by Ed McBain
“And tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow? You mean what would I do tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“Gee, I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Do I have to know what I’d do tomorrow?”
“Witness will please answer the question,” Samalson said.
“Tomorrow? Gee …” Aposto’s brow furrowed in thought. “Tomorrow?” He wiped perspiration from his brow. For an awkward three minutes, he sat in the chair, thinking. Finally he said, “I don’t know what I’d do tomorrow.”
Hank turned from the boy. “Your witness,” he said to the defense.
One of Aposto’s attorneys rose. “We have no questions, your honor.”
“Very well, the witness may step down. Call the next witness, please.”
“Call Charles Addison.”
“Charles Addison will please take the witness stand.”
Addison, a tall thin man in a gray suit, walked to the front of the court and was sworn in. Hank walked to his table, picked up a folder and handed it to the court clerk. “I would like this marked as evidence, please,” he said.
“What is it?” Samalson asked.
“A report from the Psychiatric Division of Bellevue Hospital on Anthony Aposto, one of the defendants.”
“Let me see it,” Samalson said. He glanced through the folder and then handed it back to the clerk. “Mark it Exhibit One for the People.”
“Thank you, Your Honor,” Hank said. He turned to Addison. “Your name, please, sir?”
“Charles Ad—” Addison cleared his throat. “Charles Addison.”
“What do you do for a living, Mr. Addison?”
“I’m a psychologist.”
“Does that mean you’re a doctor?”
“No. I have a master’s degree in psychology.”
“I see. Where do you work, Mr. Addison?”
“At Bellevue Hospital.”
“What do you do there?”
“I’m a staff psychologist on Ward PQ-5.”
“What is Ward PQ-5?”
“The Adolescent Service.”
“Have you been attached to the Psychiatric Service of Bellevue for a long time?”
“Twelve years.”
“And have you administered many psychological tests during that time?”
“Yes. Very many.”
“Exactly how many, would you say?”
“I couldn’t say exactly. I administer tests every day of the week.”
“Would you say the number of tests you’ve administered was in the hundreds?”
“More than that.”
“In the thousands, would you say?”
“Yes, I would say so.”
“Is it true that you administered several psychological tests to Anthony Aposto when he was remanded to Bellevue for examination?”
“Yes, that’s true.”
“When was this, Mr. Addison?”
“I tested him on July twenty-eighth.”
“And prepared a report which was signed by your superior, Dr. Deregeaux, is that right?”
“That’s right.”
“Would you look at this, please?” He handed Exhibit One to Addison. “Is that the report you prepared?”
Addison leafed through it. “Yes, that’s the report.”
“Now, there are a lot of psychological terms in this report, Mr. Addison, and I’m not sure what they all mean. I wonder if you could explain some of them to me.”
“I’ll try.”
“You say here that Aposto made responses indicative of poor sense of reality and poor judgment. What does that mean in terms of a boy who might have stabbed another boy?”
“Well, it could mean that the stabbing, for this boy, had no real basis in reality. For example, someone may have said to him, ‘Stabbing this boy will be fun.’ In which case, Aposto might have seized upon the idea that it would be fun. Or perhaps he misinterpreted something someone said, allowing it to anger him out of all proportion to the real meaning of the remark. In short, his motive could have had nothing whatever to do with the reality of the situation. That’s what is meant by a poor sense of reality. His reasons for the stabbing could have been completely unrealistic ones controlled by some inner conflict.”
“I see. In your opinion, Mr. Addison, is Anthony Aposto capable of committing an act which requires premeditation?”
“No. If I may qualify that. We must assume that a person capable of planning something is a person with a sound grasp of reality. I am speaking now of a real plan, you understand.”
“A long-range plan? A plan for a career? A savings plan? Is that what you mean?”
“Yes.”
“Or a shorter-range plan? A plan for tomorrow?”
“Well, that’s not exactly what I had in mind. That might be extending the word ‘plan’ somewhat.”
“Did you hear the testimony of Aposto a few moments ago?”
“I did.”
“When I asked him what he would do tomorrow, he couldn’t seem to decide.”
“Well, that may have been due to the excitement of being questioned by a district attorney.”
“Are you excited now?”
“Not terribly.”
“Then what makes you think Anthony Aposto was excited?”
“Anthony Aposto is a disturbed personality with an intelligence quotient of sixty-seven. My I.Q. is one hundred fifty-two, and to the best of my knowledge I am not disturbed.”
“In spite of his excitement,” Hank said, “shouldn’t he have been able to decide what he wanted to do tomorrow?”
“I think Anthony Aposto is perfectly capable of making a plan for tomorrow. Because of his low I.Q., he may execute the plan badly, but he could certainly make a short-range plan such as that.”
“I see,” Hank said. He seemed suddenly troubled. “Would he be capable of planning the murder of Rafael Morrez?”
“Objection,” the defense screamed.
“Your Honor, a boy was killed,” Hank said, “and I am trying to find out whether or not one of the defendants was, in the opinion of a practicing psychologist, capable of planning that boy’s death. Since premeditation is an integral part of the crime of first-degree murder, and since we are prosecuting for first-degree—”
“Objection overruled,” Samalson said. “Proceed.”
