Читать интересную книгу Breathe No More My Lady - Ed Lacy

Brown nodded. “Nobody has proved anything. Let's go in.”

“How are you doing?”

“My wife reports all is still quiet. Of course when I return, I may get the bad news then.”

“You're a pessimist,” I said, knocking the ashes from my pipe. Brown didn't bother answering as he held the door open for me. The courtroom was filling up rapidly but we had our choice of seats. However, Brown suddenly whispered, “It isn't good for us to be seen together in public so often, Norm,” and sat in an empty single seat between two couples.

I felt like kicking the old guy smack in the behind, but then, he was supposedly doing it all for my own good, or something. I found a seat up near the front. Jackson was wearing a change of pace suit—a conservative blue serge, white shirt, blue knitted tie. But he hadn't forgotten his key, beaded belt or moccasins. He sat at his table and looked over some notes, his face very solemn—at one time I almost thought he was praying. Matt, dressed in his casual sports-coat-and-slacks deal, looked very fit and confident. He carefully piled a ream of paper in front of him, spread out a number of pens and pencils. He ran his eyes over the jury faces, making notes after each. Wagner looked his usual cold fish as he whispered to an assistant. Kolcicki was a spectator on the other side of the court, happily chewing gum.

After we stood up for the judge, the court got down to business. When Jackson was asked if he was ready to sum up, he said he was, his great voice sounding very grave. Matt was writing away as Jackson walked slowly to the jury box. Leaning on the rail for a moment he said nothing. He had his man-to-man smile on, but his eyes seemed to burn into each juror, forcing most of them to turn away. “Mr. Foreman, ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” he began softly, “you will shortly face a great responsibility—probably the greatest you will ever have to face in your lives: a man's life will be in your hands for judgment. You may recall I said in my opening address that you and you alone are the true judges in this trial. It is a solemn duty and a most important one, for trial by jury is indeed the very spine of our democracy. For my client's sake I am pleased that you are to judge him, for I know you to be honest and decent people.”

Jackson stood up, tall and straight, began walking slowly back and forth before the jury box, his voice projecting now. “A case like this is embarrassing to all of us, for we have to look into the very heart of a person's private life, beyond the personal walls of a marriage. It's like the fabled Pandora's box, one never knows what will come out—and some of it is far from pretty. Matt Anthony's wife is dead. That's a fact, and not a pretty one. The Grand Jury indicted Mr. Anthony for first degree murder. His Honor has denied my motion to dismiss both the first and second degree murder counts of the indictment. Now his Honor will give you the law in his charge, but let me point out that a man is innocent until proven guilty. Proven! Neither the indictment or his Honor's decision not to dismiss the charges can be taken as proof. The fact is, not once in this trial has Mr. Wagner offered the smallest shred of proof that Matt Anthony ever planned to murder his wife. There has not been a single bit of evidence of intent or premeditation. Mr. Wagner's entire charge of murder is actually based on three words, that Matt Anthony in the heart of argument told his wife, 'I'll kill you!' Mr. Wagner has taken upon himself, although he was not present at the scene, to interpret these words as a real threat. Yet you will recall that Mr. and Mrs. Hunter, who were witness to the scene, stated they did not consider the words a threat at all, but merely a figure of speech. Ask yourselves how many times in either jest, or anger, you have told someone, perhaps even your wife or husband, or your child, something like, 'If you don't bring me the paper this minute I'll wring your neck!' It is obvious that to gather the true meaning of words we must recognize the intent behind the word,. Certainly when you tell a person to 'go to the devil,' you actually don't mean for them to die and be sent to Hell. Yet that it what the prosecuting attorney would have you believe. If you told somebody, 'Oh, go jump in the lake!' and hours later that person did fall into a lake, on the basis of his logic, Mr. Wagner would claim you must have pushed him, therefore you are guilty of assault.”

Jackson smiled. Most of the jury grinned.

“Actually, the State's entire case is based on Matt Anthony's alleged 'threat' to his wife, his saying, 'I'll kill you.' But there really wasn't any such threat. If you recall the exact words he said, they were, 'If you ever say a single out-of-the-way word to Hank, I'll kill you.' Let us concentrate on that first word, IF. The fact is that Francine Anthony never saw Prof. Brown again, never had a chance to say a word to him! So no matter what interpretation one gives Matt Anthony's words, the fact remains there was no reason for him to carry out such a threat—and I do not consider it a threat. Two letters, i... f, wipe out the entire basis of the State's case!

