by D. W. Buffa
The courtroom came alive. Heads turned, eyes met; puzzled faces confessed their ignorance and curiosity searched for answers. DeSantos was James DeSantos, the well-known actor. Until this moment everyone had presumed that his wife, the equally famous and infinitely desirable Helena Green, had vanished with the Evangeline. No one had ever suggested that she might have been in the same lifeboat with her husband.
‘Helena Green—she’s the woman to whom you refer?’ asked Roberts, ignoring the murmurs of the crowd which, with a glance of the utmost severity, Judge Maitland reduced to an impeccable silence.
‘Helena Green.Yes, she’s the one, the second one who died. The second one Marlowe killed.’
Roberts moved behind his chair at the counsel table. His hand tightened around the back of the wooden spindle chair. The colour drained from his face.
‘And you and the others—the ones who were left—that was how you lived? On the flesh and blood of Helena Green?’
There was a look of pure contempt in Aaron Trevelyn’s eyes, an expression of cruel vindictiveness against the cheap morality that could not ask the question but only dance around it.
‘Do you mean, did her husband live off her flesh and blood as well?’ Trevelyn’s eyes fairly glittered with the pride of evil. ‘Yes! And more than that, he insisted that, as she was his wife, he get her first!’
Roberts’s face turned completely ashen. In the tumultuous noise of the outraged courtroom, he gripped the chair with all his strength.
Maitland pounded his gavel as hard as he could. ‘This is a court of law!’ he thundered in that gravel-rough voice.‘Not some sideshow. You’re not here to express an opinion or give vent to your feelings. This courtroom will either be silent,’ he continued, as his voice grew quieter with the crowd,‘or, with the exception of those directly involved in the case, it will be empty.’
Maitland started to direct Roberts to ask his next question,then he changed his mind. Waving his index finger back and forth, he turned and cautioned the jury.‘It may be well to remind ourselves what is at issue here. The defendant, Vincent Marlowe, is on trial on a charge of murder. The defendant, by virtue of certain pre-trial motions made by his attorney, has joined to a plea of not guilty a notice of his intention to rely on what is called the defence of necessity. The issue, then, is not so much whether someone was killed, but whether, in a manner allowed by the law, that killing was necessary. Both Mr Roberts and Mr Darnell told you during their opening statements something about the circumstances—and, I would add, the extraordinary circumstances—in which this defence might be available. At the end of the trial, I will instruct you on the law of necessity and how you are to apply it to the facts of this case. I will tell you now that part of your task will be to decide what, under all the circumstances in which the defendant found himself, including the responsibility he owed others, were the choices he had—and whether what he did was the only thing a reasonable man could have done. It is no answer to say that it should not have been done, that no one should ever kill. The question—the only question—is whether he had any real choice. The question—the only question—is whether the choice he made was the lesser, or the greater, of two evils. Finally, as I instructed you at the very beginning, you are required by your oath to suspend all judgment until you have heard all the evidence. The law gives you no choice in this.’
From their solemn demeanour, it appeared that the jury understood everything Maitland said. They seemed relieved that the law would allow them to keep a certain distance from the raw, gruesome facts of death; grateful that they did not have to look too closely into what had been done, and only into why. They did not have to touch the leper, only determine the cause of his disease.
The rest of that day and all the next, Roberts led Aaron Trevelyn through the grim recitals of death and survival. At the end of it, despite all of Maitland’s cogent warnings, it would have taken a rare detachment not to believe that Vincent Marlowe, if not a born monster, had been a man gone mad, driven by hunger, thirst and fear to make a mockery of decency and raise serious questions whether, pushed to extremes, men were worse, far worse, than beasts.
When Darnell left the courtroom at the end of Trevelyn’s second day of testimony, he knew he had a long night’s work in front of him. He did not mind that. The work made him feel useful and alive.
It was nearly quarter to six, but Mrs Herbert, his secretary was still waiting for him.
‘He’s here,’ she said. ‘In your office.’
