A Handy Death (23 page)

“Yes.”

“You further claim that Raymond Neeley drew a gun, but that gun was never found by the police. Is that true?”

“Yes.”

“In fact, the only gun that was found was the gun you used. And that gun belonged to you. Is that true?”

“Yes.”

“You were very drunk that night, weren't you?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me,” Varick said smoothly, “have you ever taken drugs?”

“Me?” For the first time Billy Dupaul was startled out of his calm. “Never!”

“Heroin?”

“I said, never!”

“LSD?”

“I said—”

“In high school did you ever try pot? Marijuana?”

Billy Dupaul hesitated. He looked over toward the defense table, but Ross was calmly cleaning his fingernails with a file, his eyes on his task. Billy looked up.

“Well, maybe in high school I did smoke a stick or two, but all the gang was doing it—”

“Did you ever take sleeping pills?”

“Well, sure—sometimes.”

“Prescription pills?”

“I don't remember. Pills from a drugstore, generally, the ones you don't need prescriptions for. But I never took them very often. Just when I got worked up, sometimes.”

“Like after signing a contract for a fortune in money?” Varick didn't wait for an answer but went right on. “Mr. Dupaul, are you aware of the effect of alcohol on a person who has taken certain drugs? They induce a euphoria, a dreamlike state where hallucinations are common—”

“Objection,” Ross said mildly, looking up from his nails. “The prosecution has failed to qualify himself as a medical internist.”

There was a ripple of laughter in the courtroom, instantly stilled.

“Sustained.”

Varick continued as if he had heard neither the objection nor the sustentation.

“Are you aware that under the influence of this combination, a person's subconscious tendency for violence often comes to the surface and he—”

“Objection,” Ross said in the same even tone. “The prosecution has similarly failed to qualify as a psychiatrist.”

“Sustained.”

Varick was not at all disturbed by the decision. He went on.

“Mr. Dupaul, I want you to know that acts performed under the influence of drugs, alcohol, or a combination of both; or acts performed under a hallucination, do not relieve a person of the full responsibility for any crime committed—”

“Objection,” Ross said. “Now the prosecutor is trying to qualify as a lawyer.”

Laughter swept the courtroom. Repeated pounding of the gavel was necessary to finally bring it under control. Judge Waxler glared at both Varick and Ross.

“The objection is sustained,” he said. “I must warn both defense counsel and the District Attorney on both their questions and their comments. Mr. District Attorney, you may continue, but I suggest a different line of questioning.”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Varick said meekly, but it was easily seen he was pleased with himself. At the prosecution table Gorman was grinning openly. Varick turned back to the witness.

“Mr. Dupaul, the defense mentioned baseball. Let's touch on that a moment. You say you pitched in a baseball game within the past few days—a week ago last Thursday, to be exact. Where did this baseball game take place?”

“At Attica Prison.”

“What were you doing at Attica Prison? Were you visiting the prison?”

“I was an inmate there.”

Judge Waxler glanced quickly at the defense table, expecting—and prepared to sustain—an instant objection, but Ross was sitting back in his chair comfortably, apparently listening with mild interest at best, now filing a rough edge from one nail. Varick had paused momentarily, also expecting a prompt objection; when none was forthcoming he quickly took advantage of the lapse on his opponent's part and hurried on.

“Mr. Dupaul, how long were you an inmate at Attica Prison?”

“Which time? The first time or the second time?”

It was too much for Judge Waxler. He rapped his gavel to stop Varick for the moment and leaned over the bench, frowning down at Ross.

“Mr. Ross,” he said. “Are you with us? Did you hear the question?”

Ross looked up, as if surprised at being interrupted. “Yes, Your Honor. I heard the question.”

“And you have no objection?”

“No, Your Honor. After all,” Ross said sententiously, “we are all here to see justice done, and I'm sure my opponent would not ask questions that were not directed to that end.”

Judge Waxler studied the calm figure at the defense bench. His eyes went to Steve Sadler, beside Ross, but Steve was also sitting back in a relaxed fashion.

