by Allen Drury
“Your honor, I have no further questions of this witness.”
“Your honor,” Debbie said in a clear and level tone, “I do. First of all, does counsel intend to place this piece of paper in the record as an exhibit, or does he just wish to use it to try to entrap the witness? How do we know there is anything on it? We haven’t seen it.”
“A point well taken,” Perlie said. “Mr. Stinnet?”
“Your honor,” Regard said, “I have no intent to conceal anything. Certainly I offer it as an exhibit.” He stepped over and handed it to Debbie. She scanned it without expression and handed it back.
“We have no objection, your honor, although, as your honor can see, it is so stained as to be illegible.”
“The stains are blood, however,” Regard said, and there was a little gasp from the audience. “And it was found in the pocket of the dead woman, who apparently secreted it there in some last, pathetic, futile attempt to implicate the man who was about to murder her.”
“Your honor,” Debbie said sharply, while through her client’s mind there shot the thought The damned bitch tricked me, followed instantly by But it’s illegible, so what difference does it make? His expression, shaken for a split second, instantly recaptured its rigidly controlled impassivity.
“I am quite content to let the record stand,” Regard said. “I will leave it to the jury to decide the import of the witness’ violent reaction to this blood-soaked piece of paper.”
“Your honor,” Debbie protested again and Perlie Williams nodded.
“Objection sustained. Question your client, Miss Donnelson.”
She made an instant decision to drop the issue of the paper, which she considered to be damaging enough, in its uncertainties, to Regard.
Her client, now excessively wary, showed no further inclination to flaunt his cleverness. He was, in fact, as Tay murmured to Moss, scared to death. “I hope to hell to death,” Moss replied grimly. It was something not everyone perceived. Outwardly, particularly in the eye of the watching television camera, he seemed fully restored and back in complete command of himself and the situation. His counsel knew he was suffering a mortal wound. But she did her best.
“Mr. Holgren,” she said, “have you ever been subject, as a child or later on, to sudden seizures of temper—to what might be called, quite accurately, blind rages?”
“Your honor,” Regard began and she quickly amended, “to bouts of anger when you did not remember afterward what happened?”
Earle gave her a quick look and took the cue.
“How did you know that?” he asked, amazed. “Yes, I have.”
“Times when you had no recollection whatsoever of what had occurred?”
He nodded solemnly.
“Right.”
“And so could not be really considered responsible for what occurred during those periods?”
“Your honor—” Regard said, but Perlie Williams gave him a look that said, Drop it.
“For instance,” she said, “do you remember Mr. Stinnet a few moments ago producing a piece of paper which he displayed to you?”
Her client looked puzzled, thought hard for a moment, finally shook his head.
“No…” he said uncertainly. “I—don’t—think so.”
“Do you have any recollection at all of what counsel for the state, the judge and myself, have just been discussing?”
Earle shook his head, still puzzled.
“No,” he said in a wondering tone. “Not the slightest.”
“God,” Moss whispered. “Give him enough rope,” Tay replied. “He’s not fooling anybody.”
But it was obvious the jury, even including the skeptical lady, was shaken. Debbie pressed on.
“You have absolutely no recollection of being shown a piece of paper, and of an outburst of apparent temper in which you demanded that it be given to you?”
“Absolutely none whatsoever.”
“Now, Mr. Holgren,” she said, “let me take you back three weeks to the dedication of the atomic energy plant at Pomeroy Station. What is the last thing you remember on that occasion?”
Earle frowned, very thoughtfully.
“I remember,” he said slowly, “that I was absolutely enraged by the dedication itself, by the fact of this extremely dangerous and frightening installation being formally opened and about to be put into operation; that I thought of all the hundreds of thousands, maybe millions, of people, who could be hurt or even killed if something should go wrong; and I was frustrated and even more enraged by the thought that there was absolutely nothing that could be done to save these innocent thousands. Maybe millions.”