Darnell was annoyed that anyone should be in his office. ‘If someone wants to see me, they can make an appointment. No, they can’t,’ he said, immediately correcting himself. ‘I’m in a trial; I don’t have time…’
‘You’ve been trying to reach him for weeks.When he called a little after three and asked if he could see you, I thought—’
‘Who?’
‘Hugo Offenbach.’
‘Here?’ He turned and walked away, moving anxiously down the long corridor. He stood before the closed door to his own office, adjusting his tie. He knocked before he entered.
‘It’s a great pleasure to meet you finally, Mr Offenbach,’ he said as he shook hands with the famous violinist.‘I heard you play once.’
‘I did not know what would come out,’ explained Offenbach in a worried voice that struck Darnell as being at the same time profoundly courageous. ‘But after what Mr Trevelyn has said, I thought I had better come to see you.’
‘You were in court today?’ asked Darnell. With a gesture he invited the violinist to take the chair in front of his desk.
‘No,’ replied Offenbach. There was a look of hesitation in his eyes, and then he added, ‘I don’t go anywhere in public now. No, I read in the papers what he said yesterday. That’s why I’m here. I thought you might like to know the truth.’
They talked far into the night, and when Hugo Offenbach finally left his office, Darnell knew far more about what had happened to the unfortunate survivors of the Evangeline, and more about Vincent Marlowe, than through anything Marlowe had shared. He knew enough to make the cross-examination of Aaron Trevelyn a much more interesting prospect than it had seemed before. When he finally fell asleep, some time after two, he was already dreaming about the morning and what would happen when it came.
Chapter Eleven
THE COURT REPORTER WAS SETTING UP HER machine. The bailiff stood off to the side, stifling a yawn.
‘I know what happened out there,’ Darnell whispered to Marlowe. ‘Offenbach came to see me. He told me everything.’
The last of the spectators squeezed into place. The bailiff straightened up and became alert.
‘He asked me how you were doing,’ Darnell continued when Marlowe made no reply. He pulled away, just far enough to look Marlowe in the eye.‘He said if there was anything he could do for you—anything at all—he would. He said to tell you that you were in his prayers.’
The stoic shield fell away. Marlowe’s eyes filled with emotion, and a slight tremble broke the line of his mouth.
The door at the side burst open. Two hundred people rose as one. Homer Maitland, in full stride, hurried to the bench, issuing instructions to first bring in the jury and then the witness.
‘Mr Darnell, do you wish to cross-examine?’ he inquired after Aaron Trevelyn had been reminded that he was still under oath.
Darnell was already on his feet. The fingers of his right hand drummed on the front corner of the counsel table. An eager, catlike grin crossed his mouth as he stared down at the floor. His fingers stopped moving; he pulled his hand away from the table and placed both hands on his hips. He rocked forward, peering at Trevelyn as if he could not see him quite well enough at this distance to be entirely certain he was the same witness to whom he had been listening for the last two days.
Trevelyn looked uneasy. He shifted position in the chair, returning Darnell’s puzzled glance with one of his own.
‘I’m confused,’ said Darnell in a strong, clear voice as h
e stepped forward.‘You’ve been testifying for the better part of two days—and with some reluctance, if I’m not mistaken.’
Darnell seemed to expect an answer; Trevelyn did not know there was a question.
‘I say with some reluctance, because you only agreed to become a witness for the prosecution after you were given a grant of immunity. That’s true, isn’t it? You were given immunity in exchange for your testimony; that is the deal you made, isn’t it?’
‘I was given immunity.That’s true,’repliedTrevelyn with caution.
Darnell smiled. ‘So that everyone understands, immunity in this instance means that the government—Mr Roberts—has agreed not to prosecute you, and he did this because he wants your help in prosecuting Vincent Marlowe. Does that about sum up the case?’
The suspicion in Trevelyn’s eyes became more pronounced. He knew Darnell was leading up to something.
‘The problem I’m having, Mr Trevelyn—the reason for my confusion—is that I don’t understand why. What possible reason would you have to demand immunity as the price of your testimony if you haven’t committed a crime? Why insist on immunity from prosecution if there is nothing for which you could be punished?’
