Summitt

Chapter Thirty-Five

The sunlight in Judge Flood’s courtroom was thin and pale. Its reflections bronzed the pine floors and bleached color from the mural of the Indians and Quakers on the shores of the Brandywine.

Counselor Davic stood in front of the witness, pinching the bridge of his nose as he collected and ordered his thoughts, Shana sat facing him. Her eyes were shadowed with fatigue but her shoulders were straight and square, and she made a conscious effort to breathe slowly.

Davic broke the expectant silence. “Miss Selby, in trying to get at the truth in the issues in this trial, you and I are forced into an adversary relationship. There’s nothing personal in this, it’s a system that provides the best possible guarantee of a fair trial. It protects the rights of everyone. It is the best way we know to arrive at the truth.”

He looked at Shana thoughtfully. “Now, you have heard the testimony of Captain Taggart and Reverend Oliver Jessup, correct?”

“Yes, I was sitting right there at that table. But I didn’t know he was a reverend until you called him that.”

Davic ignored that. “Captain Taggart, an officer in the United States Army, explained that he and Earl Thomson had been at Vinegar Hill several weeks before your unfortunate experience. You understood the implications of that testimony, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I guess so.”

“Well, put simply, it means that Mr. Thomson’s fingerprints were in the garage for very normal reasons. Is that clear?”

“I understand what you’re saying, Mr. Davic.”

“And you heard the Reverend Jessup describe the middle-aged, gray-haired man he saw wave a friendly goodbye to you in front of his church?”

“Yes, I heard that but—”

“Just answer my question. You heard that testimony?”

“... Yes.”

“Then, Miss Selby, are you now prepared to tell the truth?”

“Objection, Your Honor.”

“Sustained.”

“Miss Selby, we think that you made a mistake in identifying Earl Thomson as the man who abducted and raped you. Will you now finally agree that you did make a mistake? That you were wrong in accusing Earl Thomson of such crimes? That the truth is that Earl Thomson has never harmed or molested you in any way whatsoever—?”

“Objection, Your Honor. Counsel has asked the witness a string of incriminating questions but hasn’t given her a chance to respond to even one of them.”

“Sustained.”

Davic pointed directly to Earl Thomson. “Miss Selby, is it still your testimony that this is the man who ran you down in his automobile on the sixteenth of last October?”

“Yes.”

“That he forced you into his car and drove you to a secluded house called variously during this trial Vinegar Hill and the Taggart Place?”

“Yes.”

“And that at that place, Earl Thomson committed the crimes on your person specified in the indictment?”

“Yes. Yes, he did.”

“Miss Selby.” Davic’s expression hardened now, like a disapproving, wounded parent. “You left Pyle’s Corners at about ten o’clock according to witnesses. But it was almost three hours later — three hours, Miss Selby — before you arrived at your friend’s home in Little Tennessee, which is scarcely a ten-minute walk from Pyle’s Corners. Where — and how — did you spend those three hours, Miss Selby?”

Shana hesitated. “I’ve tried to remember... I walked up Fairlee Road, it was raining. I didn’t want to get wet. I turned off the road and sat in an old car. In a kind of junkyard. The windows were broken. But it was dry. I could hear the rain on the roof.”

“You sat all alone for three hours? Listening to the rain?”

“I... was thinking.”

“What were you thinking about, Miss Selby?”

“I’m not sure. My hand hurt, it was bleeding.”

“Did any cars drive by? Were there any pedestrians or hitchhikers who might have noticed you?”

“No.”

“Then we have only your word that you were all alone in that abandoned car?”

“Maybe somebody saw me. I don’t know.”

“You didn’t go anywhere else during that time?”

“No.”

“But since you’re so vague about so many things, Miss Selby, how can you be sure? More important, how can we be sure that you didn’t go somewhere and spend time with someone else during those three hours you have no way of accounting for?”

Brett jumped to her feet, her face white.

