by Scott Turow
With the reference to Michael and the fingerprints, a sober moment passed between us. Hobie had heard my story by then and we both seemed to feel bound together by fortune and the sheer glee of undeserved escape. I finally asked if he knew who it was. He remained at the perimeters of Panther circles and was likely to have asked the question himself.
'Who what?' Hobie demanded.
'Who offed Cleveland?'
'You know same as I do. Feature this: Cleveland snitched out Michael, then Eddgar bails his ass anyway? Only one reason to do that. Eddgar wanted him back on the street so he could deal with him. What white dude you think it was Cleveland was tryin to give the pigs anyway when he dimed Michael? Think Eddgar didn't figure that? Oh, they all made like Cleveland was a hero of the revolution when he come out. And Cleveland, poor motherfucker, he'd believe just about anything so long as somebody was standing there applaudin. But I rapped to Josita, Cleveland's old lady? She told me after they found Cleveland, Huey and them did all kinda head-trips on her, "Don't say nothin," party discipline, that shit, and she's a stone sister anyway. But here's what she was puttin down, dude: was Eddgar what called Cleveland in the middle of the night, was Eddgar Cleveland was leavin out to see last time he left their pad. This was Eddgar's thing all the way, man. Makin it look like it some kind of accident went down with a dude who was scorin? You know, Eddgar's done that ten times before, man, this here's his m.o.'
When we returned to Seattle, I called the Eddgars. I'd had notions of doing it before, but there was nothing for me to say then, other than to demand explanations that would never be made. Now this news, the dark mess of guilt about this death and my role in it, left me anguished. I wanted to do to Eddgar something of what he had done to me. I would not give my name, would speak only a few words: ‘I know about Cleveland. I know why you wanted the bail money.' A declaration that would paralyze him with fright.
Instead, Nile answered the phone. His wee voice united me at once with the suggestion of perilous loss he always waked in me. When I finally spoke, he knew immediately who it was, even though I'd merely asked for Eddgar.
'Hi,' he said. He sounded certain I'd called for him. 'Are you someplace?' he asked.
I tried to say everything I would have wanted said to me. I miss you, Nile. Be a good boy. We all love you. I'm far away but I think about you and I'm going to write. Nearby, I heard June repeatedly asking who it was.
'Is Michael there?' Nile asked.
'Michael? No, not right now.'
'Oh.' He deliberated only an instant and then, without a further word, put down the phone.
DECEMBER 13, 1995
Sonny
Every month or so, Raymen and Marietta vow to start again. There's always a new plan. This summer, she was slipping a chemical her sister-in-law gave her into his coffee, so he'd retch whenever he drank. Last week, they swore off credit cards and cigarettes. They're going to pay down their debts, she tells me. They're going to get out from under. She is ardent about this, even as she admits it's tough. Without the ciggies, he's drinking too much, maybe they both are.
'Are you getting on each other's nerves?'
'No, no,' she insists. 'He's sayin this here's the best it's been in years. He's happy. My daughter was on the phone with him a whole hour last night? She's thinkin he's a changed man.'
Leaving yesterday, I had every intention of reading-out Marietta this morning. Call her a busybody, a snoop, tell her to cease meddling. With a night's sleep, though, I was put out mostly with myself. Late last night, I thought of phoning Seth, then recalled he was out with Sarah. Yet listening to Marietta's proclamation of renewal, I'm nearly moved to tears. There's hope, I think, hope. Everyone wants hope.
'That's terrific,' I say, as we start into the courtroom. ‘I want to know how this turns out.'
By the chambers door, Fred Lubitsch is lurking, several yellow sheets – a search warrant – in hand. 'Quickie, Judge, I swear.' I'm glad to see him here, pleased he understands his honest testimony cost him nothing in my esteem. Wells and he want to toss the apartment of a mugger whom they took down an hour ago, on the street. They expect to find the booty of a number of recent armed robberies.
' "Subject apprehended at G amp;G's Pizza Parlor, 4577 North Greeley," ' I read aloud. 'Why do you always get them at pizza parlors, Fred?'
