Parnell Hall - The Underground Man

“Smoothly, effortlessly, and with a great casual flair.”

“Fuck you. I mean really.”

Steve shook his head. “Beats the hell out of me.” He grinned. “Frankly, all I know about ‘em comes from reading Perry Mason murder mysteries.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Not at all. Of course, Erie Stanley Gardner was a lawyer, so they should be fairly accurate.”

“Steve-”

“I know, I know. I’m only half kidding, Mark. The way I understand it, here’s the way it’s gonna go. We’ll serve the habeas corpus. A judge will schedule a competency hearing and order Bellevue to produce Jack Walsh in court. Bellevue won’t do it.”

“Why not?”

“You see, that’s the whole point. Walsh has been committed. That means a psychiatrist at Bellevue has certified him insane. Declared him incompetent. Well, if Bellevue takes the position Jack Walsh is incompetent to handle his affairs, they also have to take the position he’s incompetent to testify in court.

“So they won’t produce him. Instead they’ll produce the admitting psychiatrist to testify that he’s in no condition to be there.

“That’s fine. I’ll immediately raise a big stink, demanding that they produce Jack Walsh. At the same time, I’ll be hoping like hell they don’t do it.”

“Why is that?”

“You never saw Jack Walsh, did you?”

“No.”

“Right. If you had, you wouldn’t ask. Anyway, I don’t want to give the judge and the attorney a chance to go after him. I want to go after the psychiatrist.”

“The psychiatrist?”

“Yeah. Him and the relatives. First I’ll attack the psychiatrist on the grounds he had no basis for making his judgment. Then I’ll attack the relatives to show that they were motivated by personal interest.”

“Can you do that?”

“Probably. The relatives are a greedy bunch. I don’t expect them to come off well.

“The psychiatrist is another matter. If I could show he had a financial stake in this, I’d be home free. But that’s probably out of the question. Most likely he’ll be some highly respected shrink just doin’ what he thinks is right.”

“So there’s nothing you can do?”

“No, there’s plenty I can do. What I’ll have going for me is the fact the shrink only saw the guy once, and has to be basing his diagnosis on things the relatives told him.”

“So, say you can do all that. Then what?”

“Then,” Steve said, “the judge isn’t going to be swayed by the doctor’s assurance of the patient’s incompetence. He’ll issue a court order, and Bellevue will have to produce Jack Walsh in court.”

“Yeah. And what happens then?”

Steve shrugged. “Then we’re fucked.”

Judge Washburn adjusted his glasses, picked up a paper from his bench, and squinted at it. “This is a hearing in the case of one Jack Walsh. Application has been made to declare Jack Walsh incompetent and have Rose Tindel and Jason Tindel named conservators. The Tindels are represented by Robert Franklyn. Mr. Franklyn, are your parties in court?”

Franklyn, slim, tall, carefully groomed and impeccably dressed in a three-piece suit, smiled, bowed and said, “Yes, Your Honor.” He turned and gestured to Jason and Rose Tindel.

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.”