I told him I didn’t know and quickly ended our conversation.
Fortunately, questions about religion, since it would not be an issue, could be excluded at trial. My witness might be a bit quirky, but I could make sure the jury would never see that side of him. If I used him.
The rest of the day went slowly, although I did receive calls from two prospective clients, more spillover from the Harwell case publicity. I set up appointments.
As time dragged I could vividly recall the quiet solace offered in dark saloons. Too vividly. Several times I had to resort to my fifteen-minute drill until the urge to drink passed.
The cheeseburger was still with me so I skipped dinner.
The third time I called the Harwell place, just before nine, Dennis Bernard told me Robin and Angel had just arrived. He offered to call Robin to the phone, but I told him I would be there in minutes and hung up.
There were no security guards anymore at the Harwell place. They were no longer needed. The media people who had been camped out on the street had moved on to more exciting things.
A high wind whipped the trees above the darkened house, and the moon was obscured behind dense clouds in the night sky. A storm, a big one, was beginning to move in.
Bernard admitted me and led me to the darkened atrium. A small dim lamp at the far end of the glass-enclosed room was the only illumination.
Angel and Robin were seated close together at the other end. In the shadows they looked like ghosts.
“Bernard, bring Mr. Sloan an orange juice,” Robin said. “Do sit down, Charley.”
They were drinking but I couldn’t tell what.
Angel and Robin were both dressed in jeans and blouses. Angel had her shoes off, her long legs stretched before her. Her eyes, catching the light from the distant lamp, looked like two shining diamonds.
“You realize you violated the provisions of Angel’s bond by going to New York,” I said to Robin. “I told you she couldn’t leave the state without permission.”
“It was only a few days. We both needed to get away, Charley.”
“You should have told me. I would have made arrangements.”
Angel spoke softly. “And what if they had said I couldn’t go? Why even ask?” She sipped her drink. “What they don’t know can’t hurt them.”
“It could hurt you,” I said. “Unless you’ve fallen madly in love with our jail. They’re keeping a room over there in your name, just in case.”
“Let’s not overreact,” Robin said sharply. “My God, we’ve had Harrison’s death, the funeral, this horrible court business. Too much. We just had to get away for a while. We had to. We needed some time alone, just the two of us.”
“I’m not arguing that. But understand they can pop Angel back into jail in a wink of an eye if they’re given a chance. From now on let’s play everything by the book. There’s just too much at risk here to do otherwise.”
Bernard returned with my orange juice. He left us alone again as I sipped.
“We did have a marvelous time, Charley,” Angel said. “It’s a shame you weren’t with us. I can never get enough of New York. The shopping, the shows, the people. I love it.”
“But it was exhausting,” Robin said. “We’re both about to hit the hay.”
It was her polite way of telling me to leave. But I wasn’t about to go, not yet.
“I need to find out some things. This will only take a few minutes.”
“Oh, Charley,” Angel said. “You work too hard. Relax and smell the roses.”
My eyes had adjusted to the dimness. Her face, expressionless as usual, was even more beautiful in the half-light.
“I understand Harrison was about to serve you with divorce papers in Florida.” I watched Robin to see what kind of reaction my words had caused.
She sighed and rolled her eyes. “My God, we were always yelling about divorce at one another. It was that kind of marriage, right from the beginning. But we never did it. Never intended to.”
“Harrison is supposed to have retained a Florida law firm for that purpose. Everything was ready to roll, the court papers, the works, according to my information.”
“That’s just talk. I must admit we did come close to splitting up several times over the years. What married couple doesn’t? I doubt that Harrison ever thought seriously about it.”
“You’re sure?”
She shrugged. “I suppose nothing’s ever sure, is it? But Harrison was hardly the kind to keep something like that to himself. He would have gone around bellowing about what he was going to do. That was his style.”
“I never heard anything about a divorce,” Angel said quietly. “Nothing serious, anyway.”
She took Robin’s hand. I was struck again at the mother-daughter relationship — there was a nice, comfortable affection between them.
“What happened to Theresa Hernandez?” I asked.
“Who?” Angel asked.
“Theresa, the maid. The small, cute one,” Robin prompted.
“Oh, her.”
She looked at Robin. I saw no obvious reaction, just Angel’s usual mask.
“I talked to Theresa,” I said. “The detectives did too. She told me she was having an affair with Harrison. She said he told her he was getting a divorce.”
Robin shook her head. “As I told you, Harrison had a few problem areas. Women were one,” she said. She looked at Angel. “This isn’t going to embarrass you, is it?”
Angel sipped her drink. “Of course not.”
“Look, Harrison could never keep that damn thing in his pants, especially with the hired help. We have lost an army of maids over the years because of that. He would tell them anything to get them into bed. He was quite shameless about it. Of course, he tired of them quickly, so we would pay them off and get rid of each in her turn. It was a shame. Some were quite competent and good help is so hard to get. But I told you all this, Charley. It’s not as if we were trying to conceal anything.”
“So, where is little Theresa?”
