The Laws of our Fathers (18 page)

    'The lab sometimes loses track of things?'

    'Yuh,' says Montague, happy to say no more.

    Hobie nods gravely, as if this were a major concession. I'm not surprised to find that Hobie is a bit of a courtroom con artist. As a young man, he was always so emphatic, even when he was out of his mind or ill informed. His initial inquiries of Montague predictably reveal a sort of high-wire style, asking another question because he asked the first one, letting his ego roam free in the thin air of the courtroom. As a trial lawyer, I always felt stifled. I was never one of these great performers. I was more Tommy's style, just somebody who got the job done, but as a result I was not inclined to the kinds of blunders that seem the inevitable consequence of Hobie's free-association manner.

    'Now this fellow Ordell - Hardcore,' Hobie says, changing subjects, 'you indicated he was known to you as a gang member. Which gang was that?'

    'You mean what gang he belongs to? At Tower IV at Grace Street, they tend to be Black Saints Disciples. Most are jumped-in to a set called the T-4 Rollers.'

    'And is Hardcore a leader in that gang?'

    'Counselor, a gang isn't organized like the police department or a corporation. You know, who's in charge can vary from day to day, depending on who they think is cool - who shot, who robbed, who busted on the Goobers. Candidly, that's not my thing. They kill each other, I learn what I have to. Otherwise, you know -' He lifts a hand with a glistening ruby ring on the smallest finger and doesn't bother with the rest. Montague is from the Joe Friday school: Just the facts. The kind of stuff Hobie is asking about is for sociologists or reporters, people who think there are motives worth understanding beyond plain meanness. Worst of all, the questions imply that Montague has an abstract interest in people whom, truth be told, he largely despises. In reaction, he casts a wayward glance at the prosecutors. Molto, in his frumpy suit, throws an elbow in Rudy's side and Rudy takes his feet, even as Tommy continues whispering what it is he ought to say.

    'Judge, these answers are calling for hearsay and speculation from the witness. Detective Montague is not a gang member.'

    'This is background on Hardcore?' I ask Hobie, and he nods eagerly, pleased I've gotten the point. I overrule the objection. The defense is entitled to show that the state's main witness did not arrive in the courtroom fresh from finishing school. At the prosecution table, Tommy shrugs off my ruling. He merely wanted to assuage Montague, who apparently was feeling beleaguered.

    Granted some latitude, Hobie rephrases his last question, asking Montague to describe the leadership structure of BSD, as he understands it. Montague reacts as he did before, rolling his mouth about with mild distaste.

    'Again, counsel, these folks don't give us an organizational chart. This particular bunch,' says Montague, 'have some relationship to another gang, called the Night Saints. There were some arrests and convictions, say, a dozen years ago. And this is sort of what you could call the surviving organization, although it's much bigger by now.'

    'And how big is that, Lieutenant?'

    'Jeez.' Montague directs a few stray hairs back into the black mass shining under the strong courtroom lights. 'From what I've seen, the Force estimates, they place membership in B SD at five, six thousand.' A murmur from the press section follows this news. Glancing over there, I am mildly startled by Seth Weissman, whom I hadn't noticed yet today. He has his arms laid across the chairs on either side, and he is fixed on me, somewhat disconcertingly. Having caught my eye, he issues a smile of greeting, which I return vaguely. Really! I think, although I am not certain if I mean to criticize him or me.

    'And is Hardcore in charge of all six thousand?'

    'Not as I get it. You know, the head of the Night Saints was a three-timer name of Melvin White, who was known on the street as Harukan. One of his sons now - who's called Harukan-el - son of Harukan, I guess - anyway, Kan-el is supposedly the head of the organization. But he's been in the state penitentiary at Rudyard for many years. So there's a Jeffrey Wilson, Jeff T-Roc, who is usually acknowledged as the top dog in BSD. Or so I understand.'

    'And am I correct that this Kan-el is eligible for parole?'

    'Supervised release. Parole by another name. That's what I hear. As I remember, he's been up twice. You know, he applies, he gets turned down. He's not a favored candidate, let's say.'

    'There's some opposition from the law-enforcement community?'

    'Some,' says Montague dryly.

