The Underground Man sw-3

by Parnell Hall

  “That’s why. Because you don’t know what you’re doing. You have no definite purpose in mind. It’s a shot in the dark, a gamble. If you come up with something, great. But if you don’t, you’re guilty of abuse of process and you just might get disbarred.”

  “You’re telling me I shouldn’t risk that?”

  “You know you shouldn’t.”

  “Maybe. But I think if Jeremy Dawson were that clean-cut kid you thought was innocent, you just might think I should.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “But you’re not sure?”

  “Dammit,” Tracy said. “What difference does it make? It’s what you call a moot point, Counselor. Never mind the what-if, let’s deal with the facts. The facts are Jeremy Dawson is a lying, teenage punk crack dealer.”

  “Yes, but is he guilty? Answer me that. You may think so, but do you know it? Can you judge the case for me now? Can you tell me there’s no reason in the world for me to defend this kid, because you know for a fact that he’s guilty?”

  “Of course not.”

  “There you are. He’s my client and I’m gonna defend him. And what’s more, I’m gonna get him off.”

  The phone rang. Tracy got up and answered it. “Steve Winslow’s office.” She handed the phone to Steve. “Mark Taylor.”

  Steve took the phone. “Yeah, Mark, what you got?”

  “More bad news, Steve.”

  “Yeah, let’s have it.”

  “No go on the subpoena.”

  “How come?”

  “Julie Creston’s gone.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah. My man went out to serve her, just missed her. Remember she was packing to go? Well, she left on her vacation.”

  “For how long?”

  “You got me. My man pumped the landlady, she didn’t know.”

  “Shit. Can you find out where she went?”

  “I did, but it don’t help us a bit.”

  “Why not?”

  “Turns out she went to Rio.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No. And last time I checked, Rio was outside the jurisdiction of the court.”

  “No shit. All right, Mark, have your man bribe the landlady to tip us off when she gets back.”

  “Has been done.”

  “O.K. Good work.”

  “Just routine. Then there’s the other thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Jeremy Dawson’s alibi.”

  “What about it?”

  “I’ve been trying to come up with someone who saw him at the movie, Heathers. Well, I finally found one.”

  “That’s great.”

  “No, it isn’t. I got a kid that will swear absolutely he saw Jeremy Dawson there. He couldn’t miss the green mohawk. He was in back of him in the popcorn line.”

  “So?”

  “So, it wasn’t the night of the murder. It was the previous Saturday night.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “The kid is. His parents won’t let him go to the movies on school nights. Just on weekends.”

  “Oh, shit. Do the cops know this?”

  “Sure do. In fact, my leak at headquarters was how I got it.”

  “Damn.”

  “Yeah. I’m sorry. Just thought you’d want to know.”

  “Thanks, Mark. Keep me posted.”

  Steve hung up the phone.

  Tracy Garvin was looking at him with anxious eyes. “Well?” Steve managed a grin. “Well, I’m off the hook with you.”

  “What?”

  “Julie Creston. She left for Rio on vacation. They couldn’t serve the subpoena. That point has become moot.”

  “No, dammit,” Tracy said. “The other thing after that. When you looked like your world had just collapsed.”

  “Oh,” Steve said. “The cops got a witness will swear Jeremy Dawson was at the film Heathers the previous Saturday night.”

  “Oh shit,” Tracy said. “How bad is it?”

  “It’s the worst. Jeremy Dawson told the cops he was at that movie. It’s an admission against interest, and it’s admissible. Look what’s gonna happen now. Dirkson will put on all the circumstantial evidence showing motive, method and opportunity. Then he’ll call the cop to the stand and have him testify Jeremy Dawson gave him the alibi he went to the movies. Then he’ll call the kid to the stand and prove that Jeremy lied. Then Dirkson will smile at the jury and rest his case right there.”

  “Oh Jesus,” Tracy said. “And what will happen then?”

  “Then,” Steve said, “I won’t have a fucking prayer.”

  29

  District Attorney Harry Dirkson began his opening statement with the punch line. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. We expect to prove that on the 26th of February the defendant, Jeremy Dawson, killed the decedent, Jack Walsh, by shooting him in the head with a loaded gun.”

  Dirkson paused to let that statement sink in. “We shall prove it beyond a shadow of a doubt. We shall prove it by eyewitness evidence, by circumstantial evidence, and by ballistics evidence. By eyewitness evidence we shall prove that Jeremy Dawson was seen with the decedent, Jack Walsh, in the very spot where he was murdered. By circumstantial evidence we shall prove that Jeremy Dawson was the only one who could have killed Jack Walsh. By ballistics evidence we shall prove that the shot which killed Jack Walsh came from Jeremy Dawson’s gun.

  “Why did Jeremy Dawson kill Jack Walsh? For money. The motive was money. In fact, millions of dollars.

  “Here is the situation. Here are the facts, as we shall lay them out for you. And they require a bit of explanation, because they are somewhat extraordinary.

