Decision (24 page)

Chapter 2

Elsewhere in Columbia, fully awake after several hours of heavy sleep, hurting all over but cold mind racing, the bomber of Pomeroy Station appraised his situation. It was, all things considered, good.

So far, he was confident, there was no absolute evidence to connect him to the crime. And while he fully intended murder when he set off the charge, being on the other side of the plant where he could not see the result he was not at all sure that he had achieved it. There had been no opportunity to hear news so he did not know whether he had killed Justice Pomeroy or how much damage he had done to the plant. But one thing he did know with certainty, and that was that the evidence, if any, on which he found himself obviously inside a jail cell was circumstantial at best. All he needed was a clever lawyer—dozens of the right persuasion, he was confident, would flock to his side, eager and earnest to “challenge the system” and “preserve human rights”—and he would be home scot-free. His trial was not a worrisome prospect. It promised, in fact, to be rather fun.

He was absolutely sure that no one had observed him prior to the bombing; they were all too preoccupied with the ceremonies below. He knew that there were no fingerprints left on the detonator: he had wiped it clean a dozen times. He knew that the mere fact that he might have been observed doing so after the fact proved nothing in the hands of a clever lawyer: he could hear him now.

Had he been seen actually using it? Could anyone prove it was actually his? Were his fingerprints on it? No to all three? Well, then, so what? Maybe he did have it in his hands after the event—what proof was there that he had it before the event? What proof was there that he had used it? Could opposing counsel offer such proof? If so, please share with the jury any special knowledge he might possess on this point. We do not want to keep the jury and this honorable court in the dark on matters so vital, do we, counsel?

Circumstantial, that’s all they had—circumstantial! And Earle Holgren had learned long ago, through careful study of many pertinent cases during the Sixties and early Seventies, as well as advice from his lawyer in New York, that shrewd lawyers, juries whose nervous consciences could be played upon, and determinedly “enlightened” judges could wreak havoc with circumstantial evidence. He wasn’t worried about that.

He felt very good about what he had done this day. It wasn’t everybody who could make his statement in as bold and dramatic a fashion, not everybody who could focus the attention of the whole nation, as he knew it must be focused right now, upon himself and his cause. He had done it just right, and what he had done would be remembered for a long, long time.

And he had ’em.
He had ’em!
The damned hillbillies had been so anxious to get him, so desperate, so out of control, that they had never even told him about his rights. They had
denied
him his rights. They hadn’t warned him, they hadn’t asked him if he wanted a lawyer, they’d just been so damned hot to climb all over him and club him to death that they hadn’t even stopped to think about it.

Well, more fools they.

He was confident there wasn’t a court in the land would convict him, after that. He was home free and there wasn’t a damned thing anybody could do about it.

It was at this point, when he still hurt like hell but when his mind was happily and jubilantly at peace, that he became aware of a blur of shadow outside his door and a softly menacing, utterly contemptuous voice that said:

“What you smilin’ for, you worthless piece of murderin’, two-bit human slime? What’s so God damned funny in this world of yours, funny boy? Let me know. Me and the folks of the sovereign state of South Carolina, we want to know, so’s we can join right in and have the big hee-haw with you. Tell me about it, shit-face, okay?”

He could hear the door being unlocked and through eyelids that could barely open, eyes that still could barely see, he became aware that the shadow, tall and lanky and looming low over the bed where he lay helpless—physically, but not mentally, oh, never mentally, not Earle Holgren—had pulled up a chair and was seated by his side not a foot away.

“Now,” Regard Stinnet said again, still softly, “tell me about it, Earle Holgren. Isn’t often I got a right smart, clever man like you in here. You got us all fooled and where you want us. Tell me how you did it.”

For several seconds he just lay there; then huskily but with great determination he whispered:

“Give me my rights.”

“Hell, man,” Regard said dryly. “You don’t want your rights
now.
It’s too late to give you your rights
now.
You know
that.
The boys messed up a bit, you know
that.
You got what you wanted as far as rights are concerned, out there at the cave by Pomeroy Station when they didn’t warn you. What you want with rights
now?
You’re a lot better off legally without ’em, you know it.”

“You’re assuming,” Earle Holgren whispered with painful slowness, “that I’m smart enough to know that. Maybe I’m just dumb.”

