“Thank you. So Dr. Selig was competent, highly competent, in January, and fit to be dismissed, a disaster, in July-in your considered opinion?”
“Yes,” said Bloom confidently, ignoring the inherent absurdity of that answer. He had learned something from Dr. Fuerza’s miseries and was prepared to brazen out the conflict between the golden opinions of winter and the poisoned barbs of summer.
“So Dr. Selig’s performance must have deteriorated in those six or so months?”
“Not necessarily. I was apprised of facts that I did not know when I wrote that letter.”
“The facts do not exist, as we have seen here in testimony after testimony.”
Bloom smiled. “The facts are for the jury to decide.”
Karp smiled back and turned to the jury to show them he was happy. “Thank you, sir. I stand instructed. But the facts aside, isn’t it your judgment that we are dealing with here, based on your understanding of how the criminal justice system ought to work, in comparison to which Dr. Selig’s performance-pardon me, his spring and summertime performance-falls seriously short?”
“Yes, in my judgment.”
“Mm-hmm, now returning to the Ralston case, you cited Dr. Selig for disrupting the trial by not appearing at the appointed time. Would you care to tell us how this disruption occurred?”
“Objection, Your Honor,” said Wharton. “Repetitious. We’ve had all this before.”
“Your Honor,” said Karp, “the purpose of this line of questioning is to determine the qualification of the witness to make a judgment on the performance of Dr. Selig during trial.”
A moment of stunned silence. Then Wharton burst out, “This is preposterous, Your Honor. The witness is the district attorney.”
“Plaintiff has made no stipulation as to the expertise of the witness in trial procedure,” said Karp equably. “His official position is no guarantee thereof.”
The ghost of a smile flickered over the judge’s chalk-line mouth. “Overruled. Proceed, Mr. Karp.”
“Thank you, Your Honor. Mr. Bloom, would you give the jury some sense of how exactly this disruption was accomplished?”
“Well, basically, you arrange your witnesses, when you’re trying a case, in a certain way. You want to get all the medical witnesses onto the record before you call the defendant, for example.”
Karp struggled to keep his face neutral. He moved slightly so that he obscured the line of sight from Bloom to the defendant’s table. “I see, so the prosecution wants to get all its ducks in a row before they call the defendant up there to testify, is that what you’re telling us?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me, Mr. Bloom, is it normal for the prosecution to call the defendant to testify?”
Wharton objected and the judge quashed him instantly. He seemed fascinated with what was happening.
Bloom’s noble forehead creased slightly. It sounded like a trick question. But it couldn’t be; on TV the defendant was always yapping up there on the stand, while Perry Mason was finding the real killer. “Only when necessary,” he said. A good compromise answer.
“Mr. Bloom,” said Karp, his voice rising, “are you not aware that the Fifth Amendment to the United States Constitution absolutely forbids the prosecution to call the defendant to testify?”
“I … what I …”
“And are you aware that this prohibition is central to our whole process of justice, the trial system that you as district attorney have the responsibility to manage?”
“Yes, what I meant was …” Bloom’s mind went blank. He didn’t know what he meant. His eyes met Karp’s. Karp might have been looking at a patch of vomit.
“You’ve never tried a homicide case, have you, Mr. Bloom?”
“No, but I’ve-”
“And so you are utterly incompetent to pass judgment on any aspect of how homicide cases are run, including the role of the medical examiner, isn’t that so?”
“No, my subordinates-my subordinates informed me-
“Your subordinates. But your subordinates didn’t fire Dr. Selig, did they?”
“No, the Mayor did.”
“And the Mayor relied primarily on your advice, didn’t he?”
“He took it into account, but-”
“Because you’re the expert, the expert on the criminal justice system, right?”
“I felt it was necessary,” said Bloom lamely.
“Why? Why, Mr. Bloom, was it necessary to fire Dr. Selig? What occurred between winter, when he was brilliant enough to prompt letters of commendation from the D.A., and July, when he had to be fired?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“No? What happened at the end of May that made it absolutely necessary for you to get rid of Dr. Murray Selig, a great and independent medical examiner and put your own creature in his place?” Karp had slowed his delivery, lowered the timbre and raised the volume of his voice, making it as much like that of Jehovah in the desert as he could manage, all the while staring at Bloom and delivering the unspoken message: “I know!” The D.A.’s paint was crisping nicely.
“What was it, Mr. Bloom? What was it you did not want Dr. Selig to discover?”
“Nothing! Nothing!” Bloom’s voice had cracked on the repetition on this word. Wharton rose to object. Murmurs began among the spectators; the jury was transfixed, frozen, each juror frantic to know what the nothing was that was clearly something. The murmurs grew. Craig frowned and struck his gavel.
Karp said, in his most carrying voice, “Your Honor, the plaintiff’s case is concluded.” He turned on his heel and walked back across the bloodied sands. Spanish maidens threw roses.
SEVENTEEN
Marlene had just picked up Lucy and was looking for a parking place near D’Agostino’s on Sheridan Square when her beeper went off. Marlene cursed under her breath and turned to her daughter, sitting in the seat beside her.
“I’ve got to call Uncle Harry, Luce. You stay in the car and watch Sweety. And don’t leave it for any reason, understand?”
“Did that lady get found?”
“I don’t know, baby, I sure hope so.” Marlene double-parked and ran into a cigar store to make her call. It was inevitable that sooner or later one of Marlene’s clients would be attacked by a gentleman acquaintance. She knew that, but it did not diminish her wrath or her pain. The previous evening the actress Karen Wohl had left her East Fifty-second Street apartment, telling her roommate that she was going to meet some people at a restaurant. Her doorman got her a cab, and that was the last time anyone had seen her. There was an all-city search in progress, for the woman and for her admirer, Hubert Waley, whom Marlene had instantly fingered for the cops.
“They found her,” said Harry. His tone made her belly lurch.
“How bad?”
“Bad. He wrapped her and dumped her by the river in East Harlem. He’s in custody at the Two-Five.”
“I’ll go,” she said. Tears were flowing down her cheeks and she made no effort to hold them back.
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah, my client, my fuck-up-I need to be there.”
“It happens, Marlene,” said Bello.
Marlene said an abrupt good-bye and hung up the phone. She did not wish for comfort.
“Where are we going, Mommy?” asked Lucy when the yellow car was speeding up the East River Drive and it was therefore clear that they were neither going shopping nor returning home. Marlene snapped a glance at her daughter. The child’s eyes were shaded under a grubby tan Stetson that she had taken over and which she was wearing with the only skirt she would willingly put on for school, a white leatherette garment with a fringe. A pink western shirt with pearl buttons and the flower-embroidered shawl she had borrowed from Isabella completed the bizarre outfit.
“I have to go by the police station.”
“That lady got killed, right?”
“Right.”
“Are you going to look at her dead body?”