Reversible Errors

by Scott Turow

  18

  JUNE 13, 2001

  Erno’s Cross

  “SO THE QUESTION, MR. ERDAI,” said Muriel, “the real question is, were you lying then or are you lying now?” Even before Harlow had told her to proceed, Muriel had taken her place in front of Erno, reminding Larry of a boxer off his stool prior to the start of a round. She had lingered one more second, a small, lithe figure absorbing the entire attention of the courtroom, before putting her first question.

  “Then,” said Erno.

  “Is that a lie?”

  “No.”

  “But you do lie, Mr. Erdai, don’t you?”

  “Just like everybody else.”

  “You lied to Detective Starczek in 1991, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You lied and put the noose around another man’s neck. Is that what you’re telling us?”

  The toothpick scuttled from one side of Erno’s mouth to the other before he said yes.

  “Despicable behavior, wasn’t it?”

  “Nothing to be proud of.”

  “But even though you’re a despicable liar, you’re asking us to believe you now. Correct?”

  “Why not?”

  “We’ll get to that, Mr. Erdai. By the way, did I introduce myself?”

  “I know who you are.”

  “But you’ve refused to meet with me, correct?”

  “Because that will only help you make it look like I’m lying, when I’m telling the truth.”

  On the bench, Harlow smiled faintly. As far as Larry could see, the judge was often amused by the jab and counter of the courtroom.

  “Well, let me make sure I understand what you’re telling us, Mr. Erdai. You’re telling us that you killed three people in July of 1991. And three months later, the police hadn’t caught you, right?”

  “True.”

  “Did you want to get caught?”

  “What would you think?”

  “I think you would have done anything not to be apprehended—is that fair?”

  “That’s about the size of it.”

  “You had many friends on the Force, didn’t you?”

  “Many.”

  “So you knew the investigation was stillborn, correct?”

  “Does that mean dead?”

  “Let’s say dying.”

  “Dying’s about right.”

  “So if you’d actually killed those people, you had every reason to believe you were going to get away with it, correct?”

  “Realistically, yeah. But I was still worried.”

  “Right. You were worried. And despite that, and even though you knew the investigation was dying, you decided to provide information that would revive it. Is that what you’re saying?”

  “Because of my nephew.”

  “And you didn’t provide an anonymous tip—you went right to Detective Starczek.”

  “He came to me, but it’s the same difference.”

  “Same difference,” said Muriel. She was prowling now, moving back and forth. The fingers were spread on both hands, as if she’d catch Erno if he tried to escape. She’d worn what Larry regarded as a girlish dress, a print with a tie at the waist and a big bow at the throat, a gesture intended as much for the television viewers as the judge. If she could have put on a PTA button for the cameras, she might have. But anyone who’d seen Muriel in court would know she was as lethal as a panther.

  “Is he a good detective?”

  “One of the best.”

  “And would you agree that good detectives usually know when they’re being spun?”

  “If they know to look out, sure. But nobody’s got the radar on twenty-four seven.”

  “But not only did you wake up this sleeping investigation, you did it, you say, by lying to somebody who you knew was good at seeing through lies, right?”

  “You can put it your way,” said Erno.

  “And then you had your nephew lead the police to a cameo, knowing that if Gandolph told the truth, he could very well mention your name. Is that right?”

  “I’da said he was full of it, and just throwing my name around cause he’d found out somehow that I was the one who put the cops onto him. I’d thought about that.”

  “And you thought that lie would be convincing?”

  “Sure.”

  “Because you know how to lie convincingly, don’t you?”

  Harlow sustained Arthur’s objection before Erno had to answer, but the judge appeared to smile at the art of the question.

  “Now, you told us yesterday that you understood that your nephew would get nothing from the police or the prosecutors unless Gandolph was convicted, right? Yet you had no way of predicting, for example, whether Gandolph had an alibi, did you?”

  “I knew he’d been around the airport to steal Luisa’s cameo.”

  “In the summer? I thought Gandolph was at the airport only when the winter weather forced him out there.”

  Erno made a face. He’d tried to squeeze past Muriel and she’d stopped him cold. After a little more squirming, he agreed he had told the judge yesterday that Gandolph was at the airport in the winter, and that he couldn’t have been sure whether Squirrel had an alibi. Erno ate his own words sourly.

  “So this is how it adds up, Mr. Erdai,” said Muriel, and counted off each of her points on her fingers. “Although you didn’t want to get caught, you breathed new life into a dead investigation. You did that by lying to an investigator who you knew was good at catching liars. And you pointed him toward someone who, in fact, could connect you to one of the murder victims. And you did all of that not even knowing if the man you say you were framing had a locked alibi. Do you understand now why we shouldn’t believe you?”

  Arthur objected at volume for the first time and the judge said, “Sustained.” Piqued, Erno was unwise enough to continue on his own.

  “It may not make sense to you, but that’s what happened. I had to do something for my nephew. People don’t always make sense.”

