Mark the Sparrow

by Clark Howard

  One thing was certain, Cloud decided: any harm done to the victims was by no stretch of the imagination as final as a trip to the gas chamber. That was final final.

  Was it just? he asked himself again, more demandingly. Was it right? Did society require so stringent a revenge? He recalled a quotation of Francis Bacon: Severity breedeth fear….

  “The court stands adjourned!” Judge Lukey announced with a crack of his gavel. It was all over. The judge retired from the bench without so much as a May God have mercy on your soul. G. Foster Klein, there only to announce his presence at the proceedings, picked up his briefcase and walked briskly up the aisle, followed by his assistant. The court clerk and stenographer began gathering up their papers. Spectators moved toward the big double doors. The deputy came over to handcuff Weldon Whitman.

  “Well, that’s that,” Whitman said to Cloud. He held his wrists out to the deputy.

  “Where do you go from here?” Cloud asked.

  “Up north,” Whitman said resignedly. “Up to Q, to Carl’s Place, where they keep the animals pending slaughter. But my case goes to the capital. Death sentences get an automatic appeal hearing by the California Supreme Court. That’s the state’s way of protecting its citizens from people like Lukey and Klein.”

  “What do you think your chances are?”

  “Poor right now,” Whitman replied clinically. “But they’ll improve. When the Supreme Court turns me down on the automatic appeal, then I’ll try to raise some money to file a writ of error on the basis of an incomplete trial transcript. They grant new trials in civil cases when the transcript isn’t complete: maybe they’ll do it in a criminal case, too. It’s never been tried before, but it’s a chance.”

  “You seem to know the law pretty well,” Cloud observed.

  Whitman grinned engagingly. “Have to,” he said. “Nobody else is going to look out for my interests.”

  Cloud stared thoughtfully at Weldon Whitman. Was that the reason, he wondered, why he himself was interested in the case?—the fact that nobody else was interested in it? Did he decide to be friendly toward Whitman just because he was all alone? Or was there some deeper reason, some intuitive reason that had not surfaced yet? Something had drawn him to Weldon Whitman—something as demanding as it was inexplicable.

  “Let’s go, Whit,” he heard the deputy say. Cloud looked up, and his eyes met Weldon Whitman’s.

  “Good luck,” Cloud said.

  Whitman nodded. “Thanks,” he said simply.

  Cloud watched as the deputy led the chained, twice-condemned man through a rear door. He was now alone in the big courtroom. Sighing, he walked out into the corridor.

  On his way to the elevators, Cloud noticed a blonde woman entering one of the other courtrooms. He was almost certain it was Doris Calder, one of the main witnesses against Weldon Whitman. Curious, he walked over to the open courtroom door. He watched the woman go halfway down the aisle and take a seat. When she was settled, she turned her head slightly; it was Doris Calder.

  Cloud stepped to the side of the doorway and looked at the posted docket for that particular court, Department Two. The neatly typed agenda of the proceedings for that day was displayed behind the glass door of a small bulletin board. Cloud scanned the list of names. Near the middle of the page, he read:

  People vs. Calder, Billy—Grand Theft (Auto)

  Frowning thoughtfully, Cloud went back to the door and looked at Doris Calder again. Her eyes were turned toward the jury box, where two rows of defendants, under the watchful eyes of a trio of deputies, had been brought in from the holding cell. Cloud wondered which one was Billy Calder, and how they were related. As he stood there, a bailiff came over to close the doors. Cloud stepped into the courtroom and sat in the last row.

  Department Two was handling the final dispositions of felony cases which had been referred for probation reports. It was routine work, and the judge, much younger, more energetic than Lukey, began calling cases as soon as he sat down, and dispatched them with speed and efficiency. In the middle of the fifth case, Cloud noticed G. Foster Klein quietly enter the courtroom and walk down the aisle. He paused next to Doris Calder for a moment, and they exchanged brief, whispered words. Then Klein continued on past the railing and sat down at the prosecution’s counsel table.