“Did you remember thinking of anything you might do?”
“No,” he said firmly. “I do not. I just remember a sudden blinding flash—of rage,” he added quickly, and the audience subsided—“at my own helplessness. And then I don’t remember anything more until I was scrambling up there onto the hill to look for whoever had attacked the plant. I had—come to, I guess you might call it—a couple of minutes before, to hear somebody shouting, ‘They’ve bombed the plant and hurt Sarah Pomeroy!’ and that just got me out of that crowd down there like a shot and up on the hill to do what I could to help. I mean, I’m against atomic power, but Moss Pomeroy’s a great man whom I’ve always admired, and when I heard that”—he shook his head. “Well, that just did it. I just moved, that’s all. You couldn’t have stopped me.”
“Why, you absolute son of a bitch,” Moss whispered savagely. Tay put a quick hand on his arm. Moss shook it off: Tay clamped it back. “You be quiet, buddy,” he whispered with equal force. “You just calm down and let him hang himself.” Moss gave him a glare as though he didn’t recognize him for a second, but subsided.
“So you don’t remember anything at all between the time of the start of the dedication and the time you found yourself on the hill?”
“I’m trying, counsel,” Earle said with a helpless little smile, “but I swear to God I don’t remember one single thing.”
“Thank you, Mr. Holgren,” Debbie said calmly. “I think that will be all.”
“Do you wish to re-cross-examine, Mr. Stinnet?” Judge Williams inquired.
Regard looked at Earle, earnestly and helpfully smiling now, and shook his head with a disgusted expression.
“Your honor,” he said, “I think it is obvious to the jury and indeed to the whole country as represented by the media and the pool television camera that if I spent another hour with this individual I would only get more fairy tales, and since our purpose here is to ascertain the truth—”
“Your honor,” Debbie said in the same calm tone, “I object.”
“—since our purpose here,” Regard repeated firmly, “is to ascertain the truth and not fairy tales—”
“Counsel,” Judge Williams said.
“—I of course have no further questions of this witness. As far as I am concerned, he is excused.”
“And as far as I am concerned, your honor,” Debbie said.
“Guards,” Perlie Williams said, “you may remove the witness … Miss Donnelson,” he said after Earle, still smiling in an interested, attentive and cooperative fashion, had been taken out, accompanied by the distant savage roaring of the crowd outside, “is it your intention to change your client’s plea to not guilty by reason of insanity? Is that what this is all about?”
Debbie looked up from her papers, which she had begun to go through with a studied indifference. She looked quite surprised.
“Oh no, your honor. We are quite content to stand on a plea of not guilty. After all, while opposing counsel may arrange dramatic stunts for television, no facts have been adduced on the record to prove that he is.”
“Very well,” Judge Williams said. “Does counsel wish to make any summary statement?”
“No again, your honor,” she said calmly. “The facts speak for themselves and they do not convict my client.”
“That is for the jury to decide, Miss Donn
elson,” Judge Williams said, “as you very well know. Mr. Stinnet, do you wish to make a summation?”
The audience became abruptly quiet and for several moments Regard stared thoughtfully off into space. Then his eyes came back to the audience.
“Mrs. Holgren and Mr. Holgren—Boomer—Justice Barbour—Justice Pomeroy—no, I think I shall refrain from a summation also. I too believe the facts speak for themselves, and I happen to believe that they do convict the defendant. He is as savage and ruthless, though better educated and more intelligent, as any murdering street thug. He is one of them. He is part of the deep sickness of this country that Justice NOW! is trying to correct. But as your honor says, that is something for the jury to decide.
“The state awaits its verdict with every confidence that it will both convict and, pursuant to the laws of South Carolina and in the fashion set forth therein, approve and order a sentence of death.”
There was a ripple of applause, a distant shout of agreement. Perlie Williams turned to the jury.
