(1969) The Seven Minutes (74 page)

‘What was that?’ Sanford wanted to know.

‘During a phone call, I mentioned to Maggie that I had located the daughter of Jadway and Cassie McGraw - this Judith Jan - and our luck - that she had turned out to be a cloistered Carmelite nun. Now, everyone knows about the daughter, but how many people know that the daughter became a nun? Maggie knew, because I had mentioned it, and all of us here know. Sean O’Flanagan knows. Some people in the Church know. But who else? Only someone very close to Jadway - and Cassie McGraw herself. Well, Maggie told me it’s in the message on that card from Chicago. Cassie wrote to the effect that Jadway’s own daughter, Judith, was a nun -not doing penance for Jadway’s sins, but to serve God, as her father had served humanity. When Maggie told me the writer of the postcard had mentioned the world “nun,” I knew that it had been sent by Cassie McGraw - that Cassie was alive.’

He looked at the others, but their facial expressions showed neither belief nor disbelief. They were waiting to hear whether there was anything more.

Barrett resumed. ‘Well, that was the offer, then. We could have Cassie McGraw if we kept our hands off Jerry in public. It was an awful decision to make. In the end, I guess what determined my decision was a purely legal consideration. Jerry Griffith came on strong and affirmative for Duncan. If I gave up Cassie to cross-examine h’m, I would at best achieve a small gain, a negative gain. I might cast doubt on Jerry’s testimony, negate some of it. Achieving even that is debatable, however, because disclosing the new material I had, Jerry’s attempt at suicide before he ever read the book, might have the added effect of appearing as harassment of a sick, cornered boy. It would be unsympathetic matter, in the eyes of most jurors. Intellectually they might have been persuaded to believe that it was not our book alone that had ruined Jerry, but emotionally they might be made to feel sorry for him and hostile toward us. On the other hand, I argued with myself, if I permitted Jerry to get away with it, I would in return have the most sensational witness yet presented in the court, an unimpeachable headline witness, one who would build up the affirmative side for the defense. It would be dramatic, irrefutable, firsthand testimony, and it would in one stroke eliminate Leroux and his ilk and give the lie to what Dr Trimble and Jerry believed the book had done to Jerry. It would impart to the book honesty, decency, social redemption. And the book is what this censorship trial is really all about. So I decided to sacrifice Jerry for Cassie - for Cassie and Jadway’s book. Gentlemen, those are the facts plus, and there’s nothing more I can add.’

Zelkin was polishing his spectacles with a napkin. He seemed less angry now. Only sour. ‘Okay, Mike, except you haven’t told us one thing.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Did you see that postcard that Cassie McGraw allegedly sent?’

‘See it ? You mean look at it myself? No. Maggie couldn’t get to Griffith’s desk yesterday. It’s the desk in his study that she ordinarily uses for her work. She’d hidden the postcard under the lining of a bottom drawer where he’d have no reason to look - safer, she

felt, than keeping it in her room. Lately she’s suspected that he snoops around in her room, especially since he learned she’s been seeing me. So there it was hidden in that desk, but Griffith was in his study the entire day. It was Sunday, you know. And early this morning, when she learned that I hadn’t made up my mind, she said she’d wait and see what I decided. If I waived Jerry’s crossexamination, she’d hand over the postcard to me this afternoon.’

‘If the postcard exists,’ said Zelkin quietly.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean there’s every likelihood it exists only in your girl friend’s imagination. You did say she’d do almost anything for the boy. Well, okay, this is almost anything.’

‘Abe, much of what we accomplish in life is based on trusting another person.’

‘Is that so?’ said Zelkin. ‘If it is, you’ve just put the American Bar Association out of business. Maybe I trust my mother, my wife, my children a little, my best friends a little. But what I trust completely is a contract. Let’s not be romantic. That’s what most of law is all about. What I trust is what is enforceable and legal. What I trust is what is tangible. What I trust is what I have in my hand in return for what I pay. Okay, Mike, what’s done is done, and we’ve been too close to each other for me to be angry with you any more. Maybe my neck is tight and my stomach is churning, and maybe I’m a little sore, but I’ll have to go along and sink or swim - and I think it’s sink - with you.’

Philip Sanford pulled his chair closer. His chalky complexion appeared totally bloodless. ‘Well, I’m not sure I’m quite that forgiving, Mike. Maybe Abe doesn’t mind sinking with you, but I tell you, I’m not ready to go under. Mike, my whole career, my family, my life are riding on your performance and judgment. I think you’ve committed a big fat boner. I won’t pull punches, either. Let’s be truthful, lay truth right on this table. I hope you can take it in that spirit.’

