Rage of Angels

‘He can’t help that.’

‘As the old joke goes, he could have stayed home. How are you and our esteemed District Attorney getting along?’

Jennifer gave him a mirthless smile. ‘Mr Di Silva sent me a message this morning. He intends to remove me from the law business.’

When the parade of prosecution witnesses was over and Di Silva had rested his case, Jennifer rose and said, ‘I would like to call Howard Patterson to the stand.’

The assistant warden of Sing Sing Prison reluctantly rose and moved toward the witness box, all eyes fixed on him. Robert Di Silva watched intently as Patterson took the oath. Di Silva’s mind was racing, computing all the probabilities. He knew he had won the case. He had his victory speech all prepared.

Jennifer was addressing the witness. ‘Would you fill the jury in on your background, please, Mr Patterson?’

District Attorney Di Silva was on his feet. ‘The State will waive the witness’s background in order to save time, and we will stipulate that Mr Patterson is the assistant warden at Sing Sing Prison.’

‘Thank you,’ Jennifer said. ‘I think the jury should be informed that Mr Patterson had to be subpoenaed to come here today. He is here as a hostile witness.’ Jennifer turned to Patterson. ‘When I asked you to come here voluntarily and testify on behalf of my client, you refused. Is that true?’

‘Yes.’

‘Would you tell the jury why you had to be subpoenaed to get you here?’

‘I’ll be glad to. I’ve been dealing with men like Abraham Wilson all my life. They’re born troublemakers.’

Robert Di Silva was leaning forward in his chair, grinning, his eyes locked on the faces of the jurors. He whispered to an assistant, ‘Watch her hang herself.’

Jennifer said, ‘Mr Patterson, Abraham Wilson is not on trial here for being a troublemaker. He’s on trial for his life. Wouldn’t you be willing to help a fellow human being who was unjustly accused of a capital crime?’

‘If he were unjustly accused, yes.’ The emphasis on unjustly brought a knowing look to the faces of the jurors.

‘There have been killings in prison before this case, have there not?’

‘When you lock up hundreds of violent men together in an artificial environment, they’re bound to generate an enormous amount of hostility, and there’s –’

‘Just yes or no, please, Mr Patterson.’

‘Yes.’

‘Of those killings that have occurred in your experience, would you say that there have been a variety of motives?’

‘Well, I suppose so. Sometimes –’

‘Yes or no, please.’

‘Yes.’

‘Has self-defense ever been a motive in any of those prison killings?’

‘Well, sometimes –’ He saw the expression on Jennifer’s face. ‘Yes.’

‘So, based on your vast experience, it is entirely possible, is it not, that Abraham Wilson was actually defending his own life when he killed Raymond Thorpe?’

‘I don’t think it –’

‘I asked if it is possible. Yes or no.’

‘It is highly unlikely,’ Patterson said stubbornly.

Jennifer turned to Judge Waldman. ‘Your Honor, would you please direct the witness to answer the question?’

Judge Waldman looked down at Howard Patterson. ‘The witness will answer the question.’

‘Yes.’

But the fact that his whole attitude said no had registered on the jury.

Jennifer said, ‘If the court please, I have subpoenaed from the witness some material I would like to submit now in evidence.’

District Attorney Di Silva rose. ‘What kind of material?’

‘Evidence that will prove our contention of self-defense.’

‘Objection, Your Honor.’

‘What are you objecting to?’ Jennifer asked. ‘You haven’t seen it yet.’

Judge Waldman said, ‘The court will withhold a ruling until it sees the evidence. A man’s life is at stake here. The defendant is entitled to every possible consideration.’

‘Thank you, Your Honor.’ Jennifer turned to Howard Patterson. ‘Did you bring it with you?’ she asked.

He nodded, tight-lipped. ‘Yes. But I’m doing this under protest.’

‘I think you’ve already made that very clear, Mr Patterson. May we have it, please?’

Howard Patterson looked over to the spectator area where a man in a prison guard uniform was seated. Patterson nodded to him. The guard rose and came forward, carrying a covered wooden box.

Jennifer took it from him. ‘The defense would like to place this in evidence as Exhibit A, Your Honor.’

‘What is it?’ District Attorney Di Silva demanded.

‘It’s called a goodie box.’

There was a titter from the spectators.