Robin sighed. “Like the others, she accepted everything Harrison told her as gospel. If you look at it from her point of view, this was a terrible personal tragedy. Here she was, a poor girl about to become the wife of a rich and powerful man. And then he dies. Talk about broken dreams.”
“Where is she?”
Robin chuckled. “Do you think I’ve done away with her, Charley? Is that it?”
“No. I just want to know where she is.”
“She was quite useless around here,” Robin said. “When she wasn’t sobbing she was openly hostile. Not exactly a soothing circumstance, given everything else that’s happened. I sent her home to Puerto Rico. I have the address somewhere around here. If it’s important I can get it for you in the morning. I just couldn’t bear to search for it now.”
“Tomorrow’s fine. Is she still on your payroll?”
“Yes. I send the checks to her mother. I thought it would be wise to continue her on salary. We don’t need any extra trouble at the moment.” Robin cocked an inquisitive eyebrow. “Charley, you can’t believe that Harrison actually planned on marrying that —”
“If she told her story to me,” I said, “she told it to the police too. What I believe isn’t important. What they might believe is. Theresa is what they call a loose end. The detectives handling this case aren’t fools. She’s a loose end that will be all tied up before this is over.”
Angel, who had been looking out at the dark river, now turned toward me.
“Do I need permission to go back home to Florida?”
“It’s out of state,” I said. “So the answer is yes.”
“Well, then, talk to whomever you must. Robin and I want to go Wednesday.”
I looked at Robin.
“I think it’s a good idea, Charley. We need to get some distance from things for a while. Besides, this place, after what happened here, isn’t very comfortable for either of us.”
They both looked comfortable enough
, and if they were grief-stricken they didn’t show it. Their reaction didn’t seem to match those of women who had lost someone close. But appearances could be deceiving.
“I’m to meet with the trial judge tomorrow morning. I’ll ask permission. But before you go I want to have Angel examined by a doctor.”
“What kind of doctor?” Angel snapped.
“A psychiatrist. A friend of mine. He will do some psychological tests in addition to talking to you.”
“Why?” I thought I detected fear in her voice.
“I’m going to try to keep your statement out of evidence. I may need expert opinion to do that. That’s the reason for the testing.”
“Are you going to say I was insane?”
I thought this time I might see a definite reaction, but her face remained impassive.
“Angel, I’m going to say that your mental state that night wasn’t stable, given the shocking death of your father, and that the continuous questioning over hours reduced your ability to make a statement voluntarily. It’s a standard tactic in this kind of case.”
Angel was about to speak again, but Robin cut her off.
“How long will these tests take?”
“A couple of days.”
“So that means we can’t leave Wednesday, I presume?”
“It would put things off for a few days.”
“Why can’t the testing be done in Florida?” Angel asked calmly.
“Because I want to use my own expert, someone I know and trust.”
“She’ll be happy to do it, Charley,” Robin interjected. “But try to arrange it as quickly as possible, if you can. We desperately need to get out of here for a while.”
“I’ll do my best.” I spoke to Angel. “I’ll need a list of the hospitals and doctors who have treated you so I can get their reports. I’ll have some medical release forms prepared for you to sign.”
“Release forms?” Angel asked.
“The doctors can’t legally release any medical information unless you give approval in writing. It’s all confidential information. I can’t get it without your okay.”
Angel thought for a moment, then spoke. “The police can’t get it, I assume.”
“That’s right.”
“Then why even bother with it?” Angel said, finishing her drink.
“I need it to evaluate the case and build a defense. No one will ever see the reports besides myself and the doctor I’m having examine you. You have nothing to worry about.”
She looked at Robin.
Robin nodded. “We can get a list up, Charley. But not tonight, all right? We’re both exhausted.”
“Okay. I’ll check back with you after I see the judge tomorrow.”
“Who is this judge? The same one as before?” Angel asked.
“No. I wish he was, but this one is a circuit judge. They have jurisdiction over felony cases. His name is Brown.”
“What’s he like?” Robin asked.
“Frankly, I wish the case had gone to someone else,” I said. “But so does the prosecutor. So I suppose we’re both starting out even.”
“You don’t think you’ll do well with this new judge?” Robin asked.
“I wish I could answer that. I can’t, not now anyway.” I looked at Angel. “You might want to consider getting another lawyer. Someone else might do better with this judge.”
“You’re my lawyer, Charley,” Angel said sharply. “That’s been settled once and for all, no matter what happens.”
I looked at Robin.
She smiled. But I thought something in her expression was less than enthusiastic.
“We have to get to bed, Charley,” Robin said as she stood up. “I hope you won’t think ill of us for that.”
Angel laughed softly.
I wondered why, but her lovely expressionless face gave no clue.
*
EVOLA and I were escorted into Judge Brown’s spacious chambers by the court officer.
Judge Theodore Brown did not look seventy-one. Nor did he look fierce, but that also was an illusion.
He was a touch over six feet tall and stringy thin except for a potbelly, usually hidden beneath his judicial robe.