  “And this doesn’t make sense, does it, Mr. Erdai? What you’re telling us? It’s one of those things that doesn’t make sense.”

  Arthur objected again. Without looking up from his scribbling, the judge suggested that Muriel move on. She turned for a second and her small dark eyes sought out Larry, to see how it was going. He covered his mouth and held his thumb up on his cheek. Muriel nodded minutely. She thought so herself.

  “Does it surprise you, Mr. Erdai, to know that an automated check of fingerprints from the crime scene showed that none of them are yours?”

  “I wiped everything off. I was careful. Like I said.”

  “No DNA. No blood. No saliva. Semen. Nothing like that from you will be found at the scene, will it?”

  “No. But you didn’t have any of that from Gandolph neither.”

  “You know our evidence against Mr. Gandolph very well, don’t you, Mr. Erdai?”

  “I followed this case real close. Obvious reasons.”

  “And the gun, sir? What became of that?”

  “In the river. With everything else.”

  Muriel grinned briefly, the expression of a veteran who’d met lots of guys with all the answers. She strolled back to the podium to glance at her notes, then stared for a full beat at Erdai.

  “Are you dying?” she asked then.

  “That’s what the doctors say.”

  “You believe them?”

  “Most times. Sometimes, I kinda start thinkin maybe they’re wrong, docs have been wrong before, but mostly I know better.”

  “So, as far as you’re concerned, you have nothing to lose with what you’re telling us today. Right?”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “Really? Can you name anything you care about losing.”

  “My soul,” said Erno. “If I got one.”

  “If you got one,” repeated Muriel. “Let’s stay here on earth. Anything here you care about losing?”

  “My family,” said Erno. “I care a
lot about them.”

  “Well, they’re standing by you, Mr. Erdai, aren’t they? What else?”

  “I’d hate to lose my pension from the airline. I worked a long time and I want to make sure my wife has something.”

  “Well, you don’t lose your pension, do you, for murder?”

  “If it’s a crime against the company.”

  “Was this?”

  “Only if Luisa was management.”

  Loud laughter volleyed from the gallery. The courtroom was full today. The press reports had had their predictable effect of filling every available seat.

  “So you won’t lose your pension. And you’re not going to live long enough to get prosecuted again for perjury, right?”

  “There’s nothing to get prosecuted for.”

  “Either way, there’s no chance you’ll have to do more time, is there?”

  “I suppose.”

  “And what about your nephew, Collins Farwell? He lied to Detective Starczek about having certain conversations with Rommy Gandolph, didn’t he?”

  “Yeah, but he thought Gandolph was the right guy.”

  “And where is Collins now?”

  “He’s got a lawyer named Jackson Aires. You can give him a call.”

  “A lawyer? So he could get advice about this situation?”

  “Basically. I’m paying the bill, since I’m the one who put him in this spot to start with.”

  “And do you know if the lawyer has assured Collins that he can’t be prosecuted for the lies he told in 1991, because the statute of limitations has run?”

  “Isn’t that supposed to be confidential?”

  “Put it this way, Mr. Erdai. You understand nothing is going to happen to Collins as result of your testimony, don’t you?”

  “I hope nothing happens to him.”

  “And where is he?”

  Erno looked at the judge who nodded firmly to him.

  “Atlanta. Doing good down there, too, like I said.”

  “Congratulations,” said Muriel. “Now, what about on the other side, Mr. Erdai. Are you going to gain anything by coming forward now?”

  “A clean conscience.”

  “A clean conscience,” said Muriel. “You say, Mr. Erdai, you’ve shot five people in your lifetime—murdered three, killed your mother-in-law, and tried to murder a fifth person who bothered you in a bar. And this will make you feel better, is that right?”

  There was a riffle of laughter behind Larry. It sounded as if Carol, who should have known better, had been the first. Harlow’s eyes rose and the courtroom instantly fell silent.

  “I can’t change any of the rest of it, Muriel. This is the best I can do.”

  Calling Muriel by her first name was pure Erno. As far as Larry knew, they didn’t have even a nodding acquaintance, but Erdai always figured he was a blood brother with everybody in law enforcement.

  “Well, hadn’t you applied for a compassionate furlough several months ago? And then, when that was denied, a compassionate transfer? In order to be closer to your wife?”

  “True.”

  “Also denied?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your wife has a hard time making it down to Rudyard?”

  “It’d be a lot easier if I was here.”

  “Where did you sleep last night?”

  “County General.”

  “Did your wife see you there today?”

  “Before court.”

  Muriel ran it down. He’d seen his wife yesterday, too. And the day before. And Arthur had filed a petition with the court suggesting that Erno not be returned to Rudyard while Gandolph’s case was pending.

  “Does it mean a lot to you to see your wife every day? At this stage?”

  “Right now? Especially now, yeah, it means quite a bit. She doesn’t deserve the last few years. Not a day of it.” His voice weakened and Erno, with little warning, flushed. He dragged down his nosepiece and covered his face with his hand. Harlow had Kleenex on the bench and handed the box down with clinical efficiency. Muriel waited this out with no sign of impatience, because Erno could hardly have done much more to prove her point. She changed subjects once his breath had returned.

