The Glass Village (12 page)

They murmured their approval.

“I assume,” the Judge continued dryly, “you consider me qualified. But so that there will be no misunderstanding, will you signify that you consent to my sitting in this case, and that you will abide by my rulings without argument except as they are properly argued by prosecutor and defense counsel?”

“Let's call a town meetin',” said Burney Hackett.

“No need for that,” said Hube Hemus indulgently. “Trial's got to have a judge, and a judge's got his prescribed powers. All those in favor say aye!” There was a roar of ayes. “All those opposed motion carried. Go ahead, Judge.”

“Then I set the trial of Josef Kowalczyk as beginning Monday morning, the seventh day of July, at ten o'clock
A.M.
That's tomorrow morning, late enough so the chores can be got out of the way. The place of the trial will be Aunt Fanny Adams's house. We'll all be more comfortable there, and we'll have the additional advantage of being on the scene of the crime, so that exhibits need not be toted from one place to another. Is that agreeable to everyone?”

They were pleased. Johnny thought, Crafty old conniver. You've set it in the one place calculated to reassure them.

“The first thing we will do tomorrow morning,” the Judge went on, “is empanel a jury. The law states that the accused must be tried by a jury of his peers, consisting of twelve legal voters of good character, sound judgment, and fair education, aged at least twenty-five, plus an alternate in case one of the twelve takes sick or otherwise cannot continue as a juryman during the trial. There will have to be a bailiff to take charge of the prisoner and keep order in the courtroom, a clerk of the court to keep the record of the trial, a prosecutor, and a defense attorney. The accused will be given the opportunity to select his own counsel and, if he does so, you must abide by his choice. If he has no preference, the court will appoint counsel to defend him; and in that case, I shall have to call in a lawyer from outside at town expense. Is that understood?”

They looked at Hubert Hemus.

Hemus reflected. “Aya. He's got to have his lawyer. But who's goin' to prosecute?”

“Good question, Hube,” said the Judge, still more dryly. “I'll have a suggestion on that point at the proper time, one that I'm sure will meet with everyone's approval.”

He looked around. “All qualified voters will be present in the living room of Aunt Fanny Adams's house by a quarter of ten tomorrow morning. Court will convene at ten sharp. And now, neighbors, I think we've held up church long enough, don't you, Mr. Sheare?”

The women and children trooped into the church. The men conferred in low tones; then Tommy and Dave Hemus were given instructions and came down off the steps to take posts before and behind the little white building, trailing their guns negligently. Eddie Pangman and Drakeley Scott hurried up the walk and out into Shinn Road. They halted in the middle of the intersection. Eddie Pangman faced east, in the direction of Cudbury; Drakeley Scott faced west, in the direction of Comfort. Both boys were in high spirits. They joked to each other over their shoulders.

The men of Shinn Corners stacked their guns carefully outside the church and went in to their Sunday worship.

Three
…

Judge Shinn was preoccupied during the service. Almost as preoccupied, Johnny observed, as Mr. Sheare. The minister mumbled throughout, and during the singing of the hymns he stood with eyes closed as if communing with the only Authority that had never failed him. To the Judge's frank relief, Mr. Sheare dispensed with his sermon.

Johnny found his thoughts wandering to the man in the cellar. Kowalczyk was probably a Roman Catholic, and if he was devout this imprisonment in the coalbin of a Low Protestant church during a sacred service must seem to him a cruel and unusual punishment. No Latin, strange-sounding hymns, a priest who dressed like other men …

He dismissed Kowalczyk with an effort.

After the service the Judge conferred with Ferriss Adams. Then he took Hube Hemus aside. He was talking earnestly to Elizabeth Sheare when Millie Pangman waddled over and hovered.

“Yes, Millie, what is it?”

“Your Sunday dinner's goin' to be awful late, Judge,” the farmer's wife said timidly. “I've got my own family's dinner to get, and what with everythin' that's happened and all—”

“It's all right, Millie,” the Judge barked. “We'll manage,” and he turned back to Mr. Sheare.

Millie Pangman drew little Deborah away, crushed. Johnny went up to her. “Now don't you worry about our dinner, Mrs. Pangman. I'll fix it.”

