The Laws of our Fathers kc-4

by Scott Turow

  Horgan slowly settles into the one available chair beside me. He opens his fat, freckled hand my way. 'Your Honor,' he says.

  'I've ruled, Mr Horgan.' I stand up. Horgan is so astonished it takes him a moment to come back to his feet.

  'Judge, I would think, I would hope I'd get the chance at least – This is nothing more than an attempt to embarrass parties who have no relationship to this matter, to inject politics into a garden-variety murder case.'

  'We're done, Mr Horgan. I've ruled. It's nice to see you.' If I investigate further, ask what the check has to do with this case, I'll only make it harder on myself.

  'Judge, can the transcript at least – of these proceedings – can it remain sealed?'

  'I think that would just inflame the press, Mr Horgan. There's no need to keep secrets here.' I smile at him wanly. I'd like to think he's just a cat's-paw, not fully filled in, but there's no telling about that.

  'Mr Turtle,' I say, ‘I'm trusting you, against my better judgment. I expect you to deliver fully on your promises. If you do not, sir, it will be a sad day for us both.'

  Marietta peers my way. She rarely sees much she doesn't understand. As I pass, she hums beneath her breath, marveling at my authority or my daring.

  'Comes with the robes,' I murmur to her.

  *

  'Seems to me, Senator, you and Molto don't get on?'

  Arranged somewhat fragilely beside me on the witness stand, Eddgar takes an instant to ponder Hobie's first question to him before he agrees. He wears the same heavy grey tweed sport coat and squarish gold-framed glasses that were not on his face yesterday.

  'Was it the fact you lied to the police? Is that when you and the prosecutors seemed to fall out?'

  'Frankly, I think it was when I agreed with you that I'd secure my son's bond with my home.'

  'Molto was angry?'

  'Incredulous,' says Eddgar. 'Apparently, he doesn't have children.' This shot, understandably, brings Molto to his feet. No mutual-admiration society there. Tommy has one of those cloistered lives of suppressed desire. No Mrs Tommy. No girlfriends. A former seminarian, he is known behind his back as the Mad Monk. I strike Eddgar's last remark and Hobie starts again.

  'My question, Dr Eddgar, is whether the prosecutors and the police and you have discussed the evidence.'

  ‘I suppose not. I suppose we've all been somewhat wary.'

  'Because you lied to them to start, right?'

  'They told me I was a witness and we shouldn't talk about other persons' testimony.' Molto, rising to object again, smiles at Eddgar's answer and reverts to his seat.

  'All right,' says Hobie, 'but just to get us all straight: you did lie to the police, didn't you?'

  'As I told Mr Molto yesterday, I wasn't completely candid when I first spoke to Lieutenant Montague.' Eddgar, wrung out after yesterday, after being handballed by the prosecutor, after enduring whatever the papers and TV stations wrought from his performance, sits here in quiet command of himself. He is neat, if subdued. He has answered most questions thus far with almost no visible movement – not a hand raised, not a tic of feeling in his face.

  'Well, as a matter of fact, Senator, as I read the reports, what you told them the first day – September 7 – was that your wife had gone out, and you couldn't account for it. Right? Isn't that what you told them, Senator?'

  'That's what I told them.'

  'And that was a lie?'

  'Asked and answered,' says Tommy. I overrule. The cross-examiner has the right, in my view, to test the sincerity of a witness's mea culpa.

  'It was a lie,' Eddgar says at last. He cannot constrain a quick glance at the jury box and the press row.

  'Okay,' says Hobie, 'and if I understand your testimony yesterday, you lied in the first place because you felt admitting that someone like you knew someone like Hardcore would be embarrassing, right?'

  'That was one factor. I'd also say I didn't realize that my projected presence had anything to do with the incident. It was being presented to me at that stage as a drive-by.'

  'Well, let's talk about the embarrassment part, Senator. You didn't think it was wrong to be trying to help the poor community, did you?'

  'Everybody knows where I stand on that, Mr Turtle.'

  'So what's the problem?' Hobie lifts his round face and lets the question linger a second. 'Was it embarrassing that you'd tried to involve B S D in politics, or were there specific steps you'd taken you didn't care to talk about?'

  For the first time, Eddgar moves around in his seat. 'The latter, I suppose.'