‘I guess they get hungry, Judge.' He looks on as I read. 'Trial's still going, huh?' 'Yep.'
'So, good guys winning?' 'Whoever they are.'
I eye him without further comment, initial the warrant, and go on my way. I will have to follow Marietta's example. Learn from my mistakes.
Hobie this morning is splendidly turned out – a corner of his silk braces can be seen through his open jacket; a yellow pocket hankie accents his dark suit. He's dressed for victory, a walking celebration. Approaching the bench, a man of many courtroom voices, he adopts his most grandiloquent mode. Beneath the lights, the hankie looks bright as a flower.
'As the court may have noted, my client is late.' He dips his chin to the defense table, where I had not yet noticed Nile's absence. 'I've asked someone to give him a call. In the meanwhile, Mr Molto tells me he intends to rest. Perhaps we can go on to the motions for directed verdict, while my client's gone. Then proceed to the defense case when he gets here. Should we have to.' With the last phrase, the large reddened eyes, rheumy and mysterious, rise to the bench and meet mine ever so briefly, only to transmit the message that Hobie believes he deserves to win right now. He'd like me to declare a TKO, finding that no reasonable person should convict on the basis of the evidence the state has offered.
Even Molto sees little reason to object to Hobie's proposed agenda. Tommy reoffers his exhibits, then gathers himself to his feet and announces, 'The People rest.' With Montague and Rudy beside him, I have a momentary vision of the revolutionary trio, the fife and drum and flag bearer, bandaged, gimping along to their own marching tune.
'The People rest,' I repeat. 'You have a motion, Mr Turtle?'
He takes some time adjusting himself behind the straight-lined oak podium. He is wearing little octagonal reading glasses that have appeared occasionally during the trial.
'First of all, Judge Klonsky, I recognize the standard here at the end of the state's case. I know you're not giving us your judgment now. You're just deciding whether the state's evidence, taken most favorably to the state, could ever be sufficient to convict. So I'm not going to bother myself to tell you now what we think really happened here. You got a good taste of that yesterday, but I realize you can't decide the case on that basis right now.
'What you can decide, Your Honor, and should decide, is that the state's case has failed. And it has failed for one reason, one huge reason: namely, they have chosen to rely on a human being who has been proved to be a terrible liar, a fellow whom we've all met here, named Ordell Hardcore Trent.
'Now I realize that ordinarily judgments of credibility don't come into play at the time of a motion for a directed verdict. But we all know of cases where they do, where the undisputed facts, the objective truth, show that a witness cannot be believed, and I tell you this is exactly such a case. Exactly.
'Let us be clear: the state's case rests completely on Hardcore.
This Miss Bug, Miss Lovinia, she adds nothin to this case, not a thing, because, Your Honor, as we learned from Detective Lubitsch, she didn't do any more'n repeat what the po-lice had told her. Shot-caller said roll, she rolled. Po-lice sang "A, B, C," she picked up the tune. As she said herself in her own truthful way, she ain never said nothin’ gainst Nile.' He rolls the phrase, just so we all know that when he wants, the accent, the words can be his completely.
'So all we have in the end is this fellow Core. And I won't bother you now to tell you what a terrible, hardened person he is. I won't spend a lot of time telling you he has no respect, no need for the truth, that as far as he's concerned, he shouldn't have any regard for this system – I won't bother with that, because, Your Honor, we proved, we
proved he's lying.' At the podium, his eyes tilt up through the watery lower regions of his lenses. 'We' is solely euphemistic. ‘I is the right word. 'Me.' Hobie took Core down on his own. He briefly savors the achievement.