“Mr. Ross,” the judge said, “you're too experienced a lawyer for me to suggest anything to you about handling the defense in a criminal case, but are you
sure
you heard the question?” A possible solution occurred to the judge. “Are you feeling well?”

Ross smiled his appreciation.

“I feel fine, Your Honor. Thank you.”

Judge Waxler sighed. “You may continue, Mr. District Attorney.”

Varick glanced toward Gorman; the Assistant District Attorney was no longer grinning. He was sure Ross had something up his sleeve, but he could not imagine what it was. All he knew was that Ross had opened the door on a good deal of testimony damaging to his client, and Gorman fully intended to take advantage of it. He nodded; Varick went back to work.

“Mr. Dupaul, how long were you an inmate at Attica Prison the second time?”

“Three years and ten months.”

“What were you in for?”

“Assault. I was in a fight.”

“Now,” Varick said, amazed at not being stopped, “while that baseball game was in progress, was there an escape attempt made on the part of several prisoners?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Were there any deaths as a result of this escape attempt?”

“Yes, sir. Two prisoners and a guard.”

“At the time of the escape attempt, was there not also a disturbance on the baseball field that brought many guards to the scene, and which could possibly have been arranged to enhance the escape attempt?”

Steve Sadler leaned over, whispering to Ross. “I was beginning to be afraid he'd never get to it!”

Ross smiled, “So was I—”

Judge Waxler tapped his gavel. “Mr. Ross, are you listening to this testimony?”

“I am, Your Honor.”

Varick hurried on. “Would you answer the question, please?”

“Yes, sir. There was a disturbance on the field at the time.”

“And was that disturbance caused by the fact that you purposely pitched four balls in a row, walking the batter, and giving your fellow inmates watching the game an excuse to start the riot?”

This time Judge Waxler's gavel hit the bench loud and clear. He looked down at Ross.

“Mr. Ross, normally I hesitate to suggest to able trial counsel what, tactically, is best for his client, but I have a responsibility to see that the accused gets a fair trial and is given effective assistance of counsel. Now, I'm going to ask you one last time—are you
positive
you have no objections to the questions being put to this witness?”

Ross came to his feet.

“Your Honor, I agree. I believe the last question of the prosecution was not proper. Objection.”

“Well! About time!” Judge Waxler snapped. “Sustained!”

Varick nodded gently in the direction of the jury, a glint of triumph in his eyes.

“No more questions.”

Ross said, “I have just one in redirect. Mr. Dupaul, during this baseball game we're discussing, were there any independent witnesses as to what actually took place. I mean, anyone not connected with the prison, either as inmate or staff?”

“There was somebody in the press box,” Dupaul said slowly, “but I didn't pay any attention to who it was. It may have been a guard, but it might also have been someone not connected with the prison.”

“Thank you. You may step down.”

Billy Dupaul came down from the witness stand and walked a bit defiantly back to the defense table, sitting down next to Steve Sadler. His face was a mask. The buzzing in the courtroom resumed, to stop as Ross spoke.

“I call my next witness, Jerry Coughlin.”

Coughlin came into the courtroom glowering toward Ross, who was standing indolently between the defense table and the bench. Every line of the newspaperman's wolfish face demonstrated his desire for revenge. Ross waited until Coughlin had been sworn in, and then moved closer.

“What is you name?”

“Jerome Coughlin.”

“Known as Jerry Coughlin?”

“That's right.”

“What is your business or occupation?”

“I'm a newspaper reporter.”

“Specializing in sports?”

“Specializing in everything.”

“All right,” Ross said. “Now, were you present at a baseball game held at Attica Prison a week ago last Thursday?”

Coughlin leaned forward. He spoke with cold venom.

“You can bet I was! And I saw Billy Dupaul—”

“Just answer the questions, please,” Ross interrupted evenly. “I can have his honor instruct you to answer properly, if need be. With all your courtroom experience, you should know you cannot volunteer answers. Now, to continue: Are you acquainted with Mr. Charles Quirt?”

