Wednesday
8
It was a cast-iron day, bitter and brooding, with fierce winds lashing the streets, and dark clouds menacing the city. Sometime during the night the temperature had plummeted to six above zero, and the freshly fallen snow had hardened to form a thick, impenetrable crust. By morning, the situation had scarcely improved, the temperature hovering in the teens, the wind keening over ice-covered streets, solemn clouds above threatening further snow.
The courtroom was sunless and dim. Gusts of wind shuddered along the length of each long high window, rattling the panes. A cold hard light streamed through the windows, draining the wood-paneled walls of their luster, tinting the room and its occupants a solemn gray. Even Chester Danton, pink-faced and pink-pated, seemed to lose some of his high flushed color as his name was called and he walked from the jury box to the witness chair. Jonah watched him as he moved into the aura of harsh light spilling through the windows. He was a rotund little man with fierce black eyebrows and a hooked nose. He wore a brown suit, and he walked with a rolling gait, pausing and then pulling up his trouser leg to preserve the crease as he climbed onto the stand and turned to face the clerk. Jonah's wrist was hurting him. Tiny darts of pain radiated from the bones into his arm, triggering memories of the accident, and then of Sally, and then of the little Egyptian and his flaring anger against the man, his murderous anger. In the jury box, James Driscoll sat with his wife, both of them intently watching Danton as he raised his hand preparatory to taking the oath.
"… whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"
"I do," Danton said.
Jonah massaged his right wrist, and then rose from behind the defense table to walk toward Danton, who sat expectantly, his bushy brows lowered, his dark eyes glowering beneath them.
"What do you do for a living, Mr. Danton?" he asked.
"I work for Mitchell-Campbell Books."
"What do you do there?"
"I'm an editor."
"And your title?"
"Executive vice-president."
"Did you work for Mitchell-Campbell in July of 1962?"
"I did."
"In the same capacity?"
"Yes, sir."
"Had you ever heard of James Driscoll before July of 1962?"
"No, sir."
"Or seen any of his work?"
"No, sir."
"When was the first time you saw anything written by James Driscoll?"
"In July of 1962."
"What was this writing?"
"A hundred pages of a novel in progress, together with an outline of the remainder of the novel."
"And the title?"
"The Enemy."
Jonah nodded and walked back to the defense table. Norman handed him a sheet of paper which he carried back to the witness chair with him. "Mr. Danton, would you look at this, please?" he said, and offered the sheet to Danton, who glanced at it summarily, and then looked up at Jonah again.
"Would you please tell the Court what this is," Jonah said.
"It's an editorial report form used by Mitchell-Campbell Books."
"Was it in use in 1962?"
"Yes, and still is."
"In this identical style and shape?"
"Yes, identical."
"What is its purpose?"
"There are a great many people at Mitchell-Campbell who read manuscripts. Each person so doing is required to record his or her reaction to the manuscript on a form such as this one."
"Does this particular form refer to a specific manuscript?"
"Yes, it refers to James Driscoll's partial novel The Enemy, and it is dated July 12, 1962. The novel came in over the transom and was sent directly to me, and this is my first report on it."
"By 'over the transom' you mean…"
"I mean it was simply mailed to Mitchell-Campbell Books, without being addressed to any specific person in the company."
"Is it usual for a manuscript to come immediately to the attention of an executive vice-president?"
"No, the first readings are usually made by others in the company. But I had edited several war novels for the firm, and it was assumed I would have special interest in a novel of this sort. I imagine that's why it was directed to me."
"You said a hundred pages…"
"I see the number of pages is listed in the report. It was ninety-eight pages."
"Of a novel titled The Enemy."
"Yes."
"Did this later become The Paper Dragon?"
"Yes, sir."
"I would like to offer this in evidence," Jonah said, and handed a copy of the report to Brackman.
Brackman glanced at it, and then said, "I do not see its relevance, your Honor."
"If your Honor please—"
"We already know that it's a report on Mr. Driscoll's novel. I don't see—"
"The plaintiff has claimed, your Honor, that The Paper Dragon was pirated from the play Catchpole. By tracing the development of the book, I intend to show that there was independent creation."
"Is this offer being made. " McIntyre began.
"This offer, your Honor, is being made to show that there were no special or mysterious circumstances surrounding the submission, the editing, or the subsequent development of the novel written by James Driscoll. We have already heard that the book came in 'over the transom,' addressed to no specific person in the company, and that it was treated as any other submission might have been, in accordance with the normal business procedure at Mitchell-Campbell Books."
"Mr. Brackman may wish you to explore this 'normal business procedure,' " McIntyre said.
"No, that won't be necessary," Brackman said. "I am ready to concede that editorial reports are the normal business of a publishing firm."
"Very well," McIntyre said.
"I am not objecting to whether or not this was normal procedure."
"What is your objection, Mr. Brackman?"
"Only that it is irrelevant, your Honor."
"Well, I will admit the report," McIntyre said. "Is it dated, Mr. Willow?"
"It is, your Honor. The date on it is July 12, 1962, but the content of the report states that the manuscript was received on July ninth."
"Mark it 'Defendants' Exhibit C,' " the clerk said.
"You have stated that you wrote this report," Jonah said.
"Yes," Danton replied.
"What did you do with the manuscript after you wrote this report?"
"I sent it to Miss Anita Lang."
"Who is Miss Lang?"
"She's an editor at Mitchell-Campbell Books."
"You sent it to her for her opinion?"
"Yes, and for subsequent transmittal to Mr. Campbell for a final decision."
"What was your opinion?"
"I felt we should publish the book."