“No, thanks, but you go ahead.”
“Well,” Mooney said, “since you insist.”
He returned from the kitchen with a large glass filled with whiskey and water. Seating himself at the coffee table, he waved at the fly crawling around the pizza crumbs. “I can guess why you’re here, Harry, so maybe I can save us both some time. I was in court this afternoon, heard Slocum’s testimony. Nice little gavotte the pair of them danced, wasn’t it? Not subtle, but effective. So you’re back for some more help from the old lush, is that it?”
“That’s right, Jay.”
Mooney took a long pull from his drink without taking his eyes from Selby. The soft paunches under his eyes were the color of oysters. From the street sounded motorcycles and children shouting. After another long drink Mooney set the glass down. His eyes, glinting in deep rolls of fat, were not-friendly.
“You want a name now, is that it, Harry? You want to involve me up to my ass, right?”
“Just tell me where I can start checking,” Selby said. “I won’t mention you, Jay, that’s a promise.”
“You obviously feel I should help you because it’s the decent thing to do.” The whiskey had made Mooney’s speech deliberate. “Which means you don’t think my life is worth much of a shit one way or the other. Therefore, I’m pleased to tell you I don’t know one goddamn thing more than I’ve already told you. Earl Thomson got in some trouble with a girl when he was at school over in New Jersey. Some other students were mixed up in it. Captain Slocum rode like a knight errant to the rescue.”
With the flat of his hand, Mooney struck at the fly crawling around the pizza tray. The blow shook the table and shattered a few soggy crusts, but the fly flew off and alighted on the dark television screen.
“I’m not getting involved,” Mooney said, “and that’s final. In a few hours, kids outside will be playing transistors and there’ll be a dozen motorcycles racing up and down in front of my house. My agency in East Chester is being phased out of business by the home office in Dayton, Ohio. You won’t believe it, but I still want to go on living. If I talk to you, the odds on that could go way down. So do me a favor and get the hell out of here, Harry. You’ll get no more help here.”
“Okay, I’ll forget this conversation.” Selby stood and walked to the door. “And I’m trusting you’ll forget it, too, Jay.”
“You’re a damned fool,” Mooney said. “I could score points by picking up the phone and getting to the right people before you’re halfway down the steps.”
“Good night, Jay. If you were thinking about doing that, you wouldn’t have mentioned it.”
Selby left Mooney’s house and walked along the noisy street to his station wagon. Mooney stood in his open door and called after him, “Don’t do this, Harry. You know I’m no good. Don’t trust me, for Christ’s sake, you sonofabitch...”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Allan Davic began his deferred cross-examination of Harry Selby with the question: “Mr. Selby, do you fully understand the meaning of the oath you took yesterday morning?”
“Yes, I fully do.”
“You understand that you are still bound by that oath?”
“Yes.”
“Do you believe in God, Mr. Selby?”
“I believe in a prime mover, a superior being or consciousness.”
“That wasn’t my question. You did not swear to a being or consciousness. You swore to God. My question was and is: do you believe in God, Mr. Selby, the God you asked to help you give truthful and responsive answers to my questions?”
A large female juror was watching him with sudden fascination, and Selby was relieved when Brett stood and said, “Objection, Your Honor. As the court is, of course, aware, the use of the divine appellation in our procedures has been expanded — by the ruling of numerous higher courts — to embrace the beliefs that prevail in various faiths and religions. Muslims are permitted to seek help from Allah, American Indians from their tribal spirits and so forth.”
“... Sustained.”
Davic said, “May I comment on the court’s ruling?”
“You are noting an exception?”
“No, Your Honor, but I’d like to expand my remark.”
“Very well. You may make your statement on the ruling.”
“I did not mean or intend to be combative on a semantic issue,” Davic said to the jury. “But the fact of the matter is, the heart of my defense rests in truth. The truth of the plaintiffs charges, and the truth behind those charges. I don’t believe my question was irrelevant. I wanted to establish that God is the author of all truth and to find out if the witness and I are in agreement on that fundamental fact.”
“I object, Your Honor. You have ruled on this question.”
“Yes, I did, Miss Brett. Now I’m as religious as the next man, which isn’t saying too much, perhaps. I once asked a witness if he knew who God was. He was either ignorant or very smart, depending on one’s viewpoint. Because his reply was: ‘God? Is his last name damn, your honor?’ ”
Judge Flood tapped his gavel; the murmur of laughter faded away. “So let’s presume,” he went on then, “that none of us is either too dumb or too smart to know what’s meant when we refer to God, or a Supreme Being, or whatever force it is that directs human affairs. Please continue, Mr. Davic.”
Davic, Selby thought, was obviously glad to. He had made his point with the jury, which was what counted. And the judge had given an impression of fairly witty impartiality. These people weren’t just venal... they were also clever...
“Thank you, Your Honor. Now, Mr. Selby, in reference to the story you told the court yesterday about how you discovered where your daughter had been taken that night and so forth. Did your daughter accompany you on those excursions about the countryside?”
“No, she didn’t.”
“I find that strange. Since you were following her clues — those bread crumbs she dropped along the way — didn’t you ask her to help you find those various landmarks? The school, the covered bridge and so forth?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Did you ask her for any help at all?”
Selby hesitated. “I asked her what she meant by some things she said under sedation—”
“Ah, the bread crumbs she dropped in the forest—”
“Objection.”
“Sustained. Never mind the colorful asides, Mr. Davic.”
“I beg the court’s pardon. Mr. Selby, did your daughter explain to you what she meant by her reference to ‘tunnels’ and ‘screaming birds’ and ‘hornets’ and the like?”
“Some of those references,” Selby said, “were unconsciously self-protective. She’d been through hell. Who wants to face that without some protection. The unconscious helps. She didn’t tell me what they meant, because she couldn’t.”
“But you had no trouble following those unconscious, self-protective clues straight to the mark, right, Mr. Selby? Didn’t they lead you directly, even miraculously, straight to Vinegar Hill?”
“Objection, Your Honor, to counsel’s sarcasm.”
“Sarcasm, Miss Brett, is in the ear of the listener. Overruled.”
“The question then,” Davic continued, “is this, Mr. Selby. While those sedated mutterings meant nothing to your daughter, you were able to follow them like a compass directly to Vinegar Hill. Isn’t that correct?”
“I used a good deal of trial and error.”
“Please answer the question. Did you not follow that abracadabra straight to the house where your daughter was allegedly raped?”
“Yes, but only after—”
“Good. We’ve got that much cleared up.”
“Objection, Your Honor.”