Valentine cleared his throat. ‘No,’ he said grimly.
Charlie stared at the man, then shook his wise old head. ‘How sad …’
There was silence in the courtroom. Charlie stared at the floor, deeply saddened by a father’s rejection of his deceased daughter. ‘How sad …’ he repeated. Silence. Then he gave a sniff and said, ‘And now it’s too late …’
Everybody in the courtroom was looking very sombre, except Ed Vance who got to his feet ‘What’s the question, please?’
Charlie glanced at him sorrowfully, then wiped the corner of his eye. He sniffed and said to Valentine, .’In fact, Josie brought Jack to Boston for your approval in 1988, didn’t she? Because she was in love with him, already living with him.’
Valentine said grimly: ‘Correct.’
‘And how did you get on with him?’ Charlie enquired gently.
Valentine cleared his throat, then said stiffly, ‘We were on … polite terms.’
‘Polite?’ Charlie said pensively. ‘Is that the same as “cordial” in Boston-speak?’
Valentine looked at him. ‘Polite.’
‘Not cordial?’ Charlie sighed sadly. ‘And isn’t it true, Mr Valentine, that you got the defendant alone in your library and told him, politely enough, that you are a pacifist, that you disapproved of both his military background and the apartheid regime, that as a Christian you thoroughly disapproved of his living with Josephine out of wedlock, that you asked Jack to separate from Josephine for six months in the hopes that their relationship would die out?’ Charlie looked at Valentine soulfully. ‘True?’
Valentine cleared his throat again. ‘True enough, I suppose.’
‘Enough …? And you told Jack – and later Josephine – that if they did not carry out this wish of yours, you would disown Josephine for ever. And disinherit her.’
Valentine said stiffly, ‘True.’
‘And is it not also true that you told her that if she did not obey you as trustee, you would cut off her allowance of fifty thousand dollars a year?’
‘True.’
Charlie nodded sadly. ‘And is it not also true that both Jack and Josephine,.independently of each other, indignantly refused your ultimatum and Josephine, in so many words, told you to go to hell?’
‘Yes,’ Valentine admitted.
‘And,’ Charlie said, ‘you did cut off her allowance, and you did cut her out of your will?’
Valentine nodded. ‘I did.’
Old Charlie shook his head in sad wonder at his fellow man.
‘And,’ he continued sadly, remorselessly, ‘is it not also true that since that first meeting you have refused several invitations to visit Jack and your daughter in New York?’
Valentine cleared his throat. ‘True.’
‘Even though you were actually in New York on business, you refused to have even a drink at their apartment?’
‘Yes.’
‘And isn’t it true that when Josephine telephoned you from Las Vegas to tell you that she and the defendant were married, she asked for your blessing, but you refused to give it?’
‘True.’
‘In fact, you urged her not to consummate the marriage with him, so that you could have it declared void, and she told you to go to hell. And thereafter the defendant spoke to you and told you that Josephine loved you and wanted you two to make it up?’
‘Yes,’ Valentine admitted uncomfortably.
Charlie nodded, and looked at the lawyer soulfully. He shook his head and said, ‘But you never saw her again … Never, since that far-off visit eight years ago when she first brought the defendant home to meet you.’ Charlie sighed. ‘Josephine contacted you on several occasions to try to heal the rift between you?’
‘Yes,’ Valentine admitted.
‘But you never did …’ Charlie gave a slow, sad sigh, then took a big breath and soldiered on to a new topic. ‘Now, some months ago Josephine telephoned you and mentioned that she was buying Jack’s shares in Harvest House. You told her not to touch the deal. Correct?’
‘Correct,’ Valentine said grimly.
‘But, it’s a perfectly respectable investment. Harvest is regarded as a very successful publishing house. And it is not unusual for a businessman to place whole or part of his business in his wife’s name, is it?’
‘But the defendant didn’t place his business in Josephine’s name, he sold it to her. For more than two million dollars. And that is exactly what I was always afraid of, that the defendant would somehow get his hands on my daughter’s money.’
