I looked at the young man next to me, hands clasped before him, eyes staring down. “Your Honor,” I said, “the young man sitting next to me at counsel table is the defendant, my client, Derek Moats.”
Officer Pritzker, on the stand, snarled at me and then said to the A.D.A. in a harsh whisper loud enough for the whole courtroom to hear, “He’s lying.”
“Your Honor,” said the A.D.A., “this is highly irregular.”
“Yes it is,” said the judge. “Mr. Carl, if I may ask, who is the man in the suit whom the officer identified?”
“I believe the man in the suit,” I said, “is an intern with the public defender’s office.”
“What is he doing in my courtroom?”
“I invited him, Judge. He’s trying to learn about the criminal justice system, I told him this could be an instructive case.”
“You invited him, did you? And it’s just a coincidence, I’m sure, that the intern you invited into the courtroom and your client both look quite alike.”
“They do? I hadn’t noticed.”
“They were talking outside the courtroom,” said Officer Pritzker. “The lawyer had his arm around his shoulders, giving him orders. I saw it.”
“I was advising a young man who is seeking a career in the law,” I said.
“I bet that’s what you were doing,” said the judge. “And doing it right smack in the view of the witness. Okay, this is what we’re going to do. Ms. Johnstone, I want you to take custody of both these men right now and figure out who is who. Match fingerprints if you have to. How long will that take?”
“Give us an hour, Your Honor.”
“Fine.” He checked his watch. “Come back in an hour. If the man in the suit is the defendant, Mr. Carl, there will be hell to pay, both in the sentencing of your client and for you personally after I hold you in contempt and make my report to the bar association.”
“That sounds a little harsh, Judge.”
“Be glad it’s not the old days, Mr. Carl, where I would have pulled your ticket and had you flogged. But if it truly was, as Mr. Carl claims” – he paused, looked down at the docket on the bench before him – “Derek Moats, the defendant, sitting next to Mr. Carl this whole time, then, Ms. Johnstone, your witness blew the identification, your case is dead, and I expect it to be dismissed forthwith. Do you understand?”
“We could still make the argument that-”
“I don’t want to hear arguments. It will be dismissed, is that clear?”
“Yes, Judge.”
“Any questions?”
“No, Judge.”
“And, Mr. Carl, don’t you dare leave this courtroom until Ms. Johnstone makes her report.”
“What about lunch?”
“Eat the desk, I don’t care, but you stay right here.”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Okay then,” he said with a bang of his hammer, “we’re in recess. I need to take a pill.”
I signaled to Derek not to say a word to anyone and watched as A.D.A. Johnstone and two police officers escorted the two young men from the courtroom. Then I sat down and leaned back to wait.
Just at that moment, a massive weight fell onto my shoulder and almost sent me reeling backward to the floor. I angrily jerked around and spied a huge man, with broad shoulders, an expanding stomach, and a face like a boxer who had bobbed when he should have weaved. Detective McDeiss of the Homicide Division. And he was shaking his big old head at me.
“That was cute,” he said.
“You think so?”
“Which is which?”
“I am an officer of the court, Detective.”
“You’re also incapable of telling the truth.”
“Not this time.”
“So he identified the wrong one?”
“Yes, he did.”
“Then I assume that you are quite proud of yourself for tricking a servant of the people.”
“Quite. But I didn’t have to trick him, he tricked himself. You heard what he said. I have a reputation. But my client wasn’t selling anyway. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Just like you,” he said as he dropped something onto the table.
I looked down, felt my nerves fizzle.
It was the Daily News, the chronicle of high crimes and low misdemeanors of the residents of our fair town. And spread across the front page was the picture of a fine stone house and the headline mansion of death.
I hadn’t had time to check the papers that morning, so I paged through it quickly, stopping at the article. It gave a few details of the Denniston murder and mentioned that the doctor’s wife was still in police custody. A statement about the investigation was made by Detective Augustus Sims, who simply confirmed that the wife of the deceased was being held for questioning. And the paper also quoted Julia Denniston’s attorney, Clarence Swift, as forcibly denying that Julia had anything to do with the tragedy and urging the public to come forward with any information about the crime. “In my modest opinion,” he was quoted as saying, “as the investigation continues, the evidence will completely exonerate Mrs. Denniston.” My name was conspicuously absent. I must say I was a bit surprised to find that Sims had honored his word and kept me out of it. Maybe he was more trustworthy than I supposed?
Nah.
I closed the tabloid, tapped the cover. “Nice house.”
“Did you have anything to do with it?” said McDeiss.
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Stop it. Of course I didn’t.”
“That’s what I thought. Guns aren’t your style.”
“Still, you sent Sims and Hanratty over to my place in the middle of the night.”
“I remembered your connection to the dead man’s wife. I brought it up to the captain, tried to use it to get assigned the case.”
“Really? To protect me?”
“To ensure justice and promote domestic tranquillity.”
“You wanted to nail me personally, huh?”
“Like a toothache. But the captain didn’t let me anywhere near the case and gave it to Sims.”
“Just my luck. What can you tell me about him? Nice guy?”
“Watch yourself.”
“Why?”
“Just be careful.”
“I’m more concerned about Hanratty.”
“Hanratty’s okay.”
“He thinks I’m somehow involved.”
“Of course he does. Any cop worth his salt would. But he’ll find out what really happened one way or the other. That’s all he cares about. With Sims you never know. He plays to his own agenda. Sims is more politician than cop.”
“And we all know how well politics mixes with truth.”
“Hey, did you really not have sex with her?”
“Word gets around, I guess.”
“We all got a laugh out of it. And it’s too bad, since she’s quite nice-looking for a killer.”
“You sure she killed him?”
“Sims seems to be sure. You still have feelings for her?”
“We have a past,” I said.
“I understand. But the reason I came over is to give you some friendly advice. Sims is a bulldog. He’ll sniff here, sniff there, take his time in figuring out who he wants to charge with the murder, but once he’s got his teeth into your leg, he’s impossible to shake off. And funny thing about his cases, when they start getting shaky, evidence starts popping up as if from nowhere.”
“You don’t say.”
“So here is my advice. Don’t let your unresolved feelings from the past betray you into doing something stupid. Stay the hell away from this case, Victor, at least until Sims decides who to charge. Right now he’s focusing on the wife. But if he starts focusing on you, then, boy, you might think you know what trouble is, but you’ll find out you were underestimating it all along.”
7
Generally I am disinclined to follow the advice of those in authority. I think it comes from the difficult relationship I have with my father. Either that or I am simply a dope. When I am told, repeatedly, to stay the hell out of a thorny situation, I find myself somehow compelled to get involved.