Trevelyn started to reply, but the first word came out a stutter.
Darnell did not give him time to catch his breath.‘You did not commit a crime; you did nothing wrong. Unless I dozed off at some point during your testimony—testimony which, I must say, certainly answered the purposes of the prosecution—you’ve insisted that you were nothing more than the unwilling beneficiary of Marlowe’s gruesome work.’
Trevelyn began to protest that he had not benefited from anything Marlowe had done.
Darnell stopped him with a cold, hard stare. ‘That’s right, Mr Trevelyn, you can’t even admit that.You did nothing, did you? You committed no crime, you did nothing wrong. Marlowe murdered the boy, Marlowe murdered everyone. Marlowe, Marlowe—never you! Or was it that you thought you needed immunity because, though you disapproved of everything that was done, you did nothing to stop it?’
Darnell raised his head as if to study Trevelyn from a different angle, to see him and what he was from a new and more critical perspective. ‘You did not lift a finger; you did not do a thing. Is that what you feel guilty about? That Marlowe is sitting here, on trial for his life, while you sit there, alive and with nothing more to fear because those things you now claim to find so offensive and immoral were the very things that saved your life?’
‘He killed them! I had nothing to do with that!’
Darnell’s thin grey eyebrows shot straight up. ‘Nothing to do with that?’ He walked quickly to the counsel table. ‘You’re an American citizen, correct?’
‘Yes.’
‘But you haven’t lived in this country for nearly ten years?’
‘I travel around, go different places. I don’t like to get too tied down,’ he replied with a restless gaze.
‘Married?’
Trevelyn’s head snapped up, a look of puzzled suspicion in his eyes. ‘I was.’
‘Was? You’re divorced?’
Trevelyn stared at Darnell a moment longer, then looked away. ‘I’m not married anymore,’ he mumbled.
‘I’m sorry. I could not quite hear you.You’ll have to speak up.’
‘I’m not married anymore.’
‘Then you are divorced?’
‘As good as.’
‘Then you’re not?’
‘I haven’t seen her in years. Last I heard she was living with someone else. Divorced? I don’t know, maybe. I never got papers. But then, I wasn’t here,’ he said, folding his hands over his chest and sinking back in the chair.
Darnell seemed to be enjoying this. ‘You might still be married or you might not. Perhaps you can give a more definitive answer to the question of whether you have children?’
‘I have two.’
‘They both live with their mother, do they not?’
‘Yes. As I said, I move around a lot and—’
‘And it would not make much difference if you didn’t. They live with their mother because the court gave custody to her in that divorce you know nothing about.’
Roberts was on his feet. ‘Your Honour, I fail to see what Mr Trevelyn’s domestic arrangements have to do with…?’
‘Credibility, your Honour,’ Darnell asserted.
Maitland nodded.‘Overruled.’
‘In point of fact, Mr Trevelyn, you know all about the divorce, just as you know that you were ordered to pay child support. Isn’t it true, Mr Trevelyn, that the reason you left the country in the first place—the reason, as you put it, that you “travel around, go different places”—is to avoid that obligation? You’ve never paid your wife anything, have you? Not one penny in all these years to help support your own children. I’m afraid, Mr Trevelyn, that the immunity agreement you have with the prosecution won’t cover that!’
‘I meant to pay, I did,’ insisted Trevelyn as Darnell moved from the counsel table to the far end of the jury box.‘I meant to, I wanted to. But every time I got a little ahead, had enough to send, my luck seemed to go bad.’
‘Luck.Yes, I see. It seems to follow you everywhere, doesn’t it? That was the reason you were on the Evangeline in the first place, wasn’t it? Isn’t that what you said? That it was an accident,a mistake?’
‘And look what it cost me!’ Trevelyn cried as he shoved out in front of him the empty knotted pant leg where his foot should have been.