“Would you answer the question, please. Mr. Addison?”
“I do not believe he would be capable of formulating an advance plan of murder,” Addison said.
“But he would be capable, would he not, of stabbing another boy on the impulse of—”
“Objection!”
“Sustained. Rephrase it, Mr. Bell.”
“Could he kill on impulse?”
“Yes.”
“At the height of passion?”
“Yes.”
“Would he know that he was killing?”
The courtroom was suddenly very silent.
“Yes,” Addison said. “He would know that he was killing.”
Sitting at the back of the room, Karin saw Hank’s back stiffen and knew instantly that this was not the answer he had expected.
“Now, just a minute, Mr. Addison,” Hank said quickly. “In your report, you said this boy was functioning at close to his endowment level. What does that mean?”
“The endowment level is a theoretical concept. It simply means the intelligence he was born with. A boy functioning at close to his endowment level has come as far intellectually as he is ever going to.”
“The intelligence he was born with? Do you mean that Aposto is functioning with the intelligence of a newborn baby?”
“No, I …”
“Can a newborn baby tell the difference between right and wrong, Mr. Addison?”
“I didn’t mean to imply that Aposto has the intelligence of a newborn baby. Surely you know that. When we’re dealing with intelligence we’re usually dealing with averages. We try to establish a norm, an intelligence level for an age level. In psychological
terms, intelligence is intelligence only when we—”
“How long have you worked for Bellevue?” Hank asked quickly.
“Twelve years.”
“And all you can say is that intelligence is intelligence is intelligence? Doesn’t that sound a bit like Gertrude Stein?”
At the back of the room, Karin immediately recognized Hank’s change of tactics. He had initially built up Addison as an expert, and he was now trying to make him appear the fool. She put her hand to her mouth, wondering what he was trying to accomplish by this sudden switch.
“This is a little difficult to explain to a layman,” Addison said aloofly. “When we say that someone has the intelligence of a ten-year-old, we don’t actually mean that. There are a great many qualitative differences.”
“And when you say someone who is a mental deficient, who has an I.Q. of sixty-seven, who has poor sense of reality, judgment and emotional control, who is functioning at close to his endowment level—when you say this person would know that he was committing an act of murder, what do you mean then, Mr. Addison? Is it the same intelligence-is-intelligence double talk? Do you know what you mean, Mr. Addison?”
“I know exactly what I mean. Emotionally, Aposto may not have known what he was doing. But he knew what he was doing intellectually. He knew that if he stabbed a boy, he was committing a crime.”
“Are you aware of the legalistic concept of insanity?”
“I am. Aposto is not insane. Either legalistically or medically. He is a mental deficient, but he was capable of understanding the consequences of a stabbing.”
“And how do you know that?” Hank said angrily. “How can you possibly know what was in this boy’s mind when, and if, he stabbed another boy?”
“I can’t know. But neither can I testify that he did not know what he was doing. That’s what you want me to say, isn’t it?”
“I want you to say whatever you want to say,” Hank answered. He turned away from Addison. “Your witness,” he said to the defense table.
Aposto’s attorney rose. “No questions, Your Honor,” he said.
Samalson looked first at the defense table, and then at Hank. “The court will recess for ten minutes,” he said briskly. “Would Mr. Bell please join me in my chambers?”
“The court will recess for ten minutes,” the court clerk announced. “All rise.”
The spectators, the witnesses, the reporters, the defendants, the lawyers all rose as Samalson walked out of the room, his robes trailing behind him.
“Why does he want to see Daddy?” Jennie asked.
“I don’t know,” Karin said.
“Is he allowed to do that? Without having the defense attorneys present?”
“It may be considered prejudicial, but it’s Abe’s courtroom, and he can do whatever he wants in it.”
“I wonder why he wants to see Daddy,” Jennie said.
“Sit down, Hank,” Samalson said.
“Thank you.”
“No more judge and district attorney. For now, just friends. That okay with you?”
“That’s fine with me.”
“All right, answer one question for me, will you?”
“Shoot.”
“Are you trying to lose your job?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Now, Hank, you know damn well what I mean. You just questioned that witness with the objective of getting him to say Aposto was not responsible for his actions. Obviously, that was what the psychiatric report indicated to you. When Addison refused to go along with you, you tried to discredit his testimony.”
“I suppose I …”
“I’m going to tell you something, Hank. The defense attorneys are not boobs. They were appointed by the court, and they probably accepted the case because they knew there’d be a lot of newspaper publicity, but they are not boobs. They are sharp criminal lawyers. And they damn well know that the state will accept the testimony of either two psychiatrists or one psychiatrist and one psychologist as evidence that a defendant had no knowledge of the consequences of a crime while committing it. And you can damn well bet they’ve got those two psychiatrists in their pocket, ready to testify that Aposto wouldn’t even know the consequences of a game of checkers! Which is why they waived cross-examination of your witness. They’ve got their own men waiting. So your move was a dumb one because you were trying to do their job for them when they’re prepared to do it better themselves. But what I want to know is this. Why are you trying to do their job? Suppose you tell me.”
