No Team To Root For (27) "Ten years." Miles turned to the jury. "Isn't that rather a long time to be a dep-uty?" "Objection!" Walt Ivers was on his feet. "Sustained! Mr. Garrison --- " "I have no further questions. Only a comment." Miles turned rap-idly to Sam and put both hands on the witness chair. Once again the two men were nose to nose. "Sam, I can't prove it yet. But I'll bet you a week's wages that you're lying!" Before either Stoner or Ivers could say anything, Miles Garrison walked angrily and hastily to his seat. As he did so, Barrett noticed for the first time that none of the ju-rors, including the well dressed young woman in the front row, was making any eye contact with Miles. He wondered if this meant that his case had weakened. Miles, Barrett and George had all expected Sam Ingles to clam up and run, especially after he had seen how badly Morris Hartman struggled through his testimony. However, Sam didn't run. In fact, and much to the dismay of the defense, he solidified Hartman's weak testimony. And in doing so, strengthened the State's case im-mensely. This meant that Barrett Jessop's testimony would be critical! "Will both attorneys approach the bench?" asked the judge. They did as instructed. "Mr. Ivers." said Stoner. "I am going to have to strike the hear-say testimony of Sam Ingles." "What?" Ivers tried not to raise his voice. "I have no choice. I will instruct the jury right after we recess." Walt did not object. He didn't have to. The defense knew, as did everyone in the courtroom, that there would now be some doubts as to Barrett's innocence. And the hearsay evidence embedded into the minds of each juror would be a powerful weapon in a weak ar-senal. And to remove that testimony was immaterial to the defense. It would only be a mechanical legal maneuver so that the case would not be thrown out on a technicality. "Garrison!" Stoner leaned toward Miles and spoke sternly. "Don't ever make accusations against a witness unless you can back it up! Do I make myself clear?" "Yes, Your Honor." Miles was in no position to argue. "Mr. Ivers. Do you have any more witnesses?" "No, Your Honor." "Mr. Garrison?" "I am putting the defendant on the stand." Stoner sat up quickly. He faced Walt Ivers. "Mr. Ivers, were you aware of this?" Walt nodded slowly. "Yes sir. I just found out about it." Ivers and Stoner once again exchanged concerned looks "Okay, gentlemen. Court is recessed until tomorrow at ten am." Judge Stoner brought the gavel down heavily on his desk. "The witness is excused." Miles walked back to George and Barrett. "What's next?" asked Barrett anxiously. "I want to rub that fucking smirk off of Walt Ivers' fucking face!" * XXXVI Sylvia Stoner was at her usual Wednesday night bridge club and Mason was going to take advantage of the solitude. He decided to listen to one of his favorite LPs and one he had not heard in a long time. It was an old monaural recording of Szell and the Cleveland Orchestra playing Tschaikovsky's fourth symphony. At nine pm he walked down to the finished rec- room in his pajamas, robe and slippers. He turned the rheostat so the lighting would be just --- so. Then he positioned his favorite chair between the JBL speakers. Just as he was about to place the LP on the Sony turntable, the telephone rang. "Hello, Mason. Bruce Holstadt here." "Hello, Bruce." "Wasn't today a beauty? Sunlight, brisk clean air, fresh green smell." Get to the point you fat fuck! He absently put the LP on the spindle without turning on the machine. Then he sat down on the arm of the chair and waited. It was a short wait. "So." said the governor spiritedly. "The trial seems to have taken a turn for the better. Don't you think so?" Again with the rhetoric! "It would appear that way." Mason looked at the LP. He wanted the conversation to be over. "I just spoke to Walt." Holstadt continued. "And he is very con-fident that Jessop's testimony won't mean shit! Don't you think so?" Mason Stoner did not respond. He merely shook his head dis-gustedly. Bruce went on. "Walt says --- and this is one of the very few times I agree with him --- Walt says that it will be Jessop's lies against the testimony of an eye witness. And this is the good part. It will all be backed up by an officer of the law. I sort of like the odds. Don't you like the odds?" "Morris Hartman was a bad choice, Bruce." "So he wasn't a law abiding citizen. So what!" Holstadt's tone became hostile. "He got the job done, didn't he? He made a fucking liar out of Barrett Jessop, didn't he? I sure as hell didn't see you or anyone else coming up with a better choice. Hartman was the only choice!" Bruce paused and his tone softened. "Mason, I didn't call you up to fight. I have come to praise Caeser, not to bury him." Bruce Holstadt laughed. "Get it?" No! I do not