‘And look what it cost some twenty others!’ retorted Darnell, an ominous look in his eyes. ‘You had, if I’m not mistaken, a certain responsibility for what happened to them, didn’t you? No, Mr Trevelyn, don’t protest. Just answer my questions and we’ll let the jury decide whether you acted the way you should have.’
‘I’m sure he would answer your questions,’ interjected Roberts with a droll smile,‘if you were ever to ask one.’
With a tip of his forehead, Darnell took the point. ‘An excellent suggestion. Now, Mr Trevelyn, let us begin with this: you were hired on as a member of the crew, correct?’
‘Yes.’
‘Hired by Vincent Marlowe?’
‘Yes.’
‘Mr Marlowe explained to you the nature of the voyage and what your responsibilities would be?’
‘He did.’
‘He also explained to you, along with the other members of the crew, the responsibilities that each would have in the event of an emergency? Not only explained it, but put you through regular and repeated drills so that there would be no question of where you were to go and what you were to do if something should happen?’
‘We knew the routine; we practised it.’
‘And one of the things you practised as part of the lifeboat drill was to move as quickly as possible to a lifeboat—one of the Zodiacs or one of the inflatable rubber rafts—and make it ready, correct?’
Trevelyn seemed to shrink inside himself. His eyes went blank, his face grew pale. He stared at Darnell and did not answer.
‘And not just to any one of them, but the one to which you were assigned. I don’t mean assigned as a passenger, but assigned as the crew member in charge—because without a member of the crew, someone who knew how to handle a Zodiac or a rubber raft, the passengers would not have a chance. You had such an assignment, did you not, Mr Trevelyn?’
Again there was no answer, just that barren stare.
‘But you did not do what you were supposed to do, what you had been trained to do.You did not go to the lifeboat you were supposed to take charge of. In your panic, in your fear, you forgot everything except your own survival. That’s why you ripped the canvas off the Zodiac that—as you would have remembered if you had not been scared out of your wits—was filled with cargo and could not be used. Isn’t that the truth, Mr Trevelyn? You panicked and, because of your panic, God knows how many people died!’
‘I didn’t, I swear I—’
‘You were one of the survivors, p
icked up in the lifeboat forty days after the Evangeline went down. But that was not the only boat that got away, was it, Mr Trevelyn? There was a second one as well—a rubber raft—wasn’t there?’
Trevelyn’s head jerked back as if he had been struck a blow. His hands curled around the arms of the witness chair, his nails digging into it. His eyes were wild, frantic. ‘It wasn’t panic— I swear it wasn’t. There just wasn’t time!’
‘But there was enough time for the other boat to get away— time that you wasted!’ cried Darnell, thrusting out his chin. ‘Tell us, Mr Trevelyn, if you would: what happened to that raft, the one that could have held at least eight people, the one that was your responsibility? How many of the people in it survived? How many of them were rescued at sea?’
‘None that I know of.’
‘None that you know of. That raft was never seen again, was it?’
As if he had done with the whole thing, finished with the witness, Darnell returned to the counsel table and sat down. He stared at the ceiling, the way he often did when a witness was being examined by the other side.
‘There wasn’t time,’ said Darnell, rolling the phrase off his tongue as if it held a meaning deeper than he had originally thought. ‘There wasn’t time to get to the raft where you were supposed to be in charge. But if there wasn’t time to go directly to that one, how did you have time to get to the Zodiac? Yes, of course, because it must have been closer. But after you discovered that that lifeboat would not work, you still had time to get to a second one, the one in which you were found. How do you explain that?’
Trevelyn denied it.‘I didn’t go to any other boat. There wasn’t time. The Evangeline was going down. The storm was awful—the storm from hell. I was swept overboard, and I don’t know what happened after that. I don’t know who it was that pulled me from the sea.’
‘Yes, I forgot. You don’t remember what happened after the Evangeline sank.’ Darnell rapped his knuckles on the table and stood up. ‘But others do, Mr Trevelyn,’ he said, his voice a warning. ‘It isn’t likely they’ll ever forget.’