‘“Get his hands on …”’ old Charlie repeated. ‘That implies dishonesty. Nasty stuff. But there was nothing dishonest about the transaction, your daughter got her money’s worth of shares – possibly more than her money’s worth. And she would control Harvest. She would get her advances and her royalties and she would get the dividends on her shares. So in effect she would probably double or even treble her income from her books, and she’d get her share of the profits in all the other books Harvest publishes.’ Charlie raised his eyebrows and gave his enamel smile. ‘Nice work if you can get it.’
‘May I point out to you, sir,’ Valentine said, ‘that two million dollars invested at ten per cent is two hundred thousand dollars a year. That is nice, without work. And without risk.’
Charlie smiled. ‘Indeed,’ he agreed. ‘But her investment in Harvest would yield much more than two hundred thousand, and the American Dream was not built on risk-free, work-free, cushy investments. However …’ Charlie waved his hand, dismissing that subject. ‘Let’s turn to your attitude towards the defendant.’ He frowned: ‘I believe you’re a religious man?’
Valentine cleared his throat. ‘I try to be.’
‘And,’ Charlie said, ‘as a consequence of your religious beliefs you’re a pacifist. In the sense that you were a conscientious objector when you were called up for service in the Korean War – although you indeed served in a non-combatant role.’
Mr Valentine cleared his throat. ‘The war was a scandalous American mistake, sir. But I don’t approve of war, no. The taking of human life is never acceptable.’
‘Oh, none of us do approve of war,’ old Charlie agreed, ‘we would all rather there was no war –’
‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ Valentine interrupted. ‘There is a warrior-class of person who likes war. And I refuse to cooperate with them.’
‘And, as a Christian, you didn’t like the defendant living with your daughter?’
Valentine looked angry. ‘I don’t think any father likes that.’
‘Despite the fact that she was a grown woman who had achieved everything your father had stipulated in the trust and had made her own way round the world for three years, risked her life often as a renowned war correspondent, written a bestselling book which,’ Charlie pointed at Harker, ‘the defendant had published so successfully – despite all that you didn’t feel she was morally entitled to choose how she lived?’
‘Morally?’ Valentine said doggedly. ‘Legally, yes, but morally fornication is a mortal sin.’
Charlie nodded sagely. ‘And you also feel that being a professional soldier is morally unacceptable – so you found the defendant unacceptable?’
‘And because he was a professional soldier in the South African army. The army of the racial oppressor.’
Charlie stroked his chin pensively. Then he enquired, ‘Tell us, Mr Valentine, are you a communist?’
Valentine looked astonished. ‘No!’
‘You are loyal to the American constitution, the right to the pursuit of wealth and happiness?’
‘Yes.’
‘Democracy? Freedom of speech? Freedom of worship?’
‘Of course.’
‘You sure? Sure you’re not a closet communist?’
‘Don’t be absurd.’
Charlie nodded. ‘And the reason for your vehemence is because communism is an atheistic political creed that enforces a one-party state, thus denying democracy, den
ying the worship of God, free speech and the pursuit of wealth, and so on. Not so?’
‘That,’ Valentine said, ‘is some definition of communism, but I suppose it will do.’
‘Well, can you answer this, with a simple yes or no? Are you aware, as an educated man, that the defendant devoted his entire military life to defending those aspects of the American constitution that we all – yes, including you – hold dear? That he fought against communism in Zimbabwe and Angola, that he daily risked his life in defence of your ultimate liberty.’ Charlie paused. ‘Do you appreciate that?’
Valentine looked at him. ‘That,’ he said, ‘is a matter of interpretation.’
Charlie looked back at him, and let that answer hang. Then he said quietly, ‘Let me put the question this way. If the defendant was fighting for your liberty against communism, would you approve? Or not?’
Valentine looked at Charlie. He knew he could not win in this confrontation – either answer destroyed his credibility. He said instead, uncomfortably, ‘That would depend on the interpretation.’
