Other people

by Sol Stein

  I identified myself and told the sergeant I was trying to reach Dr. Gunther Koch. Francine had come into the room. She pointed at my glass. I must have gulped my drink without thinking. She was wanting to know if I needed another. I shook my head. Meanwhile, the sergeant had passed my call upstairs to the detectives. "Just a minute," somebody said, and I could hear the telephone clatter onto a desk top at the other end. It took forever till somebody else picked up, another voice, saying, "You the doctor's lawyer?"

  "What happened?" I asked. "Did he get mugged?"

  "No," said the rough voice. "The doctor's the perpetrator."

  God, police use words like that every chance they get.

  "What did he do for Christ's sake?" I couldn't believe that mild-mannered man would do anything harmful to anybody.

  "He hit a guy in the eye with a dart."

  I looked up at Francine.

  "Could I speak to the doctor, please?" I asked.

  "Hold on, I'll get him." Again, the receiver clunking on a desk top.

  When Dr. Koch got on, he talked so fast in that accent of his I could barely make out what he was saying.

  "Slow down," I said to him.

  I could hear him take a deep breath. "It is unbelievable," he said. "They have taken my picture. They have taken my fingerprints. I am booked as if I am the criminal. Please help me."

  "Tell me what happened. Slowly."

  "This man, he had a gun."

  "Start at the beginning," I said.

  Then he told me about coming home from the movies, finding the door open, seeing the man at the file cabinet, the man forcing him to sit behind his desk. "I offered him fifty dollars to go," he said. "He took the fifty dollars and was taking Miss Widmer's file anyway. On my desk I have these three darts…"

  "You threw one at him. He could have shot you."

  "I didn't think, really. It just happened."

  "You hit him,"

  "Yes."

  I thought of a guy getting a dart in the eye. Jesus!

  "Is he hurt bad?"

  "Quite bad, I'm afraid. Please help."

  He sounded like a child, this doctor of the child in us, suddenly at sea.

  "Who do you normally use for a lawyer?" I asked.

  "An old friend from Vienna, who makes out my will. He will not know what to do in this… police station. Can you help me? We are…" He hesitated. "In this together, are we not?"

  I was very tired. Manhattan was a long way away.

  "Get the address from the cop," I said. "I'll be down."

  Francine wanted to know what was going on. I buttoned my collar and shoved my tie back up in place and put my jacket on. "Mind the house while I'm gone," I said. "I'll probably be half the night."

  "I'll come with you."

  "You don't want to see your shrink in the lockup. It won't help your analysis. I've got to get going."

  "Please let me come with you."

  "It would embarrass him. He's embarrassed enough."

  "What happened?"

  "You happened." I didn't realize how awful that was until I said it. "An intruder in his apartment was after your file. Koch hit him in the eye with a dart."

  As I raced the car down to Manhattan for the second time that day, I tried not to think of Francine or what she might be thinking. I read the road signs out loud. I pushed the station buttons on the radio. Nothing, nothing, and nothing. I had to stay awake. Just keep driving, I told myself, drive.

  Thirty-five

  Brady

  I don't give a fuck for Harry Koslak's freedom. I got him out on bail so that I can prepare him for trial. Jail is no environment for rehearsals. Because the incident took place in the apartment directly below Koslak's, I suggested we meet in his apartment so he could walk me around the incident, so to speak. His wife seemed scared of me. I told her to take a long walk with the kids. As for the story Koslak then told me, I'm sure I didn't get it as it happened exactly. Koslak makes it sound as if he controls his cock like a light cord. That man I have yet to meet.

  So when he finished what he called his explanation, I sat him down in his living room in one of those armchairs with plastic covers, next to the fake fireplace that never fooled anybody.

  "Harry," I said, "let's handle the rest of this conversation in the following way. If I ask a question, you answer truthfully. If a question makes you uncomfortable, instead of giving in to the temptation to lie a little, just say you'd rather not answer that one, okay?"

  "I'll tell you the truth," he said. "Ain't I been telling you the truth?"

  "How did the Widmer girl first come to your attention?"

  "You mean when'd I notice her?"

  "Sure."

  "On the stairs. Going up and down. You know, I'm going to work, I'm coming home from work, she's going someplace, she's coming from someplace."

  "Did she say hello to you?"

  "Not so's I remember."

  "Did she nod the way people do when you live in the same building?"

  "Yeah, I think so."

  "Did you nod back?"

  "Probably."

  "Did you ever nod first at her?"

  "I don't do that kind of thing."

  "You mean she made the first overture, she nodded first."

  "You might say so."

  "Was there anything provocative in her manner?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Did she act sexy in any way?"

  "Well, when I come up the stairs after her, you know, she's got one ass going up while the other's going down, back and forth. That's sexy."

  "Would you say she walked that way on purpose?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Harry, you know damn well what I mean. Some women just walk as if it's transportation and some roll their melons when there's someone to watch."

  "Well, I'd have to guess."

  "Go ahead, guess."

  "From the way she dresses, I'd say she's probably walking sexy."

  "What about her dress?"

  "She don't wear dresses."

  "I mean the way she dresses, what she wears, Harry." I was getting impatient.

