Time's Witness

by Michael Malone

  Monday morning I gave my testimony in the Hall trial to the seven women and five men who’d made it to the finals of the jury selection and gotten themselves impaneled. They’d also gotten themselves quarantined at the Ramada Inn. Judge Hilliardson had sequestered the jury there after he denied Isaac's request for a change of venue, snarling, “Mr. Rosethorn, I am prepared to prohibit any local interference with the defendant's right to a fair trial, and I am perfectly competent to do just that, in this court-house, or any other.” Isaac talked and thought about the jury constantly. He was happy that they had chosen the school principal, Mr. Lindquist, as their foreman. On the other hand, he saw no thaw in Mrs. Boren's glowering freeze, and he worried about the sour expressions on several of the other faces.

  Mitch Bazemore didn’t want me on the witness stand long, just long enough to confirm that when I’d arrived at what he continually referred to as “the scene of the murder,” I’d observed Bobby Pym bleeding to death thirty feet from where I’d observed George Hall with what Mitch continually referred to as “a smoking gun.” I think Mitch got a smug pleasure out of the fact that I was the first eyewitness for the prosecution. Meanwhile, Nora Howard glared at me from the defense table the whole time, George looked at the state seal above Judge Hilliardson's gray tufted hair, Isaac made a teepee out of three pencils and a rubber band.

  After about ten minutes of establishing my credentials and bringing me into the “scene of the crime,” the D.A. (with the brisk, manly collegiality that marked his “we’re both professionals on the side of law-and-order” style) asked me: “Captain Mangum, as you assessed the scene before you, what did you assume?”

  Rosethorn (blandly): “Objection.”

  Hilliardson (uninterested): “Rephrase.”

  Bazemore, who now fell into a trap that I suspect Isaac had set up, said, “Captain Mangum, you are a professional police officer. As it were, an expert on the assessment of crime?”

  “I’m a professional police officer. From what I’ve been hearing on the news lately, some folks aren’t so sure I’m an expert at it.”

  Bazemore joined in the little laugh I got on this. Then forcefully he slapped his fist into his palm. “Captain, on the basis of what you directly observed, what was your professional appraisal of the situation outside Smoke's Bar when you arrived?”

  Mangum: “A man had been shot. I ran over to him, and identified him as Robert Pym. He was alive, but unable to speak or move. The wound was critical. He’d been shot in the head.”

  Bazemore: “He’d been shot through the right eye, hadn’t he?”

  Mangum: “Yes.”

  Bazemore: “Did you make an immediate assumption as to who had shot Officer Pym?”

  Mangum: “Well, I’m not sure about immediate, but…yes.”

  Bazemore: “Who?”

  Mangum: “George Hall.”

  Bazemore: “Is that man in this room? If so, please point him out.”

  I pointed at George. Turning around, Bazemore pointed at George. “You are pointing at the defendant, George Hall?” I said yes, and he asked me what George was doing to make me think he’d been the assailant.

  Mangum: “He was sitting on the sidewalk beside a gun.”

  Bazemore: “A still-smoking gun.…Did you then speak to George Hall?” “Yes.”

  “Did you then ask George Hall if he had shot Officer Pym?”

  Isaac objected that the State was leading its witness, the Court sustained it, and the State rephrased: “When you spoke to Hall, what did you say to him?”

  Mangum: “I went over and warned him fully of his rights under the Miranda ruling, then I asked, ‘Did you shoot him?’”

  Bazemore: “And how did the defendant answer, if possible, in his exact words?”

  Mangum: “He didn’t say anything. He nodded.”

  Bazemore: “He nodded, signifying yes, he had shot Pym?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did his answer surprise you? Or did it confirm what you’d already assumed?”

  “The latter. Then he asked me if Pym was alive, and I told him he was. He asked me if an ambulance had been called. At that moment, another patrol car arrived, and—”

  “Thank you, Captain Mangum. That's all for now. We appreciate your help, and apologize for taking time from your pressing duties. Your witness, Mr. Rosethorn.”