  Ten minutes later, the judge called, “People versus Billy Calder.” A boy of about eighteen came out of the jury box and stood before the bench. Her son, Cloud thought. The boy was joined on his left by a deputy public defender, and on his right by G. Foster Klein representing the state.

  “Billy Calder,” the judge said, “you have been found guilty of grand theft of an auto, and upon a motion of the public defender’s office, your case was remanded to the county probation department for a recommendation. That department, after a study of your case, has recommended in favor of probation. The court will now hear further motions by the defense.”

  “Defense moves that the court accept the recommendation of the probation department,” said the public defender.

  “Prosecution?” the judge inquired.

  “The state has no objection,” G. Foster Klein said.

  “No objection at all, Mr. Klein?” the judge said, his brow pinching slightly.

  “No, your honor,” Klein said smoothly. “The state has read the probation officer’s report and feels that the defendant is an acceptable candidate for probation. The state makes no objection to the public defender’s motion.”

  “Very well, gentlemen,” the judge said, with what Cloud thought was a hint of judicial resignation. “Billy Calder, having been found guilty of grand theft of an auto, you are hereby sentenced to serve two years in the state penitentiary. Said sentence is suspended on condition you serve the said two years under the jurisdiction and guidance of the Los Angeles County Department of Probation. So ordered by this court.”

  The judge closed the file and passed it down to the court clerk. Klein spoke briefly to the public defender, then escorted Billy Calder past the rails and up the aisle. Doris Calder rose and joined them, and the three left the courtroom together.

  Isn’t that cozy, thought Cloud. Weldon Whitman’s prosecutor, one of the chief witnesses against him, and the witness’s son, a car thief. Just one big happy family.

  He left the courtroom to hurry to the newspaper.

  Chapter Four

  Hoskins leaned back in his ancient chair and looked first at Lew Lach, then at Robert Cloud. As he turned his head from one to the other, the fat black cigar clenched between his teeth acted almost as a direction-finder for his line of sight.

  “What the hell were you doing there in the first place?” he asked Cloud. “You weren’t on assignment.”

  “No, I wasn’t,” Cloud admitted. “I went there on my own.”

  The cigar pointed to Lach. “Did you know about this?”

  “Not until a little while ago, when he asked me to come in with him to see you.”

  “You think there’s anything to his theory?”

  Lach shrugged. “It’s like I told him: I doubt it.”

  “Why do you doubt it?”

  “I think Klein’s too smart to get mixed up in anything unless he’s covered.”

  “What do you say to that?” Hoskins asked Cloud.

  The younger man shrugged. “What can I say? I’m new around here, remember? Lew says the guy’s smart; maybe he is. But for somebody smart, he’s coming awfully close to a conflict of interest.”

  Hoskins considered that for a moment while he took three quick puffs on his cigar. Grayish-blue smoke flowed across his desk. Cloud shifted in his chair slightly to avoid the full impact of it.

  “Conflict of interest is always a good angle,” Hoskins said at last. “I’ll go along with Cloud on this one; I think we should at least look into it.” He flipped on his intercom. “Wilma, get me Mr. Klein of the district attorney’s office.”

  In less than a minute, Wilma’s voice came back announcing that Klein was on the line.<
br />
  Hoskins picked up the phone. “Mr. Klein? Hoskins, editor of the Ledger, here. Something has come to our attention regarding a possible conflict of interest in a couple of criminal cases you recently participated in. Wonder if I could send a couple of my people down to discuss it with you? Naturally we don’t want to print anything without hearing both sides of the story—”

  Lach and Cloud exchanged looks. The old line, they both thought. It worked nearly every time.

  “Well, I’d rather not go into it over the phone,” Hoskins said. “Some of these matters can be pretty delicate—”

  The hint of mystery. Not many people could resist it.

  “Yes, right after lunch will be fine,” Hoskins said. “Your office. Fine. We appreciate the cooperation. Goodbye.”

  Hoskins hung up and immediately put the cigar back into his mouth. “You heard the appointment. I want both of you there. And I want the interview handled in a mature, businesslike manner. Remember, we are not making allegations, nor are we asking the chief prosecutor to justify or explain any facet of his personal life except as it might have influenced the outcome of these two criminal cases. Is that clear?”