“But I don't like you havin' to do that, Mr. Shinn.”

“Why not? I'll enjoy it,” Johnny lied gallantly. “Is there anything in the house to make dinner with?”

“There's a roast of beef in the refrig'rator I was goin' to fix—”

“Say no more. I cut my eyeteeth on roasts of beef. We'll make out fine.”

So Sunday afternoon found Johnny in the big Shinn kitchen up to his armpits in one of Millie Pangman's aprons, pondering the mysteries of a boned rolled roast while Judge Shinn busied himself with equally mysterious telephone calls on the extension in his study. Johnny solved the culinary mystery when he dug a cookbook out of a cupboard drawer, and the discovery of a roast-thermometer he crowed over. But the mystery of the Judge's phone calls remained one. Johnny found himself rather resenting the old man's reticence. He wondered why. He prepared some dough for biscuits thoughtfully.

While he set the table in the dining room, the Judge passed through the hall without a glance. Johnny saw him cross the road and disappear in the church.

The Judge came back an hour later, frowning. Again he shut himself in his study; and Johnny had to knock five times before he answered.

They ate Johnny's dinner in silence—rare roast beef, hot biscuits with country butter, gooseberry jam (found on the top shelf of a cupboard), and bread-and-butter pickles that came in a jar with a homemade pictorial label bearing the signature “Fanny Adams.” The Judge might have been eating fried woodchuck. He ate with a scowl, his gray brows bunched over his shrewd blue eyes.

But after dinner the old man suddenly chuckled and took Johnny's arm. “Don't know when I've savored a meal more, Johnny. Beats Millie's cooking all hollow! Never mind the dishes, Millie'll do 'em. … I wanted to do some thinking and checking. Come on into my study.”

“First,” said the Judge, sinking into his leather swivel chair, “understand that I'm not trying to drag you into this, Johnny. But as long as you're here, do you mind if I use you as a sounding board?”

“Well, I'm here,” said Johnny. “Sound off.”

“I don't want you to think—”

“Cut the psychology, your honor,” said Johnny. “The maiden is willing. To listen, anyway.”

“Thank you,” said the Judge solemnly. “Let's understand our position—excuse me, my position …”

“See here,” said Johnny, “apparently you have some notion that all breathing has ceased and somebody forgot to inter the remains. This thing interests me, Judge. If only as a confirmation of my thesis that God's in His heaven, all's wrong with the world. Where do we stand?”

“Well,” said the Judge, settling back carefully, “we have a thin edge to walk. My purpose is to make this proceeding as legally preposterous and indefensible as I can get away with.”

“Then why that speech about court personnel, defense counsel, and the rest of it? Seems to me all that makes it too real.”

“You didn't let me finish. At the same time, let's not underestimate my neighbors. They're provincial and ignorant of a great many things, but they're not fools. To the extent of their minimal knowledge we'll have to conform to normal courtroom procedure. They certainly know that in every trial there must be someone to administer the oath, keep order, and so on. As a New England community steeped in the tradition of town meetings, caucuses, selectmen meetings and the like, they're also minutes-conscious and will expect someone to keep a record of what goes on. And so on down the line.”

“That's a complication,” frowned Johnny. “Seems to me there aren't enough people available.”

“There's a rather curious result mathematically,” said the Judge. He glanced at a pad of lined yellow paper on the desk. “Let's take the problems in order. Bailiff. The natural choice is Burney Hackett. As town constable Burney can take charge of the prisoner's comings and goings—they'll consider that fitting and proper; as bailiff of the court he can keep order, serve as messenger, jury usher, and administer the oaths.

“Next: Court stenographer. We can't avoid this, obviously, and we don't want to avoid it. We want the most accurate transcript of what happens in the ‘courtroom' for the permanent record.”

“Means you'll have to call in some one from outside.”

“As it happens, no. Elizabeth Sheare trained herself in shorthand years ago to help her in her teaching work.”

“But don't you need Mrs. Sheare as a jurywoman?”

“Love to have her as both,” remarked the Judge. “That would make a fine black smear on the trial record! But unfortunately Hube Hemus knows it, too. I can't chance arousing Hube's suspicions. He's our key man. If we keep him satisfied, we'll have no trouble with the others.