Charlie looked at him, eyes hooded. ‘Very well, we’ll let the jury place their interpretation on that answer.’ He shook his head. ‘And yet Josephine became well known in the country as a journalist and photographer who made wars and soldiering her specialty –’
Valentine interrupted: ‘Josephine didn’t specialize in wars, she specialized in the truth about the horrors of war, the evil of politicians and economics that cause war, injustices like apartheid that cause such suffering not only in South Africa but amongst the black frontline states whom the South African government destabilized with sabotage and cross-border raids and cold-blooded murder. That’s what my daughter specialized in, sir! Not war. The truth.’
Charlie nodded. ‘Oh, Josephine was an excellent journalist and a wonderful girl, we all agree on that. But surely it was obvious to you that this intelligent woman, who – devoted her life to the pursuit of truth, understood the truth about the defendant, the truth that he was an honourable soldier fighting against communism.’
Valentine said stiffly, ‘She thought that, but it was far from obvious that she was right.’
‘Far from obvious? Aren’t you being very prejudiced, sir? You only met the defendant once. Josephine lived with him for years! And you had almost no conversations with her after she’d met the defendant.’
‘It is possible for the smartest people to make huge mistakes in their personal lives,’ Valentine retorted. ‘Love can be blind!’
Charlie stared at him. ‘Love can be blind?’ he whispered. Then he exploded: ‘That’s rich, coming from you, sir! You –’ he stabbed with his finger – ‘who are so hard-hearted as to refuse to visit your own daughter, refuse to invite her to visit you, who vowed to disown her, disinherit her if she married the man she loved, you who refused to give her your blessing after she had married him. You have the utter gall to advise this court that love is blind …?’
The rhetorical question hung in the silent courtroom. It was embarrassing, almost cruel. Valentine looked at Charlie and for the first time his mask seemed to slip; his lip trembled. Luke Mahoney closed his eyes, Enough, Charlie, now you’re evoking the jury’s sympathy for him. But Charlie continued relentlessly, softly:
‘Tell me, sir, if you had the opportunity over again, would you treat your daughter Josephine like that?’
For another long moment the question hung in the silent courtroom: Luke prayed Enough for Chrissake! Vance began to get to his feet to defend his witness by objecting to a hypothetical question but then Denys Valentine broke down. He was staring at Charlie, then suddenly his eyes filled with tears and his chin trembled, and he dropped his face into his hands and sobbed.
Vance subsided back into his seat, his face solemn but his heart joyful. Oh for Christ’s sake Charlie, Luke groaned to himself. The jury shifted, eyes downcast.
Then Charlie tried to undo his overkill. ‘No, I see now you wouldn’t be so heartless as to treat her like that again. Thank you sir, that is all.’
Not to be outdone, Charlie pulled out his big white handkerchief and dabbed his eyes as he sat.
‘The People rest, your honour,’ Vance said solemnly.
‘I think,’ Judge Ludman growled, ‘we’ll adjourn now …’
46
Luke told Charlie he had blown it by excessively cross-examining Valentine, reducing him to tears and thus evoking the jury’s sympathy. Harker agreed but grimly held his tongue. Charlie stoutly disagreed with the criticism: ‘I showed the man up for a stone-hearted bigot who unfairly rejects both his daughter and Jack. Who is therefore not to be believed when he puts a sinister interpretation on the financial aspects of his daughter’s dealings with Jack!’
‘Sure, you did a great job at that, the jury were with you. Then you overdid it and reduced him to tears and their sympathy swung to him.’
‘Look,’ Charlie said dismissively, ‘what were the main points of Valentine’s (evidence? The only points were the financial ones that the prosecution relies upon as a motive for murder – Josephine’s purchase of Harvest shares for two million dollars which Jack will get back under Josie’s will, plus her life insurance, all of which Jack will inherit under her will. To reinforce that motive Vance tried to sneak in prejudicial details in the form of Valentine’s opinion of Jack as an unscrupulous soldier of fortune and an apartheid-monger who cynically stole his daughter’s heart to get his hands on her money. To destroy the perception he had erected in the jury’s mind I really had to sock it to him. It’s a pity he ended up crying, I agree – but you, Jack –’ he wagged his finger – ‘will do the same when you give evidence. Your voice is going to catch when you describe your love for Josie, you are going to sniff and dab your eyes. And when you get around to describing the night she disappeared you’re going to burst into tears. Right?’
