The Touch of Treason

by Sol Stein

“I move that the response be stricken, Your Honor,” Thomassy said.

  Judge Drewson leaned forward. “You asked a hypothetical question, Mr. Thomassy, which is your prerogative, of course. But I agree that the response was inappropriately speculative. Strike the question.”

  “Now then, the question stricken,” Thomassy said for the benefit of the jury as the court reporter hastily reached into the well behind his machine and noted the place, “I will rephrase. Mr. Cooper, I’m going to ask you to look closely at one of the buttons on your raincoat and the button that the prosecution has moved to put into evidence as an exhibit and answer the following question: Are the buttons similar?”

  Cooper studied the buttons. “Well, maybe yes,” he said.

  “Are they similar. Are they the same?”

  “I don’t think they’re the same.”

  “Are they, or aren’t they!”

  “They look very similar.”

  “Mr. Cooper, do you know for a fact whether you or your wife or anyone else sewed any replacement buttons on your raincoat during the five years that you say you have owned that garment?”

  “She could have.”

  “And would she or the tailor who did the job for her have found an exact duplicate, or would they have used a button that looked pretty close to the one that was missing?”

  Cooper did not reply.

  Thomassy went on, “How many replacement buttons may have been sewn on your raincoat in the last five years?”

  Roberts was objecting. The judge said, “Mr. Thomassy, I don’t think any witness is likely to be able to answer a question like that with any certitude.”

  “I’m sorry, Your Honor,” Thomassy said, his voice low. He glanced at his notes. Mike was a good investigator. It had been his idea to check on Cooper.

  “Detective Cooper,” Thomassy said, “do you know for a fact that you didn’t lose a button while you were examining the Fuller garage?”

  “I didn’t hear anything fall to the floor.”

  “Mr. Cooper, isn’t it true that you have a forty percent hearing loss that might interfere with some aspects of your work?”

  Cooper was livid.

  “Answer yes or no,” Thomassy said.

  “Yes,” Cooper said.

  “Did the police department records ever show that you had such a significant hearing loss?”

  “Of course.”

  “Is it true those records do not now show any reference to that impairment?” Bless you Mike Costa, Thomassy thought.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know or you’re not sure?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Did your hearing improve or were the records altered?”

  Roberts was on his feet, objecting.

  “Overruled.”

  “Thank you,” Thomassy said. “Your Honor, if the button introduced by the prosecution is going to be admitted as People’s Exhibit E, then I ask that Detective Cooper’s raincoat be admitted as Defendant’s Exhibit A so that both may be examined by the jury in the jury room.”

  “Hey,” Cooper said, “I need to wear that raincoat.”

  “I’m sorry for the inconvenience,” Judge Drewson said. “Please mark the exhibit.”

  “Now Detective Cooper,” Thomassy said, “with regard to the watch you said you found in Professor Fuller’s bathroom. The federal security officers who examined that room earlier, they didn’t find a watch, did they?”

  “They did not.”

  “Are you implying that those federal security officers were incompetent in the performance of their duties?”

  Thomassy watched Cooper shove his rear end back against the witness chair. A lot of witnesses did that, changed position to give them a moment to think, to count to ten. Cooper said, “I only said that they didn’t find it and I did.”

  “Detective Cooper,” Thomassy said, strolling over in the direction of the jury and leaning back against the box, “are you familiar with the slang expression used by police officers who plant a gun next to the body of someone they’ve shot so that they can claim they shot the person in self-defense?”

  “Objection!” Roberts’s voice was striated with anger.

  “Your Honor,” Thomassy said, still at the witness box so his voice was raised to ring across the courtroom, “the prosecution has introduced in direct examination a watch that they imply is an important piece of evidence. On direct examination of a witness for the defense, I have every intention of proving that that so-called piece of evidence bears no relation to the alleged charges. But as an officer of the court I am very concerned about the fact that more than one experienced federal security person thoroughly examined the locus of the fire and didn’t find something as large as a wristwatch that a local police officer then found simply by lowering the raised toilet seat. I have no desire to prolong this trial by calling as rebuttal witnesses each and every one of the federal security people who examined that bathroom before Detective Cooper appeared on the scene and to put their extensive experience and credentials on the record. I simply feel the responsibility for pointing out that it is not unknown in police practice for putative evidence to be placed by police officers at the scene of an alleged crime as a cover-up for their own conduct. Detective Cooper admitted under oath to a thorough search of the bedroom in which the defendant slept and I wish to ask him now, so that the jury can hear his answers from his own lips and judge the truthfulness of his answers by seeing his expression, did he pick up the watch he alluded to during his search of the defendant’s room and later pretend to find it in a room that had been thoroughly searched previously by federal security officials?”

  “That’s a goddamn lie!” Cooper shouted, red-faced, standing.

  Judge Drewson said, “Will the witness please sit back down and try to confine his comments to answers to questions asked by counsel. Mr. Thomassy, would you state your questions one at a time.”

  “Of course, Your Honor,” Thomassy said, leaving the jury box and coming over to the witness stand, bringing himself as close as he could to Detective Cooper, “Did you find the watch marked as People’s Exhibit D during your search of the bedroom in which the defendant slept?”

