Redemption (16 page)

“I sure was. I remember the day because Greg—he's the night man in front—he got this little radio of his on all night. Keeps him awake, you know; and he tell me in the morning that Mr. Hopper got shot, and we know Miss Liz's name is Hopper.”

“So you made the connection. Otherwise you might have forgotten that precise date? Is that not so?”

“I suppose. But I watched TV the same day, you know.”

“Now, tell me, Mr. Johnson, do you recall anything unusual happening on Friday night, the night before, say between ten and midnight?”

“Midnight, I'm asleep. I don't have no trouble sleeping.”

“But before you went to bed?”

Johnson had the jury now. He was enjoying his moment in the sun, and I'm sure he had no idea whether he was helping or hurting Liz's case. Witnesses do not sit in court before they are called, so he had not heard the openings or the other witnesses.

“Like what?”

“Like the basement door opening or closing?”

“No, sir, I wouldn't hear that, and you know, I'm watching the television. Then Missus and me, we go to bed.”

“But the back elevator, you would hear that?” Rudge insisted.

“Yup. We're on the bottom floor. The back elevator, it go up quietlike but down with a bang. You see, nothing but cement and the bumpers. We look out on the air shaft, and it's pretty quiet.”

“But you do hear the elevator hit bottom—with a bang, as you say?”

“Yes, sir. We look out on the air shaft, so there ain't much noise. But we do hear that elevator when it hit bottom.”

“And did you hear it that Friday night?”

“I guess I hear it most every night. Late deliveries—or maybe some tenant, he want to leave by the side entrance.”

“But that night? Can you remember?”

“No, sir—maybe yes, maybe no.”

Rudge went to his table and opened a folder, and then turned back to Johnson. “But when the police questioned you, you stated that you had heard the bump that night—at least twice?”

“Did I say that? A long time ago—”

“That's what you said, is it not?”

“The cops say so, I said it.”

“Thank you. The courtyard is lit all night, isn't it?”

“Yes, sir. We keep it lit.”

“Did you happen to look out of your window and see anyone pass by?”

Abel Johnson hesitated, just for a moment, and then said, “No, sir.”

“When the police questioned you, you said you thought you saw a shadow move?”

“Maybe so, but I don't remember. We have curtains.”

“And you can't identify the person as more than a shadow?”

“No, sir.”

“No more questions for this witness,” Rudge said with annoyance.

“Will you cross-examine, Ms. Morton?”

“Please, Your Honor.” She rose and walked to the jury rail and said to Johnson, “The elevator bumps every night, Mr. Johnson?”

“Sure does.”

“Who comes and goes so late?”

“Could be someone, he don't want Greg to see him. Or like maybe he parked on the side street and don't want to walk around the corner at night. Or maybe someone want a delivery, maybe like booze or something, so he don't want to wake me up so late and he go down to the basement and make sure the door is open.”

“Does he? And how does he do that?”

Rudge rose with an objection that the question called for a conclusion; but Kilpatrick, a twinkle in his eye, said, “You've opened so many doors, Mr. Rudge, that I don't think your objection is valid. So let the witness answer the question.”

“They all use the same trick,” Johnson said. “Fold up a piece of paper and stick part of it under the door. Keep the door from locking. I see it all the time, you know. The insurance people raise hell, and the head of the tenant committee, you know, he promise a new door but never get around to it. New steel door got to be maybe eight hundred dollars.”

“Thank you,” Sarah said, walking back to the table and taking up some papers in a blue binder. “I'm through with this witness, Your Honor. May I approach?”

The judge nodded, and as Sarah walked toward the bench, Rudge rose to join her. Helen Slater, Rudge's assistant and coprosecutor, had as yet spoken not a single word. But then, neither had I; and as she was going to the bench, I decided to join them.

“If this closes the State's case—and from his witness list, I presume that it does—I would like to make a motion for dismissal of all charges.” She placed the blue folder on the judge's bench. “Basically, for lack of evidence.”

“You have my objection,” Rudge said.

