“I’m deeply touched for the prosecution’s concern,” Ross said. “In regard to that very matter, Your Honor, we have one further application—”
At the prosecution table Gorman threw up his hands.
“Oh, for God’s sake! What now?”
Ross paid him no attention. “Your Honor, we have an application for fixed bail...”
Gorman had had all he could take. He shot to his feet. “No, God damn it!”
The gavel came down, loud and clear. Judge Waxler leaned over the bench.
“Mr. Gorman, one more outbreak like that and I shall be forced to ask you to leave the courtroom. Do you understand? Good. All right, Mr. Ross.”
“Your Honor,” Ross said, “the accused now moves that Your Honor make an order admitting the defendant to bail upon reasonable conditions. It clearly appears upon the record that there is grave doubt that the crime of murder was even committed. The defendant, under the eighth Amendment of the Constitution, is entitled to reasonable bail and we respectfully ask that this bail be fixed.”
Judge Waxler turned to the prosecution table.
“What say you, Mr. District Attorney?”
This time Varick was not at all hesitant. He came to his feet prepared to argue this one right down the line.
“The People, Your Honor, vigorously oppose the fixing of bail in this case! This is an indictment for murder in the first degree, and while the Defense may not feel that the crime of murder was committed, the prosecution is prepared to prove it. And bail, as Your Honor knows, is normally not set in a murder case.”
His voice strengthened.
“Furthermore, this defendant was involved in a riot at Attica State’s Prison where three people, including a prison guard, lost their lives. We wish we had the evidence to prosecute him for the murder of that guard. We may, in fact, very well have that evidence to hand before this trial is ended. However, at present the only evidence we have supports the present indictment for murder. The People firmly believe, in view of this man’s terrible record, and under the circumstances, that bail should definitely be denied!”
Judge Waxler looked at Varick coldly.
“When the prosecution has evidence of other crimes, I suggest they bring in proper indictments. In the meantime we shall strike any mention of the prison riots from the record.” He swung about to Ross, leaving Varick red-faced. “What bail did you have in mind, Mr. Ross? And what other reasons do you have to convince me why I should set bail at all?”
“Your Honor knows,” Ross said evenly, “that bail may not be denied as a weapon of punishment before defendant has actually been convicted. The purpose of bail is to insure the presence of the defendant for trial. This defendant has been out on bail in the previous charges and has always appeared to fulfill his responsibilities to the court. Your Honor, this defendant has already spent many years in prison for a crime which the defense will prove he did not commit. Refusal of bail now would, in effect, constitute further punishment, and this punishment before conviction.”
Judge Waxler frowned for a moment, as if going over Ross’s words in his mind. He nodded slowly.
“Under the circumstances,” he said slowly, “I think I shall have to set a reasonably high bail—”
Varick was on his feet. “Your Honor, the People object!”
“Your objection will be duly noted,” the judge said drily. “I hereby set bail at one hundred thousand dollars.” The gavel descended. Judge Waxler looked from one table to the other and then, satisfied that there would be no more motions for the day, banged his gavel once again. “Court is adjourned until three days hence.”
He came to his feet, pulling his robes together with dignity, and descended from the bench. Billy Dupaul turned to Ross in utter amazement.
“You mean, I walk out of here? Just like that? Out into the street?”
“You walk out of here when bail has been made, which should be sometime this afternoon,” Ross said with a smile. “Now you know a part of what I was after all this time with that mumbo-jumbo.” He started to put his papers away. “What do you plan to do with yourself for the next three days?”
“I don’t know. I sure didn’t give it any thought; I never figured — I don’t know. Maybe I’ll take a bus up to Queensbury and see how the old place looks—”
“You stay in town,” Ross instructed sternly.
“But—”
“No ‘buts.’ You stay in town. And available. And I’d also suggest—”
He paused to face Gorman as the Chief Assistant District Attorney charged up. Behind him, at the prosecution table, Varick was finally managing to put his papers away in his briefcase. Gorman was seething. He pointedly disregarded the presence of Billy Dupaul.
“Ross, you should be disbarred! Why didn’t you make a further motion to strike off a medal for this man? It’s about all you failed to do! Using your profession to put a mad-dog killer back on the streets!”
Billy Dupaul, his face getting dangerously red, started to push himself to his feet. Ross pushed him down again, forcefully, turning to face the livid Gorman.
“Louie, you should know better than to make statements like that. How would a libel suit go down with your boss?”
Gorman stared at him a moment. “Bah! One day you’ll go too far, Ross, and I hope I’m around when it happens!”
It was on Ross’s mind to say that as long as his opponent was Louis G. Gorman, that day was probably far off, but he felt it would scarcely add to the moment. Gorman looked at him for a moment as if awaiting a reply, and then stamped off.
Billy Dupaul came to his feet slowly, rubbing his knuckles. Ross, understanding, grinned at him.
“Take it easy. Hitting him would probably have cost you a lot more than it would him. It would have cost him a sore jaw, but it could have cost you the rest of the years of your life. Don’t make his case for him.”
He turned away, closing his briefcase, and then remembered what he had been saying when Gorman interrupted.
“And Billy, for the next three days I’d suggest you stay out of bars. You and bars always seem to add up to trouble, and as far as trouble is concerned, you have enough right now...”
Chapter 10
Hank Ross returned from getting Billy Dupaul settled after making his bond. He came into the office to find Jerry Coughlin waiting for him in the reception room. The thin newspaperman appeared not to have changed clothes since their last meeting. He came to his feet easily, setting aside the magazine he had been leafing through.
“Mister Ross—”
“Yes?”
“We have a matter to discuss, I believe. A minute of your valuable time, if I might?”
There was a momentary silence, then Ross shrugged.
“All right,” he said quietly. “Come on in. As a matter of fact, I wanted to see you, too.”
“I’m sure,” Coughlin said softly, significantly, as he followed Hank Ross into the lawyer’s private office. Sharon was typing from the Tombs transcript tape; Billy Dupaul’s strong young voice could be heard above the whirr of the electric typewriter.
“...time in the hotel. Jim Marshall? I should have kicked his brains out!” Ross’s even tones came on almost immediately. “What did he say—”
Sharon looked up with a welcoming smile as the door opened, her fingers poised over the keyboard of the typewriter; the smile disappeared as she saw the man accompanying Ross. She leaned over, switching off the recorder, and looked up at Ross questioningly. He nodded and the girl rose, turned off the typewriter and left the room, closing the door firmly behind her. Coughlin grinned.