  “I did not,” Cooper shouted at Thomassy’s face.

  Quietly, Thomassy continued, “You did not search the bedroom carefully?”

  “I didn’t say that!”

  “You did not find the watch in the bedroom?”

  “I did not.”

  “Yet your search was so thorough, according to your testimony, as to find on the upper shelf of a closet, some stowed curtains, magazines, and a hip flask that had been washed out with water, is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you attempt to determine whether the stowed curtains belonged to the defendant or someone else?”

  “I assumed they were part of the household belongings.”

  “Is it your assumption that good detective work requires the detective to ascertain facts or to make assumptions without further investigation?”

  “I’ve got a record as a detective, Mr. Thomassy.”

  “Oh?” Mike had gotten a copy of Cooper’s record. “And would you care to have that record introduced in evidence in this trial?”

  Cooper seemed flustered.

  Judge Drewson said, “Mr. Thomassy, do I take it that your line of questioning is intended to impeach the veracity of the witness?”

  “Your Honor, since veracity might involve the question of perjury, I would prefer to direct my queries to the professional competence of the witness.”

  “Proceed.”

  Cooper didn’t want that record introduced. It was enough to have let him know that Thomassy had it.

  Thomassy said, “Detective Cooper, did you attempt to ascertain whether the stack of magazines you found in the closet belonged to the defendant, or to some previous transient occupant of that bedroom?”

  “No, sir, I did not.”

  “Did you attach an
y special significance to the flask that you did not attach to the curtains or the magazines or anything else you may have found in that closet?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Did the flask have initials or any other identifying markings on it that would link it to the defendant?”

  “No.”

  “Have you ever owned a flask, Detective Cooper?”

  Cooper’s face flushed again. “I used to take one to football games.”

  “Did you ever wash the flask out afterward with water?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did your wife accompany you to football games at which you employed the flask?”

  “No, sir, I went with some male friends.”

  “Did you wash out the flask after the game as a rule?”

  “Yes.”

  “With water?”

  “Yes.”

  “Until it no longer smelled of alcohol or anything else?”

  “I suppose.”

  “Getting back to the flask you say you found in the defendant’s room, did you personally hand it to the chemist who made the analysis of its sparse contents?”

  “No, sir. I turned it in to Sergeant Petkov, and he sent it down.”

  “In other words, several people handled the flask before its contents were subjected to analysis?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you in your investigation attempt to find out if this flask belonged to any previous occupant of a room frequently slept in by people visiting the Fullers?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Did that flask by any chance belong to you?”

  “No, it did not.”

  “There’s no reason to be angry, Detective Cooper.”

  “I’m not angry,” said Cooper, angrily.

  “No more questions,” Thomassy said. As he went back to his table, he stole a glance at the jury. Several of them seemed amused by the exchange they had just witnessed.

  At the table, Ed whispered into Thomassy’s ear. “I think you’re terrific,” he said.

  “Quiet,” Thomassy whispered back.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Less than ten minutes before Thomassy’s critical meeting with Ed, he received a phone call from a calm-voiced Malcolm Sturbridge.

  “What are my son’s chances?” Sturbridge asked.

  He’d heard that question dozens of times, from a parent of a kid busted on a drug charge, or one with a kid who took someone else’s car for a joy ride, or the mother of a kid who got a pocketknife from dad for Christmas and who, during a high school locker-room scrap over who put a wet towel down on the bench, stabbed another fifteen-year-old to death. Some parents ought to be charged with environmental pollution for spreading kids onto the world. Son’s chances? What did they think he was, a bookmaker?

  “Mr. Sturbridge,” Thomassy said, “what do you think your son’s chances were when he was eighteen years old?”

  “Chances for what?”

  “For being a law-abiding citizen.”

  “Mr. Thomassy, I have paid you a considerable retainer to defend my son. Surely, you have some idea as to how it is going?”

  “I don’t want to mislead you.”

  “I’m not pushing for an answer you can’t give. Just an interim appraisal. Please?”

  “Mr. Sturbridge, I’m intent on preserving my reputation with regard to the defense of people charged with murder. But your son has also been charged with reckless endangerment in the first degree, which is a class D felony.”

  “What does that mean in layman’s language?”

  “It means, Mr. Sturbridge, that under circumstances evincing a depraved indifference to human life—those are the law’s words, not mine—he is accused of recklessly engaging in conduct that created a grave risk of death to another person. If the state convinces the jury that Ed mixed gas into the kerosene, they could nail him on that charge. There’s also assault in the first degree. That’s a class C felony.”

  “Surely Edward didn’t assault anybody, that’s not at issue.”

  Be patient, Thomassy told himself. He’s a worried parent with a pacemaker. “Under the law, assault in the first degree means that the individual intended to cause serious physical injury to another person by means of a deadly weapon or dangerous instrument. I think there was a rolling-pin case, and one about the heel of a high-heeled lady’s shoe. But I don’t think there’s been one with a kerosene heater as the alleged dangerous instrument. Kerosene heaters have killed a lot of people by accident. It gives me some room to work in.”