“I'll see you all in chambers,” Kilpatrick said. Then he tapped with his gavel and said, “This court stands in recess. We will resume tomorrow at ten o'clock.”

I asked Liz to wait for us at the table and then joined the others in the judge's chambers. Kilpatrick, a tall, thin man with brooding blue eyes and glasses, looked at us gloomily before he spoke. “Sit down,” he said, and then to Sarah, “I'll look at your motion tonight and give you an answer in the morning. Off the cuff, I can say that I am in no way disposed to dismiss the charges, but we'll see. You're a damn clever lawyer, Ms. Morton, but I must say I am troubled by your listing Mrs. Hopper as a witness. I don't like people waiving their right against self-incrimination.”

“I have given it a great deal of thought, Your Honor.”

“I hope you're not reaching for a mistrial?”

“And go up against Mr. Rudge again? No, Your Honor, once is enough.”

“Thank you, Sarah,” Rudge said.

“But I do have one request, Your Honor,” Sarah said meekly. She could become meek and gentle—this woman who had come up against all the odds.

“Yes?” Kilpatrick said warily.

“I would like to call my cocounsel, Professor Goldman, as a witness.”

Rudge exploded. “Out of the blue! Your Honor, this is the first I heard of this! It's outrageous! The man listens to my evidence, my witnesses, and now he comes on the scene as a witness? I must object. This is without precedent.”

“It's not without precedent, Mr. Rudge. For example in Callahan versus the State, in 1954, it was permitted, and I could cite you several more cases, if you like.”

“Ms. Morton, when did you arrive at this decision?”

“Today, listening to the testimony of Detective Sergeant Hull. Put it to my own stupidity. I am taking the risk of putting Mrs. Hopper on the stand, but the point of the sleeping pills was made so forcefully that I felt I must have Professor Goldman on the stand.”

I'm afraid this was by no means true. We had discussed my testimony. But this was Sarah's case, and I had agreed to play it her way. Not in a thousand years would I claim that I could creep into the soul and mind of another person, but here was Sarah with her first big case—a case that would change her entire future career. At this moment, I remembered her sitting in my classroom and listening to my opening remarks, when I told my students that contract law was all law, that every human relationship was a contract of sorts, whether with a client or the state or the codified law of centuries of human experience.

“You understand, Ms. Morton, that if I accede to your request, I must take Professor Goldman away from your table?”

“I understand that, Your Honor.”

“And of course you do, Professor Goldman?”

“Yes.”

“He will be my first witness, and I give you my word that I will not recall him.”

“I enter my objection, most formally,” Rudge said. He had control of himself now.

“Mr. Rudge, I am going to overrule you. This will give you an opportunity to cross-examine Professor Goldman. Since he is integral to this case, I am surprised that you did not call him as a witness yourself. This is a capital case, and a woman's life is at stake.”

“Exception!” Rudge declared.

“Yes, I will take note of that,” said Kilpatrick, clearly annoyed.

“Your Honor,” Sarah said, “since the woman in this case is pledged to marry Professor Goldman, and since I have given my word that I will not recall him—I beg you that he be allowed to remain in the courtroom. In a way, his own life is at stake.”

Kilpatrick studied Sarah thoughtfully. A slight smile crossed his face. “You were Professor Goldman's student, weren't you?”

“Yes. Contract law at Columbia.”

“Back in '72 or '74—were you the first Afro-American student at Columbia?”

“No, not the first. But one of very few—I think the first woman.”

“I see no reason why he should not sit in the courtroom, but not at the table; and you are not to speak to him or consult him at any time in my court.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Sarah said humbly.

When it came to playing Kilpatrick, Rudge did not hold a candle to her.

When we left the courtroom, with Liz and J. J., Sarah's feet never quite touched the ground. We went to Romer's for dinner, and Sarah ordered a steak and baked potato and finished it—to the last bite. Liz nibbled away at a salad. I had little appetite, but J. J. packed away a good dinner; and the only time Sarah mentioned the events of the day was to say that Kilpatrick was a pussycat—the last description of him that I would have thought of—and that there'd be no talk of the case tonight. “We've talked enough, Ike,” she said. “I want to see a movie.”