  “Within the last year the decedent, Jack Walsh, had sold his house and gone to live on the subway system. Why? That is the question you must answer. One logical explanation would seem to be that the man was insane. That was the conclusion reached by his nearest living relatives, Rose Tindel, Pat Grayson, Claire Chesterton and Carl Jenson. They, fearing Jack Walsh had taken leave of his faculties, and hoping to conserve his estate, had him committed to Bellevue. If so, you might ask, why is he not there now? The answer is simple. You see, Jack Walsh had another relative.”

  Dirkson paused, wheeled his bulk ponderously around, and raised his arm dramatically to point at Jeremy Dawson. “Him. The defendant. Jeremy Dawson. The young man sitting before you.”

  Dirkson paused, ran his hand over his bald head, wheeled back to look at the jury. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, we expect to show that Jeremy Dawson, with the aid of his attorney, Steve Winslow, connived to have Jack Walsh released from Bellevue. Why did he do so? You can draw your conclusions from what happened next.

  “Now, some of this is conjecture, but this much we know. The following day, February 26th, the day of the murder, Jack Walsh was spotted in the corridor of Jeremy Dawson’s high school. He was seen by several students and one teacher. At least two students saw Jeremy Dawson and Jack Walsh together. We haven’t been able to find anyone who saw the two of them leave together, but the following facts are known. From that point on, the point at which he was seen with Jack Walsh, Jeremy Dawson cut all the rest of his classes and was not seen anywhere on the high school premises for the rest of the day.

  “He was seen, however, later that day, with Jack Walsh in the very subway station where Walsh was killed.

  “What else do we know? We know that Jack Walsh was shot in the head, and the body set on fire.”

  Dirkson paused and looked at the jury again, let them see the horror and repugnance he felt at the very thought. “That’s right, ladies and gentlemen. Set on fire.

  “Why was that done? Well, once again, you must answer that question for yourselves. But to aid you, I must point out that the burning of the body effectively disguised the entrance wound of the fatal bullet, and had it not been for the thoroughness of the medical examiner in performing the autopsy on the corpse, the bullet lodged in the brain might have been totally overlooked, in which case the m
urder might have been written off as a thrill-kill, a random crime against the homeless, a wilding incident.

  “But the bullet was discovered. And where did that bullet come from? The ballistics expert will testify beyond a shadow of a doubt that that bullet came from a particular gun. We have that gun, and we shall introduce it here in evidence. And where did the police recover that gun which we shall prove to be the murder weapon? They recovered it on February 27th, the day after the murder, from the school locker of the defendant, Jeremy Dawson. The locker to which only he had the combination.”

  Dirkson paused, smiled at the jury. He shrugged his shoulders in an apologetic way. “But I have digressed. I was talking about motive. What motive would Jeremy Dawson have had for killing Jack Walsh? Well, when Jeremy Dawson was arrested by police officers on the afternoon of February 27th, he had in his possession a piece of paper. We have that piece of paper, and shall introduce it in evidence here in court. And what is that piece of paper? It is a document, which a handwriting expert shall testify is entirely in the handwriting of the decedent, Jack Walsh. And what type of document is it? It is a will. A will written by Jack Walsh. A will dated February 26th, the very day he was murdered. A will leaving the bulk of his estate-an estate which can be valued in the millions of dollars-to none other than the defendant, Jeremy Dawson.”

  Dirkson paused, smiled again. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I’m not going to insult your intelligence by belaboring these facts. They are simple, straightforward and self-evident. I shall lay them before you, prove each and every one of them by competent evidence, and expect a verdict of guilty at your hands.”

  Dirkson smiled one last time, bowed, and with a flourish, walked back to his chair and sat down.

  Judge Grimes, slight, pale, relatively young, but already with a reputation for ruling his courtroom with an iron hand, turned to Steve Winslow. As he had during jury selection, Judge Grimes restrained himself from frowning at the young attorney who had seen fit to show up in his courtroom in a corduroy jacket, blue jeans and long hair.

  “Does the defense wish to make an opening statement?” Grimes inquired.

  Steve Winslow paused. He glanced at Jeremy Dawson sitting next to him. Jeremy looked pretty good in a suit and tie. His hair had grown in just enough to look like a very short crewcut rather than just a skinhead.

  Steve glanced at the jury, found that they were looking at Jeremy too.

  Which was a very bad sign. The jurors were not looking at him, the attorney, to see what argument he was about to make. No, they were looking at the defendant. Which, Steve well knew, was an indication of how well Dirkson had scored. Dirkson’s argument had been convincing, and the jurors had made up their minds. And now their interest was entirely on Jeremy Dawson. Because Dirkson had sold them on the concept, and human nature being what it was, they couldn’t help being fascinated.

  They were looking at a murderer.

  Steve knew he should do something. Break the mood. Try to win the jury back. But in the light of Dirkson’s overwhelming argument, for the moment he couldn’t think of anything to say. And he knew better than to flounder around, to do something inadequate or ineffectual. Better to let it go.

  He smiled confidently, and, as if it had been his plan all along, said, smoothly, “We will reserve our opening argument until we begin putting on our case, Your Honor.”

  Judge Grimes nodded. “Very well. Mr. Dirkson. You may proceed. Call you first witness.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor.”

