Ed McBain - Kiss

"Hello?" he said.

"Steve?”

His mother. In tears. "Mom?" he said. "What's the matter?”

"That lawyer," she said, sobbing. "All those things he said.”

"Mom ...”

"You heard him.”

"Yes, but ...”

"That the man who killed Papa didn't kill him. That there's no proof he did it, the gun wasn't even his, there's no case against him ...”

"They always say that in their opening statements.

We've got everything we need, believe me.”

"I wanted to kill him," she said. "Sitting there with that look on his face while his - lawyer was telling everybody he didn't do it.”

"We'll see what kind of look he ...”

"He worried me. The lawyer.”

"No, Mom ...”

"He did.”

"No, there's nothing to worry about.”

"Suppose they let him go?”

"They won't.”

"But suppose they do?”

"Mom, you shouldn't have taken the lawyer so seriously. That's all part of the hype, the way they soften up a jury. So the jury'll believe whatever they see and hear.”

"Suppose they do?”

"Mom ...”

"Believe everything he tells them? Suppose they believe it?”

"They won't.”

"Do you trust this Englishman?”

"He's not an Englishman, Mom.”

"Then why does he sound so English?”

"He went to Oxford. That's the way they talk there at ...”

"He sounds phony.”

"Well ...”

"I hope the jury doesn't think he sounds phony.”

"They won't, Mom, don't worry.”

"The other lawyer looks like Santa Claus.

He talks right to the jury, he tells them his man didn't do it, I'm afraid they might believe him.”

"Mom, really, don't worry, okay?”

He heard her sighing on the other end of the line.

"Will you pick me up tomorrow morning?" she asked.

"Angela said she'd come by for you. I'll meet you both downtown.”

"I wish I liked him better," Louise said.

"Well," Carella said.

"I'll see you tomorrow.”

"Yes.”

"At the courthouse.”

"Yes. And don't worry about what the lawyer said.”

"I worry," she said, and hung up.

Bloody murder would be the subject of this trial.

Bloody murder seemed to rage in the fierce January wind that rattled the tall windows on one side of the courtroom. The windows were shut tight against the winter cold, but you could still hear the high, shrill whistle of the wind outside, more insistent than the muted sounds of traffic in the streets below. The walnut-paneled courtroom was far too small for the crowd it contained. An expectant hush seemed to shrink the room further as Assistant District Attorney Henry Lowell called his first witness.

"I would like Dominick Assanti to take the stand, please," he said.

A tall young white man with wavy black hair and brown eyes came through the doors at the back of the courtroom, nodded to a man sitting in the back row-undoubtedly his father, judging from the remarkable resemblance-and walked down the center aisle to the witness chair. The clerk of the court swore him in. Lowell approached.

"Could you tell me your name, please?" he asked.

"Dominick Assanti.”

"How old are you, Dominick?”

"Eighteen.”

"How old were you on July seventeenth last year?”

"Seventeen.”

"You had your eighteenth birthday between then and now, is that it?”

"Yes, sir. On the sixth of December.”

"Mr. Assanti, on July seventeenth last year, do you recall going to a movie with a girl named Doris Franceschi ...”

"Yes, I do.”

"... who was your girlfriend at the time, wasn't she?”

"Yes. But we broke up. She's not my girlfriend no more.”

"But she was at that time.”

"Yes.”

"At the time, did she live at 7914 Harrison Street?”

"I think that was her address, yes.”

"Mr. Assanti," Lowell said gently, "if you can remember the exact ...”

“Objection.”

Harold Addison, attorney for the defense.

A white man in his early sixties, sporting a Santa Claus beard and a potbelly to match.

Ruddy-cheeked and twinkly-eyed, he gave the impression of a kind and generous grandfather whom it pained even to use the word objection, but if justice was to be served ...

"Yes, Mr. Addison?”

"He's answered the question, Your Honor.”

"I don't believe so. Please read back the question.”

"At the time, did she live at 7914 Harrison Street?”

"Do you mean Frankie?”

"Is that what you called her?”

"Frankie, yes. That's her nickname.”

"And is that her address?”

"Yes, that's where she lived," Assanti said.

From where Carella was sitting with his mother and sister in the third row right, he saw Addison smile in his Santa Claus beard, as if he'd won a major victory. Carella could not for the life of him imagine why. Judge Rudy Di Pasco was frowning, as if displeased by whatever it was that Grandpa Addison had done. To nail it all home, Lowell said, "Then on July seventeenth last year, Doris Franceschi was living at 7914 Harrison Street, in Riverhead, was she not?”

"She was, yes," Assanti said.

"Thank you. Now tell me, Mr.

Assanti, on that night, after the movie, did you not walk Miss Franceschi back to her home at 7914 Harrison Street?”

"I did.”

"Would you remember what time this was?”

"It was after the movie.”

"Yes, but what time was that? Would you remember what time the movie let out?”

"It m/'ve been about eight-thirty. Around then.”

"Did you go directly from the movie to Miss Franceschi's house?”

"Yes.”

"Arriving there at what time?”

"I don't remember.”

"Well, isn't the theater you went to only ten blocks ...?was "Your Honor?" Santa Claus. On his feet again. Head tilted to one side as if he'd just come down the chimney and was apologizing for all the soot he'd trailed onto the carpet.

"Yes, Mr. Addison," Di Pasco said.

"I hate to interrupt the orderly flow of an examination," Addison said, "and I realize that Your Honor has already ruled upon an instance where Mr. Lowell was insisting on certain knowledge rather than on conjecture. But, Your Honor, when the witness says he cannot remember something, then surely this may be taken as a direct answer to a direct question. I do not remember ... it is impossible for me to recall ... whatever language the witness may choose to use, it means the same thing. He cannot remember. And not remembering something is a valid answer and not, to my knowledge, a crime in this sovereign state.”

Murder is, Carella thought.

"Mr. Lowell?”

"It was my hope, Your Honor, to refresh the witness's memory by providing significant facts relating to time and distance.”

"Perhaps you can find another way of getting to that.”

"Your Honor ...”

"I've ruled, Mr. Addison.”

"Thank you, Your Honor. But ...”

"I said I've ruled.”

"Thank you," Addison said, and rolled his eyes as he sat down, clearly transmitting to the jury that something rotten was afoot in a court of American law where a witness wasn't allowed to say he didn't remember something.

"What was the name of the theater you went to?”

Lowell asked.

"The Octagon.”

"Thank you. And the Octagon is on what street?”

"Benton.”

"And how far is that from Harrison, would you say?

From the house Miss Franceschi lived in on Harrison.”

"About ten blocks.”

"So how long did it take you to walk those ten blocks? Would you say five minutes?”

"Longer than that.”

"Ten minutes?”

"More like fifteen or twenty.”

"Is it fair, then, to say that it took you fifteen or twenty minutes to walk to her - house from the movie theater?”

"That's about what it took.”