unprecedented, at this stage in a murder trial. He’d talked to him on the phone, and the guy had sounded perfectly rational. Too rational. Dirkson smiled, as lines from a movie flitted through his head: “It’s quiet out there. Too quiet.” Right. The settlers in the fort wondering where the Indians are. Funny, but that’s how he felt. This Winslow wasn’t making any waves. Great, but why? What was his game? That was Dirkson’s great fear. The fear of the unknown.
Yeah, Dirkson was scared. Scared enough that he didn’t want to go through with the trial, but he had no choice. This was one case he couldn’t pass off on any assistant D.A. He’d have taken too much flak for it. The press would have crucified him. No, this was one he had to handle himself.
And he needed a conviction. He needed it desperately. But he wasn’t even thinking about that now. His only concern was getting out unscathed. With all the media coverage, with all the publicity focused on this trial, he couldn’t afford to make any mistakes. Above all, he could not let himself appear foolish.
Which could very easily happen in a circus like this. Jesus, he thought, look at the clowns in the audience. Why was it that so many of the people who came to trials turned out to belong to the lunatic fringe? The zanies. The crazies. Jesus, look at that guy coming down the aisle now-some long-haired hippie who’s so stoned out he thinks it’s still the sixties. Why do they let them in here? Why don’t they screen them out and… Wait a minute. He’s coming through the gate. Why isn’t the bailiff stopping him? Is everyone asleep here? Is no one doing his job? Can’t they see some clown just wandered into- Oh my god.
Steve Winslow walked over to the defense table. So. Sheila Benton wasn’t here yet. But they’d be bringing her out soon. He should sit down. Was this his chair and that hers, or vice versa? He’d never done this before. No, this was his chair on the end, near the middle of the courtroom. He was the one who had to get up and down. She just had to sit there and look innocent. Great advice he’d given her. He wondered if other attorneys had given their clients the same advice. “Try to look innocent.” Words of wisdom.
Steve looked over at the jury box, empty now, but soon to be filled with prospective jurors. And up at the judge’s bench, imposing, regal. And at the witness stand, where he would do battle, where he would have to shine.
Last he looked over at the prosecution table. And there he was. The pudgy, bald man in the custom-tailored suit that was failing to do its job of hiding his excess weight had to be Harry Dirkson. The Dirk himself, as the attorneys at Wilson and Doyle used to refer to him. Jesus, Steve thought. The guy doesn’t look like that much. Can he really deserve his reputation as a demon cross-examiner? As he thought that, Dirkson looked at him and their eyes met. Steve nodded and smiled.
Dirkson stared at him. Oh Jesus, he thought. He’s a clown. A goddamn clown. It’s a circus and he’s the clown, and there goes my political career.
The door at the side of the courtroom opened, and the bailiff ushered in a police officer, a matron and the defendant, Sheila Benton. The bailiff led her to the defense table.
Sheila stopped, stared, then slid into her seat next to Steve.
“Jesus Christ,” she said. “What’s the matter, couldn’t you afford a suit?”
“Shhh. Don’t worry about it.”
“How the hell do you expect to make an impression on the jury dressed like that?”
“I’m not trying to make an impression on the jury. I’m trying to get you acquitted.”
“You’ve got a funny way of showing it.”
“Shhh.”
“Please rise,” ordered the bailiff.
Steve and Sheila got to their feet. She was still staring at him, but he was looking at Judge Preston Crandell, who had just entered and was taking his seat at the bench. Crandell, with thirty years on the bench, had a reputation as a hard, no-nonsense judge. In New York City, famous for its turn-’em-loose judges, Crandell was an exception-a judge who would convict if at all possible. A prosecutor’s judge.
Crandell banged the gavel.
“Court is now in session,” announced the bailiff. “The People of the State of New York versus Sheila Benton. The Honorable Preston Crandell presiding.”
Judge Crandell turned to Harry Dirkson. “Is the prosecution ready?”
“Ready, Your Honor.”
Crandell turned to Steve Winslow. He appeared to hesitate a second and raise an eyebrow before inquiring, “Is the defense ready?”
Dirkson was afraid Winslow would say something smart, do something clownish, but he merely said, “Ready, Your Honor.”
Crandell turned to the bailiff. “Bring in the first jurors.”
During jury selection, some of Harry Dirkson’s fears evaporated. Far from being flamboyant, the defense attorney seemed quiet and subdued. He asked only easy, general questions of the prospective jurors, regarding their ability to be impartial and fair, and seemed to take their answers at face value. Things went so smoothly, in fact, that the jury was impaneled that morning, and following the noon recess, Judge Crandell commenced the trial.
“Does the prosecution wish to make an opening statement?” he inquired of Dirkson.
Dirkson rose to his feet. “The prosecution does, Your Honor.”
Dirkson had expected the jury selection to have taken several days. However, he was a shrewd prosecutor who took nothing for granted, and thus his opening speech was well prepared. This was his moment to shine, and he was fully prepared to do so. He felt that old kick, that old surge of adrenaline, and he actually felt good as he strode out into the middle of the courtroom.
“Your Honor. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” he began. “The prosecution intends to prove, that on the seventh day of June of this year, the defendant, Sheila Benton, did, premeditatedly and with malice aforethought, murder one Robert Greely. We intend to prove that Sheila Benton is an heiress with a trust fund worth several million dollars. The trust is in the control of her uncle, Maxwell Baxter, until Miss Benton reaches the age of thirty- five, at which time he is to turn over the principal to her. However, there is a provision in the trust which states that if Sheila Benton is involved in any scandal that would bring disrepute on the family name, the entire trust is forfeit, and the money goes to charity. We intend to prove that Sheila Benton was engaged in an affair with a married man, one John Dutton. We intend to prove that Robert Greely learned of the affair, and demanded blackmail for his silence. Threatened with exposure, and unable to raise the sum of money Greely demanded, Sheila Benton lured him up to her apartment and killed him.
“We shall prove all of these things by competent evidence, and we shall expect a verdict of guilty at your hands.”
Dirkson smiled at the jury, went back and sat down.
Steve was impressed. It was an effective opening statement, short and to the point, stating what Dirkson expected to prove, but showing none of his hand. Steve realized the jury was impressed too. He had been watching them during Dirkson’s speech. They had listened intently. Some had even nodded. And now, all of them were looking at the defendant, a sure sign that the prosecution had scored.
“Does the defense wish to make an opening statement?” asked Judge Crandell.
Steve looked up. The judge clearly expected a negative response. It would be unusual for the defense to make an opening statement at this time. The usual practice would be to reserve the opening statement until the prosecution had rested and the defense began putting on its case.
But Dirkson’s opening statement had done its damage. The jury had already turned against the defendant. Okay, Steve thought. Break the mood.
He rose to his feet. “The defense does, Your Honor.”
He stepped out into the middle of the courtroom. All eyes were on him, all heads turned to watch this strange-looking man, to hear what he had to say.
“Your Honor,” Steve said, in his best stage voice. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury.”
He paused theatrically, looked around the courtroom. Then he shrugged his shoulders, smiled slightly and, in a smaller voice with just a hint of Brooklyn twang, said, “She didn’t do it.”
Steve walked back to his seat and sat down.
A ripple of amusement ran through the courtroom. It was a delayed reaction, as the people slowly realized that was his entire opening statement.
