gregor, there’s got to be some explanation for what he’s doing. Either that, or he’s gone completely insane,” Bennis said. “I think he’s going completely insane. What could that possibly have been in aid of?”
“He couldn’t have thought he was going to get away with that,” George Edelson said. “Not if he’s got half a brain in his head. I’ve met him. He’s got half a brain in his head.”
Gregor stood still in the eddy of people that moved continuously and never went anywhere. The alarm bells that had been going off in his head since this whole thing started were now on full alert. It wasn’t just that something was wrong. It was that something was very, very wrong and getting wronger by the minute.
“I don’t think he knew what was going to happen when he did that,” Gregor said. “I think he was taking a shot.”
“But why?” Bennis demanded.
Gregor didn’t know.
2
Out on the courthouse steps, Gregor Demarkian tried to tear his mind away from what had gone on in the courtroom to figure out what he ought to do next. It was not so easy to know as it ought to have been. Gregor had been investigating murders of one kind or another for decades. He understood procedures and the need for them. He understood that every investigation required an or
der, and that there were very few orders to choose from.
In this case, no order seemed to be available. He wasn’t imposing any. The police, as far as he could tell now, weren’t imposing any. And no order was arising spontaneously from the evidence so far.
Everything was just lying around in a jumble.
It was cold on the courthouse steps. Gregor found himself wishing for a coat. Bennis was shivering, but she never wore one.
“Well,” she said. “Now what are we going to do? We promised to go back to the street and tell everybody about everything, but what are we going to say? Hannah Krekorian is going to have another attack of the vapors. And that’s just to start.”
“We’re supposed to have lunch at the Ararat,” Donna said miserably.
Lida Arkmanian was not shivering. She was wearing the same three-quarter-length chinchilla coat she wore everywhere, winter and summer, no matter what. Gregor didn’t know if it was more surprising that she had never collapsed from heat poisoning, or that she had never been doused with paint by animal rights activists.
“We’ll just have to tell them what happened,” Lida said. “Maybe one of them will think of something we haven’t. Maybe one of them will be able to make sense of it.”
“We went to school with Hannah Krekorian,” Gregor said. “Has she ever made sense out of anything?”
“Maybe not,” Lida admitted.
“Well, we’ve got to get back, whatever else we do,” Bennis said. “They’re all probably sitting there at the Ararat waiting. They’re going to think there’s been a shooting or something. Linda Melajian is going to be checking the news every twenty seconds.”
“The news,” Donna said. “Do you think this is going to be on the news? What will they say?”
“This is going to be all over the news everywhere,” Bennis said. “We’d better give up any thought of getting away from it. For all I know, the news vans are going to be back on Cavanaugh Street, and I don’t think Linda can keep reporters out of the Ararat. Maybe we should give Hannah a call and have her bring everybody over to our place so we can talk in private.”
