Уильям Макгиверн - Summitt

Thomson nodded and drank some wine. It warmed him, was more comforting than whiskey. He’d never lived in a kitchen with melons and cheese hanging on the walls and peppers drying in the windows, but he missed it all the same. Bocci games on church lawns, old men and women sitting out on the stoop in the summer watching children play... it was all a world his grandfather Carmine had told him about, but still, he could hear echoes of those distant, safer days in Dom Lorso’s doggedly blood-loyal defense of Earl...

“The Selby kid, hey, she could be as kinky as a fox, never mind those choir girl eyes. Maybe, once it started, she wanted him to do all that shit to her, threatened to blow a whistle if he didn’t . I don’t put anything past any of them. I knew a crazy cunt once liked electric shocks in places you wouldn’t mention in front of your mother. I’m with Earl, but if things go wrong, can we handle it our way? That’s what I got to know, Giorgio.”

Thomson shook his head, more an act of despair than an answer to Lorso’s question. “You got your money, Dom, hell, you old guinea bastard, you could buy half of Miami, Palermo, if you want. You can get out now. I wouldn’t mind if you did, that’s the truth. You’re the friend of my life and my heart, Dom. That sounds like a bullshit thing to say, but I heard my grandfather use those very words, and I couldn’t have been more than six or eight at the time. Funny the things that stick in a kid’s mind.”

Lorso lit another cigarette and blew smoke at the ceiling. “How long’s Earl had a gun at your head, Giorgio?”

Thomson poured more wine. He offered the bottle to Lorso, but the Sicilian waved it away.

“How long, for Christ’s sake?”

Thomson finally said, “I heard Ledge’s tapes on that call to Earl. Ledge told him we had a problem with Harry Selby about Summitt. I think Earl took a notion to help us out by scaring the Selby kid, creating a little accident that would get her father home and away from Summitt. He didn’t mean to hurt her. Then it got out of hand... like that business at Rockland. He panicked when that DA made a case against him. He’s got cracks like all of us, Dom. He’s afraid, and who can blame him for that? He decided to protect himself. Nobody looks out for number one like number one. We taught him that, Dom.” Thomson smiled ironically. “But he’s also got other ideas... an office next to mine, a place near the center of the Group, a voice in decisions.” He sighed. “Can’t blame him for that either, I suppose. Once you get power, it’s hard not to use it. Otherwise you’re never sure you’ve still got it.”

Lorso said, “How long’s he had this gun at your head?”

Thomson looked directly at his old friend. “Since that fire at the general’s place, since Slocum’s people torched Vinegar Hill. That’s how long, Dom. But it’s not a gun like you mean.” Thomson sighed. “It would be simpler if it was. Remember when Earl slipped off and flew from Philadelphia down to Summitt City? And you had Slocum and Eberle burning the wires trying to find out where he was? Well, that’s where he found the pressure to use against us.”

Thomson sipped his wine and looked out at the darkness beyond the terrace. “He knows we killed Jarrell Selby, and he can prove it. He also pretty well knows why we killed him, that he’d become a threat to our experiment at Summitt City. So you might as well go ahead and buy Sicily and plant the whole damned island in garlic, Dom.”

Before opening for the defense, Davic apologized to the court for Earl Thomson’s behavior of the day before.

“There are, Your Honor,” he said, “no extenuating circumstances which can or will ever justify a violation of our judicial processes. No pressures are so heavy, no allegations, unfounded or otherwise, so provocative that they may be offered as an excuse for disrespect to the bench or to our legal traditions.”

Judge Flood said, “Mr. Davic, the court notes your apology and the defendant’s contrition. But I warn you, I will tolerate no further displays of temper from him.” Judge Flood liked the sound of that.

“You have my word for that, Your Honor.”

“Will you then call your witness?”

There was a stir of anticipation when the clerk stood and said, “The defense re-calls Mr. Harry Selby.”

“You are still under oath,” Davic reminded Selby after he had taken the stand. “I asked you yesterday what knowledge you had of the defendant or his father prior to the alleged attack on your daughter. I will ask you that again: what knowledge did you have, Mr. Selby?”

“None.”

“You knew nothing of Earl Thomson, his family or his background?”

“That’s right.”

“Mr. Selby, is your conscience comfortable with the charges your daughter has brought against the defendant?”

Brett stood up. “I object, Your Honor. The question is pointlessly subjective—”

“Sustained,” Flood said. “Please come to your point, Mr. Davic.”

“The point, as I emphasized from the outset, is truth.” Davic turned from the bench and studied the jurors. “Truth is the heart of this matter. At the heart of the truth, ladies and gentlemen, is the question of motive.” Then in an almost conversational tone he said, “Mr. Selby, will you now tell us why you are attempting to destroy the good name of the defendant, Earl Thomson—?”

“Objection, Your Honor.”

Davic quickly pursued his questioning. “What personal reasons have compelled you to inflict such pain and anguish on him and his family? Why are you attacking this young man who—”

“ Objection, Your Honor! The question is haranguing, abusive and presumptive.”

“Sustained.”

“All right, Your Honor, but I intend to produce supportive evidence.”

Davic turned to the defense table, where Royce handed him a cardboard filing case.

“Your Honor,” Davic said, “I will ask the court to identify the following material as Defense Exhibit K.S. 36663864, the United States Army’s referral number for this particular material.”

“The court stenographer will so identify it.”

Several inches thick and bound in a gray plastic, the front cover of the file was stamped with an identifying label. Davic gave each juror an opportunity to read the lettering:

Headquarters of the U.S. Army Office of the Adjutant-

General Washington, D.C.

“This document,” Davic then told them, “is the transcript of a U.S. Army court-martial, registered in the Office of the Adjutant-General.”

“Your Honor!” Brett was standing.

“Miss Brett?”

“The prosecution, Your Honor, attempted to obtain the files Counselor Davic introduced. We were told by the Office of the Adjutant-General that the materials were classified and not available.”

“Counselor Davic?”

“I don’t understand. My request for these files was granted as a matter of course.”

Brett said sharply, “Then the material has been mysteriously declassified since our request.”

Flood said, “I will instruct the defense to provide the People with copies of this document. You may proceed, Mr. Davic.”

Selby saw Earl Thomson smile briefly at his father.

“The proceedings of this court-martial,” Davic informed the jury, “were recorded more than a quarter of a century ago in South Korea. The trial was ordered by the commanding officer of a counterintelligence unit of the Seventh Army.

“Specifically, a sergeant was charged with manslaughter and unlawfully administering drugs to enemy prisoners, drugs he obtained by theft. As a result, numerous prisoners died, others suffered permanent brain damage. That sergeant received a dishonorable discharge and was sentenced to five years in a military prison.”