“Thank you,” Corona said. “That’s all.”
He went back to the table, and Fields came to the stand, rubbing his jowls. O’Leary was a thin boy, and Fields seemed fatter standing next to him. He leaned over now, and the material of his breeches tightened over his ample buttocks.
“How are your eyes, Mr. O’Leary?” Fields asked.
“Twenty-twenty, sir,” O’Leary said.
“You’re quite certain? We can call in a court physician, you know, and I don’t have to warn you about perju...”
“Objection!” Corona shouted.
“Sustained. Defense will not threaten any witness in my courtroom,” the judge said angrily.
Fields cleared his throat. “How dim were the lights when Mr. Pelazi first called you over? Mr. Pelazi, the gentleman you identified.”
“They weren’t dim at all, sir. They were up to full brightness. He called me over, and then the lights began to dim.”
“You said earlier that he called you over ‘just as the house lights were being dimmed.’ Now, were the house lights being dimmed, or weren’t they? Make up your mind.”
“He called me over, and I went to him, and then the lights started to dim.”
“Did you see his face?”
“Of course.”
“Or was it too dark to see his face?”
“It was very bright, sir. I got a good look at him before the lights began to dim. It was that man, sir.”
“How do you know this was at 2110?”
“The curtain...”
“Yes, but how do you know the curtain was preset for 2110?”
“I saw it, sir.”
“Where?”
“Backstage, sir.”
“Do you customarily wander backstage to look at the control board? Is that part of an usher’s duties?”
“No, sir, it is not; I went backstage to see my girl friend.”
The court tittered, but Fields pressed on. “Is your girl friend in charge of the control board?”
“No, sir! she was hired to help with the wardrobe.”
“She was then, in effect, working for the show?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Are you aware that under Section 62-A of Statute 431, she could be held liable for...”
“Objection!” Corona said. “The witness’ acquaintance was not summoned, and the plaintiff is not bringing suit against her.”
“Sustained.”
“Or that you, Mr. O’Leary, as an employee of the theatre in which the benefit was held, could also...”
“Objection!” Corona said.
“Defense will refrain from this line of questioning,” the judge said drily. “Witness is not on trial. Nor is his girl friend.”
“I was simply wondering, your honor, why they are not on trial, that’s all. Everyone else seems to be.”
“Request that be removed from the record, your honor,” Corona said.
“Request granted.” The judge turned to the recorder. “Strike that last from the record.”
Fields grunted. “Defense rests,” he said.
Brant still didn’t know what was going on, but he vaguely suspected that Corona had won that round. Corona’s approach didn’t become clear until the next witness took the stand, and then it became damned clear.
“Your name, sir?”
“Franklin Beade.”
“Were you at the Beldame Theatre on the night of the June thirtieth benefit?”
“Yes, sir, I was.”
“Will you tell the court what happened at 2115?”
“I got sick,” Beade said.
“Sick, sir?”
“To my stomach. I’d had clams for dinner. Clams never did agree with me. I also tried a cigarette. I should have known better. Cigarettes...”
“Objection!” Fields said. “Anti-Vike propaganda is being introduced into the witness’...”
“Sustained,” the judge said. “Witness will stick to the facts.”
“I was sick to my stomach,” Beade said.
“What did you do?”
“I got up and headed for the men’s room.”
“Was the show on at this time?”
“Yes, sir. It had been on for about five minutes.”
“Did you go directly to the men’s room?”
“No, sir.”
“Why not?”
“Well, sir, I guess I was in a hurry. I got out into the aisle, and then I stumbled.”
“And what happened then?”
“Someone helped me up.”
“Who helped you?”
Beade pointed to Pelazi. “That man, sir.”
“Are you sure it was that man?” Corona asked, anticipating Field’s cross-questioning. “Wasn’t the theatre dark?”
“Oh, yes, sir, it was. I didn’t see his face until we got to the men’s room. It was that man, all right.”
“And are you sure this was at 2115, five minutes after the show had started?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How do you know that?”
“There’s is a big chronometer at the back of the theatre, sir. When I slipped and fell, I found myself staring right up at the chron. It was 2115; you can bet on that.”
“How long did you remain in the men’s room with Mr. Pelazi, the gentleman you just identified.”
“About five minutes. He helped me loosen my tie and... well, he helped me while I was sick. Then he stood by while I washed up. He looked at his watch then and said, ‘It’s 2120. We’d better get back or we’ll miss the show!’ ”
“Mr. Pelazi said this?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Thank you, Mr. Beade.”
It was clear now, very clear. It was clear to Van, and it was clear to every defendant in that courtroom, and it was exceptionally clear to Fields. He cross-examined the witness, but Van could see his heart wasn’t in it. Fields was thinking ahead, Brant knew, anticipating what was to come, dreading what was to come.
It came. It came with precision planning behind it. One by one, Corona paraded his witnesses. One by one, they took the stand, and each witness swore for Pelazi’s whereabouts, pinpointed those whereabouts in time and place. One by one, they swore to having seen him at the theatre: the washroom attendant who brushed off his coat when he left the men’s room with Beade; the usher who showed both men to their seats again. There was the man behind Pelazi who asked him to stop moving in his seat so much, the woman who stepped on Pelazi’s toe while moving out to the aisle, the three men Pelazi talked with during intermission. Then came the man from whom Pelazi borrowed a light, during that same intermission, a third usher of whom Pelazi asked the time, another usher of whom Pelazi asked what time the show ended. There was the man in the lobby from whom Pelazi bought an orange crush, the woman in front of Pelazi who asked him not to make so much noise sipping at the drink, on and on. Each witness presented a time, each witness having seen Pelazi all through the show, right up to the time he left, right up to the young lady he picked up during the second intermission, the young lady who left the show with him when it was all over.
It was tighter than a drum, and it hurt. It hurt because it was Field’s own strategy — but Corona had pulled it first. It hurt because Fields had underestimated his enemy, figured it all wrong, figured the Rees would drag in a few witnesses to establish Pelazi’s attendance, but not this. Fields had not anticipated this juggernaut of people, all lying their heads off, all apparently well-rewarded for their services. No, not this.
Van Brant got to him first when the recess was called. He found Fields shooting up on Corradon, and he took out his own vial of morph and shot up with him. He needed a clear head now. He wanted to talk this all out with Fields, and the morph would help him.
“What are we going to do?” he asked.
Fields was perspiring heavily. The beads of sweat clung to his brow and his lip, rolled off the layers of fat on his neck, streamed down his naked chest.