get it! Mason got up and sat in the chair. He would at least be physically comfortable. "But seriously, Mason, and in all honesty, I do think you have handled things admirably. And when I become Senator, you can be assured that I will have a spot for you --- somewhere. Unless you decide to take an early retirement --- with a nice pension, of course. So, Mason, like I said before, either way you win." Then Holstadt's tone once again became hostile and threatening. "Now you under-stand that this is all predicated on getting a conviction. And I do definitely expect a conviction!" "Bruce, this is highly irregular. It's --- " "Oh fuck irregularity, Mason! We're sure as hell not backing off now. No sir!" Both men were breathing hard. Bruce continued. "As for Walt Ivers, he is a loser. He was born a loser and he will die a loser. I practically took him by the hand and led him to Hartman and Ingles. And then he damn near blew it!" Holstadt went on as if no one else was on the line. "But I did promise the son-of-a-bitch a position. And I suppose a promise is a promise. I'll just have to find him something somewhere where he can't do any harm. I don't want him fucking up next to me!" Again his tone became threatening. "Now remember, Mason. This is all with the understanding that a conviction will be forthcoming. And I know you won't let me down." Bruce paused to catch his breath. "The only person that is going to lose --- besides Jessop that is --- is Miles Garrison. I hate that pompous little prick! Don't you?" Stoner didn't respond. But it made no difference. The Governor continued anyway. "I got a good feeling about all this, Mason. I think everything will turn out real nice --- for all concerned. Don't you think so?" " Yes, Bruce." And I voted for this piece of shit! "Everything will turn out --- real nice!" The telephone was expensive and was a gift from his wife. Oth-erwise, Stoner knew he would have smashed it against the wall! "Well, Mason. As usual, it's been a pleasure. And do say hello to Sylvia for me." Holstadt hung up with no goodbye. The judge knew that he would never accept any position offered him by Bruce Holstadt. He would instead take an early retirement and hope he could live with himself, knowing he had been an inte-gral part of a conspiratorial plot to convict a man of a crime he did not commit. Mason finally turned on the turntable. And as he sat back in his chair, he closed his eyes trying to become totally absorbed and con-sumed by the music. As the soulful sounds of Tschaikovsky filled the room, the inner turmoil and self doubts of the Russian com-poser, as reflected in the fourth symphony, seemed to parallel the exact same emotions felt by Mason Stoner. Kondor's Seafood Restaurant was located on South Broad Street three miles east of the County Courthouse. The seven-year-old es-tablishment had only twelve tables and a small bar at the far end of the room. It was brightly lit and usually noisy. But on Wednes-day it was uncharacteristically quiet. Besides Miles, Barrett, George, and two policemen, there were two waitresses, one bartender, and a young Asian couple at the op-posite end of the restaurant holding hands over what Barrett thought were two glasses of white wine. They never looked any-where except at each other. After a few minutes of meaningless small talk, the two policemen migrated to the bar, leaving Miles, Barrett and George to plot their strategy for tomorrow's court session. While the detective and attorney were busy sorting out pieces of paper, Barrett studied the young couple across the room. He sud-denly became very curious about their lives. Were they married? Were they happy? How often did they have sex? Did they really en-joy it? How much money did they have? He was so deeply engrossed in thought, Miles had to talk into his ear to get his attention. "Jesus Christ, Barrett! You were in another time period. Stay with me, okay? There are a lot of things we have to go over before you testify tomorrow." The short busty waitress came over with three glasses of water. George and Barrett ordered salmon. Miles ordered steak. "Miles." Barrett was exhausted. "We have been over this --- two --- three times." He took off his tie and put it in his pocket. "I told you I have a problem putting a client on the stand. So I don't care how many times we've been over it." Miles smiled. "Humor me, okay?" "Goddamn it, Miles, it isn't fair. Hartman lied! And Ingles --- that asshole --- backed him up!" "Shhh --- " Miles put his finger to his lips. "We know." George said joining the discussion. "But it doesn't matter what we think. It's the members of the jury we have to con-vince. And we aren't ignoring it. Believe me." George took a long sip of water. "But there is a thing called proof. And we don't have a shred