The Laws of our Fathers (66 page)

    'Judge, I know you've followed the evidence closely, so I won't go over it ad nauseam. Let me just say I think we fulfilled our promises in opening statement. There's no dispute that Mrs Eddgar was murdered, no doubt that Mr Trent ordered it. Mr Trent says he was paid to do this by Mr Eddgar, his probation officer. Mr Trent - of course, the People know Mr Trent is not a letter from home. Mr Trent is a criminal. Mr Trent is a murderer. But you know the line, Judge, and it's true: We didn't choose Mr Trent, Nile Eddgar did.

    'And Mr Trent is corroborated, Judge. Mr Trent is corroborated first by Bug, by Lovinia Campbell, who says Mr Trent told her this murder - which was intended to be of Nile's father - this murder was being set up "on account of Nile." I know there are disputes about aspects of that testimony, but for purposes of this motion, Judge, you have to consider it most favorably to the state. And that means Core's corroborated.

    'Secondly, Judge, the circumstances corroborate Mr Trent. He says he had no choice but to do what his probation officer demanded, because his probation officer in essence held the keys to the jailhouse. And that makes sense. It makes sense he'd want to keep Nile Eddgar happy. More important, Judge, Mr Trent says he got $10,000 from the defendant Eddgar, and, in fact, Judge, he has produced bills with Nile Eddgar's fingerprints on them. Three of Nile Eddgar's prints. And, Judge, we know Senator Eddgar was told by the defendant to come to this meeting. We know the defendant was aware of it. And we know from telephone records that he called Mr Trent within minutes of the murder. Finally, Judge - and I notice Mr Tuttle doesn't mention this - we know Nile Eddgar told Al Kratzus, when he heard of his mother's murder, "my father was supposed to be there.'' So we know, just as Hardcore told us, that Nile Eddgar had prior knowledge of this plan.

    'Now that, Judge, leaves Senator Eddgar-' That's a lot, of course. Even Molto pauses, contemplating what lies ahead for him. He brings his fingertips, the bitten nails, halfway to his mouth, then catches himself and lets his hand fall again. 'Judge, I've been thinking all night about what I can say. And let me just say this: I was surprised. The Senator admitted he never told the People anything about this $10,000 check. And of course I wonder why. And this is hard to say, but let me say it. He's a skillful, powerful politician, and perhaps, Judge - I mean no disrespect -but perhaps, Judge, he's been manipulating this system in the ways someone in his position can.' He looks at me once, starkly: a laser of absolute truth. Tommy knows Ray Horgan didn't arrive in this courtroom yesterday on a whim, that the resistance to this case from higher-ups in the PA's Office, which Montague mentioned, which Dubinsky suggested, may well have had an outside source. But why not infer Eddgar was protecting himself? That Hobie is right?

    'I'm not really following, Mr Molto.'

    'Judge, I can't tell you what Senator Eddgar's agenda is. And I know we put him on the stand. But, Judge, he lied to the police at the start. So maybe you should hesitate before taking all of this stuff he came up with yesterday at face value. I'd say he lied on

    September 7 to protect his son. And maybe that's what he's doing now. Maybe, Judge, he finds the People's justice harsh. He may even feel, Judge, that because he was the intended victim, he may feel it's up to him to forgive and forget. I don't know, Judge. I can't give you chapter and verse.'

    This is a desperate tactic, assailing your own witness in this fashion. Yet in a way I respect Tommy for it, for not giving up, for not abandoning his own view of the truth. Throughout his presentation, I've felt the force of a personal appeal: Don't direct me out. Don't say the case was a stinker. Let me lose on the merits - say the evidence raised too many questions to travel to the land beyond reasonable doubt. But don't say we never should have been here in the first place. Don't let the pols in the PA's Office cover themselves with told-you-so's. He's urging this for pride, and also because he knows that technically, legally, adhering to the rules he adores, the very sticks and bones of his character, he's correct. Tommy is a lawyer to the core. It's both his glory and his weakness that he believes so potently in the rules.

    'But here's one thing, Judge,' says Tommy, 'about that $10,000 check from the state party. Now, I saw the check. I know it's a real check. But we still haven't heard testimony that Nile actually delivered any cash from that check to Hardcore. We haven't heard that.'

