Уильям Макгиверн - Summitt

“Yes, ma’am.”

“When you joined your mother, how did you know what time it was?”

“There are two clocks in her room. One is electric, the other is solar-powered—”

“You assumed both clocks were correct?”

“Why would I doubt it?”

“In your own words, you were running late. Then you walked that unnecessary mile to the Bellflower to make your phone call. Isn’t it possible it was later than seven-fifteen?”

“ No. I’m sure of the time.”

“But how did you know your mother’s clocks were accurate?”

“Objections, Your Honor.”

“On what grounds, Mr. Davic?”

“People’s counsel is implying that someone might have tampered with those clocks.”

“People’s counsel has implied nothing of the sort,” Brett said. “You’re not listening to my questions, Mr. Davic, or you’re twisting them around for reasons of your own. The defendant was not wearing his wristwatch. It was logical to verify his knowledge of the time.”

Unexpectedly Earl said, “Your Honor, may I clear this up?”

“By all means, young man.”

“I checked my wristwatch after I showered. It was about seven-fifteen then. So it couldn’t have been more than a minute or so later when I joined my mother. Her clocks had to be right. That should put an end to the idea that my mother jumped out of bed and ran around her room turning back those clocks.”

“Your Honor,” Brett said, “I understand the defendant’s concern for his mother’s testimony. That does him credit. But for the record I have never questioned her testimony. Nor have I referred to anyone resetting clocks, manipulating the time. Those suggestions come directly from the defendant and his attorney. The thought is theirs, not mine.”

Royce hastily scribbled a note and gave it to Davic. Glancing at it, Davic nodded. His expression was impassive but he couldn’t mask the anger in his eyes as he withdrew his objection.

Brett then asked Earl Thomson if he had called any of his friends that night to find out who had... as he said... borrowed his car. Earl answered that he had waited until the following morning.

“Did you call your friends then?”

“No, because it seemed clear by then it wasn’t a joke.”

“So you reported the theft to the East Chester police department the next morning?”

“It was reported then, yes, ma’am.”

“That wasn’t what I asked you. Did you report the theft of your car to the police?”

“No, an associate of my father’s reported it.”

“May we have that person’s name?”

“Sure. He’s an old friend of our family, Mr. Dom Lorso.”

“Is he the only person you told that your Porsche had been stolen?”

“I also told my father.”

“But when you called Miguel Santos from Muhlenburg you testified, and I’ll quote... ‘I explained to Santos what had happened.’ What did you mean by that?”

“Well... I explained I needed to be picked up, that’s all.”

“But you told this family friend, Dom Lorso, that your car was stolen?”

“Yes.”

“Why did Dom Lorso report the matter to the police? Why didn’t you report it, Mr. Thomson?”

“What difference does it make?” Earl’s voice was hardening. “An executive can tell his secretary to report something missing to the police. The point is, the theft was reported, ma’am, and you know it was.”

“Is Mr. Lorso your secretary?”

“You know damn well he’s not.”

The gavel sounded. “Mr. Thomson, your attorney assured me that your conduct will be consistent with the standards of this court.”

Davic stood up. “Your Honor, I make no excuse for my client’s language. People’s counsel’s questions seem designed to provoke such a rejoinder. Dominic Lorso is a respected businessman, a member of numerous charitable organizations in the community. He has served on—”

Flood said, “Miss Brett, Mr. Lorso is obviously not the young man’s secretary. You know that, I presume.”

“Your Honor, I am attempting to establish the relationship between the defendant and the only person he apparently trusted enough to report the theft of his car to the police. That car, which now seems to have disappeared from the face of the earth, was an instrument in a crime the defendant has been charged with. The People need to examine the relationship between Earl Thomson and Dom Lorso.”

“Then go on, Miss Brett, but defense counsel has made a reasonable point about provocative inquiry.”

“Thank you, Your Honor. Mr. Thomson, how long have you known Dom Lorso?”

“I told you, he’s like a member of the family. I called him Uncle Dom when I was a kid.”

“Would you say he was like your godfather, Mr. Thomson?”

“Objection, Your Honor!”

“On what grounds, Mr. Davic?”

“People’s counsel surely understands the pejorative implications of her last reference.”

“You mean godfather, Mr. Davic?” Judge Flood rubbed his chin. “I don’t know. Perhaps we’re becoming too sensitive. I believe the word godfather is a useful term for a respectable relationship. Overruled.”

“Yes, he was like a godfather to me,” Thomson then stated. “He’s the most decent man I’ve ever known besides my own father.”

Brett said, “I want the jury to understand your confidence in Mr. Lorso — why, in short, Mr. Thomson, you went to him about your stolen car instead of the police.”

“I can only repeat what I said earlier. Dom Lorso is an old friend. I respect his advice. In this instance he chewed me out. Told me I should have called the police right away. But since I hadn’t, Mr. Lorso said he’d get the information directly to Captain Slocum. That would save time, he said.”

“Did Mr. Dom Lorso ever give you similar good advice in the past?”

“Yes. Quite a few times.”

“When you failed to report a matter to the police which should have been reported?”

“Objection, Your Honor!”

“Sustained.”

Brett walked to the People’s table and glanced at her notes. “At Longwood Gardens, Mr. Thomson, did you take the plaintiffs accusations against you seriously?”

“Not at first, ma’am.”

“But when the physical confrontation occurred, you took the matter seriously then?”

“Yes, ma’am. I did.”

“In fact, you attempted to run away — or drive away — on a motorcycle, didn’t you?”

A line of pressure appeared around Thomson’s lips. “I’ve never run from anybody in my life.”

“But Officer Summerall testified by deposition that you did just that.”

“I left the area, I didn’t run away.”

“Perhaps I phrased the question carelessly. Would you please tell us in your own words just what you did do?”

“I’d be happy to, ma’am. But to put the matter in perspective, I should tell you I’ve had considerable military training.”

At the defense table, Royce quickly wrote another note to Davic. Davic barely glanced at the paper, but his eyes became alert and watchful.

Earl continued, “I attended Rockland Military College for four years and was graduated First Cadet in my class, with the rank of cadet colonel. I qualified as expert with rifles and machine guns. I’ve run obstacle courses with live ammo firing over my head and I’ve been in simulated combat conditions.”

Earl’s manner had become expansive. “It’s strange,” he went on, “that no one has asked about the shotgun I tried to buy. I’m a gun collector. Certain elements think those are code words for Fascism or racism or something like that. But a gun is a tool, no better or worse than the man using it. Charlie Lee’s Parker, I’d heard, had its original stock replaced by one made from wood grown in the Balkans. Charlie got the gun from an old Romanian refugee he’d worked for. A gift, I suppose. The best wood for gun stocks comes from the Balkans. They bury scrap iron around the root systems of young trees. Over the years the rust and bits of metal grow right into the tree’s circulatory system and it makes natural iron burls and fissures in the grain of the wood—”