“Mr. Walsh,” the judge said in a fatherly tone. “I’m Judge Washburn. I have to ask you some questions. First of all, are you aware that this is a courtroom?”
Walsh exhaled noisily and shook his head. “Sheesh.” He held up his hand, then pointed his finger at the judge. “First of all, Your Honor, we’ll do a lot better if you stop talking to me as if I were a child of four. Yes, I am aware this is a courtroom. Now, no one will say anything to me except, ‘there, there,’ and ‘take it easy old timer,’ but I would assume this is a competency hearing. In which case, the bone of contention here is whether a bunch of greedy relatives who can’t wait for me to die can find a legal way to get their hands on my money any sooner.” Walsh squinted up at the judge. “Am I right so far?”
Judge Washburn smiled slightly. “That is not exactly the way I would have phrased it.”
“Of course not,” Walsh said. “You’re a judge. You’re impartial. You can’t make irresponsible statements. You’re not going to call my relatives greedy, and you’re not going to refer to me as the nut-case, but that’s what’s going on here. Well, I ain’t a judge, so I’m free to say what I like.” Walsh shrugged. “At least to an extent.”
Judge Washburn frowned. “What do you mean by that?”
“Well,” Walsh said, “considering the nature of these proceedings, I understand an irresponsible statement could cost me my freedom.”
“That’s going a little far, Mr. Walsh,” Judge Washburn said. “No one’s going to judge you on a slip of the tongue. And any statement you make, you will have an opportunity to explain. Before we go any further, I just want you to understand that.”
“I understand that. So now what?”
“As I said, I’m going to ask you some questions. I’d like you to answer as freely and as fully as you like.”
“Fire away.”
“So far I’ve heard the story of your incarceration in Bellevue from Jason Tindel, who signed the commitment paper, from Fred Grayson, who observed you on the subway, and from Dr. Feldspar, the psychiatrist in charge of your case.”
Walsh snorted and shook his head.
“Yes,” Judge Washburn said. “I’m sure you have opinions about that. And you’ll have an opportunity to express them. But first, having heard their stories, I’d now like to get it from you. So to begin with, in your own words just tell me what happened.”
“Well,” Walsh said, “I was in the subway station. Thirty-third and Lex. IRT line. I was talking to one of the homeless men down there. Suddenly two men approached me. Hospital orderlies in white uniforms. They called me by name, asked me to go with them.”
“What did you do?”
“Told them to get lost.”
“What did they do?”
“They kept hassling me. They had the papers, and I had to go with them.”
“Papers? What papers?”
Walsh shrugged. “I assume they meant commitment papers. One guy waved a paper at me, but he didn’t say what it was. They had the papers, and I had to go.”
“So what did you do?”
“I told him what he could do with his papers.”
Judge Washburn smiled slightly. “And what did they do?”
“When they saw I wasn’t going to cooperate, they started circling me sort of. Then they jumped me, grabbed me, wrestled me to the ground. One guy held me while the other guy got a straightjacket on me.”
“Did you protest?”
“What, are you nuts? I screamed and kicked and yelled bloody murder.”
“What happened to the other man? The man you were talking to?”
“He ran.” Walsh shrugged. “I can’t say that I blame him. For all he knew, they were after him too.”
“What happened then?”
“They dragged me out of the station, threw me in a van and ran me down to Bellevue.”
“What happened there?”
“They wrestled me inside where some lunatic in a white coat with a clipboard came up and started screaming proverbs in my face. Frankly, by that time I was slightly incoherent. As I recall, I made a few choice remarks about his hospital, his proverbs, and his parentage, as well as a few suggestions involving certain choice portions of his anatomy.”
“What happened then?”
“They locked me in a room, shot me full of drugs.”
“What kind of drugs?”
“You think they told me? It was all ‘there, there,’ and ‘this is for your own good.’”
“Did you object to taking the drugs?”
“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t swallow nothing. When they tried to stick me, I broke the needle.”
“Then how’d they get you to take them?”
“Two guys held me, one guy stuck me.”
“How often did they give you drugs?”
“Whenever they damn well felt like it.”
“Could you be more specific?”
“No, I couldn’t. It’s hard to tell time when you’re doped up and locked in a room. Besides, sometimes the drugs would knock me out. All I know is, as soon as I wake up they come in and stick me again.
“Once I woke up and they were trying to shave me. They tried when I was awake and I wouldn’t let ‘em do it, so they tried when I was asleep.”
Judge Washburn looked at him. “They don’t seem to have succeeded.”
“No, they didn’t. I woke up, screamed, flailed my arm, broke the damn electric razor. After that they gave up trying.”
“Why do you object to shaving?”
“I don’t object to shaving. I object to
“I didn’t say I can’t understand that, Mr. Walsh. I just want to get your point of view.”
“You got it. What else you want to know?”
Jack Walsh was so swift on the returns Judge Washburn was momentarily taken aback. He took a few seconds to gather himself. “Well now,” he said. “As you understand, this is a competency hearing. Certain allegations have been made to the effect that you’re not competent to handle your affairs. This hearing is for the purpose of determining whether these allegations are true. Now, as part of these allegations, I have heard testimony from certain witnesses regarding your behavior. Behavior which, if taken at face value, could be construed not to be the acts of a rational man. We have the testimony of two of your relatives …” Judge Washburn referred to his notes. “… Mr. Jason Tindel and Mr. Fred Grayson, to the effect that recently you sold your house out from under you, that you have no fixed address, and that you have taken to living on the subway in the manner of an indigent, when in fact you actually have ample funds to live anywhere you wish.
“Now, I’d like to give you an opportunity to reply to these allegations. So I ask you, are the allegations of your relatives true?”
Jack Walsh scowled. He squinted up at the judge. “You keep calling them my relatives. Jason Tindel and Fred Grayson happened to marry into the family. I don’t see that that makes them kinfolk, somehow.”
“Very well,” Judge Washburn said. “Your in-laws, then. How’s that?”
“Fine. In-law is where we are, and what this is all about. I quite approve.” Jack Walsh punctuated this by nodding in agreement with himself.
Judge Washburn frowned and took a breath.
Steve Winslow stirred restlessly. Jack Walsh was making no effort to answer the question. Instead he was engaging in various evasions and deflections. In short, acting like a man with something to hide.
Judge Washburn cleared his throat. His voice took on a slightly insistent tone. “Mr. Walsh, what reason would your in-laws have for making these statements?”