  Isaac shambled toward me, fingering a collar point on his fresh white shirt. He looked as if he’d never seen me before in his life, and didn’t much think I’d improve on acquaintance. Since he wasn’t acknowledging me, I focused my eyes about an inch to the side of his head. “Captain Mangum, the defense too apologizes for taking up your valuable time, particularly when I know from the newspapers that your department has been working very hard—though lamentably without success—to catch the two police officers with whom Bobby Pym had been stealing, smuggling, extorting—”

  Bazemore, on his feet fast: “Objection!”

  Rosethorn, fast: “—And who are also now wanted for the murder of the defendant's brother Cooper Hall, and of—”

  Bazemore: “Objection! Objection! Irrelevant, immaterial, and—”

  Hilliardson: “Sustained.”

  Rosethorn: “—William Slidell, their partner in crime.”

  Judge Hilliardson, angry: “Mr. Rosethorn! The prosecution's objection is sustained! Sustained! You are seriously out of order! Had you been asking a question, I might request that you rephrase it. As I heard, however, nothing at all interrogatory in your bizarre remarks, I order them struck from the record. The jury will disregard them.” The jury looked sheepish.

  Miss Bee Turner watched with gusto as the court stenographer, old Mr. Walkington, deleted the outburst.

  Hilliardson, calmer: “If defense counsel has questions for this witness, ask them. Otherwise, I will excuse the overworked Captain Mangum.”

  Rosethorn, meekly: “Yes, Your Honor.” Isaac gave me a polite, chilly nod, before limping over to the easel that displayed a large diagram of the street outside Smoke's, with my squad car, Pym's body, George's position, the Montgomery Hotel all indicated. His stubby finger inched along the map. “Captain Mangum, from the time you heard the shot as you drove down Polk Street, to the time you leapt out of your patrol car in front of Smoke's Bar, how many minutes passed?”

  “Two or three minutes at the most.”

  “Three minutes. Pym lay on the sidewalk, a crowd all around, cars stopping, shouting, considerable confusion, right?” He swirled his hand around the area where Pym's body was outlined.

  “Yes. More than a dozen people stood around on the sidewalk.” Isaac slid his finger across the map. “And you’ve told the district attorney that you found George Hall way over here, seated on the curb, his head lowered. So he had made no attempt in those long three minutes, in that crowded confusion, to fade into the crowd, to flee the scene?”

  “None.”

  “He was holding the gun?”

  “No. A gun was lying on the sidewalk beside him. As shown there.”

  “He made no attempt to hide it, or to use it to make good an escape?”

  “None.”

  “Did he say anything to you when you first approached him, Captain Mangum?”

  “Yes. He said, ‘I’m not running. Just don’t shoot.’”

  “Ah.” Isaac asked his next questions walking toward the jury, his back to me. “At the time were you pointing your gun at him?”

  “No.”

  “No? Why should he think you might shoot him then? What were you wearing at the time?”

  “My police uniform.”

  “Ah.… And the defendant, seated passively on the curb, looked up at a police officer and said, ‘Just don’t shoot’?…Why?”

  “I can’t answer for him. I imagine he was scared I might shoot him.”

  “Could that possibly be because over the years, a dozen blacks had been shot and killed by white Hillston policemen?”

  Judge Hilliardson shook his head. “Counselor!
As the witness has already, quite properly, told you, and as I feel sure you already know, it is not for him to speculate on the defendant's thoughts.”

  “Yes, sir.” Slowly Isaac turned his sad eyes from the black woman on the front row of the jury, back toward the drawing. “Yes.…And then, Captain Mangum, you’ve testified that, picking up Pym's gun from the sidewalk, you walked through the crowd thirty feet away to check on the wounded man. Did Mr. Hall take this opportunity to attempt to escape?”

  “No, he hadn’t moved at all when I returned. I asked him if he had fired the shot, and he nodded.”