    'Your Honor!' Hobie's on his feet. ‘I tried to ask that very question.'

    'Sit down, Mr Turtle.' As usual, Hobie's being diversionary. He' d prefer I not notice what Tommy' s doing, which is challenging him to put Nile on the stand. Down to his last dollar, Tommy's betting he can turn his case around with Nile's cross. A good move, in these circumstances. But not bait I expect Hobie to rise to. I interrupt Tommy.

    'As long as we're on the money, Mr Molto, I've heard Mr Turtle's theory - why don't you tell me yours for the cocaine traces on those bills.'

    'Judge, again, that's not in evidence yet. And I'd argue, given the discovery violation, the way Mr Tuttle hid those lab results, that proof never should be received. But since you've asked, let me just say this: I think if you get paid to kill someone, you'd store the money in the same place, in the same way, you'd store other contraband. That's what I would suggest. I don't think you take it to the bank. If you have a floorboard, or a stash pad, or a medicine cabinet you pull out of the wall to hide your dope, Judge, I'd think that's where this money would go.'

    'Except your witness, Hardcore, said he kept those funds carefully segregated.'

    'And he must have made a mistake in saying that, I concede that,' says Tommy, although he can't quite force his glance to meet mine, as he makes this gallant admission.' He' s not the FBI, Judge. He doesn't keep an evidence log. And again, Judge. Right now, as the case stands, the defense has not actually established there was cocaine on the currency.'

    He's right about that. If I end the case now, I'd reward Hobie for his miserable behavior. With that in mind, I eventually deny the motion, careful to say that my ruling reflects no evaluation of credibility and is, accordingly, no prediction of my ultimate judgment in the case. The lawyers are seated at their tables as I rule, and I eye each of them to make sure the message is clear. I have given Tommy the latitude he deserves, and the last he's getting. Singh actually grips Molto's arm in mild delight.

    'Now, Mr Tuttle, where's your client?'

    He asks for a recess so he can check. When I return to the bench, perhaps a quarter of an hour later, Seth, improbably, is seated beside Hobie at the defense table, drawn close to him in urgent, hushed conversation. My heart does another of those ballet jumps at the sight of him within the well of the court and comes down crashing when I take in the significance of the two of them in league. By this morning, I had put yesterday's suspicions aside to sleep-deprived paranoia.

    With my appearance, Seth jumps to his feet. He parts from Hobie, with a pointed finger and a sharp downstroke of his head, leaving the impression they're cross with one another. Seth walks to the jury box, but does not step inside, waiting there in his rumpled khakis and his blazer. His tie knot is pulled down several inches from his open collar.

    'Your Honor,' Hobie says. He stands but for some time says nothing. The light makes two bright balls on the open regions over his forehead. 'We'll have to adjourn, if the court please. My client cannot be located.'

    We all take a moment with that.

    'He's on my bond, Mr Turtle. Don't you think I'm entitled to a little fuller account?'

    'Your Honor, I called him three times this morning. When he didn't appear, I asked a friend of his to go to his apartment, but he's not around. Your Honor,' he says, ‘I would speculate, estimate, if I have to - I would think, Judge Klonsky, he might, unwisely, have been doing some premature celebrating after yesterday. That's a guess.'

    ‘I see.' It strikes me at once that Hobie's up to something again. Briefly, I look at Seth. He's watching both Hobie and me tensely.

    'Judge,' says Tommy, ‘I' m not going to agree to an adjournment. The defendant knows our schedule. I'm not agreeing at all. He's absented himself voluntarily, we should go ahead.'

    'Your Honor, I don't know where Nile Eddgar is. And neither does Molto. He can't just say he's voluntarily absent. Maybe there's a car wreck. Maybe my client picked a fight in a barroom. Maybe he's in a hospital or a police station. Lord, he could be a victim of some kind of foul play. His face has been all over the TV. Who knows what's happened?'

    But it's Seth and his knitted expression that has my attention. Recollecting what he told me yesterday about his continued relationship with Nile, I finally catch on.

    'Mr Turtle, whom did you send to look for your client?' Caught short, Hobie doesn't answer. 'I think I should hear from him directly. Don't you, Mr Turtle?'

    Hobie looks as big and empty as a kettledrum. A hand, glistening with his manicure, loiters midair. 'Well' is all he finally brings out. Seth's already started forward.

