Sol Stein - Other people

"There are a lot of things one can't suggest directly to a jury. Every lawyer has a different way of getting things across by body language, intonations, allusions, subliminally. I'm sure you'll be able to find a way to reminisce about various things. There'll be a lawyer at the accuser's side who is of Armenian extraction. Perhaps that lawyer has a strong feeling about rape because the Armenians, the first Christian community in modern times, were early in this century subjected to rape as well as murder by the Turks on a scale that, in your reflections, can only be described as genocide. In fact, you yourself can allude — you'll know how to do it without rattling the judge — to the fact that you, representing the people's case in this courtroom, cannot forget that in this century, in which six million of your coreligionists were exterminated, many of the women, the attractive ones, had the option of choosing repeated rape in the SS brothels instead of death, and that after the experience of rape, many chose death. You'll have alluded to the Christians and the Jews, and if you can keep Brady from objecting, you'll have covered everyone in this jurisdiction. What you are accomplishing with all the finesse you can muster, all the indirection at your command, is to get the jury to see rape in all its historical enormity. Once you do that, Brady won't be able to mock, disparage, or trivialize what happened. I'm certain you can do it."

Lefkowitz poured himself an inch of water from the carafe on his desk. "Mr. Thomassy," he said, "I respect your experience, but do you really think the judge would let me get away with that?"

"It all depends on how you do it," said Thomassy. "Look, one thing you can count on is that none of those jurors will have been a victim of rape or be related to a rape victim. Brady'll knock them off for cause before they're impaneled. Therefore, it is your obligation, you explain to the judge, because people know so little about the crime of rape, to give them some background, some filling in."

"I was hoping," said Lefkowitz, "to avoid emotionalism in my presentation."

"I don't expect you to be emotional at all," said Thomassy. "You're far too skilled for that. You're just alluding to facts about the historical context quietly. Be as cool as you want to be. The emotion will be in your listeners."

Thomassy's puffing up of Lefkowitz seemed to be working. The young man billowed with each stroke. He turned to me, and said, I thought a touch condescendingly, "Mr. Widmer, you've had longer experience at the bar than either of us. Do you have any points you'd care to have me consider?"

I would have had him consider his youth and his mortality. What I said was, "Mr. Lefkowitz, my practice, as you may know, is very different from Mr. Thomassy's. I've never uttered a word inside a courtroom. I would find it exceedingly difficult to present this case."

"Mr. Widmer," said Lefkowitz, "I've had a good deal of experience these last two years, in criminal matters I mean, and my percentage of convictions, on cases where I presented the cases not just prepared them, is significant and rewarding."

I could guess that Francine was not entirely happy with Mr. Lefkowitz, but Thomassy, with a glance, kept her from saying something. They had had a previous agreement on the point, I was certain.

"I think it would be useful in the opening presentation," said Thomassy, "to cover two more points. Murder is a single act. When it's finished, that's the end of it. The victims of rape, when they are allowed to live, or when they give in so that they can live, then have to spend the rest of their existences with the disgust and terror and memory of it. Rape is a continuing crime because long after it is committed it goes on in the head of the victim."

"A good point," I said.

"Excellent," said Lefkowitz. I wonder what he wrote down on that pad of his.

"My last point," said Thomassy, "has to do with the importance of this particular case. From time to time we've had the experience in this county of a rapist who focuses on youngsters, ten- and twelve- and fourteen-year-olds. When he's caught, the mother refuses to let the child testify. She takes the child to a psychiatrist, and the psychiatrist discourages public testimony because it could be traumatic for the child. He doesn't worry too much about the private testimony the child is giving him because that's therapy and he's being paid for it. Well, we're all against child rapists, right, and we're furious when the guilty escape the law because the underage victims aren't allowed to testify. But the truth is that many women who are raped feel exactly as the mothers of the children do, they don't want to go through the public experience, the drawing out of their private lives, the humiliation, the obscenity of the details. They fink out. In this case, the jury is going to hear from an extraordinary victim, the rare, brave young woman with the strength to testify, the moral strength to be unwilling to duck her responsibility to the rest of humanity. Don't make her into Joan of Arc. Just make damn sure that in your opening she comes across as someone deserving of respect. That's the word to write down: respect."

"I already have," said Lefkowitz.

"It's your meeting," said Thomassy.

"I think I've got what I need out of this larger meeting," he said. "I'd like to go over the details of the actual event from my notes with Miss Widmer, if that's all right with you gentlemen."

I said Thomassy and I would wait for her in the anteroom and take her to lunch afterwards.

Outside, we went to the men's room, the bridegroom and the father of the bride in adjoining urinals, listening to their respective tinkles. It would have been more comfortable to skip a urinal in between, but also obvious.

"Well," said Thomassy, "I think she's safe with Lefkowitz."

I had to laugh.

"I mean in the office," said Thomassy. "He could blow it in the courtroom."

I had to agree. "What do you think are our chances?"

Thomassy didn't answer. I didn't know if he was thinking or preoccupied.

"Realistically," I said.

We both took extra time to make sure the last drop went, then zipped up, washed up, and strolled down the corridor together before he replied.

"Lefkowitz is no match for Brady."

"Our case is good." Why our case? And how did I know it was good? I sounded like a layman.

"Ned, good cases are of no value if your advocate isn't shrewder than the other guy, or doesn't know where the power lies. We have one chance."

"What's that?"

"Work on Brady so he knows he's playing with me and not with the kid Lefkowitz."

We walked back the way we had come. "George," I said to him, "when you were in school, did you think of justice as the lady with the scales and all that?"

"In the streets of Oswego, Ned, things aren't much different from Manhattan. They don't let you get away with cock and bull. Clout counted. Not justice." He looked at me. "Were things different at Groton?"

"No. Of course not. The parents pretended, of course. And the masters. But not the boys. Did you pay the piper?"

"Piper?"

"The leader. The bully. Whatever you called him."

"I worked around him."

"A mite harder working around Lefkowitz."

"Yup."

"Well, never fear," I said. "I'm no authority on tactics, but it seems to me your suggested presentation was rather brilliant. If only we could hire an actor for the role."

"Why thank you, Ned." He seemed genuinely pleased. "Glad you steered Francine to me?"

"Not entirely."

Back in the anteroom, we sat apart. I thumbed through a U.S. News and World Report . When Francine emerged, Thomassy, who was not reading, went to her first. They said something to each other, I couldn't overhear, and he took both of her hands only for a split second. I thought Are we at last mingling our genes with the barbarians', or have we found a way of protecting ourselves?