Harker sighed, then nodded.
‘And when I ask you how you felt about Josie’s father, your heart will be full of pain. Pain at being rejected, at being misunderstood, being damned as a soldier of fortune when you are an officer and a gentleman in all the best traditions of Sandhurst and West Point. Right?’
Harker took a deep breath. ‘So you’ve definitely decided I should give sworn evidence? Not just make an unsworn statement?’
‘Correct,’ Charlie said. ‘Luke and I were up till late last night discussing it. There’s too much suspicious circumstantial evidence against you – a judge would probably acquit you but a goddam jury will reckon you’re hiding something terrible if you don’t give sworn evidence and submit to cross-examination.’
Harker dragged his hands down his face. ‘Not today, please. I didn’t sleep last night, my nerves are shattered. Can’t you ask for an adjournment until tomorrow?’
Charlie looked at him, then glanced at Luke. ‘Sure, I can say I don’t feel well – which I don’t. I could do with a hair of the dog.’
The discussion of the case, the review of the evidence, continued in Beauty’s Paradise Grill & Revue Bar after Harker had disappeared in the truck back to the prison. Luke sat at the bar with Charlie, while girls did their lunch-hour number on the stage. ‘But how can you expect the man to sob and cry on cue? Unless he’s a very good actor the jury will see through him and he’ll be a very dead man.’
‘He is a good actor,’ Charlie said flatly.
Luke glanced at him. Up on the stage the naked girls were gyrating to the music. ‘Meaning?’
‘Nerves of steel,’ Charlie said, watching the girls. He added: ‘You’d have to have in his business, wouldn’t you? Professional soldier in Africa, for Christ’s sake, at war for almost twenty years, facing death for a living. What kind of nerves do you expect him to have?’
Luke looked at the old man. ‘You don’t think he’s innocent, do you?’
Old Charlie took a sip of his piña colada, still looking at the girls. ‘One wouldn’t push any of them out of bed, would one?’
‘You don’t think he’s innocen
t, do you?’ Luke repeated.
Charlie’s eyes didn’t waver from the girls. ‘Do you?’ He added: ‘The one fourth from the left with the thighs.’
Luke grinned despite himself. ‘A bit young for you, Charlie.’
‘Like fifty years too young.’ He added reasonably: ‘Maybe only forty.’
‘You think he’s guilty?’
Charlie took a long suck of his drink.
‘As sin …’
47
Jack Harker had been into battle exactly one hundred times. ‘You get used to it,’ he had once said to Josephine, ‘but you never lose your fear – you only become accustomed to it. With battlefield experience your wits sharpen, your panic-factor diminishes, your military judgement improves and it’s easier to keep your morale up and get the adrenaline flowing, but underneath all that you’re still scared …’ But going into battle was easy for Harker compared with going on to the witness stand to testify in his own defence, on trial for his life. He had hardly slept since the trial began, his mind turning over and over the courtroom scenes, and the night before he testified he did not sleep at all. His face was grey, his eyes dark and he could feel his legs trembling as he took the oath to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. It was a good thing that he could sit down.
Luke Mahoney thought that Charlie did not look much better – and he did not feel much better himself. He had spent most of the previous night following Charlie from bar to bar, trying to ensure that the old man did not land up in hospital or jail. It was one o’clock in the morning when he had persuaded Charlie to go home.
‘Mr Harker,’ Charlie began with the delicate, sepulchral voice of an undertaker, ‘where were you born?’
Harker cleared his throat and nervously began his evidence. Led by Charlie he told the court his background: born in England, brought up in Rhodesia, went to Sandhurst, won the sword of honour, joined the Rhodesian army, fought for the next five years in their bush war against the communist terrrorists sponsored by Russia and China. When that war ended in 1979 because the Rhodesians were unable to sustain the war effort in the face of economic sanctions imposed by Britain, he was recruited by the South African army to fight in their border war on the Angolan front.
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