“Abe …”
“If you have doubts about the guilt of these boys, you should have gone to the district attorney with them. Damnit, you can get fired for this. Do you want to get fired?”
“No. I don’t want to get fired.”
“Then why didn’t you take this to your superiors? Or why didn’t you come to me? The old adage about criminal law being the bargain basement of the profession has a lot of truth in it. I’m sure the defense would be willing to talk a deal. What are you trying to do, Hank? Throw your own case?”
“Abe, you don’t understand.”
“Then explain it to me.”
“I’m doing something I’ve got to do.”
“And what’s that?”
“Let’s say I do have doubts.”
“Do you?”
“This is all supposition.”
“It’s all supposition because you don’t trust me.”
“I trust you, Abe. But you’re the judge in this case.”
“I’m not the judge right now. I’m your friend. I wouldn’t give a damn what happened to you if I weren’t your friend.”
“When we get back into that courtroom, you become the judge again.”
“Damnit, Hank, trust me. What are you trying to accomplish?”
Hank took a deep breath. “I’m trying to get acquittals for Aposto and Di Pace. I’m trying to get leniency for Reardon.”
“What in the holy hell for?”
“Because … because I think that would be justice.”
“Then why didn’t you go to the D.A.? Why didn’t you come to me before the trial?”
“Because, Abe, for the first time in my life I want newspaper headlines.”
Samalson rose from his desk. “You’re committing suicide. You’re killing yourself.”
“No.”
“Yes, damnit, yes. You’ll get fired as sure as I’m standing here. You’ll make the D.A.’s office look foolish and ridiculous. They won’t stand for it, Hank.”
“I don’t care. If it accomplishes—”
“It’ll accomplish nothing. You’ll lose your job, that’s all. And nobody else will want to hire you. You won’t even be able to get arrested in this city.”
“Maybe.”
“No maybes about it. That’s what’s going to happen. I won’t let you do it. We’re going out there right now to talk to the defense attorneys. When you tell them—”
“Abe, no, please. Let me do this my way.”
“Let you kill yourself? Is that what you’re asking me? Don’t you know your office wants to use these three kids as examples? Don’t you know the city is—”
“I am going to use them as examples. Examples of human beings. Abe, they’re not mystifying aliens from another planet. They’re scared, lonely kids.”
“Tell that to the mother of Rafael Morrez. Psychology isn’t going to help the victim in this case, Hank.”
“Yes, Abe, it is, because every damn kid involved in this murder is a victim.”
“The law is clear on—”
“This has nothing to do with the law. The hell with the law! Abe, I’m a lawyer, and the law has been my life. You know that. But how can I convict these kids until I know who really killed Rafael Morrez? And when I know that, the law becomes meaningless.”
“Don’t you know who killed that boy?”
“Yes, Abe, I do. We all killed him.”
“Hank, Hank …”
“We all
killed him, Abe, because we’re not doing anything. We sit around and we talk about it, and we appoint commissions, and we listen to viewpoints, and all the while we know what’s wrong, we’ve already got the facts, but we won’t act on them. Instead, we allow Rafael Morrez to lose his life.”
“So what do you want to do? Start a campaign right this minute? In my courtroom? Hank, you’d never—”
“Can you think of a better time, Abe?”
Samalson shook his head. “This is the wrong way, Hank.”
“It’s the right way, the only way. Somebody’s got to get up and yell! Somebody’s got to be heard!”
“Why the hell does it have to be you?”
“I don’t know why. Don’t you think it scares me? I’d rather face a cannon than go out into that courtroom and reverse my own case. But, Abe, if somebody doesn’t do it now, if somebody doesn’t take a stand to stop this damn thing, we might just as well throw down the barricades. And then law and justice won’t mean a thing, because the world will be run by savages. I don’t want to raise my kid or my kid’s kid in a barbarian camp. I don’t want them torn apart, Abe. These kids are too important! They’re too goddamned important to waste!”
The room went silent.
After a long while, Abe Samalson said, “I wish I were younger.”
“Abe …?”
“I’ll hear the trial fairly. Don’t expect favors of me.”
“You know me better than that, Abe.”
“You’ll be slitting your own throat.”
“Maybe.”
“All right, all right,” Samalson said, sighing. “Let’s get out there before they accuse us of collusion.” At the door he hesitated. He put his hand on Hank’s shoulder. “Good luck,” he said. “You’re going to need it.”
The first witness Hank called after the recess was Angela Rugiello.
The girl took the stand hesitantly, scanning the courtroom with frightened brown eyes. She wore a green dress and high-heeled pumps. She pulled her skirt demurely over her knees as soon as she sat.
“Your name, please?” Hank asked.
“Angela Rugiello.”
“Where do you live, Miss Rugiello?”
“In Harlem.”
“Would you look over there to where the defendants are sitting, please? Do you know those three boys?”