“Matt Anthony knows the law, that's part of his business. He felt he was playing it safe. If his wife's death was called an accident, fine. If the police were suspicious of his yarn, as in this case where Detective Kolcicki saw through the lie, why then Matt Anthony would sign a confession full of a cock and bull story that he and his wife argued over an aqua-lung and he struck her. He thought the most he would get would be manslaughter—a few years in prison. Since we have been told he works so hard at writing, perhaps Mr. Anthony even considered a few years in prison a wonderful investment, give him material for a dozen or more books.
“Members of the jury, it didn't work! Despite his being an expert, when Matt Anthony went up against Detective Kolcicki, it was the old story of an amateur against a professional. In less than an hour Detective Kolcicki had his confession. The defense has asked why it wasn't a confession of first degree murder. I'd like to ask, who says it prove and cry out— isn't a confession of first degree murder! This wasn't a full confession. Matt Anthony admitted he killed his wife, it was then up to the District Attorney to prove premeditation, and I think we have. Granted that since there were only two people involved and one of them is now dead, there is no way we can take Mr. Anthony's mind apart and give you the actual thoughts. But there are other circumstances involved and these allmurder!
“Can anyone believe a man would kill his wife over an aqua-lung? Especially a man of Matt Anthony's size—he could have pinned his wife's arm with one hand. Can anyone honestly believe—according to the defense's story—a man would strike his wife merely because she protested skin diving might strain his heart? Even if we accept the defense's claim that Francine Anthony's death was an accident, why would Matt Anthony have lied about it at first, immediately establishing an alibi? An accident—I would insult your intelligence if I asked you to believe that! A man thinks of alibis only when he knows he's guilty. In the course of my job I have come into contact with murderers. No man would kill if he thought he would be caught. But a murderer is arrogant, certain he can outwit the police. I'm talking now of an ordinary murderer—consider the arrogance of an expert, a man who has out-witted the police hundreds of times— on paper. Here was the big time crime writer about to pull the wool over the eyes of some 'hick' cops, sure he could hoodwink a 'yokel' court and—”
“Your Honor,” Jackson roared, springing to his feet, “I have never interrupted a summing up before in my life, but I must object to Mr. Wagner's hitting below the belt. He has made one unfair generalization after another. He has put words into my mouth I've never said or thought of. Now he's off into a dream fantasy of what went on in the defendant's head. At no time in this trial has the words 'hick' or 'yokel' been uttered except by Mr. Wagner.”
Wagner still stood with his back to Jackson. He looked annoyed. So did the jury. Matt shook his head slowly, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing, then Matt started writing.
Wagner slowly turned and faced the judge, who said, “Mr. Clair, in summing up a lawyer has the right to interpret the evidence. You did that in your summing up. The court is perfectly capable of reprimanding anyone violating courtroom procedures. Continue, Mr. Wagner.”
Jackson made a slight bow toward the judge, sat down. Wagner turned back to the jury—I don't think he'd moved a step since he started summing up.
“Let us examine the claim that the defendant was 'temporarily insane' at the second he struck his wife. What a convenient form of insanity! We have not heard any testimony that Matt Anthony was ever mentally unstable before is his life—although he has lived an adventurous life and been in trying situations. You have heard noted doctors state he was insane at the moment of striking his wife, and that he wasn't. The State's psychiatrists have proved he knew the difference between right and wrong. Now the science of the mind is not as exact as the science of mathematics. For one thing, the science of the mind is relatively new. In mathematics we can state positively two and two equal four. We can't be that positive about the mind, and that will be up to you to decide. However, it seems to me any man who can write a book while in court on trial for his life is far from emotionally unstable—under any circumstances!
“I say to you that from the moment Matt Anthony shouted, 'I'll kill you!,' at his wife he fully intended to murder her and carefully planned the murder. She was fishing, alone in the bay, as she did almost every day. That Matt Anthony had this underwater outfit she didn't know about. He deliberately and with intent to kill, swam out, killed her, tried to give it the appearance of an accident, returned to his guests and set up a false alibi. Francine Anthony's death wasn't an accident nor was it manslaughter. It was a cold-blooded planned murder by a man who thought his cheap mysteries put him above the law. Far from being blind with rage, or blacking out, Matt Anthony knew exactly what he was doing from the second he threatened his wife until he lied to his guests in order to establish an alibi.
“Francine Anthony is dead, her head crushed, and her killer must be punished. The law must be upheld, we do not live in a jungle. On the basis of the facts brought out in the testimony, I ask you to punish Matt Anthony for the killing of his wife by bringing in a verdict of first degree murder. Mr. Clair asked that you have compassion for Matt Anthony, I ask you to have compassion for a dead woman. Thank you.”
As Wagner sat down an old lady two seats away from me whispered loudly to a young woman sitting next to me, “What did he say? My hearing is poor on the left side and I got a stiff neck.”
“He said he thought Mr. Anthony killed his wife.”
“Well, I think so, too,” the old biddy grunted.
It was a quarter to twelve. The judge told the jury, “I know you have had a tiring morning. You may return to the jury room and rest for 15 minutes. At noon I shall start explaining the various points of law, the charges involved. It will take about an hour. I want to get this over before lunch, so you can immediately start your deliberations. Also, once I have finished my charge you will be locked up and the lunch will be on the court.” He gave them a yock-yock grin and like faithful citizens about to save two-bits, most of the jurors beamed their gratitude.
I was too restless for a smoke to listen to the finer points of law. I went outside and lit my pipe, waited for the court to recess so I could have lunch with Brown. But when I finished the pipe a half-hour later the judge was still charging the jury, so I had lunch alone, walked down to the inlet and as a nouveau yachtsman bulled with an owner of a work boat and found out I might easily have put in another four or five hundred bucks into my boat before I put it 'over' next summer. This character must have been looking for a listener and soon had me dizzy with all the things that can go wrong with a boat. When I finally begged off, saying I had to get back to the trial, he said, “I hope they give that murdering slob the works.”
A lot of people were talking and getting the sun in front of the courthouse. I saw Jackson holding up the building and talking to a pot-bellied man. I went over and Jackson introduced us; the man was a reporter. I asked Jackson how things looked and he said, “Shoo-in. Wagner was comical, with that highschool dramatic act, repeating 'I'll kill you!' over and over. But he's a clever man—made me lose my head and object while he was summing up.”