  “Clear,” said Cloud. Lew Lach grunted and nodded.

  “Lach, you’re the senior man on this assignment, but I want you to let Cloud ask the questions. You can start the conversation, using our stock disclaimer, then turn it over to Cloud. If at any point the thing begins to look real good or real bad, either jump in with him or pull him out. Got it?”

  Lach grunted again, and got up to leave. Cloud rose and followed him to the door.

  “One other thing,” Hoskins said. “Remember that the publisher of this newspaper has supported the incumbent district atorney in the last two elections. Any indiscretions on the part of the chief prosecutor are going to reflect directly on the district attorney. So if you have to start digging during the interview, be sure it’s into something solid. I don’t want anything made out of this.”

  “Check,” said Lach. When they got back out in the newsroom, Lach turned to Cloud in mild irritation. “Goddamn it,” he said, “if I’d thought the old bastard was going to buy the story, I wouldn’t have gone in with you. I was going to help Streeter on an assignment this afternoon. The Malibu sheriff’s boys found a Chatsworth College co-ed strangled out on the bench. I was going down to the morgue and take a look at her so Streeter would have a description for his story.”

  “Mr. Klein is expecting you, gentlemen. He’s in his office with the district attorney.” The secretary rose from her desk and led them to Klein’s office.

  As they followed her, Lach leaned over and whispered to Cloud. “He’s clean. If he wasn’t, he wouldn’t have his boss in there.”

  “Unless his boss isn’t clean either,” Cloud whispered back. Lach shook his head in exasperation.

  At the door to the office, the secretary knocked briefly and without waiting for an answer took the two reporters inside. Klein came around his desk to meet them.

  “Good to see you, boys,” he said genially, shaking hands. “Let me introduce you to our district attorney—”

  The district attorney was a dignified, gray, scholarly-looking man. He was cordial and at ease, seeming not in the least disturbed by the possible existence of a conflict of interest at the top level of his staff.

  “I asked the district attorney if he’d mind sitting in on this,” Klein said as the two reporters took seats in front of his desk. “Since I work directly for him, I thought he should have the benefit of hearing firsthand whatever you have to say.”

  “That’s a very good idea, Mr. Klein,” said Lach. “One thing we certainly don’t want in a matter such as this is any sort of misunderstanding.”

  “Of course not,” Klein said, smiling. “I’m sure we’re all agreed on that.”

  “And we want to emphasize,” said Lach, “that the Ledger is in no way making an accusation of any kind. We merely want to clarify whether a certain set of circumstances does or does not constitute a conflict of interest.”

  “That sounds fair enough to us,” said the district attorney. “Shall we get on with it?”

  Lach looked at Cloud. The younger man wet his lips and leaned forward slightly. “Mr. Klein, you personally prosecuted the Weldon Whitman case, I believe.”

  “Yes, I did,” said Klein.

  “And Whitman has been sentenced to the gas chamber.”

  “He has, yes.”

  “One of the main witnesses against him was a woman named Doris Calder, is that right?”

  “Yes, that’s correct.”

  “Are you acquainted with Mrs. Calder other than as a witness for the prosecution in the Whitman case?”

  “I’m not sure I understand you,” Klein said.

  “Do you know her personally?” Cloud asked. “Do you have a relationship with her outside the courtroom?”

  Klein smiled tolerantly. “I really can’t see where that’s any of the Ledger’s business. However, in the interest of resolving this matter, I’ll answer you. Yes, Mrs. Calder and I have been seeing each other socially. I am a bachelor; she is divorced. There’s no reason why we shouldn’t see each other if we want to.”

  “Do you feel that it is proper conduct for a man prosecuting a capital case for the state to have a personal relationship with one of the key witnesses in that case?” Cloud asked.

  “I don’t see why not,” Klein said easily. “As long as it doesn’t alter or affect the testimony.”

  “But how do you know it doesn’t affect the testimony?”

