Scott Turow - Presumed innocent

Here in the courtroom, awaiting Raymond's entry, there was more of that epic atmosphere, the extra amperage of a special moment-four hundred people on edge, an urgent undertone in the courtroom murmur. Today, I notice, the press gallery is larger by a row and a half, and the journalistic first-string is on hand-the anchor people and columnists. I have been surprised during the trial by the extent to which the reporters have been willing to honor Stern's injunctions to keep wide berth of me. Now that they have their file footage of me entering the courthouse, which they can show with each night's story on TV, Barbara and I are able to come and go in relative peace. Now and then someone-usually a journalist whom I have know for years-will stop me with a question in the hallway. I refer all these matters to Stern. Last week I also encountered a freelance journalist from New York who says he is considering writing a book about the case. He believes it will make good reading. I declined his invitation to buy me dinner.

I would be oblivious to the press were it not for the morning papers. I have stopped watching the accounts on TV. The summaries seem so inept that they make me furious, even when the errors favor me. But I cannot avoid the headlines, which I see on the paper-dispensing machines as we drive into the city. The two dailies seem to have sworn a feud to see which can take the lead in trashy tabloid coverage of the case. Nico's revelation in opening of Raymond's amours with Carolyn produced tasteless headlines for two days. P.A. SEX the Herald blared, with all kinds of kickers and subheads. It is impossible that the jury does not view these headlines, too. They pledged during voir dire not to read the papers, but that is a promise few trial lawyers trust.

In the jury box, at the moment, there is a considerable stirring. The jurors seem far more excited to see Raymond than was the case, for example, when they first glimpsed Nico during the voir dire. Then I noticed only a few of the prospective jury members leaning over to one another and nodding in Delay's direction. Horgan brings a greater aura to the courtroom. He has been well known for most of everybody's adult life. He is a celebrity; Della Guardia is a replacement. Perhaps the suggestion of fleshy intrigue Nico floated in opening also contributes to the high interest. It is clear, however, that as Stern weeks ago predicted, we have reached a critical juncture in this trial. Each juror has revolved his chair to face the witness stand. As Molto comes to the podium to begin the direct examination, the large courtroom is quiet.

"State your name, please."

"Raymond Patrick Horgan," he answers. "The third." With that he grins very briefly up at Larren. A private joke. I never knew that Raymond was a third. Amazing, sometimes, what comes out under oath.

Molto again has readied himself with care for the examination. Raymond clearly knows what is coming, as he should, and he and Tommy develop a nice rhythm at once. Horgan's hands are folded. In his blue suit and finest public manner, he looks serene. All his beguiling charm is present; his candor. His gruff baritone is reduced one marking on the volume register in an effort at understatement.

Tommy is taking his time. They are going to get everything they can from Horgan, recover quickly from yesterday's debacle in the war of impressions. They cover Raymond's background. Born right here. High school on the East End at St. Viator's. Two years' college, then his dad died. He became a cop. Seven years on the force, was already a sergeant when he graduated from night law school. I am afraid for a moment that Molto is going to bring out the fact that Raymond practiced law with Larren, but that is elided. Horgan simply says it was a three-man partnership, doing primarily criminal work. After sixteen years in practice, politics.

"Some elections I won," says Raymond, "some I lost." With that he turns to smile fondly at Nico at the prosecutor's table. Delay rears his half-bald head from taking notes and beams back. My God, how they look at each other! The fastest friends. The jurors seem delighted by his alliance, forged on well-known past adversity. The smiling schoolteacher watches the unspoken exchange between the two with apparent delight. I feel my soul sinking. This will be a very hard day.

"And do you know the defendant, Rozat Sabich?"

"I know Rusty," Raymond says.

"Do you see him here in court?"

"I do."

"Would you point to him and describe what he is wearing."

"Next to Mr. Stern. Second at the defense table, in a blue chalk-stripe suit."

This is a formality to establish that the Sabich spoken of is me. Yesterday with Eugenia, Sandy rose and agreed-"stipulated" is the term-to the identification so that we did not have to go through this exercise in finger-pointing. But now Stern quietly says to me, "Stand." I do. I rise slowly and face Raymond Horgan. I do not smile or grimace, but I am sure my abject fury is plain. Certainly Raymond's affability fades somewhat, even while his hand is in the air.

"That's him," says Raymond quietly.

Molto breezes through the history of my association with Raymond. Sandy will bring it out in detail anyway. Then he asks Raymond about Carolyn. Here Horgan becomes instantly somber. He lets his eyes fall to the rail of the witness box and says, "Yes, I knew her, too."

"What was the nature of your relationship?"

"I met her first as a probation officer. For eight years she was employed as a deputy prosecuting attorney in our office, and for a very brief time at the end of last year we had a personal relationship as well."

Nice, succinct. They move to the murder. Molto never mentions the election, but it emerges in Raymond's answers by reference.

"And is there any practice in the P.A.'s office in supervising police investigations?"

"Certainly in a major case-and this was a very major case in my mind-there was a practice to assign a deputy P.A. to guide and assist the police."

"Who made the assignment in this case?"

"Well, to short-circuit things a little bit, I would say that Mr. Sabich and I decided that he should have that role in this case."

Tommy for the first time pauses. Raymond, it seems, may have backed down a little as a result of his meeting with Stern and me. Molto did not expect that. He asks again:

"How did Mr. Sabich get that assignment?"

"I don't really remember whether I suggested it or he did. Like everybody else, I was confused and upset at that time. He got the case. But he was glad to have it. I remember that. He was not reluctant at all, and promised to pursue it vigorously."

"Did he?"

"Not to my way of thinking." This is objectionable as a conclusion but Stern does not want to interrupt. One of his thick fingers has been laid from his chin to his nose and he watches intently, not even bothering to take notes. At many times his concentration in court is trance-like. He shows very little, just absorbs. I have the same sense that I did when we were in Horgan's office that Sandy's calculations are not about facts or strategy but character. He is trying to figure Horgan out.

Raymond registers his complaints with my handling of the case, including having to urge me to speed up the fingerprint and fiber reports. The impression comes through clearly that I was dogging it. Then he describes the conversation in his office that night we both first realized he was going to lose.

"He asked me if I had been intimate with Carolyn."

"And what did you tell him?"

"The truth," says Raymond, quite simply. No big deal. "We'd been on for three months, then off."

"And when you told him this, did Mr. Sabich express surprise in any way?"

"None at all."

I get it. They're going to reason backward. I asked, but I knew anyway. What is their theory? That I was outraged when I found out? Or that I gave in to the weight of accumulated grievances? Neither one makes complete sense, when you suppose, as Nico has, that my relationship with Carolyn was ongoing. Not having the right facts always hurts. I can feel many of the jurors watching me now, trying to read in me the truth of the prosecutors' surmise.