“Members of the jury,” he said, “I too shall refrain from indulging the sound of my own voice to give you any lengthy instructions. The matter is in your hands. We seem to be in a new era of American justice at the moment in which undue and unnecessary delays are increasingly unpopular with our fellow citizens, as well they should be.
“Accordingly you will begin your deliberations at nine a.m. tomorrow, and it is the court’s hope that you may well and justly—and swiftly—bring forth your verdict.”
Afterward Regard and Debbie held their press conferences and made their countering claims of victory. The two Justices, polite but grim-faced, refused all media comment and were whisked away together in the chauffeured limousine provided for them by the attorney general.
The jury was locked away for the night and the case of Earle Holgren moved on to the evening news, the headlines, the editorials, the columns and the bitterly held and strongly expressed opinions of his countrymen—toward the day, increasingly likely now, when it would reach the chambers of the Supreme Court of the United States.
The jury’s first day of deliberations, Friday, lasted eight hours; the second, Saturday, seven and one-half; the third, Sunday, ten. At 7 p.m. Sunday the foreman called Perlie Williams and said, “Judge, I think we have a verdict.”
“Congratulate everybody for me,” he said, “and be ready for court at nine a.m. tomorrow.”
For the last time in Columbia, the crowd was large, restless and near unruly as the defendant, his lawyer, his parents and the two Justices arrived. Boomer Johnson and his mother were not there. “We’re goin’ to get us as far away from that man as we can git!” she had declared when the bailiff asked if they wanted to stay for the finish. He couldn’t say he blamed them. The defendant was a strange man and not only Boomer and his mother were made uncomfortable in his presence. The bailiff suspected a lot of people felt that way. Certainly he did.
For instance, look at the man now. Here he was, about to be sentenced, probably to death, and he appeared as insolent and jaunty as he had on the first day he entered court. His whole attitude coming in had been as contemptuous of the crowd as ever, which had of course provoked the crowd to even greater imprecations than usual on this, their last chance to let him know what they thought of him. Now he was giving the audience his usual long, slow, contemptuous look, sweeping his parents and the Justices with a swift, impersonal glance that appeared entirely at ease, entirely unconcerned. Only the very slightest tremor in his hands and a spasmodic and apparently involuntary flickering of the eyelids betrayed the fact that Earle Holgren was human after all, and probably, as Justice Pomeroy had observed before, scared to death. And to death, as he told Justice Barbour once again, Moss continued to hope it would be.
In the media section Henrietta-Maude, her statehouse colleagues and all the national luminaries of print, tube and airwave waited in tense anticipation. Their gossip and guessing abruptly ceased as Judge Williams entered, took his seat and stared for a moment, calm as ever, around the room.
“Will the foreman please rise and approach the bench?” he requested. A great tension occurred. Earle Holgren continued to lounge in his chair but the lounging suddenly was no longer fluid: it seemed he lounged in ice. At his side Debbie became rigid, across the way Regard was very still. The two Justices leaned forward, the elder Holgrens seemed to shrink back. The media, immobile and momentarily silent, made no movement, uttered no sound. The jury was somber. With an air of determined dignity their handsome old black foreman approached the bench. The clerk of the court cleared his throat portentously and intoned,
“Have you considered the case of Earle William Holgren and the charges entered here against him?”
The foreman bowed.
“We have.”
“And have you reached a verdict or verdicts upon these charges?”
“We have.”
He handed the clerk a copy of the indictment. The clerk took it solemnly and turned it over. On the back were written the verdicts on each of the four counts, each verdict signed by all twelve jurors. Solemnly the clerk read them out.
“On the first count of the indictment, that the defendant did murder Sarah Ann Pomeroy”—the clerk paused dramatically for a second and the tension if anything grew greater—“the unanimous verdict of the jury is—Guilty.”