Brown’s eyes were pale green and his hair had grayed to an attractive blend of salt and pepper. His flesh had sagged a bit over the years but he still looked good. He was one of those people who had been handsome in youth and who became craggy and distinguished in age.
The tip of a small hearing aid peeked out of his left ear and he wore half glasses perched near the tip of his nose.
I recognized the young woman sitting on the judge’s couch from Evola’s description. She was Clarice Taylor, the judge’s law clerk. She wore no makeup and had her blonde hair tied back. And Evola was right. Even with a loose-fitting top, she was magnificently endowed. Also, in keeping with Evola’s appraisal of her attitude toward the world, she scowled at both of us as if we were trespassers.
The walls of the judge’s chamber were decorated with framed photographs, all of the judge, mostly with local and national political figures. An enlarged photograph of himself hung modestly behind his large desk. The photo was him all right but without the sagging flesh, half glasses, or hearing aid, and given its placement, it was obviously his favorite. He was very young then and had his air force pilot’s cap cocked rakishly over his eyes. He had posed in front of a World War II fighter plane. It reminded me of the similar picture Harrison Harwell had of himself.
Brown sat behind the desk in shirt-sleeves, a cup of coffee in front of him. He didn’t stand or offer his hand, just watched sternly as we approached.
“Sit down.” His voice was crisp and commanding.
We took chairs across the desk from him.
“You may consider this little get-together, gentlemen, as an informal pretrial conference. I intend to try this Harwell case like any other. There will be no special considerations or accommodations to either side. And I will not allow it to be turned into a media carnival. I trust I’m making myself clear?”
I nodded. I could sense that Evola was becoming uncomfortable.
“I presume there will be no plea?”
“That’s correct,” I said.
The judge peered over the little reading glasses, the green eyes as cold as agates. “Mr. Evola, how long do you think you’ll need to put in your case, exclusive of the jury selection?”
Evola shifted in his chair. “Well, that’s difficult to estimate at this point, judge. It could be a couple of days. It could be a week.”
“For our purposes this morning, we’ll say a week. And you, Mr. Sloan? How long do you expect to take?”
I wondered if I was seeing challenge or frank hostility in those green eyes.
“I’m in the same boat as the prosecutor. It’s difficult to estimate at this time. Two days, maybe three. But it could be longer.”
The judge looked at Evola and then back to me. “I would allow a day for jury selection, a day for argument and the charge. As a rough estimate, special circumstances aside, we appear to be talking about a trial of approximately two weeks.”
“Judge, this is all conjecture at this point,” the prosecutor said.
Those eyes swung toward Evola. “That’s obvious, isn’t it,” he snapped. “But I have to get some idea of what kind of time we’re talking about in order to arrange my docket. I had planned to take a vacation during the month of August, but I can change that. I will schedule this matter for trial to begin Tuesday, August first.”
“Judge, that doesn’t give my office enough time to prepare,” Evola protested.
“Me, too,” I added. “There is a considerable amount of investigative work to be done. This is an extremely complex case, your honor.”
The eyes flashed my way once again. “Oh? The charge is murder, is it not? I’ve tried hundreds of murder cases over the years, gentlemen. In my opinion, murder may be the stuff of high drama, but legally it’s one of the simplest issues to come before a c
ourt. Somebody’s dead. Somebody’s accused of making him that way. The only thing a jury has to decide is whether that’s true or not. Simple.”
“But, your Honor, this case —” Evola began to speak but was cut off as the judge raised a restraining hand.
“I said this case would be tried the same as any other, Mr. Evola, and it will be. I don’t give a damn about how the press treats it. I will treat it exactly the same as any other murder case I have ever presided over. The trial is set for August first.”
“But, judge —”
Brown glared Evola into silence and then spoke to me. “I understand there is a confession in this matter. Do you plan to ask for a Walker hearing on the admissibility?”
“We dispute that the statement is in fact a confession, but yes, we are going to ask for a hearing.”
“That is your right,” he said, but his tone implied that he found that distasteful. “I propose to set the hearing for July fifth.”
“I need more time,” I said. “I have expert witnesses who need to review the evidence. Psychiatrists, psychologists, among others.”
“Are you going to plead insanity?” the judge asked.
“No. The testimony will address my client’s mental state when the statement was given.”
He stared at me for an uncomfortable moment, then referred to the pages of a date book on his desk. “All right, Mr. Sloan. I have the morning of July twenty-sixth free. We’ll schedule the Walker hearing then.”
“Judge, that’s less than a week before the start of the trial,” Evola protested. “On the outside chance that your honor might disallow the admission of the confession, we would need time to appeal. It would change the whole thrust of our case.”
The judge’s smile was frosty. “It allows plenty of time for an emergency appeal, Mr. Evola. That’s not a valid objection.” He wrote in his date book. “The Walker hearing is set for Wednesday, July twenty-sixth.”
“Now, is there anything else?” the judge asked, but it was spoken as a form of dismissal.
“My client wishes to go to her home in Florida,” I said. “It’s a condition of bail that she not leave the state without obtaining permission.”
Shadow of A Doubt Page 19