  "She don't wear no brassiere."

  "Sometimes or always?"

  "I never seen her that she didn't wear nothing under her blouse or sweater or whatever, even going to work."

  "Did you find that sexy?"

  "Yeah, yeah."

  "Did you find that provocative?"

  "How do you mean?"

  "Did her lack of a brassiere make you think things or want to do things?"

  "You bet."

  "Do you find all women of that age make you think things or was there something special about Miss Widmer?"

  "Look, she is a real special-looking dame. She's got class the way Grace Kelly has class, you know what I mean? Not cheap. Class."

  "That attracts you."

  "It makes me want to poke my thing in there to see if it's real."

  "How do you think she thinks about you?"

  "Now?"

  "Before all this happened."

  "I don't know she noticed me except to nod. I was embarrassed, to tell the truth."

  "Embarrassed?"

  "Yeah, well I was often wearing overalls, right? I mean if I was wearing a business suit and a tie I'd a felt better about what she might be thinking."

  "Did you feel, Harry, that she was beyond your reach?"

  "Yeah, in a way, but I tell you, any dame walks around with tits like that is looking to get them grabbed, right?"

  "You said the second time, when you and the janitor paid her a visit, that she was more cooperative."

  "Yeah, she took her top off. Wouldn't you call that cooperative?"

  "Maybe she thought that would interest you both."

  "It sure did."

  "Maybe, Harry, she was stalling until help could come."

  "Stalling? I'd say she was moving things along. Listen, I never met a dame that'd volunteer a strip that wasn't a whore. Anyway, I don't pay for p
ussy. I don't respect anybody has to."

  "Let's stick to the subject, Harry." I could have caved in his skull. "Would you say the janitor instigated the second visit?"

  "What?"

  "Put you up to it."

  "Jason? I was the one told him. Listen, I don't want to get old Jason into dutch."

  "Not even if it helps your case?"

  "I'm not that kind of guy."

  "But you thought that by bringing him along, if he had a piece of it too, you'd be convincing everybody that Miss Widmer'd ball anyone who came along, right?"

  "Right."

  "So you were thinking of your defense?"

  "Sure."

  "Why did you think you'd need a defense?"

  "Be prepared, I say. To tell you the truth, I was surprised as hell when she did something about it. Most dames don't say nothing."

  "Harry, how many women did you rape before this?"

  He was silent.

  "That's it," I said. "If you're tempted to lie, just don't answer."

  "I'm not lying. I never raped nobody. Listen, Mr. Brady, you ever meet a woman you weren't married to who just invited you in? They all need a little sales talk, a little pressure, some more than others."

  "What do you mean by pressure?"

  "You know, what they like, you threaten them a bit, you joke about it or maybe you don't joke about it, you twist an arm a little, just as a reminder."

  "A normal part of the mating game."

  "What's that?"

  "Never mind. You've had women resist like Miss Widmer?"

  "Sure."

  "But never call the cops before?"

  "That's right."

  "How many women?"

  "Exactly?"

  "Estimate."

  "A dozen?"

  "You asking or telling?"

  "About a dozen. Maybe two dozen."

  "Harry, I don't know if I want you testifying in your own behalf. I'd have liked to have you tell the story the way we plan it together, understand? Let's go back. You said you were thinking of your defense. Does that mean you thought you had done something wrong?"

  Harry laughed real nervous like. "Look, Mr. Brady," he said, "don't you think you're doing something wrong whenever you have sex? I mean with anybody?"

  "We're talking about you, Harry, not me. Keep to the subject. You said Miss Widmer tried to talk you out of it. What did she say?"

  "Like I said, all dames try to talk you out of it. Christ, Mary even used to. She still does once in a while, and I'm her fucking husband!"

  "What did Miss Widmer say to try to talk you out of it?"

  "She said I could go to a prostitute or something like that."

  I'd had enough. I got up to go.

  "Wait a minute," he said. "What's all this talk about? How's it going to do me any good?"

  "Well, Harry, you're the customer. You're entitled to hear it the way I hear it. Let me play it back to you. You met her on the stairs many times. She said hello to you first. You never said hello to her first. When she walked ahead of you, it was your impression that she walked provocatively. You couldn't help noticing that she never wore a brassiere. You found that provocative, too. Naturally. She looked very ladylike to you, yet very enticing. You had the impression that she wanted it. You had the impression she wanted it not just from you, which is why you brought along the janitor the second time. You thought you were doing something she wanted. You get the picture?"

  Harry seemed very pleased.

  "We'll have a chance to go over this again, Harry."

  "You sure know how to put things, Mr. Brady," he said. "I'm glad you're my lawyer on this case."

  That remark would cost the stupid idiot at least an additional thousand dollars, which I better hit him for before he goes to jail.

  Thirty-six

  Thomassy

  You sometimes forget that policemen are government workers, meaning no significant economic motivation, lots of useless paperwork, a life of time spent waiting for something to happen or someone to move a process along a little. To survive, a policeman like a doctor has to immunize himself against the waves of rage and rancor splashed at him by perpetrators and victims alike. A chief of police, who as a young man probably had a surfeit of vitality, is eventually as discouraged as a beat slogger. I pity them. You can't talk to a cop man to man. You're either a supplicant or a superior.