'He says, Your Honor, my client gave him $10,000 to kill his father. Well, Judge, we know now my client did give him $10,000. We finally found that out yesterday. But not in August. In July. And not to kill his father, but rather at his father's request. And it's not the defense witnesses who say that. It's the state's witness, its star witness, in a phrase, Senator Eddgar. The state's star witness tells us that Hardcore's a liar.' Hobie waves the check around. He again recounts the trail of funds from the State Democratic Party to the Senator's campaign fund and then out and into Nile Eddgar's hands in cash. 'Where else does a probation officer get $10,000? Your Honor, his salary is $38,000 a year, his bank accounts show less than $3,000.' Tommy properly objects that those documents are not yet in evidence. 'Well, his father said he had to borrow money for his rent, his security. So Mr Trent is lying. My Lord, Your Honor, there's dope on that money.'
'Why?' I ask. 'I've been wondering.'
'He saved this bag, sure, he saved a few bills so he'd have Nile Eddgar's fingerprints. Judge, a dope peddler like Hardcore – the risk of apprehension and planning for what he'll do, that's as much a part of his profession as you conferring with Ms Raines to decide what case you'll be trying next week.' Marietta's woolly head rises and she sits up straighter at mention of her name. 'Core saved the bag, the bills, so he'd have a sacrifice if he ever got himself in trouble again, and when, sure as night follows day, he got in trouble, he filled this bag, Your Honor, with the money from his own stash. He's a dope-peddling liar, Judge, and this money is a dope peddler's lie. That's obvious.' He spends a few more minutes on other points, then yields to Molto.
Tommy and Rudy have waited tensely throughout, scribbling notes. If I follow the law, take Core's word for the moment, the case should go on. But there are many judges who would just call it quits, especially since a ruling against the state at this point is not appealable. Fittingly, Molto devotes a lengthy preamble to the legal standard applicable here, before talking about the proof.
'Judge, I know you've followed the evidence closely, so I won't go over it ad nauseam. Let me just say I think we fulfilled our promises in opening statement. There's no dispute that Mrs Eddgar was murdered, no doubt that Mr Trent ordered it. Mr Trent says he was paid to do this by Mr Eddgar, his probation officer. Mr Trent – of course, the People know Mr Trent is not a letter from home. Mr Trent is a criminal. Mr Trent is a murderer. But you know the line, Judge, and it's true: We didn't choose Mr Trent, Nile Eddgar did.
'And Mr Trent is corroborated, Judge. Mr Trent is corroborated first by Bug, by Lovinia Campbell, who says Mr Trent told her this murder – which was intended to be of Nile's father – this murder was being set up "on account of Nile." I know there are disputes about aspects of that testimony, but for purposes of this motion, Judge, you have to consider it most favorably to the state. And that means Core's corroborated.
'Secondly, Judge, the circumstances corroborate Mr Trent. He says he had no choice but to do what his probation officer demanded, because his probation officer in essence held the keys to the jailhouse. And that makes sense. It makes sense he'd want to keep Nile Eddgar happy. More important, Judge, Mr Trent says he got $10,000 from the defendant Eddgar, and, in fact, Judge, he has produced bills with Nile Eddgar's fingerprints on them. Three of Nile Eddgar's prints. And, Judge, we know Senator Eddgar was told by the defendant to come to this meeting. We know the defendant was aware of it. And we know from telephone records that he called Mr Trent within minutes of the murder. Finally, Judge – and I notice Mr Tuttle doesn't mention this – we know Nile Eddgar told Al Kratzus, when he heard of his mother's murder, "my father was supposed to be there.'' So we know, just as Hardcore told us, that Nile Eddgar had prior knowledge of this plan.
'Now that, Judge, leaves Senator Eddgar-' That's a lot, of course. Even Molto pauses, contemplating what lies ahead for him. He brings his fingertips, the bitten nails, halfway to his mouth, then catches himself and lets his hand fall again. 'Judge, I've been thinking all night about what I can say. And let me just say this: I was surprised. The Senator admitted he never told the People anything about this $10,000 check. And of course I wonder why. And this is hard to say, but let me say it. He's a skillful, powerful politician, and perhaps, Judge – I mean no disrespect -but perhaps, Judge, he's been manipulating this system in the ways someone in his position can.' He looks at me once, starkly: a laser of absolute truth. Tommy knows Ray Horgan didn't arrive in this courtroom yesterday on a whim, that the resistance to this case from higher-ups in the PA's Office, which Montague mentioned, which Dubinsky suggested, may well have had an outside source. But why not infer Eddgar was protecting himself? That Hobie is right?
