A Handy Death

Judge Waxler studied the calm figure at the defense bench. His eyes went to Steve Sadler, beside Ross, but Steve was also sitting back in a relaxed fashion.

“Mr. Ross,” the judge said, “you’re too experienced a lawyer for me to suggest anything to you about handling the defense in a criminal case, but are you sure you heard the question?” A possible solution occurred to the judge. “Are you feeling well?”

Ross smiled his appreciation.

“I feel fine, Your Honor. Thank you.”

Judge Waxler sighed. “You may continue, Mr. District Attorney.”

Varick glanced toward Gorman; the Assistant District Attorney was no longer grinning. He was sure Ross had something up his sleeve, but he could not imagine what it was. All he knew was that Ross had opened the door on a good deal of testimony damaging to his client, and Gorman fully intended to take advantage of it. He nodded; Varick went back to work.

“Mr. Dupaul, how long were you an inmate at Attica Prison the second time?”

“Three years and ten months.”

“What were you in for?”

“Assault. I was in a fight.”

“Now,” Varick said, amazed at not being stopped, “while that baseball game was in progress, was there an escape attempt made on the part of several prisoners?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Were there any deaths as a result of this escape attempt?”

“Yes, sir. Two prisoners and a guard.”

“At the time of the escape attempt, was there not also a disturbance on the baseball field that brought many guards to the scene, and which could possibly have been arranged to enhance the escape attempt?”

Steve Sadler leaned over, whispering to Ross. “I was beginning to be afraid he’d never get to it!”

Ross smiled, “So was I—”

Judge Waxler tapped his gavel. “Mr. Ross, are you listening to this testimony?”

“I am, Your Honor.”

Varick hurried on. “Would you answer the question, please?”

“Yes, sir. There was a disturbance on the field at the time.”

“And was that disturbance caused by the fact that you purposely pitched four balls in a row, walking the batter, and giving your fellow inmates watching the game an excuse to start the riot?”

This time Judge Waxler’s gavel hit the bench loud and clear. He looked down at Ross.

“Mr. Ross, normally I hesitate to suggest to able trial counsel what, tactically, is best for his client, but I have a responsibility to see that the accused gets a fair trial and is given effective assistance of counsel. Now, I’m going to ask you one last time — are you positive you have no objections to the questions being put to this witness?”

Ross came to his feet.

“Your Honor, I agree. I believe the last question of the prosecution was not proper. Objection.”

“Well! About time!” Judge Waxler snapped. “Sustained!”

Varick nodded gently in the direction of the jury, a glint of triumph in his eyes.

“No more questions.”

Ross said, “I have just one in redirect. Mr. Dupaul, during this baseball game we’re discussing, were there any independent witnesses as to what actually took place. I mean, anyone not connected with the prison, either as inmate or staff?”

“There was somebody in the press box,” Dupaul said slowly, “but I didn’t pay any attention to who it was. It may have been a guard, but it might also have been someone not connected with the prison.”

“Thank you. You may step down.”

Billy Dupaul came down from the witness stand and walked a bit defiantly back to the defense table, sitting down next to Steve Sadler. His face was a mask. The buzzing in the courtroom resumed, to stop as Ross spoke.

“I call my next witness, Jerry Coughlin.”

Coughlin came into the courtroom glowering toward Ross, who was standing indolently between the defense table and the bench. Every line of the newspaperman’s wolfish face demonstrated his desire for revenge. Ross waited until Coughlin had been sworn in, and then moved closer.

“What is you name?”

“Jerome Coughlin.”

“Known as Jerry Coughlin?”

“That’s right.”

“What is your business or occupation?”

“I’m a newspaper reporter.”

“Specializing in sports?”

“Specializing in everything.”

“All right,” Ross said. “Now, were you present at a baseball game held at Attica Prison a week ago last Thursday?”

Coughlin leaned forward. He spoke with cold venom.

“You can bet I was! And I saw Billy Dupaul—”

“Just answer the questions, please,” Ross interrupted evenly. “I can have his honor instruct you to answer properly, if need be. With all your courtroom experience, you should know you cannot volunteer answers. Now, to continue: Are you acquainted with Mr. Charles Quirt?”

Coughlin seemed surprised by the change in subject. “Only by name.”

Ross raised his eyebrows.

“You were never in the same room with him?”

“Not that I recall.”

“Try your memory on this,” Ross said. “A week ago Friday, you by-lined a story in the Daily Mirror which said I was defending Billy Dupaul. The information came from Mr. Charles Quirt—”

Varick had been in a hasty conference with Gorman. Now he came to his feet, interrupting.