too.”
Judge Wallingsford frowned. “That is not the point. I must say, I find your attitude irritating at best. At worst, it borders on contempt of court. I hope I make myself clear. I do not intend to put up with this sort of nonsense in my courtroom.”
“Begging Your Honor’s pardon,” Steve said, “but I don’t think you ever ruled on the objection.”
“What?”
“Mr. Dirkson’s objection. Mr. Fitzpatrick was making his opening statement, Dirkson objected, you cut him off and ordered us in here. You never ruled on the objection. In fact, I don’t believe Mr. Dirkson ever finished making it. So I’m not clear what the grounds for his objection are.”
“Son of a bitch!” Dirkson snapped.
“Mr. Dirkson, that will do,” Judge Wallingsford said. “Mr. Winslow, your attitude is insolent and borders on contempt of court. You know perfectly well what’s going on here. Mr. Dirkson has objected to outrageous behavior which has no place in the courtroom. His objection will be sustained. And I hereby serve notice that if you-persist along these lines, I
“Noted, Your Honor. But if we could please clarify this one point. I assume this applies only to the suggestion that our client take her clothes off, and not to anything else. Specifically, not to any remarks Mr. Fitzpatrick made conceding that the defendant did indeed type nude. Especially since those remarks were only replying to allegations made by District Attorney Harry Dirkson in his opening statement.”
“Certainly,” Judge Wallingsford said. “As offensive as those remarks might be, the door was certainly open for them and they may stand. But I would hope this will be the end of that particular issue.”
“So would I, Your Honor,” Steve said. “Then the only bone of contention here is the suggestion the defendant take her clothes off?”
“That’s right.”
“Fine,” Steve said. “Then if Mr. Fitzpatrick agrees, we will withdraw that suggestion, rendering the matter moot. Is that acceptable to you, Fitzpatrick?”
“Absolutely. Your Honor, I hereby withdraw that remark and tender my apologies to the court.”
“Very well,” Judge Wallingsford said. “Then, gentlemen, if we could proceed.”
“I trust Your Honor will explain the situation to the jury,” Steve said.
“Naturally,” Judge Wallingsford said.
“Will you explain to them that the defendant is not going to take her clothes off because District Attorney Harry Dirkson doesn’t want them to see that?”
Judge Wallingsford opened his mouth. His lip quivered. He attempted to fight back a smile but was unsuccessful. He chuckled, then shook his head angrily. “Damn it,” he said. “Mr. Dirkson, I apologize. There is nothing funny about this. It is a murder trial. Let’s try to get on with it.” He glared at Fitzpatrick. “And I warn you, any more theatrics will be considered contempt of court.”
With that he turned and stalked out of his chambers.
Dirkson glared at Winslow and Fitzpatrick, then turned and followed him.
In front of Judge Wallingsford, Fitzpatrick had looked positively contrite. But as they followed the judge and the D.A. out of chambers, Fitzpatrick nudged Steve Winslow in the ribs, leaned over and whispered, “Most fun I’ve had in years.”
28
The
Steve Winslow, Mark Taylor and Tracy Garvin read the papers the next morning in a small coffee shop near the courthouse.
“Not bad,” Taylor said.
“The coffee or the coverage?” Steve asked.
“The coverage, of course. The coffee sucks.”
Steve took a sip, grimaced. “No argument here. What do you think of the press?”
“Obnoxiously sexist,” Tracy said.
“No argument on that either. That’s what it is.”
“It may be sexist, but it sure is funny,” Taylor said.
“No it isn’t,” Tracy said. “Here’s a young woman on trial for murder, and everyone’s making fun of her.”
“That’s true,” Steve said.
“So what’s the point?”
“Overkill.”
“What?”
“The press knows she typed nude, the public knows she typed nude, the jurors know she typed nude. Everyone knows she typed nude. There’s nothing we can do about that. The only thing to do is overplay it until it becomes boring and everyone forgets about it.”
“Fat chance on that,” Taylor said.
“You know what I mean,” Steve said. “The fact is, if we sat on this and tried to fight it, it would titillate the jury and drag out through the whole trial. So we have a big splash now, get it out of our system and get on to other things.”
“Such as?” Taylor said.
Steve frowned. “That’s the problem. The prosecution has a case. We don’t.”
“Any more surprises planned?”
Steve shook his head. “Nope. That was it. From here on in it will depend on what Dirkson throws at us.” He jerked his thumb at the headlines. “I knew this was coming, so I had it in the bag.”
“How come Fitzpatrick did it and not you?” Tracy asked.
“That was the whole point,” Steve said. “Dirkson would expect this from me. It’s the sort of thing I’d pull. From Fitzpatrick he wouldn’t have a clue. Besides, coming from me it wouldn’t have meant anything. Typical Winslow trick-of course I’d say that. But respectable, dignified Fitzpatrick standing out there in his three-piece suit-well, from him it really made a splash.”
“I’ll say.”
“Well, eat up,” Steve said. “I wouldn’t want to be late for court. I can’t wait to see what Dirkson throws at us next.”
29
For his first witness Dirkson called Joyce Wilkens, David Castleton’s cleaning lady, who testified to coming to work at nine o’clock, letting herself in with a key as was her custom and finding him lying dead on the floor. She then called the police and waited for them to arrive.
Fitzpatrick held a whispered conference with Steve Winslow, then took her on cross-examination.
“Miss Wilkens, you say you called the police?”
“That’s right.”
“How?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Where did you call them from? What phone did you use?”
“From there. The phone in the apartment.”
“So you handled the phone in the apartment?”
“Yes. Why?”