  Dirkson rose. He glanced down at the papers on the prosecution table, as if looking for the name of the witness, though actually he knew perfectly well who he wished to call. As he did, he turned and looked over at the defense table. Steve Winslow was, of course, looking at him, and their eyes met. When they did, Dirkson smiled, a smug winner’s smile.

  There was no mistaking the meaning of Dirkson’s look.

  “Gotcha,” was what it said.

  30

  For his first witness,Dirkson called Maria Martez, who cited six years’ experience as an officer for the transit police.

  “Now, Officer Martez,” Dirkson said. “On the night of February 26th, between the hours of ten and eleven, could you tell us where you were stationed?”

  “Yes, sir. I was patrolling the uptown Number Two express on the Broadway line.”

  “Did you observe anything out of the ordinary at that time?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Could you tell us when and where this happened and what it was?”

  “Yes. I was riding uptown on the Number Two train. We went through the 66th Street Station. That’s not an express stop, so the train doesn’t even slow down. Well, actually, it slows down a little, because the track curves right after that. You know, there’s that big curve between there and the station at 72nd. Which is an express stop. So the train is slowing down for that too.

  “Anyway, going through the station-I was standing in the car on patrol. And out the window I saw what looked like a fire in the station.”

  “Where in the station?”

  “On the uptown side. The extreme north end of the platform.”

  “And what did you see?”

  “A fire.”

  “And what can you tell us about the fire?”

  “Not much. I saw flames and that’s all. You gotta understand. This is the far end of the station. The very end of the platform. After the train passes that, it goes right into the tunnel on the way up to 72nd Street. See what I’m saying? If the fire had been in the middle of the station, I could have looked back down the platform and watched it as we went by. But this was the very end of the platform. I see it, and the next second we’re by it and into the tunnel. So when I look back, I can’t see a thing.”

  “I understand. But in that short amount of time, just what did you see?”

  “I saw fire on the platform. That’s all I could tell.”

  “Let me ask you this. Did you see any people on the platform?”

  “No, I did not. And I don’t think there were. ’Cause if there had been, they’d have seen the fire and reported it, and nobody did, and-”

  Judge Grimes held up his hand. “One minute.” He looked down at the defense table. “Mr. Winslow, you’re not objecting here.”

  “No, Your Honor.”

  “Yet this witness is testifying to opinions, surmises and conclusions which she has drawn that are obviously based on hearsay testimony.”

  “I understand, Your Honor. But this officer strikes me as a competent and honest witness, and her opinions seem sound, logical and reasonable to me. I find it hard to object to something I agree with.”

  Judge Grimes frowned. “Well, the court will interpose an objection for you. I don’t intend to have the record cluttered up with testimony of this type.” To the court reporter he said, “Leave in where she said she didn’t recall seeing anyone in the station. Everything after that can go out.” He looked up again. “Proceed, Mr. Dirkson.”

  “Yes, Your Honor. Officer Martez, what did you do then?”

  “I left the train at 72nd Street, called the token clerk at 66th, and called the police and the fire departments.”

  “What did you do then?”

  “Took the local back down to 66th.”

  “And when you got there, what did you observe?”

  “The police and fire departments had already arrived.”

  Dirkson smiled. “Thank you. No further questions.”

  Steve Winslow did not cross-examine.

  For his next witness, Dirkson called Leon Dokes, who testified to being one of four firemen who responded to a report of a fire in the 66th Street Station.

  “And when you got there,” Dirkson said, “what did you see?”

  “There was a fire going on the north end of the uptown platform.”

  “How big a fire?”

  “Not that big. Perhaps the size of a small bonfire. But it was burning steadily. And the flames were high.
”

  “Was there anyone there at the time?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Who was that?”

  “Two radio patrol officers who had already responded to the call.”

  “Were the officers attempting to put out the fire?”

  “No, sir. They are not equipped to do so, and that’s not their job.”

  “So what were they doing?”

  “Blocking off that area of the platform and making sure no one got too close.”

  “You say making sure no one got too close-then there were other people in the station?”

  “Yes, sir. There were about a half a dozen passengers there waiting for the train.”

  “And the police were keeping them away from the fire?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I see. And what did you do then?”

  “The four of us proceeded to put out the fire.”

  “And how did you do that?”

  “With the portable extinguishers we wear on our backs.”

  “You were able to do so?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You had no particular problems putting out the fire?”

  “No, sir.”

  “How long did it take you to do so?”

  “Not long. Two, three minutes.”

  “Fine,” Dirkson said. “Now, let me ask you this. Could you tell what it was that was burning?”

  “No, sir.”

  “And why was that?”

  “As I said, the flames were high. That made it hard to see what they were consuming. There was a small mound on the platform, and that’s what was burning. That was the best we could tell.”

  “Before you extinguished the fire?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And after you extinguished it?”

  “Then I looked closer, and was able to distinguish that what had been burning was the body of a man.”

  “A man?”

  “That’s right.”

  “What did you do then?”

  “Alerted the police officers and told them to phone for an EMS unit.”

  “Emergency Medical Service?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Were you there when the EMS unit arrived?”