The Magician (28 page)

“Oh, something. Thomassy’d probably beat her up on cross, but we’re not going to win this case on Thomassy being the bad guy. Any more ideas?”

“That psychiatrist we got a line on interviewed both of them. We could get him to testify that Urek is perfectly sane and knew exactly what he was doing.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah what?”

“Have you ever had a psychiatrist on the stand? No, you haven’t had anybody on the stand. That’s a can of peas you don’t want to open unless you can control it one hundred percent. Most psychiatrists don’t think anybody is really personally guilty of anything bad—at least, they make it sound like that to a jury. Any more brilliant ideas?”

“You seem to have thought of everything.”

“Yeah.”

“Except.”

“Except what?”

“How to win this case.”

Cantor stretched his arms above his head. He’d have loved to let one of his long arms sweep down across Ferlinger’s fat face.

“Don’t,” said Ferlinger.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t take a poke at me without a weapon in your hand. It’s essential for a felony conviction.”

“Is that a hint?”

“It’s two hints. One for you. One for the case. What was it you said you told your wife?”

“I told her we’d get a conviction.”

“Are you going to tell her something different tonight?”

“The case isn’t over yet. Look, Urek did it, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, you, God, and I know it, but we’re not on the jury. That’s what Thomassy is working on, convincing the jury. You know what he’s doing right this minute? He’s with Urek in the cell downstairs.”

“So what?’

“He’s been with him ever since the meeting with Brumbacher. You don’t think he needs all that time just to cheer him up?”

“What are you driving at?”

Ferlinger looked at his fingernails as if deciding whether to file them. “I think Thomassy’s going to let the kid take the stand.”

“He wouldn’t dare.”

“I’ll bet they’re rehearsing it right now.”

“The son of a bitch wouldn’t dare.”

“I’ll tell you why he would,” said Ferlinger, rising. “You’re always yapping about the crucial determinant in a case. Well, the crucial determinant in this case is that Thomassy is smarter than you are.”

*

The custodian seemed too old a man to hold down a full-time job. He walked to the stand in an irregular shuffle, and when Cantor nodded for him to sit down, he held his hands down on the chair and lowered himself onto it slowly and seemingly with pain. His face was deeply lined, and his hair, which was brown and gray, was in a strange crew
cut, shaved to a stubble around the sides, the two inches on top pointing straight up.

“Please state your name,” said Cantor, all gentleness.

“Felix Gomez.”

The stenographer asked him to spell the name. The janitor shook his head. He couldn’t spell it.

“Just put it down phonetically right now,” said Judge Brumbacher. “We’ll get the spelling from his employment records later.”

“Sir,” said Cantor to the old man, “are you the janitor at Ossining High School?”

“Custodian,” said the old man with dignity.

“How long have you been custodian?”

The old man shrugged his shoulders. “Five years, ten years, something like that.”

Cantor looked at the judge. Brumbacher indicated he should let it pass.

“What happened on the night of the dance, after the dance?”

“Lots of clean-up in the morning.”

“No, what happened that night?”

“Like we talk about in your office?”

Cantor’s blush was visible. “Yes.”

“I hear shout, yell, noise. I get flashlight, I go to front door, snowing cold outside, I see trouble, I call police.”

“Can you identify any of the people you saw that night out there?”

“You mean, the people out front?”

“Yes.”

“Sure. I see Mr. Japhet, schoolteacher, and
him.” He pointed to Urek at the defense table. “He did it.”

“He did what?”

“He choke the kid, why else police get him, why else he here?”

Thomassy stood to object.

Judge Brumbacher leaned over toward the witness. “Mr. Gomez, did you see anyone besides Mr. Japhet out there in front of the school that night?”

“Girl.”

“Can you identify the girl?” asked the judge.

“Just girl.”

Cantor, anxious to keep the line of questioning in his own hands, asked, “Did you see the defendant, Urek, in front of the school?”

“He break windows.”

“When?”

“Lots of times.”

“Did he break windows that night?”

“I think no.”

“Did you see Urek in front of the school when you came out with your flashlight?”

“Lots of snow, bad snow.”

Cantor’s voice rose. “Did you see Urek?”

The janitor paused, his hands crossed in front of his chest. “I think,” he said finally.

“You think what, sir?”

The janitor smiled at being called “sir” again. “I think I see.” He pointed to Urek.

“Thank you,” said Cantor.

The old man got up to leave, but Cantor motioned him back down.

“Your witness,” said Cantor.

Thomassy looked, for a moment, as if he might waive cross-examination. Then he approached the stand. He came very close to the janitor.

“Who are you?” asked Gomez. Everyone in the courtroom laughed. Even the judge had a hard time stifling a guffaw.

Thomassy smiled. “I’m the defense counsel, Mr. Gomez.. I have a few questions to ask you.”

“I already answer.”

“These are different questions.”

“I guess okay.” He began to like being the center of so much attention.

“Do you drink whiskey on the job?”

“What do you mean, I never drink whiskey.”

“Please answer the question yes or no.”

“I answer truth, like I swore.”

“What, in truth, do you drink, besides water?”

Gomez smiled weakly. “Thunderbird.”

“For the edification of the jury,” said Thomassy, returning to his table and withdrawing a bottle from the suitcase underneath, “is this what you drink?” He brought the bottle over to within twelve inches of the witness’s face. Gomez instinctively reached for the bottle, which Thomassy withdrew, to the sound of laughter.