Judge Waldman looked down at Jennifer and said slowly, ‘Did you say a goodie box? What is in the box, Miss Parker?’

‘Weapons. Weapons that were made in Sing Sing by the prisoners for the purpose of –’

‘Objection!’ The District Attorney was on his feet, his voice a roar. He hurried toward the bench. ‘I’m willing to make allowances for my colleague’s inexperience. Your Honor, but if she intends to practice criminal law, then I would suggest she study the basic rules of evidence. There is no evidence linking anything in this so-called goodie box with the case that is being tried in this court.’

‘This box proves –’

‘This box proves nothing.’ The District Attorney’s voice was withering. He turned to Judge Waldman. ‘The State objects to the introduction of this exhibit as being immaterial and irrelevant.’

‘Objection sustained.’

And Jennifer stood there, watching her case collapse. Everything was against her: the judge, the jury, Di Silva, the evidence. Her client was going to the electric chair unless …

Jennifer took a deep breath. ‘Your Honor, this exhibit is absolutely vital to our defense. I feel –’

Judge Waldman interrupted. ‘Miss Parker, this court does not have the time or the inclination to give you instructions in the law, but the District Attorney is quite right. Before coming into this courtroom you should have acquainted yourself with the basic rules of evidence. The first rule is that you cannot introduce evidence that has not been properly prepared for. Nothing has been put into the record about the deceased being armed or not armed. Therefore, the question of these weapons becomes extraneous. You are overruled.’

Jennifer stood there, the blood rushing to her cheeks. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said stubbornly, ‘but it is not extraneous.’

‘That is enough! You may file an exception.’

‘I don’t want to file an exception. Your Honor. You’re denying my client his rights.’

‘Miss Parker, if you go any further I will hold you in contempt of court.’

‘I don’t care what you do to me,’ Jennifer said. ‘The ground has been prepared for introducing this evidence. The District Attorney prepared it himself.’

Di Silva said, ‘What? I never –’

Jennifer turned to the court stenographer. ‘Would you please read Mr Di Silva’s statement, beginning with the line, “We’ll probably never know what caused Abraham Wilson to attack …”?’

The District Attorney looked up at Judge Waldman. ‘Your Honor, are you going to allow –?’

Judge Waldman held up a hand. He turned to Jennifer. ‘This court does not need you to explain the law to it. Miss Parker. When this trial is ended, you will be held in contempt of court. Because this is a capital case, I am going to hear you out.’ He turned to the court stenographer. ‘You may proceed.’

The court stenographer turned some pages and began reading. ‘We’ll probably never know what caused Abraham Wilson to attack this harmless, defenseless little man –’

‘That’s enough,’ Jennifer interrupted. ‘Thank you.’ She looked at Robert Di Silva and said slowly, ‘Those are your words, Mr Di Silva. We’ll probably never know what caused Abraham Wilson to attack this harmless, defenseless little man …’ She turned to Judge Waldman. ‘The key word, Your Honor, is defenseless. Since the District Attorney himself told this jury that the victim was defenseless, he left an open door for us to pursue the fact that the victim might not have been defenseless, that he might, in fact, have had a weapon. Whatever is brought up in the direct is admissible in the cross.’

There was a long silence.

Judge Waldman turned to Robert Di Silva. ‘Miss Parker has a valid point. You did leave the door open.’

Robert Di Silva was looking at him unbelievingly. ‘But I only –’

‘The court will allow the evidence to be entered as Exhibit A.’

