No Team To Root For (24) "Yes. Thank you. Nyquil --- I see." Walt paused and then unchar-acteristically turned to the jury. "Dr. Napier. How many suicides have you counseled over the years?" Lucille Napier stared silently at the prosecutor for several sec-onds. Miles began to nervously rub his forehead. "Would you like me to repeat the question?" asked Walt smugly. Barrett and George looked astoundedly at the defense attorney. Miles looked up to see Lucille Napier looking back at him --- their eyes riveted to each other. Her expression resembled that of a small child asking permission to say or do something. Waiting for the right sound or the right look. But he knew it wasn't necessary. Mason Stoner would make her answer the poignant question re-gardless of any extemporaneous circumstance. "I would like you to please repeat the question." said Stoner. The elderly stenographer pushed her wire rimmed glasses up on her nose and cleared her throat. "How many suicides have you counseled over the years?" "Not --- not too many." She spoke very softly. Her focus of at-tention was once again aimed at an imaginary spot on the floor di-rectly in front of her. "Please speak up." said the judge. "Not too many." She repeated louder. "Well then." Walt turned back to Lucille Napier. "How many? Two? Ten? Fifty? One hundred?" Walt waited. Lucille did not respond. "Your Honor. I would re-quest that you instruct the witness to answer the question." "Dr. Napier." boomed Mason Stoner. "You have elected to dis-cuss a topic you knew was confidential." "I know, but --- " Lucille started to speak but the judge put his hand up, palm out, and interrupted. "Now I must ask you to respond to Mr. Ivers' question." Lucille Napier looked at the judge for a long time. Then she slowly turned back to Walt Ivers. "None." The word was barely audible. "Dr. Napier." said Stoner. "Please speak up." "None!" Lucille turned to Miles. She looked embarrassed but she spoke defiantly. "Jodi was my only experience with attempted sui-cide." The courtroom exploded again with low murmurs and loud voices. Mason Stoner banged his gavel. There was immediate si-lence. The judge glared at the occupants of his court and when he was convinced that a semblance of normality had returned, he mo-tioned to Ivers. "Dr. Napier." He picked up from where he had left off. His hands were behind his back and his eyes were riveted to Lucille's. "Let me reiterate. You say Jodi Bartless was your only experience with attempted suicide." The psychologist looked down and nodded. Miles was sitting up straight, his arms folded. His eyes never left the witness box. Walt Ivers took a step closer to her. "Is that correct?" Lucille nodded again. "Yes." "What then would you say is your --- specialty?" Ivers asked. "Specialty?" Napier's face showed fear and confusion. "Yes." Once again Walt's tone conveyed smugness. "What type of clientele do you normally assist?" She looked briefly at an angry Miles Garrison then she looked back at a confident Walt Ivers. She cleared her throat several times. "Retention disorders, learning disabilities, vocational guidance --- " "But." continued Walt. "You said you were called in when Jodi Bartless attempted suicide. How do you explain that?" Lucille cleared her throat again. "I --- I happened to be in the hospital when they brought her in. I --- I used to go there once a month to give academic advice and aptitude tests to prospective nursing students." "So then, it was not because of your expertise in suicide preven-tion." Walt and Miles exchanged angry glances. The prosecutor then turned back to the witness. "And maybe you're not as knowl-edgeable on the subject as the defense would lead us to believe." "Objection!" Miles stood up. "On what grounds?" asked Judge Stoner. Miles did not respond. He put his hands in his pockets and stared at Lucille Napier. Then he slowly sat down. "Overruled!" said Stoner. Then he turned to the prosecutor. "Please continue." "So that in fact," Walt spoke zealously "taking into account your limited knowledge on the subject, maybe Jodi Bartless was not sui-cidal!" "But in 1980 she was!" Lucille spoke pleadingly. "No further questions." Walt said, then calmly walked back to his seat. "I --- I did help her!" She was gripping the arms of the witness chair and sitting on its edge. Walt turned to her again, his head now more erect. "I'm sure you did. No further --- " "I'm a good therapist!" she yelled. "I'm sure you are. No further questions." Walt Ivers sat down. "Mr. Garrison. Do you wish to cross examine?" asked Stoner. Miles did not respond. He continued to stare at Lucille Napier. "Mr. Garrison!" Stoner spoke louder. "Do you have any more questions for this witness?" "No questions." said Miles evenly. "The witness is excused." said the judge. Just as she did when she first sat down, Lucille