Brumbacher rapped his gavel.

“Did you have any of this to drink on the day of the prom?”

“I guess.”

“Don’t you know?”

“I guess because I have some every day.” Gomez
looked embarrassed, wondering whether he had made a mistake.

Quickly Thomassy asked, “Do you have a gallon every day?”

Gomez was furious. “No, never, maybe one, two bottles most.”

“Only one bottle in the morning?”

“Half.”

“And?”

Cantor interrupted angrily. “Will the judge remind defense counsel that ‘and’ is not a question?”

“Thank you,” said Thomassy to Cantor. “Mr. Gomez, do you have the other half with lunch?”

“Sure.”

“Mr. Gomez, do you have another bottle in the afternoon, every afternoon?”

“Students never see me. In the basement. By myself! I swear!”

“Do you have another half with dinner?”

Cantor had not sat down. “Would defense counsel like me to produce an adding machine?”

“Now, your Honor, that wasn’t called for,” said Thomassy. “I am merely trying to establish the obvious, that the witness is a chronic alcoholic whose consumption of wine is prodigious and who probably consumed nearly a gallon by the time the events of the evening transpired.”

“Lies!” yelled Gomez, standing. “You try lose me my job! Lies!”

“I have no further questions,” said Thomassy, leaving Gomez grasping the railing, his eyes like weak searchlights peering into every part of the room to find a friendly face.

Judge Brumbacher asked the sheriff’s deputy to help the witness from the room.

Cantor asked for a meeting at the bench. In hushed tones, glaring at Thomassy, he told the judge, “Your Honor, I am appalled by Mr. Thomassy’s treatment of the last witness.”

“You are a young man,” said Brumbacher. “I am usually appalled by the processes of justice.”

“But, your Honor, it isn’t necessary—”

Brumbacher was stern. “This is an adversary system. Counselor, we’re waiting for you to call your next witness.”

Cantor, his head turned, addressed himself to the stenographer only. “The prosecution rests,” he said.

Thomassy immediately came in with, “Your Honor, I move to dismiss on the grounds that the People have failed to—”

The judge cut him off. He dismissed the jury. It seemed to take a long time to get them out of the courtroom. Then as Thomassy started to repeat his motion to dismiss, Judge Brumbacher cut in. “Yes, yes, your motion is noted, and decision is reversed. However, Mr. Thomassy, I will dismiss, and withdraw from the consideration of the jury, the count related to the incident at Phelps Memorial, because”—he lowered his voice so that only the two lawyers could hear him—the People haven’t proved Urek was in that room at the hospital. Thomassy, you know he was there, I know he was there, he knows he was there, but the jury doesn’t know, and Cantor can’t prove it to them.”

The judge impatiently ordered the jury brought
back in. As they were taking their seats, he said to Thomassy, “Let’s finish soon if we can. Will you call your first witness.”

“Your Honor,” said Thomassy, his voice now raised so that the jury could hear him, “I will call the defendant, Stanley Urek, to testify in his own behalf.”

*

That night, at dinner, Judge Brumbacher said to his wife, “Irene, I’ve been thinking of New Mexico.”

“What happened today?”

“I don’t see why I shouldn’t think of retiring.”

“What will you do?”

“I don’t know.” The judge sighed. “I guess that’s the point.”

*

Ed got Lila on the phone at last. “Urek’s going to testify tomorrow,” he said.

“I heard. It’s all over town.”

“Are you going?”

“I can’t cut school.”

“Lila?”

“Yes?”

“You know, I didn’t testify.”

“I heard that, too. I admired that.”

“My father was absolutely great in court.”

“I heard.”

“I hope we see each other again soon.”

“Thanks for calling, Ed. Good luck.”

He wondered for a long time afterward whether she meant anything special by that.

The following morning, when the three Japhets came into court together, they sat down in the last row. Then Ed noticed Mr. and Mrs. Urek just two places down. He nudged his father. They moved as unobtrusively as possible to the other side of the courtroom and slid into seats against the far wall.

Ed watched as if it were a
play. The court attendant, a woman in a blue uniform, sonorously intoned, “Hear ye, hear ye, hear ye, this County Court Party Two of the County of Westchester is now in session, Honorable Wilton Brumbacher, County Judge, presiding. All persons having business with this Honorable Court come forward and give attention and they shall be heard. Please stand.”

The black-robed judge entered, and at once the two lawyers were conferring with him at the bench. Then Ed saw Urek, his hair slicked down, wearing a suit and tie, take the witness stand and raise his right hand, his left atop a Bible, and say, “I do.”

Thomassy looked like a man who had had a great night’s sleep. He bristled with controlled energy and smiled at everyone, including Cantor and Ferlinger. He put out his left hand, then his right, then brought them together as he turned to Urek with the first question.

“Have you been a student at Ossining High School for the last two years?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Have you ever failed in any course?”

“No, sir.”

“Have you ever owned or driven a motorcycle?”

“No, sir.”

“Have you ever smoked marijuana?”

It was Judge Brumbacher who stopped the proceeding. “Mr. Thomassy, a witness testifying under oath is not immune to charges arising out of his testimony. An affirmative answer to the question you have just asked might be incriminating. Does the witness understand that?”

“I don’t want to speak for the witness, your Honor.” He turned to Urek. “Do you know that using marijuana is illegal?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Have you ever used it?”

“No, sir.”

“Have you ever used, bought, or sold LSD, heroin, amphetamines, or barbiturates?”