Tommie wore a dark blue suit with a light tan tie, an ensemble suggested by Darrow to seem vaguely naval, slightly military. The sharp features of his boyish face had fixed into a tight expression that fell somewhere between scowl and pout.
In a manner that may have been intended to relax the obviously tense Tommie, and lull the jury, Darrow began an unhurried journey through Tommie’s early years—born, Winchester, Kentucky; military school; Naval Academy; marriage on graduation day to sixteen-year-old Thalia Fortescue. On through his naval duties—the U.S.S.
Then, in the same soothing, casual tone, Darrow said, “Do you remember going to a dance last September?”
“How could I forget it?” Tommie said.
Kelley was already on his feet.
“Where was that party?” Darrow asked.
“The Ala Wai Inn,” Tommie said. “My wife didn’t feel like goin’, but I persuaded her to.”
Kelley was standing before the bench, now. “Your Honor, I don’t intend to interrupt with constant objections,” he said quietly, earnestly, “but I feel entitled to know the relevance of this testimony.”
Darrow had drifted to the bench too, and Kelley turned to the old boy and asked, point blank, “Is it your intention to go into the Ala Moana case?”
“I do so intend.”
“Then, Your Honor, the prosecution should be informed at this time if one of the defendants will make an insanity plea—in which case, we will not oppose this testimony.”
“We do intend,” Darrow said, “to raise the question of insanity in relation to the one who fired the pistol.”
Kelley frowned and bit off the words: “Is a plea of insanity to be offered in behalf of Lt. Massie?”
Darrow smiled. “I don’t think it’s necessary at this time to single out any particular person.”
Kelley was shaking his head, no. “Unless the prosecution is informed that a plea of insanity is to be made on Lt. Massie’s behalf, I will object to any further testimony along these lines, by this witness.”
Darrow made a gesture with two open hands as if he were holding a hymnal. “Your Honor, Mr. Kelley in his opening statements linked all the defendants together as equally guilty. Now he wishes me to separate them for his convenience.”
The judge, pondering this, looked first from one attorney to the other, like a man watching a tennis match.
“It is common knowledge, Your Honor,” Kelley said, “that the defense has imported prominent psychiatrists from the mainland.” The prosecutor gestured first to Tommie, then to the other three defendants. “The prosecution has the right to know which of these four Mr. Darrow will claim insane.”
“I’ll gladly tell you,” Darrow said.
Kelley glared at him. “Which of them, then?”
Darrow beamed. “The one who shot the pistol.”
Kelley’s face was reddening. “The prosecution has the right to know the person for whom this insanity plea is to be made so that
“These alienists of yours,” Darrow said, “would appear as rebuttal witnesses, of course.”
“Of course,” Kelley said.
“Now I’m a stranger here in your lovely land, Mr. Kelley, but if my rudimentary understanding of procedure in Hawaii is correct, I’m under no obligation to submit my clients to examination by rebuttal witnesses.”
“Your Honor, this is outrageous. I object to this line of questioning on grounds of relevance.”
“Now,” Darrow said, as if Kelley’s words were harmless gnats flitting about, “if the prosecution wishes to seat its alienist experts as spectators in the gallery, I’d certainly have no objection.”
Why would he? Any opinion they might offer on the witness stand would be followed by the obvious, and devastating, defense query: “Doctor, have you examined the accused?”
Next to me Leisure was smiling. This was his handiwork, but Darrow’s delivery was priceless.
“Your objection is overruled, Mr. Kelley,” Judge Davis said. “You may continue questioning along these lines, Mr. Darrow.”
And he did. Probing gently, Darrow withdrew from Tommie his tale of the Ala Wai Inn party and his search for his wife, as the party wound down; how he’d finally reached Thalia by phone to hear her cry, “Come home at once! Something awful has happened!” And in excruciating detail, Tommie told of Thalia’s description to him of the injuries and indignities she’d endured.
“She said Kahahawai had beaten her more than anyone,” Tommie said. “She said when Kahahawai assaulted her, she prayed for mercy and his answer was to hit her in the jaw.”
At the defense table, Mrs. Fortescue’s stoic, noble mask began to quiver; tears rolled down her flushed cheeks, unattended, as her son-in-law described her daughter’s suffering.
“She said over and over again,” Tommie was saying, “why hadn’t the men just killed her? She wished they’d killed her.”
Many of the women in the gallery were weeping now; sobbing.
“The followin’ day,” Tommie said, “when she was in the hospital, the police brought in the four assailants.”