J. J., a soft and rather pretty woman, pleaded a date, so the three of us wandered on upper Broadway until we found a theater playing
Total Recall
, with Arnold Schwarzenegger. “I love him,” Sarah said surprisingly. “He's all muscle and just enough brains to make fifty million a year—a perfect symbol of manhood.”

Whatever the actor's shortcomings, we enjoyed the film and came out of the theater two hours later, feeling pleased and renewed. “Because it made no sense at all,” Liz decided. “It's the perfect counterpart of the life we're living today. This trial makes no sense either. I could be guilty or innocent, but there's no way to prove either one.”

“What I really liked,” Sarah offered, “is that the black guy is a bad guy. I'm so sick of pictures that lie to make us feel good, with black guys as presidential advisors and saving the world from aliens and being hotshot detectives who know all the answers, when I've defended more black bums than I can remember, and some good guys, too. You're absolutely right, Liz, the life we're in doesn't make a shred of sense.”

“Ike dozed off,” Liz said. “Darling Ike, I've seen you sit through concerts without ever dozing. How could you fall asleep?”

“Because I'm old and tired, Liz. So, let's go home to bed.”

NINE

T
HE
D
EFENSE

W
HEN THE COURT
convened the following morning, Judge Kilpatrick asked that Rudge and Sarah approach the bench. I had seated myself in the first row, behind Liz, who turned to give me a warm smile. There was a buzz in the press section about my change of position, but that change would be explained when Sarah called me as her first witness. As I learned later, Judge Kilpatrick had told Sarah he was denying her motion to drop the charges, admitting that, so far, the case was entirely based on circumstantial evidence but positing that the evidence was strong enough to put the case to the jury. Then the court came to order, and I was called as Sarah's first witness.

I took my place on the witness stand, identified myself, and was sworn in. Sarah's first question caught me by surprise. “Professor Goldman,” she said, “you were supposed to have married Elizabeth Hopper a few months ago. Is that not so?”

“Yes. We postponed the wedding until after this trial.”

“I ask this question for the benefit of the jury. As a law professor, you are well aware that as her husband, you could not be forced to give any testimony against her.”

“Yes, that is so.”

“Yet, you did not marry her?”

“No. Not yet.”

“Why, Professor?”

“Because I had hoped that the prosecution would call me as a witness, and I wanted no impediment to their doing so.”

“And why, may I ask?”

“Because I know she is innocent,” I said simply.

“Would you tell the ladies and gentlemen of the jury the basis for this belief on your part?”

“On the twenty-fourth of May, 1996, the night when the murder of William Sedgwick Hopper took place, Liz Hopper was in bed with me. She did not leave the bed until seven o'clock in the morning.”

“Now, Mr. Rudge has elicited from a local drugstore the fact that you had filled a prescription for Temazepam. Would you tell us something about this drug?”

Rudge objected on the grounds that I was not a pharmacist.

“But he has been using this medicine. I'll allow it,” the judge said.

“At twenty milligrams, the amount in the pills I use, it's a mild sleeping drug. Occasionally, when I have trouble falling asleep, I take a single capsule. It has no aftereffects or side effects that I am aware of.”

“And on the night of the murder, did you take Temazepam?”

“No, I did not,” I replied, thinking that if I lied so easily on behalf of someone I loved, then what was the worth of an oath as the way to the truth? But I had no qualms about that while I was testifying. I believed wholly that Liz had nothing to do with the murder, so to me the lie was meaningless. I would have lied a thousand times to save her from a life behind bars.

“But did you go to bed earlier than the defendant?”

“Yes, about a half hour earlier.”

“What time was that?” Sarah asked.

“Nine o'clock.”

“And Mrs. Hopper joined you at nine-thirty. Were you awake?”

“Yes.”

“Did she always share your bed? I understand that there is another bedroom in your apartment.”