Brice Mack had remained standing throughout Velie’s proposal, his face a mime show of shock and incredulity. His voice, after he had struggled to find it, was held to the level of a stunned whisper.
“Your Honor, this is unbelievable.”
“Is defense objecting?” Langley inquired.
“Yes. Defense objects most emphatically on the basis that such a test could not possibly be conclusive. There is no way such a test could be conducted with any guarantee of accuracy.” A helpless note of amusement entered his voice. “Look, Your Honor, if the hypnotist is unable to bring Ivy back beyond her birth, that won’t prove that reincarnation doesn’t exist. All it would prove is that he’s not a very successful hypnotist.”
Velie smiled derisively.
“It was not the prosecution who introduced Dr. Perez as a qualified and trustworthy expert in his field, but the defense. And now the defense is seeking to impugn the professional credibility of his own witness.”
Judge Langley swiveled about to consider the position, but in truth, his decision had been reached the moment Scott Velie propounded the motion. Moving the entire court into a hospital theater with all those juicy little dramatic touches—the one-way glass, hypnotizing a child, the search for a former lifetime conducted under the hard, uncompromising scrutiny of both science and the law—offered just the right dash of spice to round out his coming lecture tour, even though, as the defense rightly contended, such a test could not possibly provide evidence of a conclusive or substantive nature.
The softening, almost sensual drifting of the eyes and the slack, succumbing expression on the judge’s face, an expression whose meaning both attorneys had come to know, communicated itself to them simultaneously and brought an immediate roaring objection from Brice Mack.
“I reiterate my objection most strongly, Your Honor! This test is not only highly irregular, but—”
“I do not object, Your Honor,” shouted Hoover, over-powering his attorney’s objection and springing lightly to his feet, which quickly brought the guards to their feet. “I want it done and give my permission!”
The suddenness of Hoover’s countermanding statement brought several reporters to their feet and a heightened atmosphere to the courtroom.
Brice Mack glanced grimly at his client.
“I will not withdraw my objection, Your Honor,” he said coldly and defiantly.
“And I insist on the experiment,” said Hoover tightly.
Chairs squealed as spectators in the rear stood up to gain a clearer, less encumbered view of the action.
“Sit down, Mr. Hoover,” ordered Judge Langley wearily. “You have a lawyer representing you, and you’re not permitted to speak.”
Anger flooded Hoover’s sallow cheeks.
“Then I discharge my lawyer, Your Honor.”
Brice Mack went while. “May I have a few minutes, Your Honor?” he said.
“Granted,” said Judge Langley.
Startled into wariness, the attorney approached his distraught client and began a low-voiced conversation at the defense table. The court waited patiently as the two men engaged in vigorous discussion with much hand waving and head shaking. Finally, Brice Mack stood up and faced the bench, striving to maintain an air of command over a bad situation.
“I withdraw my objection, Your Honor,” he said firmly. “My client is most anxious that this test be conducted, as he feels he will be vindicated by it.”
Sunk down on his spine, Bill Templeton stared fixedly and with enjoyment at the ignominy of Brice Mack’s disgrace. It was a comeuppance the young cock richly rated.
“I see no reason why this court should not permit this test,” said the judge with unusual mildness. “After all, this is a case of truly unique dimensions and, as Mr. Velie so rightly pointed out, of international concern. Since I have permitted the defendant a wide latitude in presenting his defense, I do not feel that I can now place arbitrary restrictions on the prosecution’s right to seek its own path to the truth. However, I do demand that there be some specifications of how the test will be conducted and what safeguards can be provided to insure that it’s being conducted properly, that it’s doing a fair and unbiased job of seeking a true result, and that the person or persons conducting the test are highly qualified to do so.”
Judge Langley addressed his next remarks to the district attorney.
“In the light of the defense’s objection, Mr. Velie, I have decided that in addition to Dr. Perez, two other psychiatrists be selected to participate in the test, both of whom have used hypnosis in the treatment of their patients. The court will name the two experts and will seek to retain the most highly qualified people it can find.”
The courtroom remained tensely quiet as Judge Langley made a notation on his pad, then looked blandly up at the sea of expectant faces, and said, “If there are no further questions, we will recess the case till Monday morning, which should give the court enough time to arrange for the additional psychiatrists and the procedures for testing. The defendant is remanded to custody.”
Janice heard about it over the bedroom radio.
The noon news report confirmed her defeat.
Not only was the court willing to permit the barbarity to take place, but according to the newscaster, Elliot Hoover had unqualifiedly endorsed the test.
Janice stood stunned in the middle of the bedroom, listening to the high-pitched, eager voice punch across the grisly details.
It would take place on Monday morning. At the hospital in Darien. The entire court would be transported there. Jury, judge, lawyers, and defendant would observe from a hidden room. Three psychiatrists would preside. The public would be excluded. A special room with closed circuit TV would accommodate the press.
Janice turned off the radio, hurried to the telephone, and dialed information. Bill might still be at the court building. And if not Bill, Scott Velie or Judge Langley. She had to reach one of them, had to stop this test from happening. She would deny her consent. After all, she was Ivy’s mother—she had some rights.…
Paged, Bill Templeton did not respond. Scott Velie had just left, would be out of town for the weekend, someone thought. Judge Langley might still be in his chamber, however, hold on, please—
The voice that returned was masculine, elderly, but not Langley’s.
“Who is calling?” it asked.
“This is Janice Templeton.”
“Oh, Mrs. Templeton, this is John Cartright, the court bailiff.”