  'The latter,' says Hobie. He walks a few steps, looking at his feet, then stops to abruptly face the witness. 'Senator, fact is, you haven't told the whole truth yet about what went on between you and BSD, isn't that so?'

  'I've answered the questions that have been asked, Mr Turtle.'

  'And the questions, you well know, have been based on what Hardcore said, correct?'

  'I don't know what they've been based on exactly. I suppose that's one basis.'

  'Well, let's get specific, Senator. This meeting. You remember that? Last summer? Nile. Core. T-Roc. Just the four of you, sittin round cozy in the back of T-Roc's armored limousine? Remember?'

  'I've seen the scene reconstructed on all three local channels, Mr Turtle. It's firmly in my mind.' The reporters' laughter rings out. Eddgar manages the trace of a smile.

  'And there in that limo, you preached at them, right? You're a preacher by training, Senator, aren't you?'

  ‘I am.'

  'And you preached, didn't you? You tried to explain that if they would organize voters, support campaigns, they would have legitimate power. Right?'

  'Right'

  'They could be leaders like other political leaders. With influence. Because they had the same source. Votes and money. Am I correct?'

  'That's the gist of what I suggested.'

  'Now, were these suggestions to get B S D involved in mobilizing poor voters – was that completely altruistic on your part?' 'I'm sorry?' replies Eddgar.

  'Well, what were you gonna get out of this, Senator?'

  'Me? Nothing.'

  'Just bein progressive, huh?'

  ‘I believe so.'

  'When you ran four years ago, for state controller, you lost by 50,000 votes, didn't you?' 'That's right'

  'Would increased turnout in the African-American community help you, especially if B SD's organizing effort became the model for other gangs?'

  Molto's on his feet. 'Judge, you can see the irrelevancy of this. This is just what I was afraid of when we were in chambers.'

  I'm curious myself about what Hobie thinks he's doing. I point to him.

  'Your Honor, the state's theory, what they've been sayin, is that Dr Eddgar was the intended target of this shooting. Isn't that their theory?'

  'I believe that was printed in the papers first,' I say coolly. The non sequitur has its intended effect. Hobie's eyes skitter away and a half-spoken word briefly rattles in his throat before he dares look my way again.

  'Well, okay,' he says, 'but Dr Eddgar has admitted he knows no motive for his son to do that. So shouldn't I be entitled to show there was another motive for this shooting, one which has nothing to do with Nile Eddgar?'

  'Is that what you're doing?'

  'That's what I'm doing.'

  'Is he entitled to do that, Mr Molto?'

  'Judge, I don't know anything about this other motive.'

  'That's why each side gets a turn, Mr Molto.' I don't find this line particularly funny, but the room, reacting to the lapse in tension, explodes in laughter. Tommy often deserves what he gets, but I had no intention of showing him up. He accepts my apology desultorily. 'Let's hear a few more questions,' I say. Hobie retreats to the podium, where he probes his beard while he examines his notes.

  'Senator, set me straight on one thing. Core and T-Roc, they did offer you a bribe to get Kan-el out, didn't they?'

  Eddgar mulls. 'Not in so many words.'

&
nbsp; 'Did the words they spoke, Senator, sound like somebody offering a bribe?'

  'They seemed to be approaching the subject, talking about what I could get out of this. And I cut off the discussion. I told them they could do something for themselves, for their community, and help Kan-el's situation.'

  'And then what did you tell them, Senator?' Hobie pauses to lift his face toward Eddgar as he did a minute ago, with the same dead-cool air, knowing he's going to like what's coming next better than the witness. 'Let me help you, can I? You explained to Hardcore and T-Roc that they should understand how really powerful people approached such things, didn't you? Didn't you tell them that the way the world, your world, worked, not only could they secure Kan-el's release, but they could get money, not have to give it? Am I right?'

  Eddgar briefly closes his eyes. 'Yes,' he says.

  'And you became quite enthusiastic, didn't you? You told them if they would commit to organize their community, you could get them seed money for the effort from the state central committee of the Democratic Farmers amp; Union Party? Right? And that once they were political players, their ability to influence the decision-makers who controlled Kan-el's release would be much, much greater.'

  'Judge!' screams Tommy. 'My God. What is this?' Behind him, as if I needed the hint, Raymond Horgan, whom I hadn't noticed back beyond the glass, has also come to his feet. Fearing the array against him, Hobie steps right before the bench.