  Which leads me to the duty sergeant at the precinct that was holding Koch.

  "That psychiatrist needs a psychiatrist," he said.

  "What's the problem?"

  "He acts like we done something wrong to bring him here."

  "Sergeant," I said, "this isn't one of my usual clients or your usual clients. He's a senior professional person and being in this place is like his suddenly finding himself on Mars. I want to talk to him in a private room."

  So Koch and I were led to a cubicle on the second floor, where he tried to say six thousand things at once. Trying to calm him down reminded me of the time my car's engine wouldn't shut off when I took the key out and kept shuddering for minutes till it finally collapsed into silence. For the moment I was the psychiatrist and he was the patient. When he was finally quiet, I asked him what he was thinking.

  "In Vienna," he said, "my passport was stamped with a red J." His voice fluttered. "Please, Mr. Thomassy, I have never been in a place like this. Get me out of here. I beseech you."

  I didn't want to be beseeched by anybody. I told him the routine.

  "Listen carefully, Dr. Koch. You had to be booked because an action of yours injured another person. The circumstances are what the judge will listen to, not a policeman. I will get you down to night court and ask for bail. But I need to know the facts. Just the facts, if you can."

  "I realize you are being very helpful to me," he said. "I am just a stranger to you."

  "You're less of a stranger than most of my clients when I first meet up with them. Please tell me what happened in your apartment."

  So he recapped the thing. I asked him to wait in the room while I went out to talk to the detective.

  "That's the first psychiatrist we've had in here," said the detective.

  "Congratulations," I said. "Let's get him down to night court right now while he's calm."

  "Look, mister, we've got seven guys in the lockup got here before he did. I can't spare anybody to go with you now."

  "How long?"

  "Morning."

  "Can I use your phone?"

  "Local?"

  "Local."

  "Sure."

  You couldn't dial out. You got the policeman at the switchboard.

  "Please get me the officer on duty in the commissioner's office. The number is—"

  He knew the number and was already dialing. The detective stopped penciling the form in front of him. He was listening.

  When I was connected, I said, "This is George Thomassy. I don't want to bother the commissioner this time of night. I'm up at the twenty-fourth precinct. I've got to get some red tape untangled before a distinguished citizen loses his cool and talks to the newspapers. Yes, I'll wait."

  When he got back on he said, "What's the problem?"

  "No problem. An intruder was caught in this citizen's apartment, threatened him with a gun, and got injured in the process. All we need to do is get the doctor—"

  "A legit doctor?"

  "A psychiatrist. Just want to get him down to a judge so we can get him home before he starts talking to the papers."

  I looked at the detective. "He wants to talk to you," I said.

  The detective took the phone. I could have guessed the conversation. The detective hung up, and without saying a word to me went into another room and came back out with a young cop. "This is Patrolman Mincioni. He'll ride you and the doctor down."

  "No cuffs," I said.

  "No cuffs."

  It would have been easier with one of the Westchester judges. Judge Sprague was a new face for me.

  "Your Honor," I
said after he read the report the cop put in front of him, "there are several possibilities. If the doctor had had nothing to use in his defense, the intruder would have walked off with a file that is essential to a rape case being tried in Westchester. The people might have lost that case if the file was not available, or was available only to the defendant's counsel. Your Honor, I believe the intruder may have been employed by defense counsel through channels. If Dr. Koch had been brave enough to use the only defense weapon at hand, an ordinary practice dart, and missed, or merely nicked the intruder, the intruder, who was used to carrying a gun, wouldn't have missed Dr. Koch when he shot him and we'd have a corpse instead of a doctor, and a killer on the loose. Because this doctor — and this is not true of all doctors as you know. Your Honor — was not a passive citizen in the face of crime, and luckily disabled the intruder with the one and only dart thrown, the people can proceed with their case in Westchester. Dr. Koch probably deserves a medal instead of the fingerprinting, mugging, and humiliation of the station house, but right now I want to get him home and to bed after his harrowing experience as a good citizen. I don't have to tell you that Dr. Koch's roots in the community suggest that he be released on his own recognizance."

  Well, here is this judge in front of a night court full of inner-city ethnics and he's got to let a white middle-class physician off. His face rigid, severe, mock contemplative. Then he said, "Two hundred fifty dollars bail."

  I asked Dr. Koch if he had his checkbook with him. He didn't.

  "Will it please the court to have the defendant paroled in the custody of counsel?"

  "That will be acceptable," said Judge Sprague.

  And in no more than ten minutes we were outside. The doctor shook hands with Patrolman Mincioni. Mincioni was respectful, as to a priest.

  I drove Koch home. When we got there, he didn't move to get out of the car.

  "What's the matter?" I asked.

  For a moment he said nothing. Then, "I was thinking of what I will find up there. I don't like hotels, or I might stay in a hotel tonight. Oh well," he said, opening the car door, "we are here." He turned to me. "I don't know — truly — how I would have managed without your help. Please come up for a cup of coffee before you drive home."