Coughlin seemed surprised by the change in subject. “Only by name.”

Ross raised his eyebrows.

“You were never in the same room with him?”

“Not that I recall.”

“Try your memory on this,” Ross said. “A week ago Friday, you by-lined a story in the
Daily Mirror
which said I was defending Billy Dupaul. The information came from Mr. Charles Quirt—”

Varick had been in a hasty conference with Gorman. Now he came to his feet, interrupting.

“Objection! Your Honor, the People object to this line of questioning as being irrelevant and immaterial. We fail to see what Mr. Ross's press coverage has to do with the indictment on which this trial is being held.”

“Mr. Varick,” Judge Waxler said, leaning over, “it was the prosecution who opened the door to the presence of this witness, by bringing up the matter of the disturbance on the baseball field at Attica State Prison.”

“Your Honor,” Varick objected, “it was the defense who brought up the baseball game at Attica—”

“The prosecution has a remarkably short memory,” Judge Waxler said tartly. “Mr. Ross mentioned that Mr. Dupaul played baseball. The entire matter of Attica Prison and the disturbance there was raised by the prosecution. It was
you
who opened the door. I'm far from certain that it was either relevant or proper at the time, but
you
were the one who raised the issue, and Mr. Ross can certainly question a witness to the event.”

“All right,” Varick said desperately, “we admit to having asked questions on the matter of Attica and the game, but we didn't open the door to discussions regarding issues unrelated to the matter, such as newspaper articles covering Mr. Ross's law practice!”

Judge Waxler considered Varick a moment, and then slowly shook his head.

“We'll see,” he said. “If I consider the testimony irrelevant or remote, I will entertain a motion to strike, but I have serious doubt that I will grant such a motion. Proceed Mr. Ross.”

Coughlin cut in.

“As far as that article, Counselor,” he said, his voice emphasizing the title with sarcasm, “sure I was in Quirt's office, but so were other news reporters. I thought you meant alone.”

“Were you ever in a room with him at any other time, alone or not?”

“No.”

Ross walked back to the defense table and opened the folder Mike had given him. On top lay an affidavit signed by the prison guard confessing to having been bribed by the convicts to make the call of four balls. Ross laid it aside; if Billy was ever bothered on that score he would need it. Right now he was after bigger fish. He found what he wanted, finally, not in Gunnerson's folder, but in Steve Sadler's, and walked back to the witness.

“How about this occasion?” Ross asked, and handed over a photograph. “For your information, Mr. Coughlin, this is a glossy enlargement of a picture that appeared in the New York
Daily News
on July 21, 1964. It shows Billy Dupaul signing the contract with the Mets, with Charles Quirt behind him. You are here, to one side. Isn't that you?”

Coughlin took the picture and studied it. “I remember. So I was wrong. So what?”

“So nothing,” Ross said, “for the time being. Put it that I was testing your credibility. Now, Mr. Coughlin, what newspaper were you working for when you covered that contract signing?”

“I wasn't working for any. I wasn't covering it. A guy I knew was going over to cover it and I went along.”

“You mean you were free-loading, is that it?”

Coughlin glared at him. “So what's wrong with getting a few sandwiches and a couple of drinks on the cuff? You never done it?”

“On occasion,” Ross admitted. His voice was tinged sympathetic. “You were broke?”

“Flat broke, if it makes you happy!”

“I'm sorry to hear it,” Ross said, and changed the subject. “Tell me, Mr. Coughlin, didn't you tell me once that you had seen Billy Dupaul pitch baseball
many
times?”

“That's right,” Coughlin said, agreeably.

Ross looked a bit puzzled. “But it couldn't have been with the Mets, could it? Because Billy was signed during season and never pitched a regular game for them. Where did you see him pitch?”

Coughlin hesitated. Then he said, “Up at Attica.”

“That's strange,” Ross said, and then thought of something. “You were an inmate there?”

“Never!”

“Then it really
is
strange,” Ross said, “because Warden Chalmers tells us that the game you attended was the only one you had ever requested permission to cover. So where did you see all these games?”