    'Judge,' interjects Tommy, 'what's the relevance of any of this?' I tell Molto that I want to hear objections only from the lawyer who questioned the witness, meaning Singh, then direct Hobie to explain his line of inquiry. He says he's only trying to establish where Hardcore fits in the organization in relation to Kan-el and T-Roc.

    'Then ask that question,' I tell Hobie.

    'Under them somewhere,' answers Montague, when Hobie does. 'Core's what they refer to as a "shot-caller" or "caller." He runs the T-4 set.'

    'Was he over this Ms Campbell, this young lady who got herself shot?'

    'So I understand.' Montague, although visibly unruffled, cannot resist an addition. 'You've seen her more recently than I have.' At that, Hobie comes to a complete stop. Every trial lawyer has his way. Hobie moves. He's big and seems to try to occupy the entire courtroom as a way of guaranteeing attention. He careers between the tables, slides up on the witness, nodding his dark, bearded face over his shoulder as he retreats. He's effective, too. Sloppy at moments, as when he groped with the money. But cagey and stylish. Now he takes full advantage of Montague's lapse by staring the witness down before moving to strike the last remark. I grant the motion and he goes on to another subject.

    'Now, Detective, Mr Singh asked you a couple of questions about the investigation you conducted on September 7 following Mrs Eddgar's murder. Remember?'

    'That I had a canvass done?'

    'Right. When you canvassed that neighborhood, no officer reported to you that anybody'd mentioned the name of Nile Eddgar, did they?'

    'Not that I remember.'

    'They mentioned Hardcore, right?'

    'Right.'

    'But not Nile?'

    'No.'

    'Then there was this Lovinia Campbell. This young lady on the sidewalk? What's she called in the gang?' 'Bug,' says Montague. 'Bug. Did you speak with her?' 'Very briefly.'

    'And did you ask Bug what had happened there?' 'I did.'

    'And did Bug tell you that Nile Eddgar had conspired to murder his father, or his mother, or anybody else?'

    Tommy prods Singh, who objects that this is hearsay. I overrule. The state opened up the subject of which suspects were named at the scene.

    'No, she didn't,' Montague answers, somewhat wearily.

    'As a matter of fact, Lieutenant, what she said was this whole thing was a drive-by shooting and Mrs Eddgar had got herself caught in the crossfire - isn't that what Bug said?'

    'I suppose that's what she said. You know, she was in shock.'

    ' "In shock"? Is that your
medical
opinion, Detective?' Tommy's on his feet. 'Judge, he's arguing with the witness.' 'If anything, I think the witness is arguing with him, Mr Molto.

    And I believe this is Mr Singh's witness, and even in a bench trial, I told you, I don't want to be tag-teamed.' I nod to Hobie to proceed.

    'The fact here, Lieutenant, is that this Lovinia - Bug - didn't mention Nile Eddgar in any way that day, isn't that so?'

    'She mentioned Nile a few days later when she talked to Officer Fred Lubitsch at General Hospital.' In exasperation, Hobie wilts. The question was what she said on September 7. In his worn blazer, Montague stares at Hobie hotly. There's no doubt any more that Lovinia Campbell is the state's problem or that Montague blames Hobie for their trouble. In theory, a defense lawyer is entitled to interview any prosecution witness, but usually when the witness has made a deal with the state, her own lawyer will discourage her from co-operating with the defendant. It keeps the prosecutors happy and avoids the jeopardy that might arise from contradicting what she told the state. Somehow, though, Hobie slipped past Bug's counsel, or even got her help, and the cops and prosecutors don't like it. I'm sure now this is why Hobie brought up Lovinia's name this morning - so I'd have the picture if Montague acted up.

    'Come on, Detective,' I say, striking his last answer again. Montague makes a face and composes himself. In the meantime, I jot a note: 'Lubitsch!' No wonder Fred knew the case was a doozy.

    'Bug didn't mention Nile that day,' Montague finally says when the court reporter rereads Hobie's last question.

    'Truth is,' says Hobie, 'when you were there at the scene -what you heard was basically just this: Hardcore and a drive-by, right?'

    Hobie leers a bit, daring Montague to disagree in the face of my warnings. The detective blinks first, then answers, 'Right.'

    'Now, from there, Lieutenant, you had a community service officer - Kratzus?' Hobie's looking for the police report on the defense table.

    'Kratzus,' says Montague.

