Pat laughed. ”Insult to injury!”
“If I don’t do this job¯if I resign or step out¯someone else will. Someone who might be a lot less fair to Jim. If I prosecute, Pat, you can be sure Jim will get a square deal¯”
She ran out.
And there, on the side of the corridor opposite the Prosecutor’s door, waiting patiently, was Mr. Queen.
“Oh, Ellery!”
Ellery said gently: “Come home.”
Chapter 21
Vox Pops
“Ave, Caesar!” wrote Roberta Roberts at the head of her column under the dateline of March fifteenth.
He who is about to be tried for his life finds even the fates against him. Jim Haight’s trial begins on the Ides of March before Judge Lysander Newbold in Wright County Courthouse, Part II, Wrightsville, U.S.A. This is chance, or subtlety . . . Kid Vox is popping furiously, and it is the impression of cooler heads that the young man going on trial here for the murder of Rosemary Haight and the attempted murder of Nora Wright Haight is being prepared to make a Roman holiday.
And so it seemed.
From the beginning there was a muttering undertone that was chilling. Chief of Police Dakin expressed himself privately to the persistent press as “mighty relieved” that his prisoner didn’t have to be carted through the streets of Wrightsville to reach the place of his inquisition, since the County Jail and the County Courthouse were in the same building.
People were in such an ugly temper you would have imagined their hatred of the alleged poisoner to be inspired by the fiercest loyalty to the Wrights.
But this was odd, because they were equally ugly toward the Wrights. Dakin had to assign two county detectives to escort the family to and from the Courthouse. Even so, jeering boys threw stones, the tires of their cars were slashed mysteriously and the paint scratched with nasty words; seven unsigned letters of the “threat” variety were delivered by a nervous Postman Bailey in one day alone. Silent, John F. Wright turned them over to Dakin’s office; and Patrolman Brady himself caught the Old Soak, Anderson, standing precariously in the middle of the Wright lawn in bright daylight, declaiming not too aptly to the unresponding house Mark Antony’s speech from Act III, Scene I of Julius Caesar. Charlie Brady hauled Mr. Anderson to the town lockup hastily, while Mr. Anderson kept yelling: “O parm me thou blee’n’ piece of earth that I am meek an’ zhentle with theshe¯hup!¯bushers!”
Hermy and John F. began to look beaten. In court, the family sat together, in a sort of phalanx, with stiff necks if pale faces; only occasionally Hermy smiled rather pointedly in the direction of Jim Haight, and then turned to sniff and glare at the jammed courtroom and toss her head, as if to say: “Yes, we’re all in this together, you miserable rubbernecks!”
There had been a great deal of mumbling about the impropriety of Carter Bradford’s prosecuting the case. In an acid editorial Frank Lloyd put the Record on record as “disapproving.” True, unlike Judge Eli Martin, Bradford had arrived at the fatal New Year’s Eve party after the poisoning of Nora and Rosemary, so he was not involved either as participant or as witness. But Lloyd pointed out that “our young, talented, but sometimes emotional Prosecutor has long been friendly with the Wright family, especially one member of it; and although we understand this friendship has ceased as of the night of the crime, we still question the ability of Mr. Bradford to prosecute this case without bias. Something should be done about it.”
Interviewed on this point before the opening of the trial, Mr. Bradford snapped: “This isn’t Chicago or New York. We have a close-knit community here, where everybody knows everybody else. My conduct during the trial will answer the Record’s libelous insinuations. Jim Haight will get from Wright County a forthright, impartial prosecution based solely upon the evidence. That’s all, gentlemen!”
Judge Lysander Newbold was an elderly man, a bachelor, greatly respected throughout the state as a jurist and trout fisherman.
He was a square, squat, bony man who always sat on the Bench with his black-fringed skull sunk so deeply between his shoulders that it seemed an outgrowth of his chest.
His voice was dry and careless; he had the habit, when on the Bench, of playing absently with his gavel, as if it were a fishing rod; and he never laughed.
Judge Newbold had no friends, no associates, and no commitments except to God, country, Bench, and the trout season.
Everybody said with a sort of relieved piety that “Judge Newbold is just about the best judge this case could have.” Some even thought he was too good. But they were the ones who were muttering.
Roberta Roberts baptized these grumblers “the Jimhaighters.”
* * *
It took several days to select a jury, and during these days Mr. Ellery Queen kept watching only two persons in the courtroom¯Judge Eli Martin, defense counsel, and Carter Bradford, Prosecutor.
And it soon became evident that this would be a war between young courage and old experience. Bradford was working under a strain. He held himself in one piece, like a casting; there was a dogged something about him that met the eye with defiance and yet a sort of shame. Ellery saw early that he was competent. He knew his townspeople, too. But he was speaking too quietly, and occasionally his voice cracked.
Judge Martin was superb. He did not make the mistake of patronizing young Bradford, even subtly; that would have swung the people over to the prosecution. Instead, he was most respectful of Bradford’s comments. Once, returning to their places from a low-voiced colloquy before Judge Newbold, the old man was seen to put his hand affectionately on Carter’s shoulder for just an instant. The gesture said: You’re a good boy; we like each other; we are both interested in the same thing¯justice; and we are equally matched. This is all very sad, but necessary. The People are in good hands.
The People rather liked it. There were whispers of approval. And some were heard to say: After all, old Eli Martin¯he did quit his job on the Bench to defend Haight. Can’t get around that! Must be pretty convinced Haight’s innocent . . . And others replied: Go on. The Judge is John F. Wright’s best friend, that’s why . . . Well, I don’t know . . .
The whole thing was calculated to create an atmosphere of dignity and thoughtfulness, in which the raw emotions of the mob could only gasp for breath and gradually expire.
Mr. Ellery Queen approved.
Mr. Queen approved even more when he finally examined the twelve good men and true. Judge Martin had made the selections as deftly and surely as if there were no Bradford to cope with at all. Solid, sober male citizens, as far as Ellery could determine. None calculated to respond to prejudicial appeals, with one possible exception, a fat man who kept sweating; most seemed anxiously thoughtful men, with higher-than-average intelligence. Men of the decent world, who might be expected to understand that a man can be weak without being criminal.
* * *
For students of the particular, the complete court record of People vs. James Haight is on file in Wright County¯day after day after day of question and answer and objection and Judge Newbold’s precise rulings. For that matter, the newspapers were almost as exhaustive as the court stenographer’s notes.
The difficulty with detailed records, however, is that you cannot see the tree for the leaves.
So let us stand off and make the leaves blur and blend into larger shapes. Let us look at contours, not textures.