of evidence. At least not yet!" Barrett pushed his glass of water to the side almost spilling it. "So I could end up in prison for a crime I didn't commit because two shits lied on the witness stand. And we just sit here!" "All in good time, Barrett. All in good time." said George. "But first things first." Miles then added calmingly, "Look. We still have a much better than average chance of beating this thing." He gently poked Barrett on the arm. "Don't forget. You're a professional. Hartman is a bum." "But Ingles is a fucking cop!" Barrett hit the top of the table with the palm of his hand. Everyone in the restaurant looked at him. Even the Asian couple looked up for an instant. But then they went back to looking at each other. "Everything okay?" It was one of the policemen, who seemed to have materialized. "Yes." Miles was convincing. "Everything is under control." The two cops nodded and looked at each other, then returned to the bar. "By discrediting Hartman maybe we put some doubt in the minds of the jurors about Sam Ingle's testimony." George said reassur-ingly. "After all, Ingles only confirmed the flimsy testimony of an ex-con." "And besides that," added Miles. "the crux of Ingle's testimony was hearsay evidence. An intelligent jury should disregard it." Barrett nodded and took a deep breath. "I guess when you put it like that --- " "That's the only way to look at it, Barrett." Miles picked up his glass, studied it, and pushed it to the side. "Your testimony has got to carry more weight than Hartman's." "But doesn't the jury have to wonder why Hartman lied?" Barrett persisted. "He lied because he's a shady low class character. There can be many reasons." Miles began stacking the papers. "Anyway, that doesn't make any difference." "He lied because there's something going on we don't know about." Barrett said. "You're probably right." added George. "But listen to your law-yer. First we win the case, then we go after the State." "Tomorrow," said Miles enthusiastically. "We are going to take your testimony and beat the shit out of the prosecution with it." The three men touched water glasses. "You leave everything to me!" The waitress came over with the meals. The three men talked and ate quietly. As soon as they were done, the waitress cleared the table. "Des-sert?" she asked. "What? Oh --- no." Miles spoke for all three. "Just coffee." The next hour was spent probing and dissecting every possible question that would be put to Barrett. All acceptable answers were thoroughly discussed. Some questions were likely. Some were unlikely. Miles wanted nothing left to chance. They had been over it all before. But Barrett didn't argue. He realized where he stood. The waitress came over with more coffee. And several cups later, Miles paid the checks. On the way to the car, Miles pulled George Archer aside. "George." Miles whispered. "What do you really think about all of this?" "Well --- my gut feeling is that Barrett is telling the truth." He ran his fingers through his hair. "Let's hope it comes out that way tomorrow." "Good. We agree. Okay, let's go!" * On the way home, Barrett Jessop tried to think as positively as he could that by tomorrow he would be a free man. But all he could think about was Janet, Jodi and the bizarre events of May tenth. He knew he would go home, pass the master bedroom and sleep in the spare room as he had been doing for the last two months. He still wasn't used to the bed and would never get used to it, no matter how many months he would sleep there. He was convinced that tomorrow was destined to be one of the most important and traumatic days of his existence! * XXXVII "Mr. Ivers?" The judge's powerful voice echoed resoundingly throughout the courtroom. "The prosecution rests." Walt Ivers said as he walked back to his seat. "Mr. Garrison?" Mason Stoner spoke to Miles but he looked at Barrett. "If it please the court,” said Miles nervously, "I wish to call Dr. Barrett Jessop to the witness stand." "Will Dr. Barrett Jessop please come forward and be sworn in?" asked the young clerk. Barrett started to get up but suddenly found himself unable to move, as if he were frozen to the chair. "Will Dr.Barrett Jessop please come forward and be sworn in?" repeated the clerk. Miles finally walked up to his client who was still sitting mo-tionless and staring into space. "Barrett, this is it!" The attorney's mouth was up against Barrett's ear. "The time has come. Let's go!" "Miles --- I don't feel too good. I --- I'm nauseous!" "Look, Barrett." Miles whispered. "I don't like doing this any-more than you do. But we got no choice. Now move your fucking ass!" A low hum of subdued voices began to ripple through the court-room as those in attendance became aware of what looked like Bar-rett's refusal to take the