  “I see.”

  “My main concern’s the murder charge. Mr. Sturbridge, do you think you know your son well?”

  “As well as any father knows his son.”

  “Do you think he intended to murder Martin Fuller?”

  There was a moment’s silence.

  Thomassy said, “Don’t worry, Mr. Sturbridge, it won’t influence me. I just want to know if you think Ed intended to murder Professor Fuller.”

  Malcolm Sturbridge said, “I think the only person he ever thought of killing was me.”

  *

  Thomassy watched Ed scrunched into the armchair opposite as if he were having a touch of postadolescence, not knowing what to do with his gangling arms and legs, trying to look everywhere in the room except at Thomassy. Not a word passed between them for minutes. Finally, Ed said, “Okay, counselor. What’s on the agenda?”

  That’s all right, Thomassy thought. I’ll need him cool in the courtroom. Let him practice on me. He said, “I’m thinking of having only two witnesses.”

  “I thought you’d round up a dozen character witnesses from Columbia.”

  “Juries don’t fall for that anymore. A former concentration camp guard can get half a hundred people in Queens to swear he’s a teddy bear. On television, the neighbors always say nice things about crazies in their midst. Juries know people are blind. I’m having two witnesses period.”

  “Which two?” Ed asked.

  “First, Ludmilla Tarasova.”

  He saw Ed’s lip twitch. “What do you want her for?”

  “I’ll probably have to subpoena her. She may not want to get involved in your defense voluntarily.”

  “What would you want to drag out of her? I know she—”

  “Shut up a minute,” Thomassy said. “I don’t want you to know what she’s going to say until she says it because when she gets off the stand, you get on.”

  “What the hell do you want to put me on for?”

  Thomassy watched the panic flicker. Then the control. Paul Newman as Cool Hand Luke. How much of how we live comes from what we see in the movies?

  Thomassy said, “Most jurors don’t understand the fifth amendment. Ever. They just think that if someone, anyone, refuses to take the stand, even if it’s his right not to, that he’s hiding something. And if that someone is the defendant, they want to hear from him. They want the man accused to deny the charge in front of them, to explain what happened. It’s a very rough chance, Ed. You could help get yourself acquitted. You could hang yourself in one sentence. Or in the way you act. And remember, it won’t be me asking you the hard questions. It’ll be that prick Roberts who wants to see you convicted so he can add your head to his watch chain for the coming election. Don’t answer me now. Think about it. Make sure. If you decide to testify, you’ll need to be rehearsed so well that every answer seems spontaneous and true.”

  “What’s the worst kind of question anyone can ask me?”

  “They can ask you to identify the people in a set of three pictures taken in the UN lobby. If the prosecution gets their hands on those pictures. What were you doing there?”

  “Pictures?”

  “I saw them.”

  “You sure it was me?”

  “I’m not sure of anything.”

  “Is the person who’s supposed to be me clearly identifiable?”

  “Not clearly.”

  “It wasn’t me.”

  “Suppose, just suppose, they c
an produce a witness who says it was you?”

  “People make mistakes. Besides, what’s wrong with being in the UN lobby? They have thousands of visitors, don’t they?”

  “Not all the people in the lobby are visitors. Some of them work there. You know the name Semyonov?”

  Ed stared into space.

  Give him time, Thomassy thought. Then he said, “Did I pronounce it correctly?”

  “I’ve heard of a Russian playwright named Semyonov. He’s had a book or two published over here.”

  “You know a man named Trushenko?”

  Ed looked at Thomassy as if wondering if a question would lead too far. “What’s the relevance?”

  “He’s in the picture, too. He and the other guy. And someone who looks like you trying to talk to them.”

  “What’s this got to do with the charges against me?”

  “All they need to do is link you with the Russians in some way and the jury will pounce on it.”

  “I’ve seen you object,” Ed said. “You’re terrific at it.”

  Thomassy felt strangely relieved. Ed was very careful not to appear to lie. He’d make a good witness on the stand if they didn’t sandbag him.

  “If I knew you were going to deliberately lie on the stand,” Thomassy said, “I couldn’t let you testify.”

  “I don’t intend to,” Ed said. “I don’t have to.”

  Thomassy thought We’re both lying by omission. I haven’t told him Francine was in the photos, too.

  “You know,” Ed said, “I sure don’t like the way the law works.”

  “In the end, nobody does. We just use the system because it’s what we’ve got. What they’ve got is worse.”

  “Who’s they?” Ed said.

  *

  Haig Thomassian had used the word they often in front of his son. They were the Turks who massacred Armenians. They were the cops you never saw except at Christmas with their hand out. They were nuns who married God instead of farmers. They were Jew counterfeiters who manufactured money inside their brains. Haig Thomassian hated to go to the movies to eat popcorn while the good guys won because when you went outside you realized that nothing had changed. Thomassy thought Our theys are different now, Pop.

  He’d tried to discuss that with Francine, his father’s theys. “He was wrong about nuns, Jews, and bureaucrats,” Thomassy said. “He was right about the Turks.”