Parnell Hall: The Innocent Woman

Judge Wylie held up his hand. “One moment, gentlemen. Mr. Winslow, if you would hold on for a moment, I would like to get Mr. Dirkson’s point of view. Now then, Mr. Dirkson, while I appreciate the point you have made about the petty cash drawer, and the testimony of the cab driver regarding the defendant being seen on 48th Street-while all that is very suggestive and while certain inferences may be drawn from it, let us be very careful here. One inference that should not be drawn in front of the jury is the fact that the defense attorney is guilty of suppressing evidence, manufacturing evidence or conspiring to conceal a crime. Unless you have concrete evidence to that effect, any intimation of wrongdoing on the part of the defense attorney could indeed constitute prejudicial misconduct.”

“But there is evidence,” Dirkson said.

“What evidence?”

“The defendant’s own admission.”

“What admission?”

“To the witness. Larry Cunningham. I have it on good authority that the defendant confided to Mr. Cunningham exactly what I’m stating now and what I stated in court.”

“Good authority? And what authority is that?”

“I have a confidential source.”

“That’s a euphemism for anonymous tip, Your Honor,” Steve Winslow said.

“Is that right?” Judge Wylie said. “Are you going on an anonymous tip?”

“I’m going on what I know to be true,” Dirkson said, irritably. “And what you and everybody else in the courtroom knows to be true. Steve Winslow sent her home to have her manufacture evidence by taking a taxi back. Go ahead and ask him. I dare him to deny it.”

“What do you have to say to that, Mr. Winslow?”

“My client is innocent until proven guilty. I am innocent until proven guilty.”

Judge Wylie frowned. “I should like a little better answer than that.”

“With all due respect, Your Honor, I don’t choose to make one. The district attorney is making an accusation with no foundation whatsoever. I don’t need to respond to such a charge. If I did-if I had to answer to such unfounded charges-well, then the prosecutor would be free to make them at will. He could sit there accusing me of infraction after infraction until he found one I’d actually committed. In which case, were I an honest man who didn’t wish to lie, I would have to refuse to answer on the grounds an answer might tend to incriminate me. At which point he would know what to charge me with.”

Steve Winslow smiled. “But that does not happen to be the law. The district attorney can’t pester me with charges on a whim to see which of them I’ll deny. And he sure as hell can’t make them in front of the jury without prejudicing the case against my client. If he does so, it should constitute a mistrial.”

“See?” Dirkson said. “He didn’t deny the charges. I told you he wouldn’t.”

Judge Wylie took a breath. “Mr. Dirkson. Mr. Winslow’s point is well taken. Unless you have foundation for those charges, he has no need to respond to them.”

“I have foundation, Your Honor. I told you. The defendant admitted the whole thing to Larry Cunningham.”

“Then why don’t you ask Mr. Cunningham?” Steve Winslow said.

Dirkson’s face purpled. “I asked Mr. Cunningham!” he said. “ That’s the question you objected to, and that’s why we’re in here!”

Judge Wylie nodded. “Mr. Dirkson is certainly right on that score.”

“Well, then let’s not be hasty,” Steve said. “The way I see it, the matter has arisen. It’s prejudicial, and so inflammatory a judicial admonition to ignore it would not suffice.

“But, on second thought, I don’t want a mistrial. Then the defendant could be arrested and tried again. I don’t want that. I want the case to go to the jury. There’s no evidence against her, they’re going to acquit, so why should I interfere with that?”

Judge Wylie looked at him. “You’re withdrawing your objection?”

“That’s right.”

“And your assignment of misconduct?”

“Certainly. If the district attorney has any evidence against me, let’s hear it now.”

“One moment,” Judge Wylie said. “Mr. Winslow, it would seem almost as if you had been dared into this. I would be very unhappy if it turned out you had waived any of the defendant’s rights in order to settle a personal grudge.”

“I assure you that is not the case, Your Honor.”

“I should also point out that if any of the prosecutor’s allegations turn out to be true, you could expect to find yourself disbarred.”

Steve smiled. “You’ll never eat lunch in this town again?”

Judge Wylie’s face darkened. “This is no laughing matter.”

“I understand, Your Honor,” Steve said. “I’m an attorney at law. If I violate the law, I risk disbarment. Naturally, I know that. However, I will consider myself warned.”

Judge Wylie frowned. He found Steve Winslow’s attitude insolent, but he didn’t know what he could do about it. It also bothered him that he couldn’t figure out what Winslow was up to. But there wasn’t anything he could do about that either. He took a breath. “All right, gentlemen. Let’s proceed.”

When Judge Wylie resumed the bench he said, “The objection and the assignment of misconduct have been withdrawn. Mr. Dirkson, you may proceed.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Dirkson said. “Mr. Cunningham, is it or is it not a fact that the defendant, Amy Dearborn, admitted to you that on the evening of the murder she met with her attorney, Steve Winslow, prior to her meeting with the police, and that he sent her uptown so that she could take a cab to the office in order to build up an alibi?”

“No, that is not a fact,” Cunningham said.

“I put it to you that it is. I put it to you that you are lying and committing perjury in order to protect the defendant from a charge of murder.”

“I’m doing nothing of the sort.”

“Do you deny that Amy Dearborn got a message from Frank Fletcher on her answering machine?”

“No, she says she did.”

“And when did she say she got that message?”

“When she got back from the restaurant.” Cunningham looked at Dirkson triumphantly and said, “Which would be sometime after eight o’clock.”

Dirkson exhaled noisily. “Thank you, Mr. Cunningham, for that impartial estimate of the time. But even if that were true, even if the defendant didn’t hear Frank Fletcher’s message until sometime after eight o’clock, why would she sit around her apartment all evening long and not go down to meet him until ten o’clock.”

Cunningham smiled. “The answer is simple,” he said. “Amy didn’t go down to meet him. Amy had no intention of ever meeting him. She went down there, as she said, merely to clean out her desk. And the reason she waited till ten o’clock to do so, was because she didn’t want to go down there until after Frank Fletcher had left .” Cunningham shrugged. “You have to understand, this was the man who had fired her and tried to have her convicted of theft. She didn’t want to see him at all.”

Dirkson blinked. He stared at the witness. It hadn’t occurred to him Cunningham might have an answer ready. “Well, that’s ridiculous,” Dirkson sputtered. “If she didn’t want to meet Fletcher, why would she go down there?”

“To clean out her desk.”

“That makes no sense.”

“It makes sense to me. I can’t help it if it doesn’t make sense to you.”

Dirkson cocked his head. “The defendant told you this?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“This theory you’ve just given me for why she went down there at ten o’clock-did she tell you this?”