Napier paused and looked about her. Then she glanced at Miles Garrison for only a moment. She gave the appearance that she had won a minor battle. In essence, thought Miles, she was right. Mason Stoner looked at his watch. "My my! It is getting late." Then he banged his gavel. "Court is adjourned. We will re-convene next Thursday. The jury is instructed to stay close and not leave town. And you will not discuss this case with anyone. Otherwise you will have to be sequestered. Is that clear?" After several nods from the members of the jury, Stoner banged his gavel again. "Have a nice weekend." * The ride to Barrett's home was silent for the first fifteen minutes. Miles had his arms folded and was absently looking out the window at the houses and trees that were flashing by. George also had his arms folded but his eyes were closed. Barrett was seated between them. His hands were on his knees and his focus of attention was the back of the driver's head. His collar was open and his tie hung loosely. Miles finally broke the spell. "I lost her testimony. I should never have put her on the stand. Shit!" The limousine stopped for a red light. Barrett watched discon-certedly as a young bearded man wearing a black leather jacket with a large red rose on the back sped blindly through the intersec-tion on a Harley Davidson. "She did what I told her to and now it's going to backfire. The fucking jury will now have doubts as to the authenticity of Jodi's death being the result of a self-inflicted gunshot wound. Shit! Shit!" Miles closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "It's one of the few times I have --- miscalculated! An exceedingly gross miscalcula-tion!" "You're human." said George. His eyes remained closed. The trees and houses continued to fly past them. "Not an an-swer!" Miles yelled at no one in particular. "How could I have been so Godddamn stupid?" After another extended silence, Barrett looked at Miles and asked innocently, "Is this what you meant by the human element?" "Outmaneuvered!" said Miles, ignoring his client. "Outmaneu-vered by Walt Ivers, of all people. Shit!" He pounded his hand against the partition between him and the driver. The driver slowed up and glanced back. "Yes?" he asked. "Nothing." Miles spoke in a calmer tone. "I'm sorry. Drive on." The driver nodded. The limousine picked up speed. "So now what?" asked Barrett. "I still think we're ahead." said George putting his hand gently on Barrett's shoulder. Miles paused and took another deep breath. "I suppose we still do have an edge. At least I hope we do!" XXXII Friday and Saturday went by uneventfully for Barrett Jessop. He read, watched TV, rode his stationary bike and listened to endless hours of Charlie Parker and Maynard Ferguson. He spent several hours on the phone with Marie, who called no less than eight times in two days. She said she was doing all she could, but she could only do so much. His patients wished him well but couldn't wait forever for an appointment. The ones that could wait wouldn't, and the ones that would wait didn't. Barrett wasn't in the least surprised. It was futile to try to save what was left of his once lucrative practice. All those years! And for what? Besides Marie, the only other person to call Barrett regularly was Lysle Richardson. Faithful Lysle had called every day since his friend first told him of his plight. No one else called. Not the Min-tons, not the Sharkeys --- no one! Most of Sunday was spent with George and Miles discussing what would transpire on Monday. The three sat around the family room. Miles and George sat on the sofa and Barrett sat across from them in his easy chair. "Walt and I are going to meet with Mason Stoner on Monday." Miles said as he got up and began to pace between the window and Barrett's stationary bike. "If Walt has no other witnesses, I'm going to ask the State to withdraw all charges." "Do you think the State will go along with that?" asked George, his hands folded and his body leaning forward. "I don't know." Miles turned to George and stopped pacing. "But hopefully they won't want to look any more ridiculous than they already have." "But they did score some points with Lucille Napier." said George. "Not enough. I think you're right though. We are ahead. They still have a weak case." Miles picked up a Teddy Wilson LP, looked at it casually, then put it back on the rack. "Why did the judge tell us to be back on Thursday?" asked Bar-rett. "That's the day set for closing arguments --- assuming there are no more witnesses." "I sure as hell hope not." added George. "So then," asked Barrett, "you think it's possible for me to get an acquittal and not have to take the stand in my own behalf?" Barrett stacked the empty coffee cups on a TV table. "What's with all these fucking questions?" Miles' brisk response to his