  “The district attorney failed to inquire, no doubt in his eagerness to let you return to your investigations, whether you asked Mr. Hall any other questions. Did you?”

  “Yes, I asked him what had happened to his face.”

  Isaac frowned. “Why should you ask that, Captain Mangum?”

  “Because it was smeared with blood. His nose was bleeding heavily and there was a cut at the base of the nostril. I repeated the question but got no response from him.”

  “Were you able to ascertain from others at the scene that Mr. Hall was heavily bleeding because he had been assaulted by Robert Pym?”

  I figured Bazemore would jump, but I went ahead. “Yes. Several witnesses said that prior to the shooting, Pym had inserted the gun muzzle in Hall's nostril during a fight between—”

  Bazemore jumped late. “Objection.”

  “—the two inside Smoke's.”

  Hilliardson: “Overruled.”

  Rosethorn: “At that time did you question witnesses as to the origins of this fight?”

  Mangum: “No. My superior, Captain Fulcher, arrived immediately, and instructed me to follow Pym's ambulance to University Hospital, which I did. I stayed there until after three A.M.”

  “Did you then return and question witnesses to Pym's violent and armed assault on the defendant?”

  Mitch's arm went off like a rocket. “Objection!”

  “Sustained. Mr. Rosethorn, please!”

  Rosethorn: “I’ll rephrase. Did you at any time further question witnesses to events leading up to the shooting?”

  “No, sir. I was not made a member of the investigation.”

  “Ah.” Rosethorn looked out the tall handsome windows for a while. “The first policeman on the scene, the one in the most immediate position to observe what had happened, and you were quickly removed from the case?”

  Bazemore: “Ob—”

  Mangum: “I was never assigned to the case.”

  Rosethorn: “Before you were never assigned to the case, did you bother to ask Mr. Hall himself how and why this tragedy had happened?”

  The question stopped me for a moment. “I wasn’t interrogating him. We’re talking about a few chaotic minutes, about a wounded man.” I paused. All that was true, but it wasn’t really why I hadn’t asked George that question. I said, “Well, in fact, it seemed obvious. I assumed—”

  Now Isaac put his freckled hand on the rail of the witness stand, and tapped his fingers, springing the trap door. “Ah, yes! Captain Mangum, among all these professional assumptions and impressions you were busy with that night, and on the basis of what you’ve already told us, what did you assume? What was your appraisal of the circumstances surrounding this shooting? Did you assume that George Hall had committed a premeditated homicide against Pym? Or, did you not rather assume that—”

  “Objection!” Mitch was in a high-step jig all the way around his table and halfway to the bench. “The witness's conclusions, based on hearsay, are irrelevant, immaterial, and insubstantial.”

  “Counselor,” Isaac wheeled on him, “when I objected to your soliciting ‘impressions’ from Captain Mangum, you’re the one who presented your witness as an ‘expert’ entitled to a professional opinion. I’m simply following your line of questioning.”

  Hilliardson looked wryly at them both, then stroked his beaked nose. Finally he said, “Objection overruled. Witness may answer.” Mitch's neck swelled with protest but he swallowed it.

  I said, “It seemed likely that there had been mutual combat between Hall and Pym, that Pym had been armed, that in a struggle for the gun, Hall had gotten hold of it, pursued Pym, and shot him.”

  I was thinking it was interesting Isaac had never discussed with me what he might ask me today, and what I might answer. Interesting too, Isaac didn’t ask me now if I’d assumed a case of self-defense, because I’d once mentioned I could see a gray area there. Nor did he ask now if I’d made any investigations into Pym's death subsequent to the first trial. In the first place, Judge Hilliardson wouldn’t have allowed him to use cross-examination to present new evidence. In the second place, no doubt Isaac was hoping Bazemore would cover up the whole Pym-Russell robbery/extortion/smuggling racket, that the State would then rest its case, after which Isaac, in his opening remarks, could accuse the State of a cover-up. At any rate, all he said now was, “Was it your understanding that Pym had attempted to ‘arrest’ Hall by this violent means, and that Hall was resisting arrest?”