“Let us forget interpretations and come down to the known facts of the case. You have heard the only—I repeat, the only witness to Francine Anthony's death, her husband, state under oath that in the boat they got into an argument about skin-diving, that in a moment of blind, insane rage, he struck her. The subject of their earlier argument, a friend of Matt Anthony's, had left the house, so that family spat was over, finished; probably forgotten. Matt Anthony was out to play a practical joke on his wife, yank at her fishing line. His oxygen tank failed and he surfaced, causing a new argument. If the tank hadn't failed Matt would have returned to shore and later Francine Anthony would have returned with stories about the one that got away. Obviously there wasn't, there couldn't have possibly been under those circumstances, any premeditation or intent.

“As to second degree murder, which—as his Honor will tell you, means killing with design to effect death but without premeditation, Matt Anthony didn't pick up a weapon that would have caused death. He didn't even pick up an oar and strike his wife while he was in a fit of blind rage. No, indeed, he hit her with his hand. Certainly the hand can not be considered as a 'design to effect death.' Actually, the cause of Mrs. Anthony's death was an accidental fall.

“Let us consider the testimony of Detective Kolcicki, a trained and veteran police officer. Certainly the possibility of first degree murder must have entered Detective Kolcicki's trained mind. Remember, he has stated that he had secured hundreds of confessions. Yet nowhere in the confession did you hear any mention of planning on Matt Anthony's part, any hint of intent or deliberation. Obviously, if Detective Kolcicki had the slightest suspicion of murder, he would not have accepted the confession, hammered away until he secured one of murder. But to Detective Kolcicki's trained mind, the confession sounded truthful. Premeditation and intent must not only be proven, but proven beyond any reasonable doubt!” Jackson's voice hit me with force, it must have stunned the jury. Even Matt looked up from his writing. Clair thundered, “Where has a single iota of such proof been offered during this trial? When? The answer is simple: there has been none!

“Mr. Wagner read some lively sentences from Mr. Anthony's works. We each have our own tastes in literature. Frankly, I don't understand his purpose in reading excerpts from these books to the court. Although I must admit Mr. Wagner reads well, and that's about all he proved. As Mr. Anthony said, he wrote detective books only because they made more money than any other kind of book. I take it Mr. Wagner would have you believe that a man writing about crime must have a practical knowledge of crime. This is nonsense. How many writers of westerns can win a rodeo, as their fictional heroes do? In fact how many writers of cowboy stories have ever ridden anything but a library chair as they did their research? Millions upon millions of Americans read Matt Anthony's books for relaxation and enjoyment. Nobody forces them to, they do it out of free choice. Mr. Wagner would have us believe that America reflects Matt Anthony's books. In reality, it's the other way around, his books merely reflect America. We are a rather violent nation, quick to fight and anger. This is the reason we make such good soldiers in time of war, that our athletes are among the world's best.”

Jackson hesitated, as if about to add something and changing his mind abruptly. He hooked his thumbs in his belt, doing it in slow motion, collecting his thoughts. I had the feeling either he had been about to say violence had won the West, but that would bring him in: the Indian bit. Or was he about to give them the old chestnut about the Bible being full of sex and violence, and afraid it might offend a juror?

Matt was resting his chin on his left hand, looking like those horrible author-portraits on old fashioned jackets. Kolcicki was chewing away—undoubtedly Jackson had joined his personal list of “bastards.” Or did any defense lawyer automatically get that title?

Is a normal voice Jackson said, “Now let us open the Pandora's Box that was the private life of Mr. and Mrs. Matt Anthony. They had a sophisticated life, different from ours. For example, few of us have either the time or imagination to play a joke on our wife by swimming underwater and pulling at her fishing line. Nor do we wake up one morning and suddenly decide to go to Europe. They were happy—at least Matt Anthony was. He has not only testified to that, but you hare seen photos of Francine Anthony. She was neither a young woman when she married Matt Anthony, nor a beautiful woman. Since...”

Matt sat up, a scowl on his face. I expected him to jump up and say he didn't want his wife talked about. He began writing.

“... they had both been divorced before, there weren't any religious or ethical grounds on which they were against divorce. Therefore, if they hadn't been happy they would have separated years ago. What sort of a woman was Francine Anthony? The State's witnesses, the Hunters, Miss Fitzgerald, have given us a clear picture—she was a carping woman, constantly nagging her husband. Unfortunately that is not an uncommon practice, at one time or another we have all been nagged by our wives or husbands. But as I have proved, writing is a special kind of occupation. You and I, if we have a little family quarrel at night, or during breakfast, we go to our offices, our jobs, and there is a cooling off period for eight or more hours. But suppose your wife followed you to your job, kept nagging you there? It's a strange picture but the picture you must see: you're a grocery clerk and your wife enters the store a few minutes after you start work and keeps carping about some petty family matter all day long. Obviously you would be unable to work. You would either have to get her out of the store or lose your job. Probably if she did that, you would have her sent to a mental institution for observation.