client's curiosity brought a stifled laugh from George Archer. "I don't mind taking the stand." Barrett said casually. Miles studied the liner notes to a boxed LP set of Billie Holiday. "I would rather not have you as a witness, Barrett --- not even in your own behalf." He put down the record set and turned toward Barrett. "Whenever I put a defendant on the stand unusual things happen. No! Let's hope we can get out of all of this without your testimony." Then he walked up to his client and gently poked him in the shoulder. "Don't forget. This is all under the assumption that the state has no more witnesses and nothing up their pitiful sleeves." "Like --- what?" George looked at Miles curiously. Miles shrugged and threw his hands up. "Anything is possible." "So what do I do?" Barrett asked as he walked past Miles and sat down in his favorite chair. "Nothing, Barrett. Absolutely nothing." Miles went up to the eye doctor and put his hand on the back of his chair. "Just hang tight until tomorrow. I guarantee you that as soon as I know, we'll all know." Miles motioned to George. The detective got up and they both walked to the front door. Miles then turned to Barrett. "Go to bed and get a good night's sleep. Monday will either be a short and pleasant day or a long and unpleasant one." Miles forced a smile. "Let's hope for the former." Miles and George shook hands with Barrett and then quickly left. As Barrett watched the limo pull away, he got a sudden sick feel-ing in the pit of his stomach that the worst was yet to come. XXXIII "Mr. Garrison." Mason Stoner spoke evenly from behind his desk. Several pieces of paper adorned the top of it. Miles thought the room looked clean but smelled musty. He and Walt Ivers sat in the same two chairs they had occupied on their previous encounter. All three men had on white short sleeve shirts. Only Miles wore a suit and tie. They were all quietly sipping coffee. The grandfather clock said 9:am. Miles had wondered what the essential ingredient of the assembly would be. Was this going to be one big fancy chess game? If so, who makes the first move? Where does he move --- and why? He didn't have long to wait to get an answer. "I am told by Mr. Ivers here that the State is going to bring forth two witnesses not previously scheduled to appear." The defense attorney heard what Stoner said as a statement of fact, not as a request. There was no mistaking the look on Miles' face as anything other than shock. "I told the judge last night." added Walt. "I would have called you, but considering the severity of this new turn of events, I thought it best to discuss it with Judge Stoner first." He put his empty cup on the edge of Stoner's desk. "I assumed it would be okay." "Well, you assumed wrong. It's not okay!" Shock gave way to anger. "Who are these --- these witnesses? And what the fuck do you mean by 'severity'?" Miles stood up. "Did you forget about the disclosure rule?" "No." said the prosecutor as he crossed his legs. "I did not forget about the disclosure rule." Then he lowered his voice. "If you will calm down I'll tell you about it." "Okay, counselor." Miles took a sip of coffee. "I am calm and I am listening." "Yesterday I got a call from --- " Walt uncrossed his legs and took a small notebook out of his shirt pocket. " --- a Sam Ingles." Miles took a final sip. "And just who is this --- Sam Ingles?" "Sam is a deputy sheriff in Patton Ohio. He said he had gotten a call from --- " Again Walt consulted his notebook. " --- Morris Hartman." Mason Stoner remained silent. "And Morris --- are you ready for this one?" Walt spoke to Miles but looked at his notebook. "Morris Hartman claims to have seen Barrett Jessop shoot Jodi Bartless!" There were several minutes of silence. Only the ticking of the grandfather clock was audible. Miles turned to Stoner. "This is a Goddamn joke --- right?" There was no humor in his tone. "Mr. Garrison." Stoner spoke for the first time. "This is not a joke!" Miles stared into his empty cup. Then he absently scanned the bookshelves. Then he stared into his cup again. Then he began to pace. He gently tapped his cup against the saucer as he did so. He finally stopped and glared at Walt. "Then this is a fucking set-up!" The prosecutor calmly put his notebook down and crossed his legs again. "This is not a set-up. This is an eyewitness." Miles turned back to the judge. Stoner was once again silent. Miles knew his neck was red. He wanted so badly to strangle Walt Ivers. But he knew he had to execute the impossible task of staying composed. "And just who the hell is Marvin Hartman?" Miles banged his cup and saucer on Stoner's desk almost knocking Walt's and Mason's cups onto the floor. "And why the fuck did he wait until now to come forward with this obscure tale of his?" Miles was livid. The task was becoming more and more