As he had been secluded all day, reading, the last Wilk knew of the Kessler sensation was that two rich boys had been picked up for some silly coincidence about eyeglasses.
“But anyone can get your boys out,” he said. “It’s obviously only a coincidence.”
“No, no, they’ve confessed!” Hoarsely, Gerald Straus pleaded, “You’ve got to take the case. You’re the only one who can get them off.”
Wilk sat erect. “Get them off?”
Max quickly interjected, “Save their lives. Just so they don’t hang. Let them go to jail for life, we wouldn’t even ask for less.”
“It will be a great case,” Uncle Gerald said, recalling Feldscher’s suggestion. And he added, “You can name your own fee.”
Wilk seemed not to have heard the last part. By his lifelong philosophy he was doomed to defend them, even if it killed him, and it might, it just might.
“I don’t know,” he said cautiously, sighing. “Where are they now?”
“State’s Attorney Horn has them. He’s been running them all around town; they’ve been talking their heads off.”
Wilk’s jaw moved. “By now, you won’t be able to get a writ to get them out of his clutches before Monday morning. He’s got all Sunday to keep them babbling. God knows what he’ll get them to say.”
“You certainly can’t do anything now in the middle of the night,” his wife said. “Jonathan, at least get some sleep before you decide.”
Wilk sighed again. “I don’t know if I can do you much good. You’ve got a fine man in your own family, Ferdinand Feldscher.”
“He begged us to get you,” Uncle Gerald said earnestly.
“Well, come in the morning.” Wilk looked at his wife. “I suppose the Feldschers thought about alienists. There are only a few top men in town. Arthur Ball – you’d better try to get him.”
“I’ll call him right now,” Gerald offered.
“If Horn hasn’t got him already, it’ll keep till morning.”
When they were gone, his wife said, “Jonathan, it’ll kill you. And everybody will say you’re doing it for the money.”
Wilk found the answer, the inevitable slogan, at once. “The rich have got as much right to a defence as the poor.”
Horn had got to the alienists. Dr. Ball was already in Horn’s office, early Sunday, when the boys were brought from the hotel where they had been allowed a last night of ease.
Several of us were in the room.
Dr. Ball was keen-looking, kindly, quite aged; he was a professor emeritus of the Northwestern Medical School ’s department of neurology. Instantly Judd began talking about the mental processes of birds. When birds altered their migratory routes by selecting between various sensory stimuli, wasn’t that reasoning? Just as when humans made decisions by selecting between sensory stimuli – like a man between two women. “I am a behaviourist,” Judd announced, while the professor smiled and asked whether in his view a human being had no more control over his conduct than a bird.
“I take a materialist determinist position,” Judd said, and just then another psychiatrist arrived. The new arrival, Dr. Stauffer, turned to the boys with zest.
Judd recognized his name. “Ah, you’re an advocate of the Stanford-Binet test – you’re sold on it,” he challenged. He kept on, talking about reflex actions and reaction time. He had measured reactions of a ten-thousandth of a second, Judd said.
The term “ten-thousandth” caught Horn’s ear, for he now turned to the boys asking why they had fixed on ten thousand dollars as the ransom. Judd laughed at the association and said, “See, everything has a cause.”
But surely they hadn’t needed the money, Horn said.
“Why shouldn’t we want it?” Artie said. “Ten thousand dollars is ten thousand dollars.”
“Well, if I had ten thousand in my pocket right now would you try to lift it?” Horn said.
“It would be highly improbable that you had ten thousand dollars,” Judd remarked, and everyone laughed at the jibe.
Dr. Ball asked the boys to tell their story, and Artie began to relate it all over again in every detail. There were elaborate shiftings around, Judd using a filing cabinet as a table. There were thank-yous at the water cooler. All this, we learned at the trial, was being noted down by Dr. Stauffer – the responsiveness, the well-oriented behaviour, the ability to carry on the complex recital through incessant interruptions.
When Artie had completely finished his story, Dr. Ball looked from one to the other and inquired, in a tone of unaffected curiosity, “But can you tell me why you did it?”
“I don’t know why on earth I did it!” Judd blurted out.
Artie was silent.
At that moment, Judd’s father entered the room.
That morning was the first time Judah Steiner had called for the car since the thing had happened. He had not seen Emil since the papers had said it was the chaufeur’s unexpected story that had proved to be the last straw causing Artie to break down and confess.
Emil stood holding the car door open, as always. Judah Steiner stopped for a moment before getting into the car. “I don’t blame you, Emil,” he said. “You did what your conscience told you.”
Emil gulped some words, how sorry he was. They drove downtown.
Judah Steiner went up to the same door where, a few nights before, he had appeared as a proud man to make his presence felt. Today he walked uncertainly, dazed, bewildered. All his measurements of life had proven wrong. As he entered, he heard those words of Judd’s in the high clacky voice, “I don’t know why on earth I did it!” and at the same moment their eyes met.
Judd said, “Hello, Dad.”
The State’s Attorney was the first to break the silence. “Is there anything we can do for you, Mr. Steiner?”
“No, no, sir.” Perhaps Steiner felt he had already received the answer to whatever had brought him there.
“Did you wish to speak with your son alone for a few moments?”
“Did you get me a lawyer?” Judd demanded, without waiting.
“Yes,” his father said. “That is arranged. We have engaged the best. Mr. Jonathan Wilk will defend you.”
A look of triumph came onto Judd’s face. He turned involuntarily to Artie, forgetting for the moment their estrangement. Artie was grinning.
The father was still looking at his son, his head beginning to shake slightly from side to side. Judd said, “I’m sorry this happened.”
“Yes,” Steiner said. “We are all sorry.” He turned and withdrew.
From there, he had Emil drive him to the Wilk apartment. Max was there, with the rest, in the library with its overflow of books in piles on the floor.
Judd’s father inquired after Mr. and Mrs. Straus. How were they?
“Lewis took them to Charlevoix,” Gerald said. “Doctor’s orders.” Randolph Straus had a bad heart. Mrs. Straus had fallen into a state of depression. “It’s best for them to leave. What can they do here?” And the hounds, the stupid dirty hounds of the public had already started on them, Gerald said bitterly. Anonymous phone calls, even telegrams.
Judah Steiner listened. Yes, it was better they should go.
With all this hysteria, said Ferdinand Feldscher, there was only one course – to delay. To wait for things to die down.
“Horn will scream his head off if you try any delay,” Wilk said. “We all know him.” No, they had to get right to work on a defence. Unfortunately, Dr. Ball had already been nabbed by the state. So had Dr. Ralph Tierney. Of course there were others.
Edgar Feldscher had his intent, concentrated look. He offered his thought. “Why can’t we both use them, if they’re the best?”
Wilk’s eyes lighted up as he caught the idea, but the others were all staring at Edgar Feldscher, uncomprehendingly. He elaborated. Why not make a truly honest, serious attempt to get the best, the latest that modern science could offer, to have a joint comprehensive study made of the boys? Wouldn’t it inspire public confidence, reduce some of this hostility, if both sides agreed to use the same scientific study?