“I object, Your Honor. I object to this entire line of inquiry. After the ordeal the plaintiff was forced to endure, it is ridiculous to ask why she didn’t behave logically and reasonably. If Shana Selby had not retreated into shock, if her senses and nerves were not numbed and unreliable, that might warrant speculation. But Mr. Davic’s present attack is both cruel and unethical—”

Judge Flood rapped his gavel, but Brett ignored it. “I will stand here, Your Honor, and object and object and object until the marshals remove me physically at each and every attempt by Mr. Davic to demand an accountability and justification from the victim which should, in fact, and in justice, be required only of the defendant.”

“Miss Brett, you will be in order, and refrain from these speeches and challenges. But you do have a point.” He then reminded Davic that in his opening statement he had stipulated the grievous nature of Shana’s injuries. “You will, therefore,” he instructed him, “bear in mind the physical condition of the witness that night.”

“Yes, Your Honor.” He was satisfied that his insinuations had gotten through to the jury. “Miss Selby, if I have upset you, I’m sorry. But truth is at the heart of Earl Thomson’s defense. And, as everybody knows”... he looked at Brett... “finding the truth can be a painful process.” He paused then, as if searching for words. “Miss Selby, if we are to believe everything you’ve told us, it’s logical to assume you were terrified of the man who attacked you that night. Correct?”

“I was. Yes.”

Davic paused a beat, studied Shana. “Would you tell the court, Miss Selby, if you had any contact with Earl Thomson after he allegedly attacked you?”

“I didn’t see him again.”

“Answer my question. Did you have any contact with him? Did you, for example, try to talk to him?”

“Yes.”

“Speak up, Miss Selby.”

“I called him, I called him on the phone.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to... meet with him.”

“Would you please tell the court what prompted you to call Earl Thomson?”

“I saw his picture in the paper. I recognized him.”

“Then you believed you had met him on some previous occasion. Is that what you’re telling us?”

“Yes, he was the one in the car. The man who... knocked me off my bicycle—”

“The very same man who abducted and assaulted you so brutally?”

“Yes.”

Davic placed his hands on the arms of the witness chair and stared into Shana’s eyes.

“If you believed Earl Thomson was the man who had done those terrible things to you, Miss Selby, why did you phone him and try to arrange a meeting with him?”

Judge Flood rapped for order as a murmur swept through the court.

Davic turned away from Shana. He studied the faces of the jurors. “Miss Selby, would you like me to repeat my question?”

“No...”

“I’m waiting for your answer then. Why did you call Earl Thomson to arrange a meeting?”

“I... I wanted help.” Shana’s breathing was more rapid, spots of color appeared on her face.

“I’m relieved that we’re finally getting at the truth, Miss Selby. How many times did you call the defendant?”

“Two times.”

“Did you call him twice on the same day? Or on successive days, or what was your schedule?”

“I called him first about a... about a week afterward.”

“A week after what, Miss Selby?”

“A week after he hurt me.”

“When did you make the second call?”

“Five or six days later.”

“Both these calls were made prior to your accusations against the defendant at Longwood Gardens?”

“Yes.”

“Would you speak up, please, Miss Selby.”

“Yes.” Shana cleared her throat. “Yes.”

“After you saw his picture in the paper, after you called and asked him to meet you, after that you went to Longwood Gardens and shouted in front of several witnesses that he had assaulted and raped you. Is that the sequence, Miss Selby?”

“Yes—”

“Did you identify yourself to Earl Thomson when you called him on the phone?”

“He knew who I was.”

“How did you know that? How could you know that?”

“I knew.”

“May I ask you once again why you called Mr. Thomson?”

“I told you... I wanted him to meet me.”

“Did you have anywhere in particular in mind?”

No answer.

“What was Mr. Thomson’s response to your invitation, Miss Selby?”

“He didn’t say anything, he just hung up.”

“And then you went to Longwood Gardens and publicly accused him of kidnapping and raping you. Isn’t that exactly what you did?”

