Groups comprising the last three of this necessary quartet crowded the well of the court and moved before the bench as their case numbers were called off by the court officer. The well was in constant motion, a clumsy dance, which for music had a low tumult of many voices, with the time beaten out by the crack of the gavel. No case was distinguished from any other case-all received nearly the same time and attention-a few minutes, no more-from the harried gray-haired woman on the presidium.
Until the officer called out a number and then “People versus Jonathan A. Rohbling”; then there was a stir and a passing hush. Everyone knew who Rohbling was: the Granny Killer, and everyone, even the junkies, who ordinarily had no interest in anything whatever except their One True Love, paused a moment to cop a glance.
Karp was just as fascinated. He had never seen Rohbling in the flesh, and had been observing him closely from the moment he had been led into the room. The man was small and remarkably slight. Karp knew he was nearly twenty-two, but he could have passed for fourteen, for he was not five foot seven and weighed perhaps a hundred and thirty pounds, dripping. Waley, who stood by his side, was by no means a physically imposing man, but he towered over his client; as a couple they looked like a dad taking his unpromising son to his first day of high school. Rohbling’s dull brown hair was cut very short (he had apparently worn a wig imitating short Negroid hair while committing his crimes), and he stared blankly out at the confusion through thick, smudged glasses. His eyes were greenish brown, unfocused and wandering. He had a peculiar mouth, whose thick, soft lips were the first things any schoolyard bully would have seized upon; “girl’s lips” the bully would have called them. They had a dried whitish crust on them.
Karp tried to imagine this person wandering Harlem in blackface. More to the point, he tried to imagine the jury imagining it. It was plausible, yes. With dyed skin and the wig, Rohbling would have been able to pass as a frail, scholarly African-American youth. Did he look crazy? No, he was completely passive, and Karp supposed he had been sedated in Bellevue. Was that an error on Waley’s part? An agitated client would have looked better, assuming Waley was going to go with the insanity plea. But Waley was a civilized man. He would not have subjected his client to distress if the man was really insane, if Waley really believed he was insane. But maybe not, maybe Waley wanted Karp to think that Waley really thought … Here Karp put a check on his line of thought. The man had gotten to him, and he was starting to do what he had lectured scores of young prosecutors not to do, which was to get caught up in strategy. Just present the facts of your case as well as you can and let the defense worry about strategy, about motives, about psychology; he had said that a thousand times.
They read out the charges, and the judge asked for Rohbling’s plea. Rohbling said he was not guilty. That was a mild surprise; Waley had decided to wait on the insanity plea. There was nothing unusual about Rohbling’s voice, and he seemed to understand what was going on around him. The judge sent the case for trial in Part 46, Supreme Court of the State of New York. The choice was at random, based on the current state of the various trial part calendars. Karp thought for a second, connecting part numbers and faces and names. Judge Marvin Peoples would be trial judge in People v. Rohbling. That would be interesting. Karp glanced over at Waley to get his reaction to the designation of their judge, but could detect nothing but a slight pursing of the lips.
Waley approached a step closer to the bench and said, “Your Honor, on the matter of the disposition of my client’s pending trial. My client stands in need of psychiatric care not available in the prison ward at Bellevue. The North Shore Psychiatric Institute at Cold Spring Harbor would be able to provide such treatment and is a secure facility. My client comes from a distinguished family with strong community ties, who would be willing to offer any reasonable bail.”
The judge looked at Karp. “Do the People have an objection?”
“Yes, Your Honor. The defendant is accused of multiple murders. There is no precedent for bail in such cases. And I believe that there are still a number of psychiatrists working at Bellevue who would be amazed to hear that they are incompetent to provide any treatment the defendant requires.”
The court smiled thinly and said, “A good point, Mr. Karp. The prisoner is remanded to custody at Bellevue until trial.”
The guard led Rohbling away. The court officer called the next case number, and the calendar court resumed its grinding.
Karp walked up the aisle with Waley close behind him.
“That was uncharitable and unnecessary, Mr. Karp,” said Waley in a low voice.
Karp stopped and turned to face the lawyer. “Your boy gets treated like everyone else, Mr. Waley.”
“Does he? Do you think the fact that our judge appears to be a black woman of grandmotherly age figured at all in her decision?”
“Why don’t you ask her?” said Karp.
Waley said coldly, “How amusing. I only hope you have not precipitated a disaster.” Then he brushed by Karp and left the courtroom.
Marlene spent an hour at Juilliard with Wolfe and the Lincoln Center security man, a grizzled ex-cop named McPhail, who thought they were making a big deal out of nothing, but who was willing to cooperate nevertheless to accommodate a star. He sounded like he’d done it before. She left Wolfe there to work out details and drove downtown to her loft.
There she was glad to find everything in cozy order, although the vast room smelled alarmingly of jasmine incense. She hoped Posie wasn’t using it to cover the scent of marijuana, but she also knew that she probably would have done nothing more than rant had Posie come to the door with a bong stuck in her smile. The woman was just too valuable to dismiss.
They were in the living room, watching Sesame Street. Marlene plopped on the couch, kicked off her boots, and jiggled both her babies, who suffered the caresses of the near stranger with benign indifference. They were warm and dry and sweet-smelling, and if Marlene felt a sudden wrenching sense of loss, the twins clearly did not. She returned them to Posie, who was staring loose-jawed at the screen, seemingly astounded by what could be done with the letter M.
“How was school, Luce?” she asked her eldest, who was stretched belly down on the rug.
“Okay. I got an A on the math test.”
Marlene raised her eyes to heaven and said dramatically, “Thank you, Jesus and St. Jude!”
Lucy laughed. “Tranh showed me some stuff when I was there the other day, and it just sort of clicked. Maybe it’s easier in Cantonese. He’s a good teacher.”
Meaning I could use some work in that department, thank you so very much, my darling, thought Marlene. Then, starting to feel a hair de trop at her own hearthside, and already knowing as much as she wanted to know about M., she stood up, kissed all around, gave orders for dinner preparation, and announced, “I think I’ll take the dog for a walk.”
At the magic W word, there was a clatter and scrabbling in the kitchen, and the mastiff was at her side, pressing its nose into her midriff and slobbering down the front of her slacks.
She did take the dog for a walk, and then she loaded it into the rear of the VW and drove through a thin rain and the rush-hour traffic to a construction site at Madison and Sixty-third. There she waited, leaning against the car and smoking, while quitting time came and the construction workers streamed out of the half-finished condo. She had to turn down a half dozen lewd offers before the man she wanted came through the plywood door.