    'Kratzus went to tell Nile about his mother's death. And you took yourself over to see Senator Eddgar to find out how come Mrs Eddgar'd been driving his car, right?'

    'Right'

    'And you eventually found Senator Eddgar at his home in Greenwood County?' 'True.'

    'Where he told you a big fat lie, right?'

    'Objection!' Both prosecutors are on their feet.

    'Your Honor,' says Hobie innocently, 'it's right here in Montague's report. He says -'

    'Judge!' screams Tommy. 'Judge, Senator Eddgar isn't on the stand. When he testifies,' says Tommy, 'he'll explain this encounter with the police. It has nothing to do with Lieutenant Montague's direct.'

    Tommy's right, of course, but I can't help briefly wondering what Eddgar lied about. Which is why Hobie did this. Very clever. He always was. I tell him he's too far afield for the time being and he lays the report beside Nile on the light-oak defense table. Nile, with his bedraggled haircut and errant mood, has observed most of this morning's proceedings with his mouth slightly parted, as if he's largely amazed this is taking place.

    'All right,' says Hobie. 'Here's the point: On September 7, in terms of your investigation, Lieutenant, the big thing was to find Hardcore, wasn't it?'

    'I don't know about the "big thing." I don't know what that means. I wanted to find him, I can say yes to that.' Montague's dark eyes steal toward me, to be sure I've noted how accommodating he's become in the face of my rebuke.

    'And did you find him?'

    'Eventually. Word was on the street, and on September 11, he came into Area 7 for questioning.'

    'With his lawyer, wasn't it? Mr Jackson Aires? That was your testimony on direct?'

    'That was my testimony.'

    'And did you talk to Mr Aires before you saw Hardcore?'

    'I had a number of conversations with Mr Aires that morning.'

    'You and Aires talked about what-all Hardcore might say if he turned himself in and what kind of a deal he could get, right?'

    'Yep. That's how it went,' says Montague in a tone meant to remind Hobie that's how it's always done.

    'And without going through all of it word for word, the nitty-gritty here is that Attorney Aires let you know that Hardcore was willing to say this whole killing, the entire thing, had been the idea of his probation officer, Nile Eddgar? Right?'

    'Close enough.'

    'And that was pretty interesting to you, wasn't it?' ' "Interesting"?'

    'You knew June Eddgar's murder was all over the news?'

    'I don't know. Personally, I don't read the papers much.' From Lew Montague, a hard-boned cynic, I tend to credit this assertion more than I might from some. With his rough-complected face, bare of expression, he seems to be without enthusiasm for much. You catch criminals because it's better than letting them go. I doubt he nurtures, even in his dreams, thoughts of a more perfect world.

    'It was an important case,' Hobie suggests. 'They're all important, counsel.'

    'Oh, are they, Detective? You knew the PA's Office would be willing to make Hardcore a pretty sweet deal if he put it on Nile Eddgar, didn't you? Son of a prominent politician? Everybody'd get their names in the paper. Folks in the PA's Office don't mind that, do they?'

    Tommy jerks Rudy to his feet to object, but Montague, shaking his head throughout the question, is answering already.

    'You got the wrong picture, counsel. Molto approved the deal,' says Montague. 'On his own say-so. And I don't think his bosses liked it very much. Couple of them seemed like they'd rather the whole case just went away.'

    In his chair, Molto sags a bit. Eager to score, Montague has spoken out of school. We all know now why Tommy is stuck trying this case. He got ahead of the office pols and they're making him carry his own water.

    'So it was Molto who wanted his name in the paper?' asks Hobie.

    Rudy comes to his feet again. His teak-colored hand is poised to note his objection, but Montague is headstrong and again keeps talking.

    'He wanted to do what was right,' Montague answers. 'My captain and me brought Molto the case. None of us thought your client should get away with this.'

    
'You
wanted the deal,' says Hobie.

    'I wanted the deal,' says Montague, more or less acknowledging what Hobie said to start. Hobie knows better than to ask what made Montague so eager, realizing that would elicit a lyric to Hardcore's credibility. Besides, to the courthouse veterans in this room, Montague's motives are obvious anyway. The downfall of the mighty always tickles the police, who generally see themselves as unappreciated vassals keeping the world safe for the airheads on top.