“No, no.” Shana said, and then shouted, “No, I wanted to understand what had happened. I wanted him to help me understand it.”

“I’m sure the jury,” Davic remarked dryly, “will form their own opinion of what you wanted, Miss Selby.”

“Objection. I’ve tried to control myself, Your Honor, but—”

“Sustained.”

“Miss Selby, didn’t you accuse Earl Thomson of raping you after you’d phoned him for the express purpose of inviting him to meet with you somewhere?”

In the deepening silence, Davic looked at Shana’s bowed head. “Miss Selby? Isn’t that the truth?”

“Yes.”

Davic dropped his hands and returned to the defense table. “I have no further questions, Your Honor. If it please the court, the defense rests.”

Earl Thomson stretched his legs and settled back in his chair as Davic sat down beside him.

When Brett stood up, Earl watched her with a speculative smile. Judge Flood said, “On the basis of what presumably is surprise testimony, People’s counsel has the right to cross-examine her own witness if she choses to.”

“The testimony of Shana Selby,” Brett said, “came as no surprise to the People’s counsel, Your Honor. The witness discussed her testimony with me in detail. I have no need to cross-examine her. But if it please the court, I would like Shana to explain in her own words — as she explained to me — what she hoped to accomplish by communicating with Mr. Thomson.”

“I object, Your Honor.” Davic was on his feet. “I see no reason for elaboration—”

“But Mr. Davic,” Flood reminded him, “you asked the same question of the witness. Why did Miss Selby call the defendant?”

“The defense was satisfied with her response.”

“The bench was not. You may expand your testimony, young lady, and I’ll ask for order and silence.” Flood glanced up at the gallery. “As has been said here, the public’s presence at criminal trials is a privilege, not a right... Miss Selby?”

Shana looked over the silent rows of spectators, then said quietly, “I wanted to tell him, my mother was dead, that she’d been killed in an automobile accident. I wasn’t sure why at first. But I finally realized it might make him know that I was just as human as he was, that I wasn’t any different from him. I didn’t believe he understood that. Because I don’t believe a person who deliberately hurts another person realizes the damage he can do. I thought the person who’d hurt me should know how much pain he’d caused. Maybe he didn’t understand he’d hurt... both of us. I thought if I could make him realize he’d hurt himself maybe even more than he’d hurt me...” She stopped and moistened her lips. “Well, then he might understand that what he did went beyond just us. My mother helped me understand that. She said people did things sometimes for reasons we didn’t understand or know about, and to remember that whenever we felt real angry or disappointed and wanted to get back at them.”

Shana’s voice became stronger and clearer. “Dr. Clemens thought I wasn’t religious. Well, maybe he knows more than I do. But I think my father is a religious person in his own way, and I know that Purim means more than hamantashin or Haman’s little three-cornered hats. And tagluch isn’t all there is to Rosh Hashanah. I know there’s a time in every religion for confession and forgiveness. We were taught about redemption and repentance at home, my mother and grandmother taught us. We learned there’s a Book of Life and a Book of Death for all of us, but they aren’t kept up in churches or temples by some old man with a white beard. They’re in the way we treat each other. There’s nothing to the sound of the shofar, or to the story of Abraham, who would sacrifice his son for the love of God, or to Christ on the cross if we don’t believe it’s wrong to hurt and kill each other. So if he could tell me why he hurt me, well, I thought I could maybe understand why it had happened. And so could he.

“I thought if I could help him that it would help me to understand and get rid of my angers. I didn’t want to go on hating him all my life. I knew he hated me, I could feel it. If he found out, like my mother said, what he really hated, maybe it would help him. And me. I don’t have the right to judge and forgive anybody, maybe, but I can still try to understand them. I told Dr. Clemens a prayer of my grandmother’s. We called her Tishie. She read it to me from a prayer book and I memorized it... ‘How can we give thanks when we remember / Treblinka? / The storm ends. / In the sky a rainbow signals hope and new life. / Again and yet again there is a song to sing.’ ”

Shana pushed back a strand of her hair. “Dr. Clemens told me that wasn’t a prayer, that it was wishful thinking. Maybe trying to talk to Earl Thomson was wishful thinking, but I just felt I had to try. I don’t have any other answer for what I did, Your Honor.”