impossi-ble. "He is a new resident of Patton. And his name is Morris, not Marvin!" "I don't give a shit if his name is Humphrey Bogart! I want to know why --- all of a sudden --- we have a fucking eye witness!" "If you calm down," Walt spoke quietly. "I'll tell you." Mason Stoner again chose to remain silent. "I don't want to calm down !" screamed the defense attorney. "Ah --- fuck it!" Miles sat down heavily and folded his arms. Then he stared past Mason at the blank wall. "Go ahead. I'm listening!" Walt paused before answering as he once again consulted his notes. Then he cleared his throat. "Morris Hartman is a small time hood and a three time loser. He claims he is going straight now. And he wants to keep a low profile --- not get involved." "So?" asked the impatient and furious defense attorney. "So --- since this guy is a hood with a criminal record, he just as-sumes no one is going to believe him. He figures --- why say any-thing?" Walt said it matter-of-factly. "So?" Miles was having a difficult time keeping his composure. "Why did he?" Walt cleared his throat again. "He says after reading about it in the paper and seeing it on the TV news his conscience got the bet-ter of him and he wanted to come forward. 'Cleanse his soul' were his exact words." Miles did not respond at first. He stared at the mute judge then he stared at Walt. His eyes darted back and forth between the two men. Then they stopped and narrowed as they landed on Walt Ivers. "What a distorted unrealistic crock of shit!" Walt started to speak but Miles was unyielding. "Since when does a three time loser have a conscience? Since when does a three time loser have a soul?" The defense attorney stood up and spewed the words directly at the prosecutor. "And since when does someone witness a murder and then have to think about --- getting involved?" When he got no re-sponse he sat back down. This time he faced an expressionless Ma-son Stoner. "Cleansing his soul --- my ass!" Then he turned back to Walt Ivers. "This whole fucking thing has the odor of a fish mar-ket!" "Miles." Walt spoke condescendingly. "I am only repeating what Sam Ingles said to me over the phone." Ivers paused to once again look at his notes. "Morris Hartman lives two doors from where Jodi Bartless lives --- lived. In the Patton Apartments." Walt turned the page slowly appearing to study each word. "All of the apartments, according to Hartman, look alike. So Morris, who just moved in, got confused. He meant to go to his apartment and went towards Jodi's by mistake." He cleared his throat twice. "As he walked by her window, he saw --- " The prosecutor and Miles locked eyes fiercely. " --- Barrett Jessop shoot Jodi Bartless." Walt quickly turned away and glanced at his notebook. There was another long silence. Then Miles asked vehemently, "And then what happened?" He got up and began to pace slowly between the desk and the door. "Well," Ivers continued to clear his throat repeatedly as he spoke. "Then Hartman realized he was at the wrong door and subsequently went back to his own apartment." Ivers folded up the notebook and put it back in his pocket. "I imagine Hartman was pretty much shaken up." "Yeah." Miles scoffed. "I feel sorry for the poor son-of-a-bitch!" "Anyway," continued Walt, "He --- he said he pondered the situa-tion for several days before he decided to call the local police." "Really!" Miles continued to pace. "And," the prosecutor went on. "he spoke to this Sam Ingles --- and then Sam Ingles called me." "And a fucking good time was had by all!" yelled Miles. His face was ashen. He stopped pacing and began speaking in a more sub-dued tone. "I would like to read over their depositions. Then I have to confer with my client. That should be fun." Miles then put on his jacket. "Of course." Walt handed over the papers. Miles looked over them briefly. "Uh --- Miles." The prosecutor ran his hand across his face and licked his lips. "In lieu of these --- unexpected turn of events, maybe you might wish to reconsider my original offer." Before Miles could respond, Mason Stoner made his booming voice heard. "Mr. Garrison. I realize this is a bit irregular. But I do feel Mr. Ivers has a valid point. And I feel you should consider it." The judge paused and sat back comfortably in his chair. "This way your client is spared a murder one charge and the State still gets a conviction." "And," Miles exploded, "we end this bullshit facsimile of a trial so our illustrious judge can go home and soak his feet!" "Goddamn it! Don't you wise off to me Garrison!" The judge sat up straight. "I have had enough of your fucking capers and your smart ass remarks! Now Stoner leaned forward and pointed his finger at the defense lawyer. "Don't take me on, Garrison. I'm warning you. Don't take me on!"
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