“Oh, no!” Regard said. “Oh, no, son of a bitch, you’re not dumb! I know your type and you’re not dumb. You’re just dumb in thinkin’ this society is goin’ to let you bastards get away with this kind of stuff forever, that’s where you’re dumb! Because, shit-face, it isn’t. It isn’t!”

“Better get me a lawyer,” Earle Holgren whispered, “before you say too much yourself, shit-face. Who the hell are you, anyway?”

“My name is Regard Stinnet,” Regard said, “and I’m the attorney general of this whole shootin’ shebang of South Carolina. Doesn’t that make you feel important, Mr. Earle Holgren? You want to feel important, don’t you? That’s why you bombed Pomeroy Station plant and tried to kill a Supreme Court Justice and
did
kill his daughter—”

For a split second Earle Holgren looked blankly surprised. But he was too smart to give Regard the response he had hoped to provoke.

“You’re assuming an awful lot, Mr. Stinnet,” he whispered politely. “Saying all those things about me, including I bombed Pomeroy Station. Were you there?”

“—tried to kill a Supreme Court Justice and
did
kill his daughter,” Regard repeated. “I’ll bet that makes you proud, killing a fifteen-year-old girl! Mighty brave stuff,
Mr.
Holgren!”

“I’m sorry,” Earle whispered, still politely, “if any innocent person got hurt. Who on earth would want to do such a horrible thing? What kind of people do you breed down here in the whole shootin’ shebang anyway, Mr. Stinnet?”

“Not as bad as what wanders in here,” Regard said grimly. “Not as bad as what wanders in here, that’s for sure! And not only that, but you know what else you did? Do you know?”

But again Earle Holgren only smiled patiently and responded in the same polite way.

“Why do you keep saying what
I
did, Mr. Stinnet? You haven’t proved I did anything, and I”—he could not entirely suppress an ironic little expression, more grimace than smile through his greatly swollen lips—“
I
haven’t said I did anything, either. So, what else did the bomber of Pomeroy Station do?”

“He got at
two
Justices of the Supreme Court,” Regard said, “which isn’t going to do him any good if his case ever gets up there. In fact, if I was him I’d be damned worried about
that.
He got at two of ’em.”

“Oh, were there two of them there?” Earle Holgren inquired with a mild interest. “I don’t remember reading about that.”

“I’ll bet you read everything else about it you could get your hands on!” Regard snapped.

“I like to read,” Earle Holgren said thoughtfully. “I learn a lot, reading.”

“Yes,” Regard said. “Well. You’ll be interested to know that not only did you miss Justice Pomeroy
but
kill his daughter Sarah, but you also hit little Janie, who’s the daughter of the new Justice, Justice Barbour, and it looks as though you may have paralyzed her and turned her into a vegetable for life. That’s what you did!”

“That is horrible,” Earle Holgren agreed gravely, “but again, I have to point out that this is all speculation on your part, Mr. Stinnet, and not very clever speculation at that. Don’t you think maybe it’s time
now
that I had a lawyer? Since apparently you aren’t going to have them beat me up again, to try to make me talk.”

“I didn’t have them beat you up in the first place,” Regard said angrily. “I wish to hell they either hadn’t done it at all, or finished the job.”

“Don’t you think,” Earle Holgren asked, returning to his air of almost disinterested politeness, “that maybe if you had them torture me enough, you could get me to confess? Wouldn’t that be real American justice, Mr. Stinnet? Wouldn’t you like them to try?”

“No, I wouldn’t like them to try!” Regard grated out. “I know your type. You fanatics are all alike. We don’t know enough in this country to make you break. Maybe where your friends are and where you get your orders from, they could do it, because they’re bloodthirsty monsters and they’ve had nothing but practice, but we can’t because—”

“I don’t have any friends and I don’t take orders from—” Earle Holgren interrupted angrily, words blurting out through bloated lips in a sudden surge of genuine anger that made Regard hopeful for a second. But right on schedule, it ended. Abruptly Earle Holgren stopped, went through an obvious internal struggle, won it and lay back with gingerly care upon his cot.

“Mr. Stinnet,” he said politely, “I really think I’d better have a lawyer now. Otherwise you may say something that will really prejudice your case against me, since you seem to think you might have one. We wouldn’t want that to happen, would we? I don’t care about me, I can take care of myself, but I think for your own protection I’d better have a lawyer now. Don’t you think?”