Shana seemed oblivious to everyone then, eyes fixed steadily above the spectators.

Raising his head, the judge glanced inquiringly at the defense table. Davic responded with a quick, negative headshake.

Flood tapped his gavel. Softly. “The court will hear closing statements tomorrow morning at ten o’clock. Court is adjourned until that time.”

In her office Brett turned on the burner under a Silex of water and set out coffee cups and bowls of sugar and cream. Traffic noises in the mall were muted. The lights of the city gleamed beyond the windows.

Shana sat in the chair at Brett’s desk, her legs curled under her. They knew from Burt Wilger’s report that her father had planned to return from St. Anne’s Hospital to East Chester that afternoon. They had no other news until Shana called home and learned that he had talked twice to Mrs. Cranston, leaving messages of support for his daughter but no further information.

Brett said, “I know you’re worried about him, and so am I. But let’s concentrate on our job. I want to point out something about Davic’s cross-examination that you may have missed. A lawyer seldom asks a witness a question unless he himself knows the answer to it. Or is prepared for whatever answer he gets. Which brings me to this... how did Davic know you’d phoned Earl Thomson? He was certain you had, no doubt about that. So please, Shana, try to remember if you mentioned it to anyone except me or your father.”

“Honestly, I didn’t. Not even to Normie.”

“One call was from the phone in your bedroom, the other from a pay phone, right?”

“You know all that.”

“Please be patient with me. I can’t emphasize how important this is. Think hard. Did you say anything to Davey about it? It would be natural enough if you did, he’s your brother.”

“But I didn’t tell anybody.”

“All right. But is there any chance he overheard you calling Earl Thomson?”

“I’m sure he didn’t. My bedroom door was closed, and I was talking very quietly. Why is it so terribly important?”

“Because Davic knew you’d called Thomson. He knew in substance what you said to him. Otherwise he’d never have risked that line of questions.”

“Mr. Davic overheard the conversation, is that it?”

“Someone did, Shana. There was, probably still is, a tap on the phones at your house. Whoever installed the tap, well, they could have cut into a terminal on a telephone pole a mile away, or sent someone around in a gas or electric company uniform to check the line. Picked a time when the family was away and told Mrs. Cranston it was a routine service inspection in the basement or attic.”

Shana’s frown cleared, her eyes were suddenly alert with relief and excitement. “Then daddy must have known about it. He must have found out. That’s why he wouldn’t leave a message with Mrs. Cranston, to tell us where he is.”

“That’s my guess too,” Brett said. “We’ll have to wait for him to tell us how he figured it out. But he doesn’t trust those phones now any more than I do.”

She put two cups of coffee on her desk and settled down in her leather chair. Resting her chin on her hands, she looked at Shana. “Now, would you like to tell me what’s troubling you? What you want to talk about?”

Shana sighed, looked down at her hands. “I should have told you right away. I wish I had.” In a careful voice she said, “I won’t mind so much if you just think I’ve been dumb and childish and scared. Honestly I won’t. But I’d hate it if you, well, disrespected me.”

“It’s been a long day, honey.” Brett smiled at her. “Drink some coffee, you need a lift. Or maybe it would be better if we freshened up and went out for some dinner somewhere. We could talk about it then.”

“No, I’d rather explain everything now.”

“Fine, that’s what we’re here for. But drink your coffee. It could use sugar by the way. It’s very bitter.”

