Маргарет Миллар - Spider Webs

“Tell me again.”

“I can’t remember. The only thing I notice about women’s clothes is whether they’re on or off.”

“Oh, great. Terrific.” Donnelly pressed his pencil so hard into the notebook that the lead broke. “That will sound wonderful in front of a jury.”

“I wouldn’t say that in front of a jury, Mr. Donnelly.”

“You’re goddamn right you wouldn’t. You’re not going to get in front of a jury until we straighten out a few misconceptions. For instance, you think jurors are people, don’t you?”

“Sure they’re people.”

“Wrong. They started out as people, but once they were sworn in and took their seats in that jury box, they changed. They turned into defenders of the truth. And at the beginning of every trial one truth is evident: A crime has been committed and a person has been arrested for committing it. Why has this person been arrested? Because the police are convinced he is guilty, the police whom we are all brought up to trust and respect. So we start off with a pretty lopsided situation. If a vote was taken now, this afternoon, you would be convicted.”

“You mean they all think I’m guilty?”

“Probably. It comes with the territory, the territory being the county jail.”

Drops of fear had appeared on Cully’s forehead. “Hey, man, you’re just trying to scare me, aren’t you?”

Donnelly didn’t answer. A scared client was a lot easier to defend than a confident one. A dose of reality might help cleanse Cully’s system like a spring tonic. “When the jury returns in a few minutes, look at them carefully. They’re your enemies. It’s up to you to make them your friends, to convince them that cops are not infallible; they make mistakes like anyone else, and one of their biggest mistakes was arresting you for murder.”

“It was a mistake. I didn’t do anything.”

“Of course you did. Maybe not all you’re accused of doing but some of it. I never had a completely innocent client. Don’t go spoiling my record.”

Cully wiped the sweat off his forehead. He didn’t understand this man, who had no feelings, who never smiled, never frowned, a cruel man who seemed to hate his job and hate his clients but never stopped working. The jail grapevine had him married to a rich woman. Maybe it did funny things to a man, marrying a rich woman.

“I’ve studied this jury,” Donnelly said. “And it’s no different from any of the others. What they want is a defendant who’s humble. Do you think you can manage the humble bit?”

“I didn’t do anything. Why should I act humble?”

“Because you have a smart lawyer who tells you to. Are you smart enough to take his advice?”

“I guess so. But it’s tough to act humble when I don’t feel humble, when I don’t have anything to feel humble about. I’m not sure how to start.”

“Oh, Christ, forget it. Just don’t act like a smartass. Think you can manage that?”

Cully thought about it a minute. Then: “You’re a pretty big guy, aren’t you?”

“Six-three.”

“I’m five-nine. But if I met you on a street in St. John and you called me a smartass, I’d cut you, man, I’d cut you like a piece of fruit.”

“A piece of fruit,” Donnelly repeated, looking somewhat amused. “I’m almost sorry you won’t get a chance to try. It might be interesting. Right now, however, it seems doubtful that you’ll meet me on a street in St. John or meet anyone on any street at any time in the future. That is, unless you start listening to your attorney. So are you listening?”

“I’m listening.”

“Good... Time’s nearly up. Do you have to go to the can?”

“No.”

“I do. See you soon.”

It was three-twenty when the judge reentered the courtroom and the witness took his place on the stand again. Donnelly approached the lectern. In the small well of the court he looked massive, and his slow, careful adjusting of the speaker to his height emphasized the shortfall of the district attorney. “Mr. Belasco, is it mandatory for a skipper to record in the log the names of passengers who come aboard?”

“No.”

“It is up to the individual skipper?”

“Yes.”

“Do you yourself list passengers?”

“Usually. In a race, of course, everything is recorded down to the slightest detail. But in casual sailing I may omit quite a few things, accidentally or on purpose.”

“According to the log, Mr. King called you by radiophone from Mazatlán. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“At that time did you tell him you were still lacking a cook for the Transpac race?”

“Yes.”

“Can you recall exactly what you said?”

“Not exactly word by word. But I told him I still had no cook for the Transpac.”

“Did you tell him you needed one?”

“I didn’t have to tell him that. He knows how important a cook is in a long race.”

“Did you ask him to keep on the alert for one?”

“I’m sure I made such a request by implication.”

“Would you say then that you asked him in a roundabout way to hire a cook or at least to be on the lookout for one?”

“I would say that, yes. I never have to spell things out for Cully because he seems to know instinctively what is required of him.”

The district attorney rose. “I object to the witness volunteering irrelevant remarks about the defendant.”

“You will try to confine yourself to answering questions, Mr. Belasco,” the judge said.

Donnelly stood motionless at the lectern until all the attention was refocused on him. “I have no more questions, Mr. Belasco. Thank you.”

The judge looked slightly annoyed as if this somehow had spoiled his schedule for the afternoon. “Mr. Owen, do you want to recross?”

Owen changed places with Donnelly at the lectern. “Were you surprised when you learned that Mr. King had taken Mrs. Pherson on as cook?”

“I was surprised when I learned of her background and position in society. But of course, I didn’t find that out until I read about it in the newspapers and saw it on TV.”

“Did Mr. King call you while the Bewitched was en route from San Diego to tell you he was giving a woman a chance at the job?”

“He may have tried. I don’t know. I was unavailable. I’d been summoned to my father’s bedside in Palm Springs. He had a heart attack.”

“A simple yes or no will be sufficient.”

“I don’t know if he called me. I wasn’t home.”

“I have no more questions.”

Belasco started to leave the stand, but the judge held him back with a gesture. “Just a minute, Mr. Belasco. Mr. Donnelly might want to re-recross. Mr. Donnelly?”

“I have a couple of questions mainly for clarification purposes,” Donnelly said. “Mr. Belasco, where were you when the Bewitched was on its way here from San Diego?”

“I was in Palm Springs.”

“Why?”

“My father was very ill.”

“Did you inform Mr. King where you were?”

“No.”

“I have nothing further at this moment.”

“You are free to step down, Mr. Belasco,” the judge said. “I would like at this time to remind you that all witnesses are admonished to stay out of the courtroom during these proceedings except for the time they spend testifying. Was it made clear to you previously that you are to stay away from the courtroom before and after your testimony?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“You are free to leave with the understanding that you may be recalled later... Do you have another witness, Mr. Owen?”

“Not immediately.” Owen slid an accusing look down the long polished table toward Donnelly. “I expected the cross-examination of Mr. Belasco to take up the rest of the afternoon.”