“A strange picture? But an everyday one in the Anthony home! For Matt Anthony's office, his store, was his home. You have heard him testify he thought about his work, his creative work, all day long. And all day long Francine Anthony nagged about his friends, his swimming, an aqua-lung. Obviously this put Matt Anthony under a terrible strain, and not merely for a day, but from the evidence of the State's witnesses, and from Mr. Anthony, this went on constantly. Why did she do this? Was Matt Anthony a bad husband, stingy and unkind, narrow and demanding? Or didn't Francine Anthony understand the nature of his work, his urgent need for inner peace?

“Let us look at the facts. Francine Anthony has previously been married to a writer—a not successful one. At the time she married Matt Anthony he was already an established and well-known author. In other words—she knew from her own experience exactly what it meant to be a writer's wife. Also, if she had read the papers and magazines she certainly knew of Matt's dynamic way of living—a way of living which several famous writers have said is of vital importance to spur the brain juices from which a writer's creative skill flows. In short, Mrs. Anthony was not a sheltered school girl suddenly thrown into a life too exciting and different for her. On the contrary, she was a mature woman well acquainted with writers and their working methods.

“Then perhaps she was doing this out of spite because she thought her husband was mean, a man squeezing every cent? Let us again consider the facts. Before she married Matt Anthony, Francine was supporting herself and her husband by working as a cashier. What could she have been earning then, certainly not much more than $50 a week. Her husband was a failure, their marriage was one of these on and off affairs— is this not a picture of a lonely, bitter and frustrated woman?

“Matt Anthony comes into her life. They fall in love. He pays for her divorce, they marry. Practically overnight this woman—neither pretty or young—is suddenly raised from a dreary life of frustration to a dream of luxury. She traveled about the country, in Europe, the West Indies. She had a fabulous house not far from here, boats, a maid, charge accounts and good clothes, mink coats. Through her husband she met famous people, had expensive fishing and golf equipment, hundreds of dollars a week, for household expenses— she was Mrs. Matt Anthony. You heard Miss Fitzgerald, the maid, testify that at no time did Francine Anthony do a bit of work around the house, not even the shopping. She didn't have to, she was the wife of a successful man. She and Mr. Anthony lived big. True, Mr. Anthony was not a millionaire, nor was his income in the upper brackets, but the Anthonys lived better than most millionaires do! From the testimony it is obvious Francine Anthony also enjoyed this luxury living. Sometimes, we have been told, she complained that Matt was spending too much money—but wasn't that sheer hypocrisy when she spent thousands of dollars on her fishing equipment? I have yet to hear of a $350 set of golf clubs or a $650 fishing reel being considered a family necessity! And if they were spending too much money—mind you, I said they, for they spent it together—what perverse mental quirk made Francine Anthony literally bite the hand that fed her so well? For every cent of their income came from Matt Anthony's brains, from his wits and creative imagination—and these she tried to strangle with her nagging. Was she jealous of his success? Did this neurotic woman envy her husband's ability? Indeed, our Pandora's Box reveals an odd and twisted relationship, twisted by a woman so used to failure she couldn't stand success, thus had to destroy it!” Jackson hung out his hands in appeal. Then he held on to the jury box rail, his rugged face full of tragic sadness: the silence in the courtroom was absolute.

Suddenly he slapped the rail, a hard slapping sound, as he boomed, “What other fact can explain this except that some part of Francine Anthony's mind had cracked? Was Matt Anthony doing anything that would upset his wife? Was he running with other women? Was he drinking to excess? Was he lazy? Did he deny her anything? Did he beat her? No! You have heard the testimony of the Hunters, long-time friends of the Anthonys—they said nothing about women or his being a drunkard. Then, coming to the fateful day of July 25th, let us see why she was nagging her husband on that day. She was annoyed because Matt had brought an old friend to the Anthony home! A friend Matt had not seen in many years, a buddy in trouble, and because Matt Anthony asked this man into his own home for a drink, showed him ordinary hospitality, Francine Anthony threatened to make a scene! In the name of common sense, I ask you, ladies and gentlemen, was Francine Anthony a rational woman? A wife isn't expected to like all of her husband's friends, but she most certainly is expected to have sufficient manners not to insult them! Certainly a man has the right to choose his friends—but not Matt Anthony, his wife set herself up as the supreme judge of who should be Mart's friends and who should not! Mind you, all this despite the fact she had never met the friend in question before, that Matt Anthony's friendship with this man dated back to Mart's days as a college instructor—long before he ever knew of Francine. She didn't even have the decency to upbraid her husband in private but nagged him openly—before their houseguests. If your husband or wife tried to make a fool of you before friends, wouldn't that put your nerves on edge? Was this the act of a loving and considerate wife? Indeed not, it was the work of a shrew, a woman perhaps mentally upset by a change of life process, a mental midget who tried to henpeck a giant of a man—her loving and tolerant husband!”