Уильям Макгиверн - Summitt

Brett caught them all by surprise by dropping the envelope and returning to the stand. She said, “Mr. Thomson, are you familiar with the area at the intersection of Fairlee Road and Mill Lane?”

“In a general way.” Earl Thomson looked quickly to Davic, who was rising. “I’ve driven by there.”

“The Selbys’ home is on Mill Lane near Fairlee,” Brett said. “Isn’t it a fact that you’ve driven there at night on more than one occasion—”

“Objection, Your Honor.”

“—since Shana Selby was kidnapped and raped?”

“Objection! People’s counsel is making damaging insinuations. An adverse effect on the jury could be created by any answer my client gives. The answer to both questions is: what difference does it make? What possible point is there in my client’s knowledge of where the plaintiff lives? Or whether he has driven by that intersection since her alleged accident?”

“Sustained. The jury will ignore the People’s last inquiry.”

But Earl Thomson said unexpectedly, “I’d like to add something if I may, sir.”

The last exchange seemed to have tipped the defendant’s careful emotional balance; his voice was loud and unrestrained. “Yes, I drove over to Mill Lane one night a month or so ago, I’ve got no reason to hide it or deny it. I’m sitting here like a fish in a barrel, everybody taking shots whenever—”

“Your Honor!” Davic overrode his client. “I don’t want Mr. Thomson to discuss the matter. The issue raised by the People’s counsel is extraneous—”

Earl Thomson ignored this. “Don’t I have a right to talk, Your Honor? Implications have been made and I’d like to clear them up.”

Dom Lorso leaned forward and said in a bitter whisper to Davic, “Goddammit, can’t you put a cork in him?”

Davic murmured behind a well-manicured hand, “No, Mr. Lorso, I can’t.”

“Very well, Mr. Thomson,” Judge Flood said. “The court will hear your clarification.”

Thomson said, “I did drive to Fairlee Road one night last month. I stopped and got out of my car. The lady here must know that or she wouldn’t have asked. I’m not so ignorant of legal techniques. Maybe someone saw me there, got my license, I’m not denying I was there. I never have. I was trying to visualize what happened. It wasn’t morbid curiosity.”

To Brett’s surprise, Earl Thomson’s voice had become effectively and firmly assertive. “Someone stole my car and deliberately ran down a girl riding a bicycle. I’ve been accused of that, and of kidnapping and raping her. I went back to see if I could find something the police might have overlooked. I wanted to get the feel of the place, the mood of the woods and the sky and the terrain, the angle of Fairlee Road where it curves past Mill Lane, the incline of the shoulders. In military science, that kind of appraisal is called the ‘sense of the battlefield.’ That may sound strange to some of you, but the opponents of Napoleon Bonaparte were intimidated by what they called his eye of battle. He saw what others didn’t. I can also tell you that General George Patton, one of America’s finest commanders in World War II, had the same gift. In his memoirs it’s reported that he actually saw the ghosts of Roman centurions on the battlefields of modern France. In the Ardennes when his Third Army raced to relieve Bastogne, Patton observed in the fog—”

Lorso reached forward and jabbed Davic in the back. “For Christ’s sake!” he hissed at him. “Do something.”

But Adele Thomson’s eyes shone with pride. “It’s beautiful, it’s true,” she whispered.

When Thomson at last finished, Brett asked him quietly, “And were you successful in your search, Mr. Thomson? Did you find any evidence, or glimpse some truth the police had overlooked?”

“No, ma’am, I didn’t. But I went there to help them, and for no other reason.”

Brett nodded thoughtfully and walked to the plaintiffs table and picked up the envelope containing Earl’s swastika. Her eyes went to the closed rear door of the courtroom and the immobile marshals. Her time was running out. She had to work on the knife-edge of the present.

She opened the envelope and unwrapped the sheets of tissue paper from the silver swastika and links of chain. A soft stir of whispers drifted through the courtroom. Flood tapped for order.

“Mr. Thomson—” She held up the swastika by a link of chain; the silver crosses glistened in the clear light. “Is that what you were wearing at The Green Lantern?”

“Yes, it is,” Earl said. “You can see it’s got my initials on it. I’d about given up hope of ever seeing it again.” His smile was bland.

Davic rose. “Your Honor, if the object the People’s counsel is displaying is meant to be a Commonwealth exhibit, I ask that she identify it. But if the exhibit is part of this case, it should have been available to the defense during discovery proceedings months ago. Since it wasn’t, we’ve got to ask where it’s been all this time.”

“You’ve made several points, Counselor,” Judge Flood observed, “but no objection. So we’ll take your points in order. Miss Brett, do you intend to introduce that object as a Commonwealth exhibit? If so, would you define it for the record?”

“Yes, Your Honor.” Brett raised the swastika so the jury could examine it. “This emblem was the symbol of a political party in Germany before World War II. It is a decorative or symbolic ornament in the form of a cross with equal arms, each of which has another arm turned at right angles to it. The object is silver. It has the initials E.T. on the reverse side of the cross of one arm, a date on another, November 9, 1938. The clerk will identify the object as People’s Exhibit Three.”

Brett put the swastika on the exhibit table, placing it between the photograph of Earl’s license plate and the cards identifying his fingerprints from Vinegar Hill.

Then she said, “Mr. Thomson, did you remove that — necklace on the night you showered before dining with your mother?”

“Yes, I did. I took off my watch, as I’ve already told you, and my rings, and what you refer to as a necklace.”

“You couldn’t have lost that object while you were driving from The Green Lantern to your home?”

“Of course not. If I had, I’d have mentioned it to Santos.”

“But you didn’t tell Santos you’d lost your thirty-five-thousand-dollar automobile, did you, Mr. Thomson?”

“That’s different. I’ve explained often enough that I didn’t think the car was stolen. But a piece of personal jewelry, I’d have missed it right away.”

“Because of its value?” Brett asked.

“For whatever reason, I don’t see what difference it makes.”

“Does the date on the emblem have a sentimental or emotional significance for you, Mr. Thomson?”

Davic, Brett noticed, was reluctant to object. Earl’s voice was mild, but a potential violence seemed close to the surface of his smile... “Miss Brett, I’m sure you know the significance of that date, November 9, 1938. It commemorates an event in Germany called Crystal Night. I’m not sure of the details, but it was some sort of national event. I asked a jeweler in Philadelphia to engrave that date with my initials but he refused to do it. He told me that Crystal Night had offensive memories for him. Like a Japanese in this country might remember Pearl Harbor, I guess. So I got someone else to do the job. There’s nothing illegal about that.”

“Then this emblem,” Brett said casually, “couldn’t have been what you were searching for on Fairlee Road?”

“Objection, Your Honor.”

“Sustained.”

Earl shrugged. “No. As you yourself said, it couldn’t have been.”