‘You can say whatever is on your mind,’ said Barrett, surprised by the bluntness of Sanford’s uncharacteristic outburst.

‘I believe that the one truth you can’t or won’t face is that Luther Yerkes and Frank Griffith have used that girl to talk you into doing this. She’s dependent on them, on Griffith anyway, and they know you’ve fallen for her, and so they made her take advantage of you. I think they made a fool of you, Mike, and I’m just damn sorry so many other people will have to suffer the consequences of your mistake. I’m with Abe. I’m not sure that the postcard from Cassie McGraw exists, or if it does, that you’ll ever see it until the trial’s over and they’ve won and we’ve wound up in the poorhouse ‘or some booby hatch. Now you’ve heard. For better or worse, I’ve spoken my mind.’

Barrett refused to become ruffled. He relit his pipe, and then he nodded agreeably. ‘Yes, Phil, those possibilities have crossed my

mind, too. I considered them. While I can’t account for my unconscious, I do believe I acted with cold objectivity. Maybe I’ll be proved a fool. Or maybe I’ll be proved a prophet. The stakes are big. I laid all our chips on Maggie because I sense and believe she is honest. As I said, there are times when you have to trust others.’

‘Like we trusted Christian Leroux?’ said Sanford. ‘Like we trusted Isabel Vogler ? Like we trusted the privacy of our telephones and the decency of the opposition these past weeks?’

Barrett shrugged and turned to Kimura, who was fingering a fork across the table. ‘Leo, you’ve not been heard from,’ said Barrett. ‘What’s your opinion ? Have I been a fool ?’

Kimura continued to play with his fork. His sallow face remained impassive. ‘I can give no opinion on right or wrong, Mr Barrett. I could, however, give an opinion, based on researched facts, as to the probable outcome of your decision. I work only from data. I know the fact that Miss Russell has lived in the Griffith house X-number of years and never had reason to leave. I know the fact that in those X-number of years Miss Russell never made a move or act contrary to the interests of Frank and Ethel Griffith. I know the fact that an enormous amount of money and time has been spent on the investigation of Cassie McGraw and there is not one shred of evidence that she is alive. I know the fact that tigresses come forward to protect their mates when their mates are attacked. Even aged ones like Cassie, they come forward. They do not protest from afar. At the same time, I know that a research project is never complete, all the facts are never known, and also data can often be misinterpreted. So I prefer not to offer an opinion on the outcome, Mr Barrett. I could instead give odds, although I shall not do that either in this matter.’

‘I’ll give you the odds, Mike,’ said Sanford. ‘When is Maggie supposed to turn over that postcard with Cassie McGraw’s address?’

‘Five o’clock this afternoon. She’s coming to my office.’

‘Then I’m posting odds,’ said Sanford. ‘One gets you twenty that she doesn’t show or call. One gets you ten that she calls with some excuse about the postcard being lost or having disappeared One gets you five that if she does show or call and produces the postcard, it turns out to be a phony or from a crank. Any bets?’

Barrett shook his head. ‘Nope. Because if you’re right, we’ll both be broke.’

Zelkin had been studying his watch. ‘No use going on with this,’ he said. ‘Mike will know for sure one way or the other in three and a half hours. Let’s eat up and get back to the courtroom. I think Duncan is finished with his witnesses, and we’ll be on with ours after two o’clock. We’d better have a few minutes with Ben Fremont before we trot him out.’ He looked at Barrett. ‘Who’s kicking off for the defense today, Mike, you or me ?’

‘You’d better take over this afternoon,’ said Barrett. ‘I’ll have to

leave by four-fifteen to get back to the office to meet Maggie.’ ‘You still believe?’ asked Zelkin. ‘I believe,’ said Barrett.

It was exactly two o’clock and the courtroom was again filled and the bailiff was standing.

The drapes behind the judge’s seat on the bench parted, and black-robed Judge Nathaniel Upshaw entered, briefly surveyed his domain, and started for his chair.

‘Please remain seated,’ the bailiff commanded the spectators and the trial participants. ‘Court is now again in session.’

Judge Upshaw cleared his throat. ‘The jury is present, Mr Duncan, you may call your next witness.’

