“Yes. I like Abe. He’s a good man.”
“Seen him recently?”
Hank suddenly laughed. “I think he’s coming to dinner this weekend!”
“Oh, great,” Holmes said. “I’d advise you not to discuss the case.”
“Thanks. I didn’t plan to.”
The phone on Hank’s desk buzzed. He picked up the receiver.
“Yes?”
“Hank, this is Dave on the desk. Two people here for you. One’s got a carton full of lunch.”
“Who’s the other?”
“Guy named Barton. Claims he’s a reporter. Ever hear of him?”
“Mike Barton?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve heard of him. What does he want?”
“Wants to talk to you.”
“Tell him we’re just about to have lunch. If he doesn’t mind my mumbling around a sandwich, he’s welcome to join us. And send it in, Dave. I’m starved.”
The lunch and Mike Barton came into the office together. Barton was a tall man with the shoulders and chest of a truck driver. His lips were thick, and attention was drawn to his mouth by a heavy black mustache which sat under his nose like a smear of printer’s ink. He extended his hand immediately.
“Mr. Bell?” he asked.
“How do you do?” Hank said, and he took the hand. “Ephraim Holmes, chief of the bureau. Ephraim, Mr. Barton.”
“We’ve met,” Holmes said dryly.
“Having a tête-à-tête with your star prosecutor, Sherlock?”
“Just having lunch with him, Mike,” Holmes said, taking the sandwiches and drinks out of the cardboard box. He paid the delivery boy and then made himself comfortable in one of the chairs, spreading the food out on the desk top.
“What’s on your mind, Mr. Barton?” Hank asked.
“Good question,” Barton said, smiling. When he smiled, his teeth were startlingly white against the black mustache. His eyes, too, seemed to gleam with reflected pinpoint light, a deep brown against the wide expanse of his face. He has a very big head, Hank found himself thinking. It’s too bad he’s not in the theater. “What’s on everybody’s mind these days?” Barton continued.
Hank unwrapped his sandwich and began munching on it. “Well, I’m not qualified to speak for everybody. Only myself.”
“And what’s on your mind?”
“The Morrez case.”
“The very same thing that’s on my mind, Mr. Bell.”
“Is that why you’re here?”
“That’s exactly why I’m here. Have you been reading our paper lately?”
“I’m sorry,” Hank said. “I don’t read the tabloids.”
“Snobbery in a public official?”
“Not at all. I just never got into the habit.”
“Our tabloid happens to be a good one,” Barton said.
“What are you running this week?” Holmes asked dryly. “An exposé on Park Avenue call houses?”
Barton chuckled, but there was no humor in the laugh. “We fill a public need,” he said. “And we also perform a public service.”
“Sure. You tell the average citizen where he can go to get laid. You give the Vice Squad extra headaches.”
“We also ran a series on the Vice Squad,” Barton said.
“Your paper stinks,” Holmes said flatly. “It’s a cheap, sensational, yellow tabloid which poses under the banner of liberalism to sell extra copies and advertising. What do you want here?”
“I came to talk to Mr. Bell,” Barton said, his brows pulling down darkly.
“I’m chief of the bureau,” Holmes answered, picking up the implied challenge. “I can hear anything you’ve got to say to Mr. Bell.”
“Okay,” Barton said. “How does it look so far?”
“How does what look?” Hank asked.
“The case. Do you think they’ll burn?”
“I’m prosecuting for murder in the first degree,” Hank said. “That’s what the indictment read.”
“What about this story they’ve concocted about the Morrez kid carrying a knife and attacking them?”
“I haven’t investigated it thoroughly as yet.”
“Well, when do you plan on starting?”
“I’m afraid that’s my business, Mr. Barton.”
“Is it? I thought you were a public servant.”
“I am.”
“Then it’s the public’s business, too.”
“If the public were capable of trying this case, I might agree with you, Mr. Barton. Unfortunately, the public hasn’t been trained in the law, and I have. And I’ll investigate and prepare the case as I see fit.”
“No matter what the public wants?”
“How do you mean?”
“The public wants those three kids to die in the electric chair. I know it, and you know it, too.”
“So?”
“So what are you doing about it?”
“What would you like me to do, Mr. Barton? Personally transport them to Sing Sing and throw the switch on them tomorrow? They’re entitled to a fair trial.”
“No one’s denying them their right to justice. But there’s only one justice in this case, and it’s apparent to everyone. They killed a defenseless kid in cold blood. The public demands retribution!”
“Are you speaking for the public, or for yourself?”
“I’m speaking for both.”
“You’d make a good foreman of a lynching party, Mr. Barton,” Hank said. “I still don’t know why you came here.”
“To find out how you felt about this case.”
“This isn’t the first murder case I’ve ever tried. I feel about it the way I’ve felt about every other one. I’m going to do my job the best way I know how.”
“And does that job involve sending those kids to the chair?”
“That job involves prosecuting for first-degree murder. I don’t deliver the sentences in this county. If the boys are convicted by a jury, Judge Samalson will determine the sentence.”
“The death sentence is mandatory, and you know it.”
“That’s true.”
“Then if you succeed in prosecuting for first-degree murder, you will also succeed in sending those kids to the chair.”
“The jury may ask for and receive leniency, in which case a life sentence may be decided upon. It’s been done before.”
“Is that what you’ll be trying for? A life sentence?”
“That’s out of order!” Holmes snapped. “Don’t you answer that, Hank!”
“Let me set you straight, Mr. Barton,” Hank said. “I’m going for a conviction in this case. I will present the facts as I understand them to the jury and the court. The jury will decide whether or not those facts, without any reasonable doubt, add up to first-degree murder. If they convict, Judge Samalson will determine the sentence. My job is not to seek vengeance or retribution. My job is to show that a crime was committed against the people of this county, and that the defendants I’m prosecuting are guilty of that crime.”
“In other words, you don’t care whether they die or not?”
“I’ll be prosecuting for—”
“You haven’t answered my question.”
“I wouldn’t dignify it.”
“What’s the matter, Bell? Are you afraid of capital punishment?”
“I’ve sent seven men to the electric chair since I became a public prosecutor,” Hank answered.