  'For one thing, Your Honor, it's called impeachment. Hardcore said he never talked about money with Senator Eddgar. And that's just for one.'

  'We were supposed to be hearing motive testimony,' I remind Hobie. He gives me his bad-dog look, caught again. Meanwhile, I leaf in the bench book for my notes of yesterday: 'Hard denies offering bribe. Never disc'd with Edd give/rec $.' I tell Hobie to be quick.

  He repeats his question: 'Did you tell Hardcore and T-Roc you could get money from the party? Yes or no?'

  'Yes,' says Eddgar, with resignation. The reporters are writing furiously.

  'And they scoffed, did they not?'

  'I suppose. I suppose you'd call their reaction scoffing. Basically, they said when they saw the money they'd believe it.'

  'And so, Senator, did you make a request to the DFU for seed money to get this street gang involved in politics?'

  Like a spotlight coming on again, Raymond stands once more. Seeing him, Tommy follows suit.

  'Judge, this is getting ridiculous,' says Tommy.

  Hobie's before the bench, hands lifted prayerfully. 'Two more questions.'

  On the witness stand, Loyell Eddgar has pivoted to observe my ruling. He probes his forehead unconsciously, while the blue eyes, mysterious as moonstones, glow with some faint appeal by which I'm immediately determined to be unmoved. 'Thought she was a friend of his.'

  'Two more,' I say. Molto slaps his thighs, and turns first to Rudy, then to Horgan, in exasperation. There is a ruffle in the room now, the sibilance of whispers. Annie smacks her gavel. 'Let's proceed,' I say.

  Suzanne reads back the question: Did Eddgar ask the DFU for money?

  'Yes. But I was vague – I didn't really say what it was for. I said it was an organizing project I was working on for my own campaign.'

  'And did you receive the money?'

  'Yes.'

  'How much?'

  'Ten thousand dollars.' Hobie turns his broad face to me to see how he's doing. The check, I realize. But I'm still missing something. Molto has made no new objection. Instead, Rudy and he are huddled whispering.

  'And did you make a plan about how you would get the money to BSD?'

  Eddgar's head is down and rests on his open hand. He is just getting himself through this. He cannot see the courtroom now. It's merely voices.

  'Since the check was to my campaign, it was necessary to cash the check and to deliver cash to BSD.'

  'And who did you ask to do that?' 'My son.'

  'The defendant here on trial, Nile Eddgar?' 'The defendant, yes.'

  At the defense table, Hobie has the envelope Horgan gave him. He applies a stick-on marker to the check. Defendant's Exhibit 7. He slaps it down on the rail of the jury box and Eddgar identifies it as the $10,000 check he received from the DFU. Hobie asks if it's endorsed. Eddgar slowly changes glasses, reaching into an inner jacket pocket for his little half-frames, then turns the check over.

  'It is endorsed.'

  'Whose signatures appear there?'

  'Mine, and below that Nile's.'

  'Is there a teller stamp there to note cash received?'

  'Yes.'

  'Are there any initials in the cash-received block?'

  'Yes.'

  'Whose?'

  'Nile's.'

  'Is there a date on the stamp?' 'July 7.'

  Hobie's at the prosecution table, pointing to their cardboard evidence box. Singh hands him People's 1, the blue plastic bag, the two packets of money.

  'And did you have a conversation with Nile on July 7 in which you-all agreed he'd cash this check, as you'd discussed?'

  Tommy, visibly subdued now, objects that it's hearsay. I overrule, since the conversation concerned Nile's future acts.

  'We did.'

  'Have you ever seen Nile with a blue plastic bag like this one, People's 1A?'

  'The Tribune comes in it. I know he gets the Tribune.' 'Did he have a bag like this with him when you gave him the check on July 7?'

  Eddgar briefly lowers his head again. ‘I want to say yes,' he says, 'but I can't completely recall.'

  'Well, sir, did Nile ever tell you he'd delivered this money to Hardcore?'

  'Judge,' Tommy says lamely. This time the question calls for hearsay. Hobie sees that, too, and withdraws it.

  'Well, let's get this far, Senator. Did Nile ever have $10,000 in any bank account you knew of?'

  'No.'

