A Matter of Conviction

The witnesses were paraded: the policemen who had made the arrest, the assistant D.A. who had initially handled the call from the detective squad room, Lieutenant Gunnison, Detective Larsen — all testifying to the blood-smeared condition of the three boys on the night of July 10. On the second day of the trial, Hank called Anthony Aposto to the stand. A hush fell over the courtroom as the boy was sworn in. He wore a neat blue suit, a white shirt, a dark tie. He took the chair and Hank approached him, studied him for a moment and then said, “Would you tell the court your name, please?”

“Anthony Aposto.”

“Are you also known as Batman?”

“Yeah.”

“Where did you get that name?”

“I picked it.”

“Why?”

“Batman?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t you have any idea why you picked this particular name?”

“He’s in the comics. Batman, I mean.”

“Yes, I know. Do you like reading comics?”

“I like the pictures, yeah.”

“Do you have trouble with the words?”

“A little, yeah.”

“But you like reading comics anyway, is that right?”

“Yeah.”

“Why do you like the comics about Batman?”

“He’s brave. Also, he wears a nice suit, all black. And he’s got this friend Robin that he lives with. They’re like brothers almost.”

“Do you have any brothers?”

“No.”

“Would you like to have brothers?”

“I don’t know. I guess it wouldn’t be so bad.”

“Would you rather be Batman or Robin?”

“Objection!”

“Mr. Randolph?”

“The boy’s reading tastes seem irrelevant to me.”

“They are a part of the boy’s character, and since we’re trying to determine whether or not this boy committed murder, the question is relevant. Objection overruled. The witness will please answer the question.”

“What was the question again?” Aposto asked.

“Read him the question, please,” Samalson said.

“‘Would you rather be Batman or Robin?’” the court stenographer said.

“I’d rather be Batman.”

“Why?” Hank asked.

“Because he’s bigger, and he’s braver. And he wears this nice black suit. To tell the truth, Robin looks a little like a girl.”

“Do you like school, Anthony?”

“No, not so much.”

“What are you studying?”

“How to be an airplane mechanic.”

“Are you doing well in school?”

“Well, not so hot.”

“Would you like to be an airplane mechanic?”

“It’s a pretty good job. It pays good.”

“Yes, but would you like it?”

“I guess so.”

“Yes or no?”

“Well... no. Not really.”

“What would you rather be?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, think about it for a moment. If you had your choice, if you could be anything in the whole wide world, what would you choose?”

“I don’t know.”

“Think about it.”

“I guess I’d like to be a prize fighter.”

“Why?”

“I like to fight. I’m a pretty good fighter. Everybody knows that.”

“Would you like to fight because of the money involved?”

“No, not so much the money. I just like to fight, that’s all. I’m a good fighter. You can ask anybody.”

“If this court frees you, Anthony, what will you do with your life?”

“Objection!”

“Overruled. Proceed.”

“My life?”

“Yes.”

“Gee, I don’t know.”

“Suppose you were released this afternoon, what would you do?”

“Gee, I don’t know.”

“Would you go to a movie? Or a ball game? What would you do?”

“I guess I’d go back to the block. I guess that’s what I’d do. Yeah, I’d do that first.”

“And tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow? You mean what would I do tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“Gee, I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Do I have to know what I’d do tomorrow?”

“Witness will please answer the question,” Samalson said.

“Tomorrow? Gee...” Aposto’s brow furrowed in thought. “Tomorrow?” He wiped perspiration from his brow. For an awkward three minutes, he sat in the chair, thinking. Finally he said, “I don’t know what I’d do tomorrow.”

Hank turned from the boy. “Your witness,” he said to the defense.

One of Aposto’s attorneys rose. “We have no questions, your honor.”

“Very well, the witness may step down. Call the next witness, please.”

“Call Charles Addison.”

“Charles Addison will please take the witness stand.”

Addison, a tall thin man in a gray suit, walked to the front of the court and was sworn in. Hank walked to his table, picked up a folder and handed it to the court clerk. “I would like this marked as evidence, please,” he said.

“What is it?” Samalson asked.

“A report from the Psychiatric Division of Bellevue Hospital on Anthony Aposto, one of the defendants.”

“Let me see it,” Samalson said. He glanced through the folder and then handed it back to the clerk. “Mark it Exhibit One for the People.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Hank said. He turned to Addison. “Your name, please, sir?”

“Charles Ad—” Addison cleared his throat. “Charles Addison.”

“What do you do for a living, Mr. Addison?”

“I’m a psychologist.”

“Does that mean you’re a doctor?”

“No. I have a master’s degree in psychology.”

“I see. Where do you work, Mr. Addison?”

“At Bellevue Hospital.”

“What do you do there?”

“I’m a staff psychologist on Ward PQ-5.”

“What is Ward PQ-5?”

“The Adolescent Service.”

“Have you been attached to the Psychiatric Service of Bellevue for a long time?”

“Twelve years.”

“And have you administered many psychological tests during that time?”

“Yes. Very many.”

“Exactly how many, would you say?”