Jennifer took a deep, grateful breath. ‘Thank you, Your Honor.’ She picked up the covered box, held it up in her hands and turned to face the jury. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, in his final summation the District Attorney is going to tell you that what you are about to see in this box is not direct evidence. He will be correct. He is going to tell you that there is nothing to link any of these weapons to the deceased. He will be correct. I am introducing this exhibit for another reason. For days now, you have been hearing how the ruthless, trouble-making defendant, who stands six feet four inches tall, wantonly attacked Raymond Thorpe, who stood only five feet nine inches tall. The picture that has been so carefully, and falsely, painted for you by the prosecution is that of a sadistic, murdering bully who killed another inmate for no reason. But ask yourselves this: Isn’t there always some motive? Greed, hate, lust, something? I believe – and I’m staking my client’s life on that belief – that there was a motive for that killing. The only motive, as the District Attorney himself told you, that justifies killing someone: self-defense. A man fighting to protect his own life. You have heard Howard Patterson testify that in his experience murders have occurred in prison, that convicts do fashion deadly weapons. What that means is that it was possible that Raymond Thorpe was armed with such a weapon, that indeed it was he who was attacking the defendant, and the defendant, trying to protect himself, was forced to kill him – in self-defense. If you decide that Abraham Wilson ruthlessly – and without any motivation at all – killed Raymond Thorpe, then you must bring in a verdict of guilty as charged. If, however, after seeing this evidence, you have a reasonable doubt in your minds, then it is your duty to return a verdict of not guilty.’ The covered box was becoming heavy in her hands. ‘When I first looked into this box I could not believe what I saw. You, too, may find it hard to believe – but I ask you to remember that it was brought here under protest by the assistant warden of Sing Sing Prison. This, ladies and gentlemen, is a collection of confiscated weapons secretly made by the convicts at Sing Sing.’

As Jennifer moved toward the jury box, she seemed to stumble and lose her balance. The box fell out of her grasp, the top flew off, and the contents spilled out over the courtroom floor. There was a gasp. The jurors began to get to their feet so they could have a better look. They were staring at the hideous collection of weapons that had tumbled from the box. There were almost one hundred of them, of every size, shape and description. Homemade hatchets and butcher knives, stilettos and deadly looking scissors with the ends honed, pellet guns, and a large, vicious-looking cleaver. There were thin wires with wooden handles, used for strangling, a leather sap, a sharpened ice pick, a machete.

Spectators and reporters were on their feet now, craning to get a better look at the arsenal that lay scattered on the floor. Judge Waldman was angrily pounding his gavel for order.

Judge Waldman looked at Jennifer with an expression she could not fathom. A bailiff hurried forward to pick up the spilled contents of the box. Jennifer waved him away.

‘Thank you,’ she said, ‘I’ll do it.’

As the jurors and spectators watched, Jennifer got down on her knees and began picking up the weapons and putting them back in the box. She worked slowly, handling the weapons gingerly, looking at each one without expression before she replaced it. The jurors had taken their seats again, but they were watching every move she made. It took Jennifer a full five minutes to return the weapons to the box, while District Attorney Di Silva sat there, fuming.

When Jennifer had put the last weapon in the deadly arsenal back in the box, she rose, looked at Patterson, then turned and said to Di Silva, ‘Your witness.’

It was too late to repair the damage that had been done. ‘No cross,’ the District Attorney said.

‘Then I would like to call Abraham Wilson to the stand.’

Chapter Eight

‘Your name?’

‘Abraham Wilson.’

‘Would you speak up, please?’

‘Abraham Wilson.’

‘Mr Wilson, did you kill Raymond Thorpe?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘Would you tell the court why?’

‘He was gonna kill me.’

‘Raymond Thorpe was a much smaller man than you. Did you really believe that he would be able to kill you?’

‘He was comin’ at me with a knife that made him purty tall.’

Jennifer had kept out two objects from the goodie box. One was a finely honed butcher knife; the other was a large pair of metal tongs. She held up the knife. ‘Was this the knife that Raymond Thorpe threatened you with?’

‘Objection! The defendant has no way of knowing –’

‘I’ll rephrase the question. Was this similar to the knife that Raymond Thorpe threatened you with?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘And these tongs?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘Had you had trouble with Thorpe before?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘And when he came at you armed with these two weapons, you were forced to kill him in order to save your own life?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘Thank you.’

Jennifer turned to Di Silva. ‘Your witness.’

Robert Di Silva rose to his feet and moved slowly toward the witness box.

‘Mr Wilson, you’ve killed before, haven’t you? I mean, this wasn’t your first murder?’

‘I made a mistake and I’m payin’ for it. I –’

‘Spare us your sermon. Just answer yes or no.’

‘Yes.’

‘So a human life doesn’t have much value to you.’

‘That ain’t true. I –’

‘Do you call committing two murders valuing human life? How many people would you have killed if you didn’t value human life? Five? Ten? Twenty?’

He was baiting Abraham Wilson and Wilson was falling for it. His jaw was clenched and his face was filling with anger. Be careful!

‘I only kilt two people.’