  “We have the transcript of the testimony given at the preliminary hearing, Mr. Cloud,” the prosecutor said patiently. “Any defense lawyer would be able to tell if there was a significant difference between that and the trial testimony.”

  “But Whitman didn’t have a lawyer,” Cloud said. “He conducted his own defense.”

  “By his own choice and against the advice of the judge.” Klein pointed out. “At any rate, it’s a moot point. You’re welcome to examine both transcripts at any time, and see for yourselves that the testimony of Mrs. Calder was virtually identical in both sessions.”

  Cloud glanced at Lew Lach. The older reporter looked away. Cloud wet his lips again. “Is it possible that your relationship with Mrs. Calder might have affected her testimony before the trial?”

  “You mean her testimony at the preliminary hearing?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hardly,” said G. Foster Klein. “You see, I didn’t know Mrs. Calder until after that hearing. We met for the first time when I interviewed her in preparation for the trial.”

  “And you don’t think that your personal relationship with her in any way influenced what she said or even how she said it at the trial? You don’t think that personal relationship in any way helped you convict Weldon Whitman?”

  “I am convinced that it did not,” Klein stated unequivocally.

  “I am likewise convinced, gentlemen,” the district attorney said. Like Cloud, he leaned forward slightly as he spoke. “As Mr. Klein pointed out, the two sets of testimony can be compared on the point of what Mrs. Calder said. As to how she said it, I’m certain that Judge Lukey, being aware that it could be construed as a reversible trial error, would not have permitted any open hostility toward the defendant.” He smiled patiently at Cloud. “Is this the basis of your paper’s conflict-of-interest suspicion?”

  “Not quite,” the reporter answered. “We would also like to clear up the matter of Mr. Klein’s intervention in an autotheft charge against Mrs. Calder’s son Billy.” Cloud turned to Klein. “You did intervene to keep the Calder boy out of prison, didn’t you?”

  “I did not,” Klein replied stiffly.

  “You appeared in court with him,” Cloud challenged.

  Klein folded his hands on the desk and pursed his lips briefly, as if trying to control himself. “Mr. Cloud,” he said, “let me give you a recap of the Billy Calder case in chronological sequence. Then you tell me
whether you think I intervened. First, the crime. Billy Calder and two other boys were walking down the street one afternoon when they noticed a man park a new sports car at the curb and leave the keys in it. On impulse, they hopped in the car and went joyriding. They were caught in less than an hour and locked up. Two of the boys were taken to juvenile detention because they were several months short of eighteen; Billy Calder was two weeks past his eighteenth birthday, so he went to the city jail.

  “At the preliminary hearing for the Calder boy, and the juvenile hearing for the other two boys, all three pleaded guilty. The Calder case was put on the Superior Court master calendar for sentence assignment, and all three cases were remanded to the probation department for study and sentence recommendation. This was done routinely, since none of the three had any previous criminal or delinquency record. Also as a matter of routine, a deputy district attorney was assigned to handle the cases for the state, and a deputy public defender was assigned to defend.

  “All the events I just described,” Klein emphasized, “occurred after Mrs. Calder had been kidnapped and violated by Weldon Whitman; after he had been captured and identified by her; after she had testified against him at his preliminary hearing; and before Mrs. Calder and I met. At the time that we did meet, when I was preparing to prosecute Whitman, Mrs. Calder told me about her son’s predicament and indicated that she was worried because it seemed to taking so long for the probation report to come back. I explained to her that it was not unusual for probation reports on first-offenders to take a long time returning to the court, since on a first-offender the probation officer had to start from scratch. I offered to make a call for her while she was in my office, to check on the status of the boy’s report. I called the head of the probation department and he had the boy’s record pulled. It indicated that the investigation had been completed and that a recommendation had been in favor of probation. I then checked my own staff and found out which deputy district attorney was prosecuting the matter. I called him and inquired what his recommendation would be. He told me that, subject to my approval, he did not intend to contest the probation department’s recommendation. He also told me that a Superior Court trial date had just been set that morning, and he gave me the date and department. I related all this information to Mrs. Calder. Naturally, she was enormously relieved.”