So this is what Billy and Roxy were engaged in. A fight to influence public opinion. They typically weren't given much time to do it, so the fight was fast and furious.
I couldn't begin to report all that was said in the next twenty minutes; at times all twelve lawyers were shouting at once. And frankly, if the Judge had asked me to vote on the issue based on the behavior of the attorneys for both sides, I would have voted to disbar them all. It's hard to believe they swayed the opinion of anyone in the vast viewing audience.
But they put on a hell of a show. If you'd like to see it, videos are available at a reasonable price. Hell, buy two. I get a three percent royalty. If you aren't from Luna I'd recommend you buy one and take a look; this is likely to be in your future. You'd better get used to it.
"I think we've had enough of that," the Judge said, finally. "Mr. Flynn, would you like to call any witnesses?"
"Yes, I'd like to have Rose Wilkinson tell what she saw."
"On the day of the murder?" Hart asked.
"On that certain day, seventy years ago," Flynn said, unperturbed.
Rose was called to the table. She took a seat halfway between the opposing sides, which I'm sure Gideon Peppy would have found significant. I didn't recognize her, but that wasn't surprising. Most people change their appearance a bit every decade or so; usually nothing radical, but enough that if you aren't in contact for a long time it can add up to a new person.
"Ms. Wilkinson," said the Judge, "you have stated that you were employed as the assistant stage manager for a production of Romeo and Juliet seventy years ago."
"That's right. By Mr. Valentine. That is, by Mr. John—"
"Why don't you call them John and Kenneth?" the Judge suggested.
"Okay."
"Will you tell us what you saw, what you remember?"
"Yes. I was backstage with a reporter, Hildy Johnson. I don't remember what we were talking about. Probably John Valentine, because I hated him more than I've ever hated anyone before or since." I glanced at Roxy Hart, who was frowning. She wanted to leap to her feet and object, but she couldn't. The Judge was in control here, and presumed able to ignore prejudicial statements. "We heard a shot. Well, a loud noise that I later learned was a shot. We went out on the stage to investigate, and I saw Sparky... I'm sorry, Kenneth, standing there with a gun in his hand. And Mister... John was lying on his back. I remember smelling smoke, gun smoke I guess it was."
She went through her story fairly concisely. When she began to stray, the Judge gently prodded her back on track.
"It was the most horrible thing I ever saw," she said, tearing up a little even at this late date. I didn't feel so great myself. "Poor Sparky standing there... I don't think he knew what happened. He couldn't have been in his right mind... but that awful, awful man! Sparky could never say no to him. He humiliated his son in front of the entire cast, treated him like a servant or a naughty child... and I'm glad he's dead."
There was a hush in the courtroom when she finished. I discovered my fingernails were biting into my palms. I made an effort to relax; all of Luna was watching.
"I want to point out," Hart said, "that the question of Kenneth Valentine's sanity is not at issue here."
"Noted," said the Judge. "Are there more witnesses?"
"I'd like to call Hildy Johnson," Billy said.
Hildy was called. Hildy was called again. And yet a third time.
What have I done? I asked myself. And I answered, I've put my fate into the hands of a reporter.
"I'm issuing a subpoena for the appearance of Hildy Johnson," the Judge said. "In the meantime her statement is on the record and you have all read it. Her testimony will be taken at a later date, and if anything of relevance is developed an amended verdict will be issued. Now, is there any member of the public who has any pertinent facts bearing on this case? And let me remind you, I am the sole judge of relevancy, and anyone attempting to use this court as a forum for unrelated statements will be dealt with severely, as provided by law. This court is not a soapbox, nor a venue for the disaffected."
This was known as the "grandstanding law," and was passed when it became clear that this final phase of the JPT was easy meat for abuse by anyone with an ax to grind. People were standing up and delivering diatribes against this or that law, airing pet peeves, generally being pests. Now, if anyone had any new facts—and no one ever did—was the time to present them. Otherwise, statements as to my sterling character or lack of it might or might not be allowed, but precious little else.
The courtroom door burst open and in rushed Hildy Johnson, waving sheets of paper.
"I do, Your Honor!" she shouted.
The Judge took it in stride. The audience was a little more demonstrative, but quickly settled down as Hildy walked down the aisle and found a seat just to the left of Billy Flynn.
"May it please the court—" she began.
"You've got the wrong court," said the Judge. "I'm neither pleased nor displeased by anything. Let's dispense with all the formality. What do you have to show me?"
"I just found something interesting," she began again.
"Just a moment. Hildy, are you employed by a news-gathering organization?"
"Uh, I used to be, Judge. Currently I'm on extended sabbatical, but I send in stories when I find them."
"For competitive bidding, I assume."
"That's where the money is, Judge."
"Can I further assume that your recent dramatic entrance into the courtroom will enhance the value of any story to come out of this trial?"
"Couldn't hurt," Hildy conceded. There was laughter from the audience.
"Why do I get the feeling," the Judge said, "that I'm being sandbagged?"
"Well, Your—Judge, nobody said I couldn't make the news as well as report it."
"Go ahead, then. What is your startling new evidence?"
"I'm not sure it's in the nature of evidence at all, Judge. But I think I've uncovered an interesting avenue of exploration. If you could put these pictures up on the big screen..."
They were projected, and I felt a stab in my heart. It was four pictures of my father. Publicity stills, smiling, his best profile showing. Pictures I hadn't seen in many years.
There were some gasps, and a building buzz of whispered conversation. I didn't know what was going on.
"I was just looking at these today," Hildy went on. "As you know, I haven't seen Sparky... er, Kenneth in many years. The last time I saw him he was twenty-nine, but still in the body of a teenager. When he was arrested two days ago he had the appearance of an old man, King Lear. I don't imagine that in the seventy years of his exile he has worn what we might call 'his own' face many times, if at all."
"Never, Your Honor," I confirmed.
"I suspected that," Hildy said. "He was unlikely to be recognized as Sparky; Sparky never grew beyond eight years old. But the psychology of the fugitive, if nothing else, made me think he would shun his natural appearance. Until today."
"Yes, I see what you mean," said the Judge. He might have, but I still didn't. I had been commanded by the court to abandon all artifices for my appearance in the court, true enough. When I did that, I saw a face in the mirror that very closely resembled my father.
"The picture in the upper right," said Hildy, "is not John Valentine, but his son, Kenneth, taken off the video feed from this courtroom not ten minutes ago."
I looked at it dubiously. I had to take her word for it. I couldn't have picked it out among the four, except that I now noticed that "John Valentine" was wearing clothes identical to what I was wearing.