“I’ve already written this to my father. I sent a note to him with Sergeant Wilger.” Shana sighed. “That was easy. I could pretend it was like a composition outline and make headings and subheadings and try to make it all clear.” She drew a deep breath. “I was selfish, I know that now. I could have helped all of us, but I kept thinking too much about myself. Sometimes I can be a pain.”

Shana took a small tissue-wrapped object from the pocket of her blazer. Unwrapping it with care, she placed a shining ornament on a broken chain in front of Brett. The light glittered on the silver cross of the swastika she had torn from Earl Thomson’s neck the night he had raped her.

“It was the only proof I could trust,” she said. “Not just that it happened the way I knew it had. I had to be sure of something else, that I’d fought back, that I’d tried to stop him from doing it to me. That I... didn’t just let him. Can you understand why I kept it, Brett? Please. Can you?”

“Yes, of course.” Brett swallowed with difficulty. “Of course I can, Shana.”

“It happened at the place he took me. He untied my hands and pushed me toward the cot. I hit him and kicked him while we struggled around. The silver cross was right in front of me, flashing in my eyes. I grabbed the chain and it broke. The edge of the crosses cut the palm of my hand, but I didn’t know it then. I had nightmares about it. On the tapes Davey made I heard my voice screaming, ‘Mommy, it’s evil. I’ll kill it...’ I don’t know if I said it to him then or whether that’s part of my nightmare. Earl Thomson didn’t know I had it. I made a fist and kept my hand closed around it, even when he tied me to the bed. I wasn’t thinking about proving anything then. I wasn’t thinking at all. But when daddy took me home that night, I still had it, and I knew that no matter how long I lived I’d be sure how it was and how it happened.”

Brett picked up the swastika and examined the dates and initials engraved on the back of the right-angle arms of the rotary crosses.

“In preparing this case” — Brett’s voice trembled, she cleared her throat and took a sip of coffee — “I came across a newspaper item about this.” She nodded at the swastika. “It was in a Philadelphia paper. There was a small local scandal because Earl Thomson, with his usual delicate sensibilities, went to a Jewish jeweler, a Phil Gelb on Spruce Street, to have it made. A reporter got hold of the story. Mr. Gelb not surprisingly refused the job, but Thomson found someone else.”

Standing, Brett paced behind her desk, watching the light on the swastika, the edges still dark with traces of Shana’s blood.

“Let me tell you something,” she said. “We’re going to be in a hell of a fight in court tomorrow. No tricks, no theatrics, I’ll have to go straight at him with this evidence.”

“It isn’t too late?”

“We’re alive until the jury returns a verdict. What you told the court this afternoon about why you wanted to talk to Earl Thomson, what you said about your father and mother and your grandmother, and about yourself, by the way, was simple and honest and in a way very beautiful. But, Shana, compassion and sympathy and understanding may excuse Earl Thomson on some higher plane, but there is no way in the world it will convict him. And justice, dammit, demands that he be convicted. We need the whole truth for that. And this swastika is part of the whole truth. Does anyone else know about it?”

“No, only you and my father.”

“You realize this will mean Davic can put you back on the stand? Demand to know why you suppressed this evidence? Demand to know why you waited for months to mention it?”

“I know, and I know Earl will lie about it. He’ll say he lost it somewhere, won’t he? Or that it was stolen from him. But I know he’s been looking for it around Fairlee Road.”

“So does your father,” Brett said, and then added, “yes, indeed, it will be a fight. They’re real confident now... Davic, Thomson, all of them. Well, we’ll make that work for us, the fact that they think they’re home free, that the verdict from the jury tomorrow morning is a mere formality.”

A footstep sounded in the reception room, and Burt Wilger walked into the office.

“I played a hunch, Brett,” he said, and nodded with an awkward smile to Shana. “Called St. Anne’s a couple of more times, couldn’t get anything but doubletalk so I tried the airport.” He began polishing his glasses. “Harry Selby, I mean, your father, Shana... he left on a flight for Memphis a couple of hours ago. And then, I’d guess, he’ll be off to Summitt City.”