“la any event, Wagner hasn't proved murder.”
Brown nodded. “If I was Clair I'd rest my case without patting Matt on the stand, merely let the psychiatrists say it was possible Matt was insane for the moment. But I think Clair wants to make a show of it.”
“What has he got to lose? The D.A. hasn't made it murder.”
“That Wagner is shrewd. I have a feeling he's waiting for Matt to take the stand. Wagner has something up his sleeve.”
“And you still believe Matt didn't kill Francine, even accidentally?”
“Yes. Aside from the reasons I gave you before, Matt's courtroom behavior convinces me. I don't see him acting so nonchalant if he had anything to do with her death. The way he sits there and grins smugly, keeps writing away—what in God's name is he writing? One would think this is all a big joke to him. Another thing that doesn't make sense: I see Matt for the first time in years, and in an argument over me, he threatens to kill his wife. Does that make sense? Or did I point that out when we first talked?”
“Couldn't that be in keeping with your picture of him as an intellectual phony?” I asked. “Matt might not have the courage to openly help you, but in an argument with his wife he goes all out. To make a horrible pun, he went overboard.”
“Perhaps, but I don't believe it. I can hardly believe the trial, most times it seems like a dream, that it can't be real.”
“I know, I had the same feeling.”
We talked some more, then had a few drinks and a leisurely fish dinner. I liked talking to Brown, although the old guy was so dogmatic he infuriated me at times. Like I said something about 'professional' men and he claimed that was a snobbish term; it took as much knowledge and time to be a good bricklayer as to be a lawyer. Still, it was all a way of passing time.
We drove back to the motel, picking up the evening papers on the way. It didn't make most front pages— nothing sensational had come out of the court. One paper had a picture of Jackson in action and another of Matt grinning—and looking positively huge sitting at the defense table—all shoulders. Except for a line in one paper, Brown wasn't mentioned at all. I stretched out on the bed, read the papers, feeling very good—remembering how wretched I'd been the last time I'd spent the night out here, worrying about Wilma and... that Joel was a snide bastard. A lousy lay, a kid!
Brown undressed and went to sleep by nine-thirty. I was amazed at how hard and lean he looked for a man his age. I was far from sleepy and I took a walk in the darkness, then returned to smoke a pipe in the motel driveway, listen to the sound of the waves. A few cabins away I saw Jackson Clair pacing up and down with long, energetic steps. Maybe it wasn't an act, he couldn't know anybody was watching. I walked over and said hello. We shook hands and his bony face was full of a dozen different shadows as he boomed, “Ah, the publisher!”
“No. Longson's advertising manager.”
“Yes, yes, I saw the ads. Simple and pleasing. Is the book selling well?”
“About what we expected.”
“I trust you fellows are going to give Matt an advance on the book he's writing in court. I'm gambling my fee on that.”
“Depends on the book. We only have a few chapters so far and nobody's read them yet. How is the trial going?”
“Splendid. I was afraid the judge wouldn't allow the books, but when he did that was a major victory. Yes, indeed.”
“Do you plan to put Matt on the stand tomorrow?”
“Yes. After all, he's my star witness—and the
“Wagner certainly hasn't proved murder. Prof. Brown thinks he's waiting in the bushes for Matt to take the stand.” Jackson sighed. “Care to walk with me? Exercise soothes my nerves, relaxes my mind. One reason for the tension of our times, too many cars.” As we walked up and down the driveway, Jackson said, “That Brown—a real thorn in the case. If only he weren't a radical! Make the case much easier if he had been kicked out of college for stealing or murder, but... you noticed, I'm sure, how I laid the groundwork for a defense if Wagner tried to redbait. Wagner is a square shooter, kept the case clean of red herrings. He's a very puzzling opponent.”
“You think he's competent?” I asked. “Oh, yes, he's clever. The trouble is, stupidity can often be mistaken for cleverness. I don't mean he's stupid, but after all he's a hick town D.A. For example, I don't understand why he didn't object to my introduction of the books as evidence. Another thing, he hasn't tried to bargain, offer us murder 'two' if Matt pleads guilty. Very odd.”
“You think he's getting a Sunday punch ready?”
“He has to. Obviously he hasn't proved the slightest intent or premeditation. However, I am not worried, a wild punch is the easiest to duck, as I believe your Prof. Brown will tell you. However, one thing I admire Wagner for, he's a gentleman through and through. He could have had the Hunters give the entire conversation between Matt and Francine Anthony, brought out Matt was a bit of a radical himself in his teaching days. Did you know he was bounced from Brooks for leading the students in an anti-ROTC demonstration? That one of the things he told Francine in that fateful conversation, was she should be damn glad Brown clammed up... he could have named Matt? Of course it's all silly, but you realize how easy it would be, or have been, for Wagner to have played up the Professor, then smeared Matt. Yes, Wagner is a fair fighter.”
“What reason would Wagner have for not bargaining?”
“Frankly, I don't know. Perhaps he knew I wouldn't even consider anything less than a manslaughter charge. Then again, he may be a gambler, playing the long shot. One thing you can be sure of, I don't underestimate him.” Jackson suddenly changed the subject, asking if I knew this area had once been the headquarters for most of the Atlantic Coast Indian tribes? Had I ever visited the reservation nearby? He was full of Indian lore. I was almost trotting to keep up with his long legs. About a half hour later, as he was earnestly explaining how the various tribes regulated the fishing rights, I was getting damn tired. I suspected Jackson was, too—I was far younger and in better shape—but he was trying to outlast me; as if we were a couple of kids. Finally I thought the hell with it and when he paused I said, “We'll have to talk again about the Indians. Right now I need to hit the sack.”
