Born and bred in a tradition of reality in a tough Bronx ghetto, harsh and uncompromising, put through school by the sweat and toil of a working mother, gaining his Ivy League degree via the indignity of a change of name (their quota on Jews, he had heard recently, had gone up one-half percent in the last five years), Brice Mack, né Bruce Marmorstein, knew the difference between what is and what ain’t. Or, as Walt Whitman more fancily put it, “He could resist the temptation to see what a thing ought to be rather than what it is.”
And he also knew a meshuganeh when he saw one.
“Yes, Your Honor.” Brice Mack rose and addressed the bench. “We are ready to proceed with our opening remarks.”
Janice sensed a palpable stiffening in Bill, a girding of inner resources for the blow about to come, as Brice Mack slowly pressed forward toward the jury box, smiling easily, his hand extended confidently.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” he began in a somewhat stilted and formal manner, “what I am about to tell you will take some time and will require your absolute attention, for what you are about to hear is unique in the annals of Anglo-Saxon jurisprudence. By the time this trial is over and this honorable court is adjourned; by the time the final words of the prosecution and the defense have been uttered and written into the court record; by the time you have returned to your seats in the jury box with a verdict which I am sure will be fair, just, and well considered; by that time, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you and this court and the world at large will know that what took place in this courtroom—Part Seven of the Criminal Courts Building—will forever be memorialized in the history books and records that assiduously follow the progress of mankind’s most important steps on earth.” He stopped, carefully sustaining a dramatic pause before continuing. “What you will hear may shock you. May elicit an initial response of disbelief. May even bring smiles of derision to your faces. But I promise you, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, that before this trial is over, your shock will be replaced by understanding, your disbelief by total acceptance, and your derisive smiles will become smiles of pure joy and hope, for not only will the many proofs and testimonies we have amassed convince you to liberate a human being and free him from the fearsome punishment of imprisonment, these very same proofs and testimonies will serve to liberate each and every one of you sitting before me from the most fearsome and dreaded punishment known to man, the legacy we all inherit at birth and which hovers, shroudlike, above us through every day and night of our lives: the sure and certain knowledge of our own impermanence and our own personal oblivion.”
Brice Mack paused here to let the weight of his message sink in before continuing.
“Before going on, however, if you will bear with me in a small digression, I should like to tell you, since Mr. Velie failed to do so, just what precisely the law in this state regards as first degree kidnapping.…”
Scott Velie had come to his feet halfway through Brice Mack’s statement and was waiting patiently with arms folded for the proper moment to object, which was now.
“Objection, Your Honor! Defense counsel knows that only the bench has the authority to instruct the jury on the law and that it is improper for either counsel to assume such an authority; besides which, this is not a proper statement to be made in an opening address anyway.…”
“Your Honor,” Brice Mack retaliated with equal force, “the defense contends that the charge of first degree kidnapping is inept, inappropriate, and improper as it applies to the defendant; that, if any charge had pertinence in this case, and the defense is confident of its ability to disprove even that, it would be the lesser charge of custodial interference in the second degree.…”
It was coming. Janice’s hand groped for Bill’s, found it tense and clammy. The woman reporter seemed suddenly revitalized, her attention riveted on the dueling lawyers. Even Judge Langley was leaning forward in an attitude of renewed interest.
“Custodial interference, Mr. Mack,” the judge instructed, “as I’m sure you know, implies the existence of a direct blood relationship between the litigants in an action. Can you offer such proofs?”
“Yes, Your Honor. Through the development of testimony based on the knowledge and experience of expert and learned witnesses, the defense will clearly demonstrate that the most conclusive and strongest possible familial relationship does indeed exist between the defendant, Elliot Hoover, and the child known as Ivy Templeton—”
“Objection, Your Honor,” Velie cut in. “This is totally improper in an opening address. Again, defense counsel is attempting to discuss the law; if he felt the charges were inappropriate, there were motions he could have made before the trial commenced to have the charges dismissed. Further, the state can offer substantial proofs and documents to refute any earthly claim of a direct blood relationship between the victim and her abductor.”
“Well,” said Judge Langley somewhat dryly, “it would seem that both of you are aware of a good deal more than I.”
“Your Honor!” Both lawyers spoke at once, but Velie’s booming voice overpowered and outdistanced his opponent’s.
“Your Honor, lest this hearing become polluted with wild and unfounded assertions, may I beg the court’s indulgence for a conference in chambers out of earshot of the jury?”
Judge Langley, his curiosity piqued, was quick to agree. “Very well, court will stand in recess. Jury will be ushered back to the jury room until summoned.”
Janice heard a sibilant sigh slowly escape from Bill as the pent-up tension within him was gradually released. He turned to Janice and smiled nervously.
“Velie’s round, I’d say,” he murmured.
Janice smiled back encouragingly. His hand clasped hers tightly, as would a child’s about to enter a haunted house.
“Why wasn’t I advised of this earlier?” Judge Langley said, his irritation showing. “Not a word about reincarnation in our pretrial conference. Why wasn’t this matter brought to my attention?”
“The only matters that are important in this case, Your Honor, are the hard, earthbound facts,” Velie said in a sulky, aggrieved tone of voice. “It doesn’t matter whether Hoover believes in reincarnation or believes that the moon is made of green cheese. The fact is he committed a crime by taking someone else’s legitimate offspring, removed her from her home, secreted her in his own home, and then interfered with the performance of a government function. No matter what his reasons were for doing this act, he is liable to arrest and prosecution under the law.”
Judge Langley fixed a cold stare on Brice Mack.
“All right, Mr. Mack, let’s have it.”
“Very simply, Your Honor,” Brice Mack said, holding his voice to a discreet and reverent level, “we believe that the question of reincarnation is relevant and material to this case.”
“On what grounds?”
“On the grounds that it provides the defendant with a perfectly valid defense.”
Langley’s voice fell like a hammerblow. “You mean, just because your client happens to believe this poppycock, you are prepared to turn my courtroom into a three-ring circus?”
“Your Honor,” Brice Mack quickly interjected, “please, sir, it is certainly not our intention to in any way compromise the dignity of your court. However, my client stands accused of one of the gravest charges on the books, and I’m sure you will allow that he does have the constitutional right to defend himself against such a charge.”