‘Only! You only killed two people!’ The District Attorney shook his head in mock dismay. He stepped close to the witness box and looked up at the defendant. ‘I’ll bet it gives you a feeling of power to be so big. It must make you feel a little bit like God. Any time you want to, you can take a life here, take a life there …’

Abraham Wilson was on his feet, rising to his full height. ‘You somabitch!’

No! Jennifer prayed. Don’t!

‘Sit down!’ Di Silva thundered. ‘Is that the way you lost your temper when you killed Raymond Thorpe?’

‘Thorpe was tryin’ ta kill me.’

‘With these?’ Di Silva held up the butcher knife and the pair of tongs. ‘I’m sure you could have taken that knife away from him.’ He waved the tongs around. ‘And you were afraid of this?’ He turned back to the jury and held up the tongs deprecatingly. ‘This doesn’t look so terribly lethal. If the deceased had been able to hit you over the head with it, it might have caused a small bump. What exactly is this pair of tongs, Mr Wilson?’

Abraham Wilson said softly, ‘They’re testicle crushers.’

The jury was out for eight hours.

Robert Di Silva and his assistants left the courtroom to take a break, but Jennifer stayed in her seat, unable to tear herself away.

When the jury filed out of the room, Ken Bailey came up to Jennifer. ‘How about a cup of coffee?’

‘I couldn’t swallow anything.’

She sat in the courtroom, afraid to move, only dimly aware of the people around her. It was over. She had done her best. She closed her eyes and tried to pray, but the fear in her was too strong. She felt as though she, along with Abraham Wilson, was about to be sentenced to death.

The jury was filing back into the room, their faces grim and foreboding, and Jennifer’s heart began to beat faster. She could see by their faces that they were going to convict. She thought she would faint. Because of her, a man was going to be executed. She should never have taken the case in the first place. What right had she to put a man’s life in her hands? She must have been insane to think she could win over someone as experienced as Robert Di Silva. She wanted to run up to the jurors before they could give their verdict and say, Wait! Abraham Wilson hasn’t had a fair trial. Please let another attorney defend him. Someone better than I am.

But it was too late. Jennifer stole a look at Abraham Wilson’s face. He sat there as immobile as a statue. She could feel no hatred coming from him now, only a deep despair. She wanted to say something to comfort him, but there were no words.

Judge Waldman was speaking. ‘Has the jury reached a verdict?’

‘It has, Your Honor.’

The judge nodded and his clerk walked over to the foreman of the jury, took a slip of paper from him and handed it to the judge. Jennifer felt as though her heart were going to come out of her chest. She could not breathe. She wanted to hold back this moment, to freeze it forever before the verdict was read.

Judge Waldman studied the slip of paper in his hands; then he slowly looked around the courtroom. His eyes rested on the members of the jury, on Robert Di Silva, on Jennifer and finally on Abraham Wilson.

‘The defendant will please rise.’

Abraham Wilson got to his feet, his movements slow and tired, as though all the energy had been drained out of him.

Judge Waldman read from the slip of paper. ‘This jury finds the defendant, Abraham Wilson, not guilty as charged.’

There was a momentary hush and the judge’s further words were drowned out in a roar from the spectators. Jennifer stood there, stunned, unable to believe what she was hearing. She turned toward Abraham Wilson, speechless. He stared at her for an instant with those small, mean eyes. And then that ugly face broke into the broadest grin that Jennifer had ever seen. He reached down and hugged her and Jennifer tried to fight back her tears.

The press was crowding around Jennifer, asking for a statement, barraging her with questions.

‘How does it feel to beat the District Attorney?’

‘Did you think you were going to win this case?’

‘What would you have done if they had sent Wilson to the electric chair?’

Jennifer shook her head to all questions. She could not bring herself to talk to them. They had come here to watch a spectacle, to see a man being hounded to his death. If the verdict had gone the other way … she could not bear to think about it. Jennifer began to collect her papers and stuff them into a briefcase.

A bailiff approached her. ‘Judge Waldman wants to see you in his chambers, Miss Parker.’

She had forgotten that there was a contempt of court citation waiting for her but it no longer seemed important. The only thing that mattered was that she had saved Abraham Wilson’s life.

Jennifer glanced over at the prosecutor’s table. District Attorney Silva was savagely stuffing papers into a briefcase, berating one of his assistants. He caught Jennifer’s look. His eyes met hers and he needed no words.

