Уильям Макгиверн - Summitt

“I know nothing of that, believe me.”

“The senator is willing to put a rocket under immigration.” Selby glanced at Wilger. “I think you should call Maria-Encarna and give her a couple of hours head start. We’ll wait here with you, Petey” — he looked at his watch — “until she’s on a Greyhound out of town. Then we’ll call the senator.”

“You’re a bleeding heart idiot,” Wilger said. “Why the hell do her any favors?”

“Why not, Burt? She’s not involved. If she splits now, she’ll be a jump ahead of Immigration. A bus to Indianapolis, say, then she can drop down to Houston. I’ve got a friend in Brownsville, Texas, a Mexican, one of the first soccer players they brought up to our league as a place-kicker. He’ll look after her, keep her until it’s safe to make a run for it.”

Wilger picked it up. “If she starts right away, keeps her mouth shut and stays out of sight, she could be over the border in two or three days.”

Komoto cleared his throat. He smiled, but not enough to show his strong, white teeth. “Maria won’t believe you, she won’t leave.”

“Angel Ramirez owns a bar and a souvenir shop,” Selby told him. “He’s a good man, lots of guts. He didn’t know anything about contact football, but he tried his damndest. Got his lights shot out a few times. He’ll look after her.”

“Maria-Encarna never hurt anyone in her life.”

“That’s why she’s getting a break. Ramirez knows coyotes, he’ll get an honest one to take her across the border into Matamoros. Find her a job, too. Can she do anything that doesn’t require a partner?”

They stared at Komoto. He blinked his eyes.

“Poor goddamn beaner, she’ll understand why you had to pull the chain on her, Petey. Sure she will...” Wilger picked up Komoto’s phone and began dialing. “It’s business, that’s all.”

Komoto blinked again. “Would you care for coffee now? Please put the phone down. Maria-Encarna would not understand, she has no head for business. She leaves that up to me.”

“Hang up, Burt.”

The Summitt City film, Komoto revealed, was locked away in his office safe.

“Miss Brett?” Judge Flood’s voice was insistent. “You have heard the defense motion to dismiss the charges against the defendant. Do you have any question before the court rules?”

As she returned to the witness stand, Brett said, “Yes, Your Honor, I have several questions to ask the witness.”

Holding the cassette in front of her, she paused and watched Earl Thomson react to the stenciled words. He stiffened in the chair, his strong hands tightening on its arms. The tic began to pull at his mouth again.

“Mr. Thomson,” Brett said, “is it still your sworn testimony that you had no knowledge of any member of the Selby family prior to the attack on the plaintiff? You’re under oath, remember.”

Dom Lorso turned slowly and looked at Harry Selby. The Sicilian’s face was impassive. He studied Earl Thomson, his expression bitter. Picking a fleck of tobacco from his lower lip, he glanced at George Thomson.

“There was another way to handle it, Giorgio. I told you that all along.”

Thomson nodded, staring at the cassette in Brett’s hand. “Maybe I should have listened, Dom,” he said.

The two men looked at each other in silence.

“What is it?” Adele demanded. She was frightened by their sudden silence. Her head swung between them, the blond curls trembling like the petals of a flower on a withered stalk.

“We’re beaten, Adele,” her husband told her.

“What’s happening?”

“I just told you.” Thomson smiled wearily. His tone was almost indifferent, as if he were discussing the fate of figures in a landscape. “You heard Dom. There was another way, but we didn’t take it...”

“But you promised me, George. You swore my son would be safe, that you’d protect him. You lied—”

Flood rapped to still her furious whispers.

“Mr. Thomson,” Brett warned the witness then, “it is my duty to inform you that concealing knowledge of a capital crime constitutes a felony of similar gravity.” Brett held the cassette in front of Thomson. “Now. Do you have knowledge of this film? And information relating to events that occurred in Summitt City, Tennessee, on October 17 last year?”

“Objection, Your Honor. She hasn’t given the witness time to answer her first question.”

“I’ll repeat it then,” Brett said. “Mr. Thomson, is it still your sworn testimony that you had no knowledge of the Selby family prior to the attack on the plaintiff?”

“I don’t think you expect a yes or no to that question,” Thomson said. “I’m sure that would disappoint you.”

“Mr. Thomson,” Judge Flood said, “I remind you—”

But Thomson ignored him. “You’d like the chance to dispense some Christian forgiveness and mercy first, wouldn’t you? But I’ll have to disappoint you there, Miss Brett, and my father and Captain Slocum. Because forgiveness is the Christian decadence that perverts justice.” His eyes were bright. He was obviously savoring this moment, a new excitement evident in his expression. “I embody an idea, a principle, that insists that the elitist decision is the only valid legislator in human affairs. Rule by the best. I acted to save the truth. Everyone else lied to save—”

“Your Honor ...” Davic had been shouting through most of Thomson’s tirade. “Your Honor, my client is under no obligation to volunteer...” A quiver of panic entered his voice. “Mr. Thomson may invoke the Fifth Amendment, Your Honor. He can and will refuse to answer any further questions on the grounds that such answers might tend to incriminate him.”

Judge Flood sounded his gavel. “Miss Brett, you know that the defendant cannot be requested to place himself in jeopardy. His attorney has already stressed that.” Turning to Thomson, he said, “You have the right to remain silent on the advice of your counsel. While you consider your position, the court has a question for People’s counsel. Miss Brett...”

“Your Honor?”

“Is the film on that cassette relevant to the charges and specifications in the indictment against the defendant?”

Brett paused. “They establish, Your Honor, the continuing inconsistencies in his testimony—”

“That would seem to be an evasive answer, Miss Brett. I’ve told you I would not admit inconsistencies unless they were substantive and relevant, or were probative of deliberate perjury. And as far as the cassette is concerned, I’m not going to admit it as evidence in this case, nor will I permit any further questions about its contents...”

During these explanations, Selby became aware of the growing tension around him. It was like the weight that settled in the air before the first storm clouds appeared, a charged tension that was usually shattered by rumbles of distant thunder or a sudden lightning flash.

Selby was something of an authority on tension... he had experienced those areas of human response a good deal more than the average person. He had been conditioned for years to the provocative cadence of snap counts and referees’ whistles and the sudden warning roar from packed stadiums.

It was the breaking point of those moments that professionals could usually predict and defend themselves against. Amateurs tended to be caught off-balance. But there was a dangerous equipoise in such situations that experts recognized — the compression of emotional elements beyond given flashpoints. There they burst and erupted in spasms of violence.

But with all Selby’s experience, he missed the breaking point of the trial, because it came from an unlikely source and spiraled with irrevocable pressure in three unpredictable sequences.