  “Let’s talk about the crime for which you’re imprisoned, Mr. Erdai.”

  “What’s that got to do with the price of beans?” asked Erno. Arthur, on cue, rose to object. The conviction was relevant, Arthur pointed out, only for whatever it said about Erno’s credibility. The circumstances were beside the point.

  “I’ll tie it up,” said Muriel. That was the trial lawyer’s version of ‘the check’s in the mail,’ but Harlow, sitting without a jury, said he’d give Muriel some leeway, particularly since this proceeding was a deposition, not a trial.

  “I don’t let lawyers break their word to me twice,” the judge added.

  “I wouldn’t expect you to,” said Muriel, before turning back to Erno, who, Larry thought, recoiled just a bit as she reapproached. Erdai’s go-round with Muriel thus far had already left him looking less peppy.

  “As a matter of fact, Mr. Erdai, you’re in prison only because your friends on the Police Force didn’t back you up—isn’t that right?”

  “I’m in prison because I shot a man.”

  “But you told the officers who were at this tavern, Ike’s, where the shooting took place—you told them you’d pulled the trigger in self defense, didn’t you?”

  “To my way of thinking, it was.”

  “And many of the officers who’d witnessed that shooting and heard you claim you were merely defending yourself were friends of yours, weren’t they? Officers you were there drinking with?”

  “Sure.”

  “Was it disappointing to you, Mr. Erdai., that none of them supported you in saying this was self-defense?”

  “Not when I had a chance to think about it.”

  “But initially?”

  “I don’t know what I expected.”

  “But it wouldn’t have bothered you, would it, if they’d backed your version?”

  “I guess not.”

  “Have you ever known officers to protect their own?”

  “I think it’s happened before.”

  “But it didn’t happen with you, did it?”

  The mean part of Erno showed through for the first time, a sulfurous ignition behind the eyes. He was adept enough, however, to calm himself before he said no.

  “And so you had to plead guilty, correct?”

  “That’s what happened.”

  “Now, what about Detective Starczek?” Larry sat up on reflex at his name. “Was he another of your friends on the Force?”

  “Larry? I’ve known him going on thirty years. We were cadets together.”

  “And these letters you wrote to Detective Starczek—”

  Unexpectedly, Muriel returned to Larry at the counsel table. She whispered with her lips barely moving: “Reach in my briefcase and take out the mail in the first compartment.” A flutter of uncertainty zipped through him, but he’d caught up with her by the time he’d extracted the three letter-sized envelopes. According to the return addresses, they were her statement from the state retirement fund and two credit card bills. With the letters in hand, she faced the witness.

  “You never wrote Detective Starczek telling him you killed anyone, did you?”

  “Told him I needed to talk to him.”

  “Didn’t you tell him straight out you wanted his help?”

  “I might have. You know, as I remember, I called him once or twice, only he wasn’t there, and they won’t accept collect calls from the joint anyway, so I wrote him two, three letters and he didn’t answer.”

  Arthur stood, waving at what Muriel held in her hand.

  “Your Honor, I haven’t seen those letters.”

  “Judge, I didn’t receive any preview of Mr. Erdai’s testimony. And besides, I haven’t displayed them to the witness. Mr. Raven may inspect whatever I show the witness.”

  Arthur continued obj
ecting and Harlow finally called them to the sidebar on the far side of the bench, away from Erno. Larry joined the procession.

  “What’s the story with the letters?” whispered Harlow.

  “I don’t have any,” Muriel told him.

  Larry figured the judge would go off, but instead Harlow smiled broadly.

  “Bluffing?” asked Harlow.

  “I’m entitled,” she said.

  “So you are,” said the judge and motioned everyone away. Muriel had the court reporter read back the last two questions and answers.

  Larry turned to watch Arthur, fearing he might try to cue Erno that Muriel was faking. You could never tell what kind of dog poo a guy would turn into as a defense lawyer, but Arthur remained poker-faced as he explained to his associate what was happening from behind his hand.

  “Now, at the time you wrote Detective Starczek, you wanted to get into a medium-security facility, didn’t you?”

  “Well, my lawyer tried to arrange that. And when he couldn’t, I asked some guys could they help.”

  “And are you telling us, Mr. Erdai, that you thought you’d get to a medium-securiy facility by informing Detective Starczek that you’d committed a brutal triple murder?”

  Notwithstanding Harlow’s prior look, there were again a few giggles from the spectators’ pews.

  “When I wrote Larry, I’d basically given up on medium. Corrections says you’re in maximum if you committed an offense with a firearm. Period.”

  “And can you give us the name of anyone on the Force who tried to get the Corrections Department to make an exception on your behalf?”

  Erno took the toothpick from his mouth. He was cooked on this one, because he knew no one would come to court to back him up. In answer to Muriel, he said he didn’t recall.