  “No, it was not. None of the witnesses described any attempt by Pym to arrest Hall.”

  “Did you think that George Hall had previously planned, and took this opportunity to execute, a premeditated murder with malice aforethought?”

  “No, I did not.”

  Isaac walked away from me, back to stand near George Hall. “Were you then surprised to hear that your ‘superiors’ had charged the defendant with murder in the first degree? Just answer the question, yes or no. Were you surprised, Captain Mangum?”

  Mitch Bazemore had his arms crossed over his biceps, squeezing them. He looked furious, but in a struggle to hide it, lest the jury think there was anything worth bothering about in what I was saying. I looked at George, just as his eyes moved toward mine. I said, “Yes, I was surprised.”

  Isaac nodded slowly. “Yes. I would imagine you would be. And as a professional police officer, were you so surprised that this man had been sentenced to death, on the basis of the evidence as you knew it, that you wrote a letter to the state prison parole board saying so, and asking them to consider extending clemency to George Hall?”

  Mitch stepped forward, staring at me. I could foresee a long unpleasant afternoon in his office; indeed, I could foresee that if Julian Lewis became governor and Bazemore became his A.G., I might get the chance I occasionally moped over when I was worn out—I could leave law enforcement and become a history teacher.

  I said, “Yes, I did write to the board.”

  “You thought an injustice would be done if Hall were executed?”

  “Yes.”

  Isaac didn’t smile at me even now; the jury was never going to suspect he didn’t dislike and distrust me immensely. “I have no further questions for the witness at this time.”

  On redirect, Bazemore did smile at me; it was reasonably scary. He asked me to confirm once more that Hall had brought the gun out of the bar, had shot Pym outside the bar, a hundred yards from where the fight had allegedly occurred, that Pym had been unarmed when he was shot, that he had been shot from a distance of approximately thirty feet, and so not in the midst of a struggle. He asked me to agree that it would be entirely legal for an off-duty policeman to arrest someone. He asked me to admit that at the time of my writing to the board, I had not known the full circumstances of the relations between Pym and Hall, as I now knew them (though he didn’t ask me what those full circumstances were). He asked me, “Captain Mangum, in your questioning of Hall, only minutes after the shot was fired, did he appear to be irrational, or out of control, or in any way of diminished capacity to reason? Any of those?”

  “No. He seemed—”

  “Minutes after he shot Pym, did he seem violently in the grip of an irresistible rage?”

  “No. Numb.”

  “He surrendered himself to the police because he knew he had shot a man, am I right? He was perfectly aware of what he had done?”

  “If you mean, did
he realize he had fired the shot, yes, I think so.”

  “Did he say to you then, ‘I shot Pym in self-defense’?”

  “No.”

  “Or, ‘I didn’t mean to,’ or, ‘I couldn’t help myself’?”

  “No.”

  “Does a request for clemency necessarily mean a denial of the validity of a verdict?”

  “Not necessarily.”

  “Have you, as chief of the Hillston Police Department, made a great many requests for parole or clemency for criminals whom you have charged, and the courts have convicted of crimes?”

  “Yes, I have.”

  “Hundreds?”

  “No. Perhaps two dozen.”

  “Do those many requests mean that you repudiate the right of a jury to try and to decide on the guilt or innocence of a man brought before it?”

  “No.”

  Bazemore came up on my side, and thrust his chin very near my face. “Is it your duty to enforce the laws of the state under which you are empowered as chief of this city's police?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Is it the law of this state that a jury may sentence to death a man convicted of first-degree murder if they so determine?”

  “Yes, it is.” Freezing sweat ran down the sides of my shirt as I watched his pale blue righteous eyes.

  “Is it,” he said, “your belief that if the death penalty—”

  Isaac managed to move fast without sounding even much interested. “Objection. The witness is not being challenged for jury duty. He is here as a professional police officer. His opinions on this matter, whatever they may be, and however interested we all might be to hear them, are irrelevant.”