The District Attorney came to his feet. ‘Your Honor, I have no additional witnesses. Mr Jerry Griffith was the People’s final witness. The People rest.’

As Duncan sat down, Judge Upshaw swiveled toward the defense table. ‘If the defense is ready, may I inquire which counsel will represent the defense?’

Zelkin sprang to his feet. ‘Abraham Zelkin, Your Honor.’

‘Very well, Mr Zelkin. You may proceed with your first witness.’

‘Thank you, Your Honor,’ said Abe Zelkin. ‘At this time we would like to introduce as our first witness the defendant, Ben Fremont’

‘Fine,’ said Judge Upshaw. ‘Mr Fremont, will you come forward now and raise your right hand and be sworn ?’

As the bookseller, baldish, myopic, defiant, left the defense table and walked toward the witness stand in his oddly pecking gait, Mike Barrett watched him briefly. He wished that he had forced Fremont to go to a barbershop before his appearance. Fremont’s sideburns and the growth of hair at the back of his head were too long and bushy. Some older jurors might equate this with un-orthodoxy and rebellion and be prejudiced against the defendant. But almost instantly Barrett was ashamed of his thoughts.these leftovers of his old preoccupation with getting-ahead, keeping-instep, conforming, of his old Osborn-oriented self, and he told himself wryly that what really needed trimming were some of his thoughts.

Fremont had met the court clerk, and Barfett observed that when the Bible was held up for him he refused to place his left hand on it. Barrett could not hear the court clerk’s question, but he did hear Fremont’s answer, Tm an atheist.’ Barrett winced and wondered whether any jurors had overheard this. He glanced at the jury box. Several jurors were frowning.

Keeping the Bible at his side, the court clerk reeled off the atheist’s affirmation ‘You do affirm that the testimony that you are about to give in the cause now before the court will be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.’

Without God’s help, Fremont said, too loudly, ‘I do!’

As Fremont mounted the witness stand, Abe Zelkin, who had been standing beside Barrett, muttered in an undertone, ‘Here I come, Peter Zenger.’ Then, like an oversized beach ball being rolled toward the box, Abe Zelkin went bouncing toward the first witness for the defense.

Distressed, Barrett drew a pad of legal-sized yellow paper in front of him. His distress, he discerned, stemmed less from any apprehensions he was having about how his client, or any of the other defense witnesses, would be received than from the consensus of opinion accorded his deal with Maggie when they had discussed it during the recent lunch period. He had faith in Maggie, but it was difficult to be a lone believer. Zelkin, Sanford, even Kimura, had been so doubtful of the wisdom of his act, so suspicious of Maggie’s motives, so unconvinced that the postcard existed, that Barrett was plagued by misgivings.

He had no patience for the defense’s witnesses. His mind was only on the clock, whose hands were moving as if coated with molasses, the clock that was bringing him closer and closer to the truth about Maggie Russell and perhaps to the reality of Cassie McGraw. Knowing it would be this way, he had set the yellow pad before him to record the highlights of the afternoon. While the court reporter’s official transcript of what was being enacted could be made available to him by tomorrow - for a price - Barrett preferred an immediate record. He wanted some diary, some reminder, of what was happening, because he knew that once he left the courtroom his mind would be entirely enlisted in the search for Cassie McGraw.

Behind him, the hands of the court clock made their maddeningly slow orbits of the waning afternoon. Ahead of him, as unreal as mannequins in a department-store window, the familiar and carefully coached witnesses displayed their wares to the receptive Zelkin, the critical Duncan. The witnesses came and went. The time passed. And suddenly he realized it was after four o’clock, and in fifteen minutes he must leave the courtroom to face what might be another trial.

He stared down at the yellow pad before him. He did not know how those blank pages had become filled with his loose scrawl. Before taking his leave, he decided to review his personal record and evaluation of the skirmishes of the past two hours. His eyes fixed on the name of the first witness, which he had printed in block letters, and then went on to the writing that followed the name. He read swiftly.

BEN FREMONT:

Zelkin’s exam - Fremont’s good education, worked way through school - twenty years in book business, always paid bills, solvent, best of relations with publishers, customers - are 30,000 new titles a year, can

stock only 5,000 old and new - time to read only relative handful -always ordered all Sanford House titles, because firm of high repute -ordered Jadway book not only because Sanford House, but because had read it in Leroux edition - was astounded when arrested - yes, officer fooled him by pretending to be ordinary customer - Abe doing well here