Isaac Asimov - The Early Asimov. Volume 2

The voice said weakly, 'I didn't think I was that bad. I'm way out of practice. I guess that's the first daylight materialization I've made in seventy-five years.'

The lawyer adjusted his rimless glasses and coughed. Hell's binges, he thought, the worst thing about this is that I'm believing it!

'Oh, well,' he said aloud. Then he hurried on before the visitor could take offense: 'Just what did you want? I'm just a small-town laywer, you know. My business is fairly routine -'

'I know all about your business,' the voice said. 'You can handle my case - it's a land affair. I want to sue Russell Har-ley.'

'Harley?' Turnbull fingered his cheeks. 'Any relation to Zeb Harley?'

'His nephew - and his heir, too.'

Turnbull nodded. 'Yes, I remember now. My wife's folks live in Rebel Butte, and I've been there. Quite a coincidence you should come to me -'

The voice laughed. 'It was no coincidence,' it said softly.

'Oh.' Turnbull was silent for a second. Then, 'I see,' he said. He cast a shrewd glance at the chair. 'Lawsuits cost money, Mr. - I don't think you mentioned your name?'

'Hank Jenkins,' the voice prompted. 'I know that. Would -let's see. Would six hundred and fifty dollars be sufficient?'

Turnbull swallowed. 'I think so,' he said in a relatively unemotional tone - relative to what he was thinking.

'Then suppose we call that your retainer. I happen to have cached a considerable sum in gold when I was - that is to say, before I became an astral entity. I'm quite certain it hasn't been disturbed. You will have to call it treasure trove, I guess, and give half of it to the state, but there's thirteen hundred dollars altogether.'

Turnbull nodded judiciously. 'Assuming we can locate your trove,' he said, 'I think that would be quite satisfactory.' He leaned back in his chair and looked legal. His aplomb had returned.

And half an hour later he said slowly, 'I'll take your case.'

Judge Lawrence Gimbel had always liked his job before. But his thirteen honorable years on the bench lost their flavor for him as he grimaced wearily and reached for his gavel. This case was far too confusing for his taste.

The clerk made his speech, and the packed courtroom sat down en masse. Gimbel held a hand briefly to his eyes before he spoke.

'Is the counsel for the plaintiff ready?'

'I am, your honor.' Turnbull, alone at his table, rose and bowed.

The counsel for the defendant?'

'Ready, your honor!' Fred Wilson snapped. He looked with a hard flicker of interest at Turnbull and his solitary table, then leaned over and whispered in Russell Harley's ear. The youth nodded glumly, then shrugged.

Gimbel said, 'I understand the attorneys for both sides have waived jury trial in this case of Henry Jenkins versus Russell Joseph Harley.'

Both lawyers nodded. Gimbel continued, 'In view of the unusual nature of this case, I imagine it will prove necessary to conduct it with a certain amount of informality. The sole purpose of this court is to arrive at the true facts at issue, and to deliver a verdict in accord with the laws pertaining to these facts. I will not stand on ceremony. Nevertheless, I will not tolerate any disturbances or unnecessary irregularities. The spectators will kindly remember that they are here on privilege. Any demonstration will result in the clearing of the court.'

He looked severely at the white faces that gleamed unintel-ligently up at him. He suppressed a sigh as he said, 'The counsel for the plaintiff will begin.'

Turnbull rose quickly to his feet, faced the judge.

'Your honor,' he said, 'we propose to show that my client, Henry Jenkins, has been deprived of his just rights by the defendant. Mr. Jenkins, by virtue of a sustained residence of more than twenty years in the house located on Route 22, eight miles north of the town of Rebel Butte, with the full knowledge of its legal owner, has acquired certain rights. In legal terminology we define these as the rights of adverse possession. The layman would call them common-law rights - squatters' rights.'

Gimbel folded his hands and tried to relax. Squatters' rights - for a ghost! He sighed, but listened attentively as Turnbull went on.

'Upon the death of Sebulon Harley, the owner of the house involved - it is better known, perhaps, as Harley Hall - the defendant inherited title to the property. We do not question his right to it. But my client has an equity in Harley Hall; the right to free and full existence. The defendant has forcefully evicted my client, by means which have caused my client great mental distress, and have even endangered his very existence.'

Gimbel nodded. If the case only had a precedent somewhere… But it hadn't; he remembered grimly the hours he'd

spent thumbing through all sorts of unlikely law books, looking for anything that might bear on the case. It had been his better judgment that he throw the case out of court outright - a judge couldn't afford to have himself laughed at, not if he were ambitious. And public laughter was about the only certainty there was to this case. But Wilson had put up such a fight that the judge's temper had taken over. He never did like Wilson, anyhow.

'You may proceed with your witnesses,' he said.

Turnbull nodded. To the clerk he said, 'Call Henry Jenkins to the stand.'

Wilson was on his feet before the clerk opened his mouth.

'Objection!' he bellowed. 'The so-called Henry Jenkins cannot qualify as a witness!'

'Why not?' demanded Turnbull.

'Because he's dead!'

The judge clutched his gavel with one hand, forehead with the other. He banged on the desk to quieten the courtroom.

Turnbull stood there, smiling. 'Naturally,' he said, 'you'll have proof of that statement.'

Wilson snarled. 'Certainly.' He referred to his brief. 'The so-called Henry Jenkins is the ghost, spirit or specter of one Hank Jenkins, who prospected for gold in this territory a century ago. He was killed by a bullet through the throat from the gun of one Long Tom Cooper, and was declared legally dead on September 14, 1850. Cooper was hanged for his murder. No matter what hocus-pocus you produce for evidence to the contrary now, that status of legal death remains completely valid.'

'What evidence have you of the identity of my client with this Hank Jenkins?' Turnbull asked grimly.

'Do you deny it?'

Turnbull shrugged. 'I deny nothing. I'm not being cross-examined. Furthermore, the sole prerequisite of a witness is that he understand the value of an oath. Henry Jenkins was tested by John Quincy Fitzjames, professor of psychology at the University of Southern California. The results - I have Dr. Fitzjames' sworn statement of them here, which I will introduce as an exhibit - show clearly that my client's intelligence quotient is well above normal, and that a psychiatric examination discloses no important aberrations which would injure his validity as a witness. I insist that my client be allowed to testify on his own behalf.'

'But he's dead!' squawked Wilson. 'He's invisible right now!'

'My client,' said Turnbull stiffly, 'is not present just now. Undoubtedly that accounts for what you term his invisibility.' He paused for the appreciative murmur that swept through the court. Things were breaking perfectly, he thought, smiling. 'I have here another affidavit,' he said. 'It is signed by Elihu James and Terence MacRae, who respectively head the departments of physics and biology at the same university. It startes that my client exhibits all the vital phenomena of life. I am prepared to call all three of my expert witnesses to the stand, if necessary.'

Wilson scowled but said nothing, Judge Gimbel leaned forward.

'I don't see how it is possible for me to refuse the plaintiff the right to testify,' he said. 'If the three experts who prepared these reports will testify on the stand to the facts contained in them, Henry Jenkins may then take the stand.'