A Matter of Conviction

“I’m chief of the bureau,” Holmes answered, picking up the implied challenge. “I can hear anything you’ve got to say to Mr. Bell.”

“Okay,” Barton said. “How does it look so far?”

“How does what look?” Hank asked.

“The case. Do you think they’ll burn?”

“I’m prosecuting for murder in the first degree,” Hank said. “That’s what the indictment read.”

“What about this story they’ve concocted about the Morrez kid carrying a knife and attacking them?”

“I haven’t investigated it thoroughly as yet.”

“Well, when do you plan on starting?”

“I’m afraid that’s my business, Mr. Barton.”

“Is it? I thought you were a public servant.”

“I am.”

“Then it’s the public’s business, too.”

“If the public were capable of trying this case, I might agree with you, Mr. Barton. Unfortunately, the public hasn’t been trained in the law, and I have. And I’ll investigate and prepare the case as I see fit.”

“No matter what the public wants?”

“How do you mean?”

“The public wants those three kids to die in the electric chair. I know it, and you know it, too.”

“So?”

“So what are you doing about it?”

“What would you like me to do, Mr. Barton? Personally transport them to Sing Sing and throw the switch on them tomorrow? They’re entitled to a fair trial.”

“No one’s denying them their right to justice. But there’s only one justice in this case, and it’s apparent to everyone. They killed a defenseless kid in cold blood. The public demands retribution!”

“Are you speaking for the public, or for yourself?”

“I’m speaking for both.”

“You’d make a good foreman of a lynching party, Mr. Barton,” Hank said. “I still don’t know why you came here.”

“To find out how you felt about this case.”

“This isn’t the first murder case I’ve ever tried. I feel about it the way I’ve felt about every other one. I’m going to do my job the best way I know how.”

“And does that job involve sending those kids to the chair?”

“That job involves prosecuting for first-degree murder. I don’t deliver the sentences in this county. If the boys are convicted by a jury, Judge Samalson will determine the sentence.”

“The death sentence is mandatory, and you know it.”

“That’s true.”

“Then if you succeed in prosecuting for first-degree murder, you will also succeed in sending those kids to the chair.”

“The jury may ask for and receive leniency, in which case a life sentence may be decided upon. It’s been done before.”

“Is that what you’ll be trying for? A life sentence?”

“That’s out of order!” Holmes snapped. “Don’t you answer that, Hank!”

“Let me set you straight, Mr. Barton,” Hank said. “I’m going for a conviction in this case. I will present the facts as I understand them to the jury and the court. The jury will decide whether or not those facts, without any reasonable doubt, add up to first-degree murder. If they convict, Judge Samalson will determine the sentence. My job is not to seek vengeance or retribution. My job is to show that a crime was committed against the people of this county, and that the defendants I’m prosecuting are guilty of that crime.”

“In other words, you don’t care whether they die or not?”

“I’ll be prosecuting for—”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“I wouldn’t dignify it.”

“What’s the matter, Bell? Are you afraid of capital punishment?”

“I’ve sent seven men to the electric chair since I became a public prosecutor,” Hank answered.

“Have you ever sent any kids to the chair?”

“I’ve never tried a murder case involving boys of this age, no.”

“I see.” Barton paused. “Ever hear of a girl named Mary O’Brien, Mr. Bell?”

Hank hesitated a moment. Holmes caught his eye.

“Yes,” Hank said.

“I spoke to her yesterday. I understand you played footsie with her when you were both kids.”

“I think you’d better leave, Mr. Barton.”

“Is Mary O’Brien — now Mary Di Pace — the reason for your reluctance to...”

“Get out, Barton!”

“...prosecute this case the way the public wants it prosecuted?”

“You want me to throw you out, Barton?”

“It’d take a bigger man than you, Mr. District Attorney,” Barton said. He grinned. “I was leaving anyway. Don’t miss tomorrow’s paper. It’ll curl your hair.” He turned to Holmes. “So long, Sherlock,” he said, and he left the office.

“The son of a bitch,” Holmes said.

He went to see Mary that afternoon.

He called her from the office to say he was coming, and she said she would be out until three but that she would expect him then.

The street was sufferingly hot. No place in the world gets hotter than Harlem, he thought. Name a place and Harlem’s hotter because Harlem is a giant concrete coffin and nothing stirs in that coffin, there is no breath of air. In July and August...

In July...