“Next: The prosecutor. I have the perfect choice—”

“Ferriss Adams,” said Johnny.

“Right. He couldn't possibly be improved upon for our purposes. You heard Hube this morning; he was worried about it. In my capacity as a judge of the Superior Court, my appointment of Adams to be ‘special assistant state's attorney' is bound to please Hube and everyone else. As Aunt Fanny's kin, Ferriss has strong feelings about the case and they'll expect him to prosecute with a vengeance; they'll have confidence in him. I've talked to Ferriss and explained confidentially what I'm after. He's agreed to do it.

“Now for the defense: I've been over to see Kowalczyk—”

“Don't think I don't know it,” said Johnny. “All on your lone.”

“Now, now, I had my reason. Kowalczyk knows no lawyer, doesn't know anyone around here, he says, and I'm going to appoint counsel, someone I can trust to play his part in this farce convincingly. In fact, I've already talked to him. He's coming down from Cudbury this evening.”

“Who is he?”

“I introduced you to him last week. Andy Webster.”

“Judge Webster? But I thought you said he was retired and raising prize chrysanthemums.”

“He's itching to get into this.” The Judge glanced at his pad. “That brings us to the jury.

“The jury, of course,” said the Judge, leaning back again, “is our real secret weapon. Almost without exception it will be packed with avowedly prejudiced jurymen whose opinions as to the defendant's guilt have been fully formed in advance. Which is, for our purposes, just dandy!

“Let's go through the voting population of Shinn Corners and see what we get.

“The Berrys, Peter and Emily, make two.

“Hubert and Rebecca Hemus, four. The Hemus twins are only eighteen.

“Hacketts. Burney's our bailiff-etcetera, so he can't serve, and Joel's under age. Selina's so deaf the others wouldn't let her sit even if we wanted her. Their aim is a quick trial, and Selina's insistence on having everything repeated to her till she hears it would prolong this thing into the next century. Therefore no Hacketts.

“Pangman.” The Judge referred again to his notes. “Orville and Millie, Eddie being under age and Merritt off in the Navy somewhere.”

“Two more, making six.”

“Prue Plummer.”

“Seven.”

“Scott. Earl's helpless—hasn't been out of the house for five years except on his porch. Old Seth's not only in a wheelchair, he's senile. And Drakeley's only seventeen. Leaving Mathilda. She'll have to serve while Judy takes care of the invalids.”

“Mathilda Scott, eight.”

“The Sheares.” The Judge fingered his chin. “Elizabeth is our stenographer. Samuel Sheare, let us pray, will be in. Or on.”

“But you can't do that,” protested Johnny. “A minister of the gospel serving on a jury in a first degree murder case? For one thing, Mr. Sheare probably doesn't believe in capital punishment—”

“And in this state,” nodded the Judge, smiling, “conviction in a first degree murder case carries with it the death penalty. Exactly. And, by the way, Samuel Sheare does have conscientious scruples against capital punishment. My problem's going to be to get him to refrain from expressing them in the courtroom. If he'll keep quiet, we may have a fighting chance to slip him into the panel.”

“Nine,” said Johnny, shaking his head. “It's hard to keep in mind that as far as this trial is concerned we're on the side of lawlessness and disorder. Keep going!”

“You'll see a lot worse before it's over,” said the Judge. “Calvin Waters. Now Calvin's another problem. A juryman who hasn't been right in the head since the age of three is, of course, just in line with what we're looking for on this jury. Trouble, is they know Calvin, too. Well, they haven't much choice. It's Calvin Waters, alias Laughing, or we won't reach the sacred number twelve.

“Let's see now … beginning to scrape bottom …”

“Wait a minute. Calvin Waters, number ten. How about that old man on the hill? Hosey Lemmon?”

“Won't serve. Hube's already sent Burney Hackett up to sound old Lemmon out. Hosey grabbed his shotgun, said he wouldn't have anything to do with killings and trials, that he knew nothing about Fanny's murder, didn't want to know, and refused to take any part. Burn almost got his leg blown off.”

“Then who's left? The Isbels! That's two right there. There's your twelve.”