  'In fact, did he borrow money from you at times?' 'In the past. Especially before he got this job. Less so recently.'

  'And when he borrowed, what kind of amounts are we talking about?'

  'Fifty. One hundred. Five hundred for the security on his apartment.'

  'Okay.' Hobie strolls. He's doing it. The highwire he's on is the nerve of victory. This has come so quickly now, with so little preparation, that I want to call a halt to the proceedings just so I can think. But Hobie is rolling on.

  'By the way, what did you do about Kan-el? Did you ever do anything?'

  ‘I made some calls.'

  'And did you make any progress? Could you help?' ‘I don't know if I was helpful or not. It was a very complicated situation, requiring a lot of research and attention over time.' 'Did you ever inform BSD that you had made this start?' ‘I did.'

  'When, and who did you speak to?'

  'Hardcore. Right before Labor Day.'

  'Was that conversation in person or by phone?'

  ‘I called him from my office and arranged to see him in person.'

  'And where did you meet?'

  'We had a brief meeting at Grace Street.'

  'Now, at that time, Senator, had BSD engaged in any of the political organizing that was supposed to follow this payment?'

  'None that I had heard of or could see.'

  'And did you discuss that with Hardcore – the DFU money for B S D, the money you'd promised and which you'd asked Nile to deliver?'

  'Yes.'

  'You were pretty angry in that conversation, weren't you, Senator?'

  'Very, very put out'

  'Did you tell Hardcore he had taken advantage of the situation?' 'I told him I felt he was dishonest, yes.' 'Didn't you in fact threaten to turn him in to the prosecutor's office?' 'Yes.'

  'And did you tell Nile you'd made that threat to go to the P A s?'

  'No. I didn't regard it as a safe subject. As I told Mr Molto yesterday, Nile and I'd had words about my intentions toward Ordell from the start.'

  'But, at any rate, sir, a few days later, when Nile delivered a message that Hardcore wanted to speak to y
ou again, you weren't surprised?'

  'No, I wasn't'

  The pace between them, lawyer and witness, is emotionless, almost mechanical. The truth in all its homely plainness steps into the courtroom like an orphaned child. But there is no minimizing the impact on me and everyone else. In the ten years I've been around criminal courtrooms, as a prosecutor, as a judge, I'm not sure this has occurred before. A defense lawyer in the course of a cross-examination has persuaded me his client is probably innocent. Nile's fingerprints on the bag and on the bills which Hardcore produced now have a source. And Hardcore's motive to kill Eddgar on his own is established – the threat to go to the PAs, a challenge to Core's ego as much as his well-being. I have a jangling feeling that the details may not completely work out.

  But they seldom do. It's close enough, and more than sufficient to raise a reasonable doubt. In the jury box, the news is rolling through. Dubinsky, for the benefit of Stanley Rosenberg, is gesticulating at the money, which Hobie has just tossed down on the prosecution table, as if it's refuse.

  In the meantime, I steal a look at Nile. A few days ago, while Kratzus was on the stand, I glanced over there and saw Nile with his chin on the defense table blowing paper balls into a goal he'd made by placing a foam cup on its side. He has seemed so isolated from the proceedings at moments, I've wondered if there are headphones beneath the unmanageable ruff of hair over his ears. Only now, at the instant of his exculpation, has he shown much emotion, and as usual, it seems inappropriate. Facing the wall, rather than the witness, he has thrown his face into his hands. Always live to the focus of my attention, Hobie saunters that way, and, while pretending to fiddle with his notes, elbows Nile's shoulder so hard his client gasps. Nile straightens up and his arms drop to the table, but he refuses to look in his father's direction, even as Hobie prepares to face Eddgar again.

  'Judge.' It's Molto. His dried-up hair is mussed. His dark-ringed eyes open and close, as he briefly loses his train of thought. He's too deflated now to bother to rise. 'Judge, can I get a foundation here? Was Nile present for this conversation? The one where the Senator was arguing with Hardcore?'

  Watching Tommy, Hobie displays a benign smile. 'Do you understand what Mr Molto's really asking, Dr Eddgar? He wants to know how come I know about all this and he doesn't?' Hobie faces the witness. 'He's right, isn't he, Senator? Let's be clear. You didn't mention any of this to Mr Molto, did you?'