'I'm not really following, Mr Molto.'
'Judge, I can't tell you what Senator Eddgar's agenda is. And I know we put him on the stand. But, Judge, he lied to the police at the start. So maybe you should hesitate before taking all of this stuff he came up with yesterday at face value. I'd say he lied on
September 7 to protect his son. And maybe that's what he's doing now. Maybe, Judge, he finds the People's justice harsh. He may even feel, Judge, that because he was the intended victim, he may feel it's up to him to forgive and forget. I don't know, Judge. I can't give you chapter and verse.'
This is a desperate tactic, assailing your own witness in this fashion. Yet in a way I respect Tommy for it, for not giving up, for not abandoning his own view of the truth. Throughout his presentation, I've felt the force of a personal appeal: Don't direct me out. Don't say the case was a stinker. Let me lose on the merits – say the evidence raised too many questions to travel to the land beyond reasonable doubt. But don't say we never should have been here in the first place. Don't let the pols in the PA's Office cover themselves with told-you-so's. He's urging this for pride, and also because he knows that technically, legally, adhering to the rules he adores, the very sticks and bones of his character, he's correct. Tommy is a lawyer to the core. It's both his glory and his weakness that he believes so potently in the rules.
'But here's one thing, Judge,' says Tommy, 'about that $10,000 check from the state party. Now, I saw the check. I know it's a real check. But we still haven't heard testimony that Nile actually delivered any cash from that check to Hardcore. We haven't heard that.'
'Your Honor!' Hobie's on his feet. ‘I tried to ask that very question.'
'Sit down, Mr Turtle.' As usual, Hobie's being diversionary. He' d prefer I not notice what Tommy' s doing, which is challenging him to put Nile on the stand. Down to his last dollar, Tommy's betting he can turn his case around with Nile's cross. A good move, in these circumstances. But not bait I expect Hobie to rise to. I interrupt Tommy.
'As long as we're on the money, Mr Molto, I've heard Mr Turtle's theory – why don't you tell me yours for the cocaine traces on those bills.'
'Judge, again, that's not in evidence yet. And I'd argue, given the discovery violation, the way Mr Tuttle hid those lab results, that proof never should be received. But since you've asked, let me just say this: I think if you get paid to kill someone, you'd store the money in the same place, in the same way, you'd store other contraband. That's what I would suggest. I don't think you take it to the bank. If you have a floorboard, or a stash pad, or a medicine cabinet you pull out of the wall to hide your dope, Judge, I'd think that's where this money would go.'
'Except your witness, Hardcore, said he kept those funds carefully segregated.'
'And he must have made a mistake in saying that, I concede that,' says Tommy, although he can't quite force his glance to meet mine, as he makes this gallant admission.' He' s not the FBI, Judge. He doesn't keep an evidence log. And again, Judge. Right now, as the case stands, the defense has not actually established there was cocaine on the currency.'
He's right ab
out that. If I end the case now, I'd reward Hobie for his miserable behavior. With that in mind, I eventually deny the motion, careful to say that my ruling reflects no evaluation of credibility and is, accordingly, no prediction of my ultimate judgment in the case. The lawyers are seated at their tables as I rule, and I eye each of them to make sure the message is clear. I have given Tommy the latitude he deserves, and the last he's getting. Singh actually grips Molto's arm in mild delight.
'Now, Mr Tuttle, where's your client?'
He asks for a recess so he can check. When I return to the bench, perhaps a quarter of an hour later, Seth, improbably, is seated beside Hobie at the defense table, drawn close to him in urgent, hushed conversation. My heart does another of those ballet jumps at the sight of him within the well of the court and comes down crashing when I take in the significance of the two of them in league. By this morning, I had put yesterday's suspicions aside to sleep-deprived paranoia.