Judge Lawrence Waldman was seated at his desk when Jennifer walked in. He said curtly, ‘Sit down, Miss Parker.’ Jennifer took a seat. ‘I will not allow you or anyone else to turn my courtroom into a sideshow.’

Jennifer flushed. ‘I tripped. I couldn’t help what –’

Judge Waldman raised a hand. ‘Please. Spare me.’ Jennifer clamped her lips tightly together.

Judge Waldman leaned forward in his chair. ‘Another thing I will not tolerate in my court is insolence.’ Jennifer watched him warily, saying nothing. ‘You overstepped the bounds this afternoon. I realize that your excessive zeal was in defense of a man’s life. Because of that, I have decided not to cite you for contempt.’

‘Thank you, Your Honor.’ Jennifer had to force the words out.

The judge’s face was unreadable as he continued: ‘Almost invariably, when a case is finished I have a sense of whether justice has been served or not. In this instance, quite frankly, I’m not sure.’ Jennifer waited for him to go on.

‘That’s all, Miss Parker.’

In the evening editions of the newspapers and on the television news that night, Jennifer Parker was back in the headlines, but this time she was the heroine. She was the legal David who had slain Goliath. Pictures of her and Abraham Wilson and District Attorney Di Silva were plastered all over the front pages. Jennifer hungrily devoured every word of the stories, savoring them. It was such a sweet victory after all the disgrace she had suffered earlier.

Ken Bailey took her to dinner at Luchow’s to celebrate, and Jennifer was recognized by the captain and several of the customers. Strangers called Jennifer by name and congratulated her. It was a heady experience.

‘How does it feel to be a celebrity?’ Ken grinned.

‘I’m numb.’

Someone sent a bottle of wine to the table.

‘I don’t need anything to drink,’ Jennifer said. ‘I feel as though I’m already drunk.’

But she was thirsty and she drank three glasses of wine while she rehashed the trial with Ken.

‘I was scared. Do you know what it’s like to hold someone else’s life in your hands? It’s like playing God. Can you think of anything scarier than that? I mean, I come from Kelso … could we have another bottle of wine, Ken?’

‘Anything you want.’

Ken ordered a feast for them both, but Jennifer was too excited to eat.

‘Do you know what Abraham Wilson said to me the first time I met him? He said, “You crawl into my skin and I’ll crawl into yours and then you and me will rap about hate.” Ken, I was in his skin today, and do you know something? I thought the jury was going to convict me. I felt as though I was going to be executed. I love Abraham Wilson. Could we have some more wine?’

‘You haven’t eaten a bite.’

‘I’m thirsty.’

Ken watched, concerned, as Jennifer kept filling and emptying her glass. ‘Take it easy.’

She waved a hand in airy dismissal. ‘It’s California wine. It’s like drinking water.’ She took another swallow. ‘You’re my best friend. Do you know who’s not my best friend? The great Robert Di Sliva. Di Sivla.’

‘Di Silva.’

‘Him, too. He hates me. D’ja see his face today? O-o-oh, he was mad! He said he was gonna run me out of court. But he didn’t, did he?’

‘No, he –’

‘You know what I think? You know what I really think?’

‘I –’

‘Di Sliva thinks I’m Ahab and he’s the white whale.’

‘I think you have that backwards.’

‘Thank you, Ken. I can always count on you. Let’s have ’nother bottle of wine.’

‘Don’t you think you’ve had enough?’

‘Whales get thirsty.’ Jennifer giggled. ‘Tha’s me. The big old white whale. Did I tell you I love Abraham Wilson? He’s the most beautiful man I ever met. I looked in his eyes, Ken, my frien’, ’n’ he’s beautiful! Y’ever look in Di Sivla’s eyes? O-o-oh! They’re cold! I mean, he’s ’n iceberg. But he’s not a bad man. Did I tell you ’bout Ahab ’n’ the big white whale?’

‘Yes.’

‘I love old Ahab. I love everybody. ’N’ you know why, Ken? ’Cause Abraham Wilson is alive tonight. He’s alive. Le’s have ’nother bottle a wine to celebrate …’

It was two A.M. when Ken Bailey took Jennifer home. He helped her up the four flights of stairs and into her little apartment. He was breathing hard from the climb.