For several seconds Regard Stinnet stared at him while he, looking like a battered teddy bear but perfectly self-possessed under the blood and bruises, stared impassively back.

“Who do you have in mind?” Regard finally asked in a perfectly matter-of-fact and unemotional voice. Two, he told himself, could play at that game, and from now on, he would. Earle Holgren looked thoughtful.

“There is one possibility—” he began slowly. Then he shrugged, just as Regard thought he might be getting somewhere. “But to choose him I’m afraid would only encourage your wildest fantasies in this matter, Mr. Stinnet. It would just be too pat. No. I don’t know of anyone. Why don’t you have the court appoint somebody?”

“Perhaps your parents will have someone in mind,” Regard suggested; and for just a second the shot went home. A fleeting look of protest?—anger?—pain?—went across Earle Holgren’s face. But it too was instantly gone.

“Perhaps,” he agreed indifferently. “Do they have to be told?”

“Do they have to be told?” Regard echoed. “My God, man, you’re a national case already, don’t you know that? It’s hardly four hours since you bombed that plant—”

“Please,” Earle Holgren said, lifting a polite, protesting hand.

“—since that plant was bombed,” Regard corrected himself.

“That’s better,” Earle Holgren said placidly.

“—and already it’s a national—no, probably already a worldwide-sensation. How
about
that,” Regard said heartily,
“you,
Earle Holgren, a worldwide sensation, and all because you bombed a plant down here in little old South Carolina! Imagine that!”

“I think you’re imagining it,” Earle Holgren said with perfect gentility. “Really, Mr. Stinnet, do get me a lawyer, now, before you say things you’ll be sorry for. Please?”

Regard gave him a long, quizzical look. A grim little smile touched his lips.

“All right, boy,” he said, “you’ve had your chance. If you think you can escape justice in today’s climate in this country, you’re goin’ to have another think comin’. But I’ll get you your lawyer. There’s one out there waitin’ right now, as a matter of fact. I don’t know anything about her—”

“‘Her’?” Earle Holgren echoed with a mildly intrigued interest. “What’s she look like?”

“She’s not a beauty,” Regard said accurately, “but she looks as though she might have brains.”

“I think that’s the important thing, don’t you?” Earle Holgren inquired, and for the first time Regard laughed, quite genuinely.

“You know it is, Earle,” he said. “Do you ever! Shall I send her in?”

“You sure you want her to see me like this?” Earle Holgren asked dryly, and Regard turned quite cheerful.

“Hell, man! Best she see for herself right now. If we waited until we had you patched up it’d take a little time and you’d have an even bigger story to tell about police brutality. Plus the fact you’d probably make it a lot worse than it is.”

“It isn’t exactly comfortable,” Earle Holgren pointed out.

“I’m sure sorry,” Regard said. “I sure am sorry. But I guess we’ll just have to go with it, as is. Make yourself pretty, now.”

“What’s her name?” Earle asked.

“Deborah Donnelson,” Regard said. “Calls herself Debbie, I believe.”

“Deborah Donnelson,” Earle Holgren mused. “Sounds like a movie star. Where’s she come from?”

“The Lord sent her,” Regard said, “just when you need her most. Isn’t that providential? Every murderer should be so lucky.”

“Fuck off,” Earle Holgren said, sounding quite unamused. “Send her in.”

Regard Stinnet stalked out, slammed the iron door behind him, nodded to the court stenographer seated in the hall hidden from the prisoner. The stenographer got up and stepped into an adjoining doorway, out of sight: she would be back for the next visitor.

Earle started to smooth down his hair with two swollen paws, then stopped with a sardonic grin and messed it up again. He was helping the wrong team there, for a minute, trying to make himself look more presentable. The grungier the better, as he knew very well, not only for his own case but for his potential lawyer: women loved that sort of thing from teddy bears, the grungier the better. He rolled over on his side facing the wall, groaning with pain as he did so. He was faking the disinterest but he didn’t have to fake the groan. He really did hurt like hell.

“They beat you up,” she said, a worried, sympathetic voice behind him. He started to roll back and she said sharply, “Don’t move if it hurts you!”