So where the hell was the report?
Annoyed, he dialed the police laboratory at headquarters on Centre Street and was connected with a man named Alex Hardy.
“This is Mr. Bell of the Homicide Bureau,” he said. “I’m prosecuting the Rafael Morrez case, which comes to trial three weeks from today. I’ve been expecting a report on the murder weapons, but I haven’t received one as yet. I’m preparing my case now, and I’d like to use whatever you can give me on those knives.”
“Morrez, Morrez, oh, yes,” Hardy said. “That Puerto Rican kid. Yes, we have the knives, all right.”
“I know you have them. How about the report?”
“Well, that’s another thing again.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, Dennis is on vacation, you see.”
“Who’s Dennis?”
“Dennis Bennel. He’s head of the lab.”
“So?”
“So he didn’t leave any instructions concerning those knives.”
“Well, who’s second in command there? Does your whole shop fall to pieces when one man goes on vacation?”
“Not at all, not at all. And there’s really no need to get snotty, Mr. Bell. We’re only doing our job here.”
“Your job was to run some tests on those knives. When will I have that report?”
“I’m just a working stiff, Mr. Bell. You’re wasting your time getting sore with me.”
“Whom do you suggest I get sore with?”
“I’ll connect you with Lieutenant Canotti. Maybe he can help you.”
Hardy covered the mouthpiece. Hank impatiently tapped a letter opener on the desk. A brusque voice came onto the line.
“Canotti here.”
“This is Assistant District Attorney Bell of the Homicide Bureau. I asked for a report on the murder weapons in the Rafael Morrez case. I still haven’t received it. Your man just told me Mr. Bennel...”
“Lieutenant Bennel. Yes?”
“...is out of the office on vacation. Now how do I go about getting that report?”
“Just ask,” Canotti said.
“I’m asking.”
“Okay. What’s all the heat about?”
“I’m trying the case in three weeks, that’s what all the heat is about. Listen, what is this? Some sort of a comic routine?”
“I’ll put somebody to work on the knives as soon as possible, Mr. Bell.”
“Thanks a lot. When will I have the report?”
“As soon as it’s ready.”
“And when will that be?”
“We’re a little understaffed at the moment. Half our men are on vacation, and there are murders being committed every day in this fair city, Mr. Bell. Now I’m sure you feel that the prosecution of a case is more important than the solving of another case, but our police department feels differently. We can’t satisfy everybody, Mr. Bell. We plod along and try to do our level best. But then, I’m sure you’re not interested in our internal problems.”
“Nor in your irony, Lieutenant. Can I have that report by the beginning of next week?”
“Certainly. If it’s ready.”
“Lieutenant Canotti, I’d hate like hell to have to go into the D.A.’s office on this.”
“I’d hate that to happen, too, Mr. Bell. Especially since we are now engaged on a project dumped into our laps by one of the Mayor’s committees. Do you understand, Mr. Bell?”
“I do. If I haven’t got that report by next Monday morning, you’ll be hearing from me.”
“Nice talking to you,” Canotti said, and he hung up.
Hank slammed down the receiver. How the hell was he supposed to get to the bottom of this without co-operation? How could he show the beginning, the middle, and the end of a murder without...
Until mankind can decide where the act of murder begins, there will be no justice.
The judge’s words. Strange words for a man sitting on the bench.
Well, he could not concern himself with the intricate problems of mankind. No. No matter what the judge said, Hank’s duty was clear. To prosecute a case according to the grand jury indictment. First degree murder. That was it, and that was all. Was he supposed to indict the entire city of New York? Of did it end there? Where did it go? The state? The nation? The world? You could extend responsibility to the outer reaches of time and come up with the conflicting opinion that everyone and no one was responsible. In which case, the murderers would roam the streets and havoc would replace civilization.
No.
He knew what he had to do. Present his case. Show the facts. Convict the three killers.
Purposefully, he picked up the folder containing the psychological report on Anthony Aposto. The letter from Bellevue Hospital was addressed to Judge Abraham Louis Samalson, from whom the court order remanding Aposto to Bellevue had been obtained. It read:
Hank put the report back into its folder.
If there had been any doubt before about the defense for Batman Aposto, there was none now. And, in the face of the report — a copy of which had undoubtedly been furnished to the defense attorneys, too — Hank knew he didn’t stand a chance of convicting Aposto. Nor, truly, did he feel there would be any real justice in such a conviction.
Real justice is nonexistent.
The judge’s words again. And certainly, would it not be just for Aposto to pay for a crime he’d committed, no matter what his mental state? An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. Where did the person Aposto end, and the personality Aposto begin? What divided the killer from the mental deficient? Were they not one and the same person? Admittedly they were. And yet you could not send a boy with the mental age of a ten-year-old to the electric chair. This would not be justice. This would simply be blind animal reaction.
Blind.
Rafael Morrez was blind. And was not his deficiency as great as the low mentality of Anthony Aposto? Yes, but his blindness did not save him from Aposto’s quick sentence. And yet Aposto’s mentality would save him from the sentence of the state. And that, Hank thought, is the difference between animals and men.
Justice, he thought.
Justice.
On Wednesday evening of that week, he was not thinking of justice. He was instead filled with an all-consuming rage at the injustice of what was happening to him.
He had worked late at the office, preparing an outline for the questioning of Louisa Ortega. He had decided to use the fact that the girl was a prostitute, rather than try to hide it from the jury. The defense would only shatter her testimony later if he concealed her occupation, and so he tried to fashion the questions he would ask her so that she would emerge as a victim of circumstance, a girl forced into the oldest profession because of poverty and hunger. He did not think it wise to reveal the fact that the girl had had relations with Morrez on at least one known occasion. His jury-image of Morrez was that of the defenseless blind boy, the victim of three cold-blooded murderers. He did not wish to destroy this ideal image by offering the jury a glimpse at something they might consider sordid.