Franklyn’s clients had been well coached. The Tindels oozed respectability. They were dressed neatly, conservatively. Their expressions radiated a mixture of frank sincerity and benevolent concern.
“And who are the parties with them?” Judge Washburn asked.
Franklyn indicated a couple sitting next to the Tindels, similarly dressed but slightly younger. “That would be their cousins, Fred and Pat Grayson.” He indicated a somewhat severe looking older woman. “Claire Chesterton.” Moving down the row. “And Carl Jenson.”
Judge Washburn nodded. “And on the other side we have …” He referred to his paper, “… a Mr. Steve Winslow appearing as attorney for Jack Walsh.”
Steve rose and bowed to the judge.
Judge Washburn hesitated a moment before proceeding. Steve smiled. With long hair, blue jeans, corduroy jacket and bright red tie, he was the only one in the courtroom who looked slightly out of place.
Judge Washburn said, “Mr. Winslow has filed a writ of habeas corpus ordering that Jack Walsh be produced in court.” Washburn turned to Franklyn. “Is Mr. Walsh here?”
“He is not, Your Honor,” Franklyn said. “Mr. Walsh is in Bellevue hospital. He suffered a nervous breakdown, and is presently in no condition to appear in court. I have the admitting psychiatrist from Bellevue here to testify to that effect.”
Judge Washburn nodded again. “I see. Mr. Winslow’s petition states that Mr. Walsh is being held at Bellevue against his will. He asks that that commitment be set aside and the petitioner released.”
“That is utter nonsense,” Franklyn said. “He is not being held against his will. He is a sick man, entrusted to the care of competent physicians. He has been placed there by caring family members, attempting to see that his best interests are protected.”
“This complaint alleges that Jack Walsh was hauled off the subway, incarcerated at Bellevue, and denied access to his attorney. Furthermore, the complaint alleges that Jack Walsh is medically and emotionally sound, and that there is no reason whatsoever for his commitment.”
Franklyn’s smile was frosty. “May I ask if Mr. Winslow’s contention is borne out by the opinion of a reputable psychiatrist?”
Winslow’s smile was equally cold. “May I ask how one is expected to obtain such an opinion when one is denied access to one’s client?”
Judge Washburn held up his hand. “Gentlemen, this is not a debate. Let’s try to move things along. Now, I note the commitment papers were signed by one Jason Tindel. Let’s hear from him first. Jason Tindel take the stand.”
Jason Tindel got up, looked at the other relatives who nodded encouragement. He walked to the witness stand, and sat.
“Does Your Honor wish me to question the witness?” Franklyn said.
“I’ll ask the questions,” Judge Washburn said. He turned to the witness. “Mr. Tindel, what is your relationship to the petitioner, Jack Walsh?”
“My wife is his great-niece. She is the granddaughter of his sister.”
Judge Washburn frowned. “Has he no closer living relatives?”
“No, Your Honor.”
“I see. And you have signed the commitment papers, placing Jack Walsh in Bellevue, and are seeking to have him declared incompetent and you and Rose Tindel named conservators. Is that correct?”
“That’s right.”
“What grounds do you have for feeling that Jack Walsh is not competent to carry on his own affairs?”
Jason Tindel chuckled, shook his head. “I have so many, Your Honor, I don’t know where to begin. Jack Walsh was once a very sharp man. But he’s seventy-five, and I’m sorry to say, recently his mind is going.”
“Could you give me examples?”
“I certainly could.” Jason Tindel ticked the points off on his fingers. “Within the last year he’s estranged himself from all his relatives. He’s sold his house out from under him and gone to live on the subway with the bums and bag ladies.”
Judge Washburn frowned. “On the subway, Mr. Tindel?”
“That’s right, Your Honor.”
“And how do you know this?”
“For one thing, he told us. When he left, I mean. He told us that was what he was going to do. For another thing, I saw him myself.”
“And when was that?”
“Shortly after he moved out. I saw him on the street. I must say, it was quite a shock. He was dressed in rags like a bum. Naturally, I followed him to see what he was up to. And he went down in the subway and hung out with the bums on the platform.”
“I see,” Judge Washburn said. “Was there anything else?”
“Yes, Your Honor. He’s also withdrawn over two hundred thousand dollars in cash from his bank account.”
Judge Washburn raised his eyebrows. “Two hundred thousand?”
“That’s right.”
“And what did he do with this money?”
Jason Tindel shrugged. “As far as I know, he’s been carrying it on him.”
“Two hundred thousand in cash?”
“That’s right. The man is a millionaire, Your Honor. Yet he dresses like a bum, lives on the subway, and is carrying large sums of money in cash around with him. Under the circumstances, much as we hated to do it, we felt we had to take what steps we could in order to conserve his estate.”
“I see,” Judge Washburn said. He looked at Franklyn. “Do you have anything further to add?”
Mr. Franklyn smiled. “No, Your Honor. I think the witness has stated the case quite admirably.”
Washburn nodded. “Mr. Winslow?”
Judge Washburn watched with some interest when Steve Winslow arose. The witness had certainly left the young attorney enough openings. Jason Tindel’s testimony, while devastating, was certainly a mass of opinions and conclusions. Tindel didn’t know that Jack Walsh carried large sums of money on him. Tindel didn’t know Jack Walsh lived on the subway-he’d only seen him there once. Judge Washburn expected Steve Winslow to rip into him on those points.
Steve didn’t. He merely smiled and said, “And what do you do, Mr. Tindel?”
The witness was clearly unprepared for that question. He frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
“What’s your job? Your occupation? What do you do?”
Jason Tindel cleared his throat. “At the moment I’m between jobs.”
“You mean you’re unemployed?”
“I don’t mean I’m unemployed. I’m between jobs.”
“Are you employed?”
“No.”
“Then you’re unemployed, aren’t you?”
Tindel frowned again. “I’m not employed at the moment.”
“I understand. Are you collecting unemployment insurance?”
“No.”
“Have you applied for unemployment insurance?”
“No.”
“Do you intend to apply for unemployment insurance?”
Franklyn arose. “Your Honor, I fail to see the point of this.”
“Surely the interest of the parties is relevant,” Steve said.
“It is,” Judge Washburn said. “As you well know,” he added with a glance at Franklyn. “Proceed, Mr. Winslow.”
“Do you intend to apply for unemployment insurance?”
“No, I do not.”
“Are you eligible for unemployment insurance?”
Tindel took a breath. “No.”
“I see,” Steve said. “As I understand it, in order to be eligible for unemployment insurance, you must have worked twenty-six weeks out of the last year. Am I correct in assuming you haven’t done that?”
Franklyn was on his feet again. “I point out, Your Honor, to qualify you must work twenty-six weeks for an employer who is paying FICA wages and withholding unemployment insurance. Many people are self-employed or work other jobs which don’t qualify.”
“Exactly,” Jason Tindel snapped. “I happen to be self-employed, so the questions really don’t apply.”
“Oh, you’re self-employed, Mr. Tindel?”
“Yes, I am.”
Steve Winslow smiled. “So we come back to my original question. What do you do?”