There was an explosive release of pent-up breath and held-in emotion, from outside a long, triumphant, savage shout. There was a short, sharp cry from Mrs. Holgren, instantly smothered. Earle did not move. None of the principals moved. The clerk cleared his throat and continued gravely,
“On the second count of the indictment, that the defendant did attempt to murder the Honorable Stanley Mossiter Pomeroy, the verdict of the jury is—Not Guilty.”
Again the rush of release and emotion, again no movement from audience or principals. The only response came from Moss, the slightest whisper that only Tay could hear, reluctant but honest—“Fair enough.”
“On the third count of the indictment, that the defendant did murder Janet Martinson and unidentified male child, the unanimous verdict of the jury is—Guilty.”
Again the release of emotion in the room, the savage triumph outside. The reporters were poised now, ready to leap and run.
“On the fourth count of the indictment, that defendant did wantonly and deliberately destroy sundry property at the atomic energy plant at Pomeroy Station, South Carolina, the unanimous verdict of the jury is—Guilty.”
There was a last explosion of sound, a mad scramble as members of the media tumbled over one another to get out and away to the telephone. Judge Williams patiently watched a tide he could not stem and when it ebbed, rapped his gavel and restored order.
“Pursuant to Section 16-3-20 of the South Carolina Code,” he said, “when a defendant is convicted of the crime of murder, a separate sentencing procedure to determine whether he shall be sentenced to death or to life imprisonment must be held. The statute states that this proceeding shall be conducted by the trial judge before the trial jury ‘as soon as practicable after the lapse of twenty-four hours unless waived by the defendant. This waiving of the jury proceeding must be agreed to by the state. If defendant wishes to waive and if the state agrees, hearing on the sentencing is to be held in open court.’
“Does the defendant wish to waive this right of jury proceeding?”
“Your honor—” Debbie and Regard began together. Regard deferred.
“The defendant definitely does not want to waive this proceeding,” Debbie said.
“And the state will not agree to his doing so,” Regard said promptly. “So that, I would say, is that.”
“The jury proceeding will not be waived. There remains the phrase ‘as soon as practicable after the lapse of twenty-four hours’ from time of conviction. It is now nine twenty-three a.m. I do not know the mood of the jury”—he looked at them and they all nodded vigorously—“but the mood of the court and I am sure the mood of the state
, and certainly of the country, is that there is nothing to be gained by further delay. In this second phase of sentencing, both sides may present arguments concerning the death penalty if they so desire.
“The jury, the defendant and opposing counsel will reconvene here at nine-thirty a.m. tomorrow. When a decision has been reached the court will reopen to the public to hear it announced.
“Again, I am empowered to instruct the jury. My only admonition, given the popular mind, is that speed is of the essence.
“The court stands adjourned until further call.”
Next day, the jury met for three hours. Debbie spoke for ten minutes against the death penalty, Regard for fifteen for it. Earle, though he had the right under the statute to speak in his own defense, said nothing. When Regard concluded Debbie spoke for approximately two minutes in rebuttal. Regard waived reply and everyone looked expectantly at the judge.
“Any further arguments?”
“None, your honor.”
“Mr. Holgren? This is your last chance to address the jury.”
“What good would that do?” Earle inquired in a spiteful tone.
“Probably none,” Perlie agreed crisply. “Nonetheless, you have the right.”
Earle gave him a contemptuous look.
“I waive it.”
“Miss Donnelson and Mr. Stinnet,” Perlie said matter-of-factly, “you and I will retire. Guards, remove the prisoner. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the room is yours for as long as you need it.”
An hour later the foreman sent a messenger to his chambers. Five minutes after that he announced that court would reconvene at 4 p.m. to hear the jury’s instructions on the sentencing of the Pomeroy Station bomber.
For the last time the room filled to capacity. For the last time Debbie and Regard took their places, the defendant’s eyes made their slow chilling tour of the audience. The elder Holgrens and the two Justices were there. The pool television camera moved from face to face. Judge Williams turned to the jury as politely as though they were meeting at some social function and in a quiet voice inquired,