Уильям Макгиверн - Summitt

Davic studied each juror deliberately. “The sergeant who disgraced his country and his uniform was Jonas Harold Selby, the father of Harry Selby, who is seated before you now in the witness stand.

“The president of the court-martial that found Jonas Selby guilty of those charges is also present today” — Davic pointed to the gallery behind the defense table — “ he is George Thomson, formerly Major George Thomson, Sergeant Jonas Selby’s commanding officer in Korea. I asked Mr. Selby why he set out to persecute and defame Earl Thomson. I think the reasons are now transparently clear. Harry Selby is attempting to avenge his own father’s disgrace and punishment by striking at George Thomson through his son, Earl—”

“Objection, Your Honor. Mr. Davic has made what amounts to a closing statement to the jury.” Brett controlled her voice with an effort. “He is drawing conclusions from evidence the People have had no opportunity to examine. The issue at trial” — Brett raised her voice over Flood’s gavel — “is not a court-martial convened in Korea thirty years ago. The issue at trial is the current violent abuse of a minor child. Is the accused guilty or not? That is the issue at—”

“Miss Brett, you will not tell me what issues are at trial. You will not instruct me on what is pertinent to these hearings. Don’t press me in that fashion again... Mr. Davic?”

But Allan Davic was content to rest on the doubts he’d created. Brett attempted in her redirect to establish that Selby had had no information about the details of his father’s court-martial, and no knowledge of George Thomson’s part in it. But when she finished her examination it was obvious from the reactions among the jurors that certain sensitive scales had definitely tipped against the credibility of the People’s case.

At the recess Selby walked to the underground parking lot where he’d left his car. A slender man with rimless glasses joined him a few minutes later.

“It’s a small world, isn’t it?” Burt Wilger said, and handed Selby a folded newspaper. “Emma Green’s address is on a piece of notepaper clipped to the sports section. She probably won’t talk about Earl Thomson. If she tells you to kiss off, I wouldn’t crowd her. I’d say she’s gun-shy.”

“She learned that from Captain Slocum, I guess.”

Wilger shrugged, put a toothpick in his mouth and chewed on it, then said, “Well, Selby, cops come in all shapes and sizes. All of them don’t shit chocolate ice cream and spend their spare time teaching civics in ghettos.”

“Who’s leaning on Brett now? Is that Slocum, too?”

“She tell you about it?”

“My daughter did,” Selby said. “She heard you talking.”

“I don’t think it’s Slocum.” Wilger spat the toothpick from his mouth. “It’s some characters from New York, that’s all I got. I picked up one of their calls to Brett. They mentioned somebody named Toby Clark. Brett clammed up on me, wouldn’t talk about it. The name mean anything to you?”

“No. Who are the New York people working for?”

“Who knows? Davic maybe. Or Lorso, or Thomson himself. There’re two of them. Brothers. Ben and Aron Cadle. Might’ve been that pair that tried to hit Brett the other night. Lucky you were there. If you wonder why I owe you, by the way, that’s it. She’s good people.”

“Let me ask you something,” Selby said. “Maybe you can’t give a civilian a straight answer, but at least you can tell me if I’m wasting our time—”

“Stop being so damned hard-nosed. Try me.”

“Do you believe my daughter’s telling the truth?”

“Goddammit, I helped make Brett’s case, didn’t I?”

“Do you think she’ll nail Thomson?”

“I got a very cracked crystal ball about things like that, Selby.”

“Captain Slocum perjured himself, didn’t he?”

“You said that. I still work for him, remember?”

“Somebody used a ton of pressure to get hold of my father’s court-martial,” Selby reminded him. “That’s the kind of weight she’s up against.”

“You want it straight, I don’t think Brett’s got a prayer.”

Selby opened the door of his station wagon and dropped the newspaper on the passenger seat. He hesitated a moment, and then said, “We’re still in the game, Wilger. We’re holding some cards. Goldie Boy Jessup is on the hook to perjure himself. They’re paying him for it.”

“How’d you find that out?”

Selby hesitated again, then told Wilger what Goldbirn had heard from the Florida police — that the preacher was being given title to land on the Jersey shore near Avalon.

Wilger whistled. “Pretty expensive real estate for saving sinners.”

“Let me ask you another question,” Selby said. “If you were going to lie under oath, to perjure yourself, what’s the first condition you’d insist on?”

“If I was in a position to make demands, which I probably wouldn’t be, I’d make sure I couldn’t ever get caught. That’s a bottom line.”

“But somebody’s got to lie about Thomson’s fingerprints at Vinegar Hill.”

“Right. Somebody’s got to lie about those prints. Somebody will lie, Selby. Unless they come up with some bullshit explanation, Thomson’s dead. Davic’s got to prove to the jury those prints were in the garage at that farm either before or after your daughter was raped.”

“Then somebody else has also got to lie — will lie — about the time Thomson came home that night.”

“What’s your point, Selby?”

“That whoever tells those lies under oath has got to be damn sure it’s perfectly safe. That no other area of the case will blow up in his face. But it wouldn’t be enough simply to tell a prospective perjurer he’s got nothing to worry about” — Selby studied the detective — “you’re the pro, Wilger. Am I right?”

“Sure... you’d have to prove it.” Wilger shrugged; his expression had become deliberately neutral. “But you’re talking about finding that proof, the heat the defense is using, and why they’re scared shitless to let this trial take its legal course. It could mean a numbered account somewhere, any kind of blackmail material... that means running informants, digging into the sensitive places, surveillance in relays. So try to understand, Selby, I’m a working stiff. I sign in and out of Division, run a shift, fill out case sheets, daydream about a pension... Slocum can nail my ass to the floor if he wants to.”

Wilger removed his glasses, then polished them with the end of his tie. “Good luck over in Jersey. I’ve gone as far as I can, Selby. Do me a favor and forget where you got Emma Green’s address. Okay?”

Selby nodded and got into the car. Wilger closed the door for him with a soft click of finality.

“Thanks, Sergeant.”

“Take care, friend. It’s a cold world.”

After turning off the old Baltimore Pike, Selby drove through Philadelphia and crossed the George Washington Bridge on his way to the town of Jefferson, New Jersey...

In Superior Court Nine, Allan Davic prepared to continue his attack against the foundation of the People’s case against Earl Thomson. He instructed Flood’s clerk to call, in order, Elbe May Cluny, Charles Lee, Miguel Santos and finally the accused’s mother, Mrs. George Thomson.

A waitress in The Green Lantern, Ellie May was in her twenties, solemnly pretty with a full bosom and attractive legs. She made a good witness.

Earl Thomson, she testified, had been in the Lantern around five o’clock that Friday afternoon back in October. Ellie May pointed to Earl and identified him; that was the man she’d served some beers to while he was waiting for Charlie Lee. Ellie May knew Charlie Lee; he worked at a mushroom house in Hockessin, over in Delaware.