Уильям Макгиверн - Summitt

Thomson sipped his drink and nibbled on the second olive. He was grateful for Davic’s advice. The court-martial could open up a lot of embarrassment... to him, to the general, to Correll... “That lady’s got a nice swing,” he said. “It’s all timing. Doesn’t weigh more than a hundred pounds, I’ll bet, but she’s really powdering that ball.”

Yes, the court-martial would touch General Taggart, and those muddy pens in Korea, the off-limits barracks and POWs under sedation, a trail that could lead back through all those years, back to Summitt City...

“Don’t go any farther, Counselor,” Thomson began to cut up his lamb chop and sausage. “You already made Selby look bad. But don’t press it. Forget the court-martial.”

Davic said, “I think that’s a wise decision. You know the phrase, ‘Beware the wrath of a patient man’? I have that feeling about Harry Selby. He could be more trouble than we’d want.” Unfolding his napkin, he glanced at his plate. “Very nice, but do you suppose we could ask for a little mint sauce? I prefer it to the jelly.”

Selby left Shana with a police matron after lunch and went up to Brett’s office. Sergeant Wilger was with her. He said to Brett, “Want me to finish this up, or wait till later?”

“I’d like the rest of it, please. But you’d better start from the beginning. Mr. Selby should hear this.”

The sergeant removed his narrow glasses and polished them with his handkerchief. “I was telling Miss Brett about something that happened around the time Vinegar Hill was torched. I didn’t have any word on it. The captain and Eberle made sure I didn’t. I got the story last night from a detective on Eberle’s shift, a pal who owes me one.”

After examining his glasses, Wilger carefully replaced them. “Earl Thomson disappeared after that fire. A ton of pressure came down on Slocum to find him. The captain and Eberle were on the phone all night checking airports, trains, bus stations. Talked to cops all over the state, up and down the Atlantic seaboard, with Mr. Lorso blistering them for news.”

Brett was pacing tensely as he talked.

“Thomson caught a plane in Philadelphia late one night,” Wilger went on. “That’s what Slocum found out. Flew down to Memphis, rented a Hertz car and drove to Summitt City. He stayed two nights. It sure as hell wasn’t a casual trip, otherwise it wouldn’t have blown up such a storm. Thomson worked at Summitt a couple of years ago. You’d expect he’d have some friends there. But he just turned the car in at Memphis, flew on home. So why the heat and pressure?” The sergeant shrugged. “Thought you should know, Miss Brett.”

When Wilger left and the door closed, Selby said, “So why did Thomson go to Summitt?”

“You heard the sergeant. He doesn’t know.”

“Then what else are you uptight about?” Her responses, he’d learned, were at times oblique and apparently irrelevant. Sometimes he had to hunt for clues to what she was getting at.

She was saying, “We could have submitted Shana’s written deposition, or filed a motion for closed hearings. That was what Davic wanted all along, never mind that pious bull to the jury. He was safe to champion open inquiry because he felt sure we’d file for a closed trial. The last thing the defense wants is an articulate, intelligent child like Shana with enough character to tell a crowded courtroom precisely what the” — she turned and put out her cigarette — “what the defendant did to her and how many times. I think closed trials in rape cases are an abomination. Is it cruel and unusual punishment to ask that an alleged rapist at least hear in public what was done to a victim? Whose feelings are we being so damned sensitive about? I explained the options to Shana. She told me she was willing to testify. But I’m not sure you realize what she’ll face under Davic’s cross-examination.”

“Then will you spell it out, for Christ’s sake?”

“All right, dammit, I will. Anything that hurts the case hurts Shana. What hurts you can hurt her.” She picked up her cigarettes but dropped them nervously. “Don’t you see what Davic is doing? He’s establishing that you have some need to want to hurt Earl Thomson, or his father... a motive that has nothing to do with Shana.”

“How the hell can he? I never even saw Earl Thomson before that morning at Longwood Gardens—”

“Davic is too shrewd to start anything he can’t make pay off. He knows something I don’t, which could mean you haven’t leveled with me.” She looked at him. “What about it, Harry?”

He shook his head, kept his temper. “I’ve told you every sight and sound and smell that could conceivably relate to this business.” He ticked items off on his fingers. “About my father, as much as we could get about him. About Jarrell, his girl, what I’ve asked Jerry Goldbirn to check out, the fact that somebody was on Fairlee the other night looking for something.”

“Could it be something you’re holding back... unconsciously? To protect Shana?”

“If it’s unconscious, how the hell would I know?”

She sighed. “Dumb question, sorry.”

Selby said then, “If Davic’s got a bomb to explode, I’ll be as surprised as you, if that’s any consolation.”

“It’s not much, Harry.”

A tap sounded on the office door. She said, “Yes?”

Flood’s bailiff looked in on them. “Miss Brett, the judge is robing now. I’ll be calling us to order in just a few minutes.”

“Thank you, Thomas, we’ll be there in good time for his entrance.”

She put her arm through Selby’s. “Let’s go on down and see what they’ve got to blind-side you with.”

But the afternoon session proved anticlimactic. Davic, as agreed between him and Thomson, dropped Selby’s relationship to the Thomsons and directed his attention to other areas.

“You are a widower, Mr. Selby?”

“Yes.”

“Would you describe your relationship with your daughter as trusting and confident? Does she confide openly and truthfully in you?”

“Objection, Your Honor. The questions are irrelevant.”

“Sustained.”

“Mr. Selby, isn’t it a fact that your daughter called you at your motel in Memphis the day before the alleged attack on her?”

“That’s right.”

“To tell you a car was parked in the dark somewhere near your home?”

“Yes.”

“Did she tell you she was frightened by the presence of that car?”

“No, she didn’t.”

“Were strange cars and vans, motorcycles perhaps, such a common event around your place?”

“Objection, Your Honor.”

“Mr. Davic,” Flood said, “what is the purpose of this question?”

“I want to pursue an inconsistency in the testimony of the witness.”

“Overruled. Proceed.”

“If your daughter wasn’t frightened by the presence of that car, Mr. Selby, why did she place a long distance call to you to tell you about it?”

“Our housekeeper had called the police. Shana felt I ought to know that.”

“Mr. Selby, when you talked to your daughter that night, did she seem her usual self?”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

“Well, did you notice any undue excitement in her manner?”

“Objection, Your Honor. The question demands a subjective evaluation.”

“Sustained.”

“Your Honor, I was trying to find out if the young lady’s call to her father might have been in the nature of a prank or a practical joke. Because it’s a fact that Mr. Selby didn’t respond seriously to that call. He didn’t cut short his trip and return home. But I will accede to your ruling and ask no further questions along that line.”

Davic excused himself to confer with his associates.