    'Mr Molto,' I say, 'Mr Weissman has been a personal friend of mine for twenty-five years. I'm sure he can help inform the court, but only if that doesn't present a problem to you.'

    Tommy shrugs. 'Suit yourself, Judge.'

    And so the moment. Oh, it's mad! I think. Is this every woman's dream, to swear him under oath and make him speak the truth? To see if he will place her above others? Beleaguered, Seth shuffles to the center of the courtroom. What did he say? Everyone six feet below me and remote? Not remote. My heart races. As he addresses me, his eyes are deep and even. With the first word, I know he's telling me the truth.

    He recites the story in a few strokes. The janitor let him into Nile's apartment. The bedroom was a mess. There were two soft-sided bags on the bed, the drawers were empty.

    it looked to me like he left town,' Seth adds. Hobie has just lifted a hand in hopes of dashing that remark. Now we all are silent.

    'He's fled?' The words, like so many before them, leap from me impulsively. They sail into the courtroom causing a sudden hushed consternation among the smaller group of spectators behind the glass today.

    'Well, "fled," ' says Hobie. 'He had an emotional reaction to yesterday's testimony, probably. That's how I'd assess it.'

    ' I thought your assessment was your client was out celebrating.'

    Gunned down, Hobie pulls a mouth, but otherwise looks up without apology, or resentment. We both know the score now. He takes the constant fooling around as his job, his duty. Tommy raises a hand.

    'Judge, I want to proceed,' he says.

    'Come on,' Hobie answers.

    'Judge, we should go ahead.' Molto has not had much opportunity to ponder. All he knows is that something is different, and given where things were going, that can't be bad for him.

    'I'm sure he'll turn up,' says Hobie. 'Why don't you give him a day, Your Honor?'

    Tommy is on his drumbeat now. The defense should be forced to proceed.

    'For Godsake, Your Honor,' answers Hobie. 'He's my only witness. I have a few stipulations, a few exhibits, and Nile. I can't proceed.'

    'Two o'clock. You find your client, Mr Turtle. Otherwise, we're going on without him.'

    Seth has shrunk back in the courtroom and watches somberly from the rear wall, awaiting my reaction, my judgment.

    

    Lunch in chambers, signing orders. Annie is still clearing files from yesterday's call. Out the door, Marietta, who has brought in carryout, has skillfully deployed a napkin between her pizza slice and her TV. I remain agitated.

    'He's up to something,' I say to Marietta from my desk.

    She cocks one earphone. 'Who?'

    'Hobie. Tuttle. What's he doing, Marietta?'

    She shakes her head for some time. 'You know, the boy is not right, Judge. The defendant? He's crazy as a coot.' We all know that. Watching Nile day in and out you can't escape that impression. Functional, but not a mainstream personality. Eccentric.

    'It's another trick. Like Dubinsky. Like the chemist's report or the check. Hobie can't walk a straight line. If Nile's run, who do you think told him to do it?' I check Annie, who, as always, listens carefully, attempting to learn from our assessments, while she continues loading files into the steel carts from the chief clerk's office.

    'Probably. Only thing is, Judge,' says Marietta, 'what's he get? Molto's gonna kick and carry on. He's gotta know that.'

    That's the clue: Hobie knew Tommy would demand that the case go forward.

    'Don't you see, Marietta? It's an excuse for not putting Nile on. Did you hear that malarkey just now how Nile's his only witness?'

    'He's just tryin to slow you down, Judge. No way that young fella's gettin up there. Uh-uh,' adds Marietta, envisioning Nile on cross.

    But perhaps that's the point. Nile surely is under no obligation to take the stand, and the law forbids me from making anything of his failure to testify. But Molto's already thrown down the gauntlet; he'll point out every detail of the defense which is unsupported. This way, Hobie's got an excuse. Whatever he's up to, I'm hellbound that Hobie won't get away with more smelly antics.

    When I resume the bench, the courtroom is tense. Before, without the defendant present, many of the journalists didn't even bother to come in from the corridor. Now word has circulated that something of consequence is at hand. The jury box is full, all the familiar faces, except for Seth, who is probably on the street, a one-man posse. The sketchers have their pads open. Hobie and the large white cardboard boxes are by themselves at the defense table.