“Mr. Carl?” asked the judge.
“Mr. Prescott represents Councilman Moore,” I said. “I don’t understand how he can presume to speak for my client.”
“Generally, Mr. Prescott,” said the judge, “I assume a lawyer’s strategy is in conformity with his client’s wishes. Is there any reason why I shouldn’t assume that here?”
“Yes, sir. I can guarantee that this is not the case here. Absolutely, and Mr. Carl’s disregard of his client’s wishes is going to be prejudicial to my client as well as to his own. I believe you should bring up Mr. Concannon and ask him.”
“That’s improper,” I said with as much indignation as I could raise.
“How good is your authority as to Mr. Concannon’s wishes, counselor?”
“Ironclad, Judge,” said Prescott. “He confirmed his desires to Councilman Moore just last night.”
“Last night?” asked the judge.
“Yes, sir, which means Mr. Carl is acting without authority.”
“That’s a pretty grave accusation, Mr. Prescott,” said the judge.
“Yes, sir.”
“If you’re right, I’ll have to notify the bar association as to Mr. Carl’s conduct. If you’re wrong, that makes this objection an improper tactic and I’ll have to notify the bar association as to your conduct. Now do you want to pursue this further?”
“Yes, sir,” said Prescott, and he slipped a little smile at me.
“Mr. Concannon,” said the judge to the defense table. “Will you step up here, please?”
Concannon stood up from the defense table and walked toward us. At the same time, Prescott motioned for Jimmy Moore to come up too, so the two men walked side by side to our little klatch. Chester was walking with his head high, his shoulders straight, seeming not to notice the way Jimmy was staring at him.
“Mr. Concannon,” said the judge when the two men had arrived. “The question has been raised as to whether or not you have agreed to your lawyer’s questioning of this witness and generally participating in this trial on a more than pro forma basis. Without getting into any conversation between your lawyer and yourself, I am going to ask you a question and I would like only a yes or no answer. Now, Mr. Concannon, yes or no, do you consent to your lawyer’s questioning of this witness?”
All eyes were on Chester, Jimmy especially was staring hard, leaning forward, his jaw thrust out, his head shaking back and forth just slightly, but enough to let Chester know exactly what he wanted to hear.
“Victor has my complete confidence,” said Chester in a clear voice. “He has my consent to ask any question he seeks fit to ask.”
Prescott twitched when Concannon gave his answer. It was only a slight twitch, a sudden contraction of the corner of his mouth, nothing more than that, but there it was. It brought a joy to my heart that is indescribable. A mechaieh, Morris would have called it.
“Fine,” said the judge. “Mr. Prescott, I will be sending a report to the bar association immediately after today’s session. Mr. Carl, you may continue.”
“You’re betraying me,” Jimmy growled at Chester.
“Quiet,” said the judge.
“After all I’ve done for you,” shouted Jimmy for all to hear, including the jury. “You were in the gutter when I found you.”
“Mr. Prescott,” said the judge. “Restrain your client or I’ll hold him in contempt.”
Prescott grabbed hold of Jimmy’s arm, but Jimmy was already in Chester’s face, their noses not five inches apart. “You’re stabbing me in the back, you ungrateful bastard,” said Jimmy Moore.
“Go to hell, Councilman,” said Chester. “And maybe we’ll room together there.”
I understood exactly where Concannon’s anger was coming from. Before dawn I had been at his apartment, delivering for his perusal A Statistical Analysis by Demographic Sector of Community Views on Certain Specific Arguments to Be Presented in the Case of the United States v. Moore and Concannon. The report was written in an obscure technojargon that could only have been invented by a group of Ph.D.s trying to give their bullshit profession the appearance of validity, but even all that jargon couldn’t obscure that Pierpont’s report was a blueprint for screwing Chester Concannon to the wall.
“It’s all there, Chet,” I had said, pacing back and forth as I spoke. “What jurors to pick, what voir dire to ask, how to present evidence, how to argue, it’s all there. The report gives a scientifically designed method for convincing the jury that Jimmy Moore was betrayed by a greedy subordinate who was interested only in taking as much as he could grab hold of, the politics be damned. He’s going to climb out of this mess on your back, Chet, leaving you struggling for breath in the deep shit. He is letting you take his fall.”
“He’s not going to do that to me,” he said wearily.
“Yes, he is. He’s been doing it all along. He told me so himself. And Chester?”
He looked up at me.
“You know it. You’ve known it from the first.”
Chester didn’t give me an answer right then. He needed to think about it, he said. He was in a silk robe. From the bedroom a sweet, drowsy voice had asked, “Is everything all right, baby?” But everything wasn’t all right. I hadn’t even asked him his decision before I stood to examine the preacher, but I didn’t doubt what he would do. Chet’s greatest trait was his loyalty, and the one thing loyalty can never abide is betrayal.
“That’s enough from both of you,” said the judge, with steel in his grating voice. “Another word and you’ll both be in contempt. You may continue, Mr. Carl. And Mr. Carl.”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“It’s good to see you back from the dead.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said.
When the warring parties had been seated and I was back at the podium, I stood very straight and stared directly into the witness’s eyes until he squirmed just a bit. Then I started.
“Now, Reverend, you testified that you believe Councilman Moore to be a righteous man, an adherent to the laws of God and man both.”
“That’s right, sir,” he answered.
“Now tell me, Reverend, you’ve met the councilman’s wife.”
“Yes, sir. Leslie Moore is a lovely woman.”
“What about his mistress, Reverend, have you met his mistress?”
Prescott leaped to his feet and bellowed his objection.
Judge Gimbel waved us to the bench, leaned forward, and said in a low rasping voice, “Explain yourself, Mr. Carl.”
“Last I heard, Your Honor,” I said calmly, “adultery was a violation of both God’s law and the penal code. Now the reverend has testified as to his opinion of the councilman’s law-abiding character as well as his adherence to God’s law. I am now entitled to ask questions about that opinion, as well as to inquire on specific instances of the councilman’s conduct. Rule 405(a) of the Federal Rules of Evidence allows this precise question.”
“Rule 405(a)?” asked Judge Gimbel. He snapped at his clerk and a leatherbound volume was immediately brought to him. He licked his thumb and paged through the book. “Rule 405(a), Rule 405(a). Here it is, Rule 405(a). Hmmmmm.” He slammed the book shut. “Yes, all right, I’ll allow it. Objection overruled.”
“But Your Honor,” protested Prescott. “This is far beyond anything relevant to the crime charged.”
“That’s enough, Mr. Prescott. You opened the door, so now don’t be surprised when Mr. Carl marches through it. Read your rules before you call your next witness.”
“But Judge…”
“It’s Rule… What rule is it, Mr. Carl?”
“Rule 405(a), Your Honor.”
“Precisely. Now go back to your seat and sit down, Mr. Prescott. You can ask your question, Mr. Carl.”
“Thank you, sir.”
I stepped back to the podium and stared sweetly at the jurors as I said, “Now, Reverend, I’ll repeat the question. Have you ever met Councilman Moore’s mistress?”