stand. "Mr. Garrison!" roared Stoner impatiently. "Either have your cli-ent take the stand or these proceedings will come to a halt. Which, as you are well aware of, is fine with me!" George and Miles then slowly and carefully helped Barrett out of his seat and half carried him to the witness stand, where he was immediately sworn in. "Are you --- okay, Dr. Jessop?" asked Judge Stoner. "Yes, Your Honor. I --- I think so." Barrett took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Then he looked sheepishly at the judge. "I'm sorry to have disrupted the proceedings." "Fine. Fine!" said Stoner heavily, staring at Miles Garrison. "You may proceed." Barrett Jessop was dressed for the part. He wore a conservative blue suit, a plain white broadcloth shirt and a nondescript light blue tie. His sandy hair was combed neatly back, his pants had a sharp crease, and his shiny black shoes looked brand new. He looked every bit the professional, the upstanding stalwart of the commu-nity, the model law-abiding citizen. He was intentionally the exact opposite of Morris Hartman --- both in status and in physical ap-pearance. "Dr. Jessop." Miles bypassed his usual flashy routine, just as he had done with Lucille Napier. He would make dead certain that everyone knew Barrett Jessop was a 'doctor'. "I know this is painful for you, Dr. Jessop, but please tell the court exactly where you were and what you were doing on the night of May tenth." His voice was soft and his tone was compassionate. "Go slowly. Take all the time you need." He glanced quickly at a concerned looking Walt Ivers, then put his hands behind his back, and once again faced the jury. Barrett sat for a moment before he responded. When he did, his response was sincere and straight forward --- just as they rehearsed it, over and over! He began with his going to PAL. Then his brief dinner at Juanita's. Then he paused and cleared his throat as he told of his visit to Jodi Bartless' apartment, explaining that that was why his watch and fingerprints were there. Miles did not pursue any reasons. But he knew his adversary would. Barrett told the court that he remembered seeing Mrs. Purdy --- such a sweet old lady. But she was so confused at times. He finally added that when he left Jodi Bartless at around ten thirty, she was very much alive. Barrett was precise in emphasizing that fact. After a lengthy pause, Miles pushed gently. "Please go on." At this point Barrett stopped. He looked at the judge. Then he looked around the courtroom. As he looked at Miles, he loosened his tie. His entire body stiffened, and he began to sweat. He knew he was coming to the part of his testimony that constituted his big lie. He had planned to tell the court that he came home late and went to bed thinking Janet was asleep. But in the morning he saw his world pulled out from under him. His wife had died in her sleep. He had told the story to himself so often that he had almost begun to believe it. To lie in the comfort of one's home and to one's self was one thing. But to lie in a court of law was quite another. But Barrett knew he had no choice. He had come this far with his fable and now he had to follow it through to the bitter end. He was soaked with sweat. While Barrett paused, Miles took a moment to analyze the jury. This time he had their full and undivided attention. This time there was eye to eye contact with the well dressed woman in the front row. He could feel the adrenaline flow. He knew the jury was his. With subdued gestures and a low-keyed performance, he would beat Walt Ivers at his own game. Hartman and Ingles would eat their lying words! Barrett suddenly became dizzy. His pulse began to race and his body began to shake. He felt himself floating. He was no longer in court but in his own bedroom. The master bedroom! Janet lay on her bed. The pillow was next to her head. He could see her ghostly face. He could hear her muffled cries. He could feel her cold and lifeless limbs. Then once again he heard the awful sounds. Thump thump. Thump thump! It got progressively louder. Thump thump. Thump thump! He put his hands to his ears but the sound wouldn't stop. THUMP THUMP. THUMP THUMP! He stood up and started to yell. "STOP IT! STOP IT! I HAD TO DO IT! I DIDN'T MEAN TO! I'M SORRY! I --- " Barrett quickly realized someone was shaking him. It was Miles. Miles' lips were moving but there were no words. Then his hallucinatory moment passed. He was back in court. Miles was shaking him harder. He was talking loudly. Much too loudly! Barrett heard his name. "Barrett! Barrett!" Miles put his face close to that of his client. "What are you saying, Barrett? What are you saying?" Barrett did not respond. He stared at his attorney. The room was ominously silent.
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