Part 36 (1/2)
”So you base your findings solely on his medical records to the time he was eighteen. Is that correct?”
”Yes.”
”Because statistically, you know you can rely on them. Is that correct?”
”That's absolutely correct.”
”I see. Did you carry an umbrella today to court, Dr. Jacoby?”
”Objection,” Novak called out. ”Immaterial.”
”I have a point to make, Your Honor,” Barbara said. She glanced at Judge Mac and thought he already had taken her point.
”Overruled. You may answer the question, Doctor.”
Jacoby looked bewildered, then shook his head. ”I did not.”
”Why not?”
”It wasn't raining.”
”But according to the Weather Bureau, statistically on this date we can expect rain,” she said. ”Do you mean to say that human behavior is more statistically reliable than the weather?”
”Yes, it is,” he said positively.
She smiled and picked up another of his books, read the t.i.tle and gave the date of publication, then opened it. ”On page two hundred twelve you wrote, 'There is nothing, absolutely nothing as mysterious as human behavior; unraveling the vagaries of changeable weather, the unpredictable volcanic eruptions, the indeterminate movement of atomic particles, all pale, become child's play compared to attempting to comprehend the unfathomable depths of the human psyche. Statistics hint at what we might expect, but can never predict with unfailing accuracy any future act of anyone individual human being.' Are those your words, Dr. Jacoby?”
”Yes, but in context-”
”'Yes' is enough,” she said. ”No further questions.”
When Novak did his redirect, Barbara listened attentively, but there was nothing new, just more-much, much more-of the same, with language that became ever more pompous and stilted.
To Barbara's surprise Novak called Calvin Strohm next; she had been expecting him to call Dr. Minick. She was disappointed; she and Dr. Minick had looked forward to having him appear as a state witness. She suspected that Jacoby had explained to Novak the folly of calling him.
Calvin Strohm was young, thirty-one, open-faced, blond, and very clean looking. Barbara thought it strange how some people gave the impression of being cleaner than others, when, she felt certain, they all probably bathed and shampooed with about the same frequency. But Strohm appeared clean and fresh and not like a candidate for Mensa. The way he looked around at everything and everyone except Alex suggested that he had never testified in court before.
He gave his background: high school, community college, two years in the army, then the sheriff's department.
”Did you have occasion to call on Dr. Minick and Alexander Feldman early in June?” Novak asked then.
”Yes, sir, I did.”
”Tell the court how that came about.”
”Well, Gus told me-”
”Excuse me, Deputy Strohm. Was that Gus Marchand?”
”Yes, sir. Gus, he told me that this guy was scaring his daughter, Rachel, and would I go with him and put the fear of the law in the guy. He said he didn't fear the Lord, or the devil, but maybe the law would mean something to him. So me and Gus went over....”
He told it more or less the same way Dr. Minick had related the incident.
”On that day how did Alexander Feldman react to Mr. Marchand's accusation?”
”Well, Gus, he didn't get to go in. Dr. Minick wouldn't let him in. And Alexander Feldman looked really mad. He was scary looking. He said he didn't do anything and went in his room and slammed the door hard enough to shake the house.”
”What else did Gus Marchand tell Dr. Minick that day?”
”He said he wasn't through, and that Alexander Feldman wouldn't get away with spying on his daughter and that he would put forty houses on that piece of ground next door and let him have some company.”
”Was there another occasion when you went to Dr. Minick's house to see Alexander Feldman?”
”Yes, sir, there was. The day Gus got killed.”
”Tell us about that occasion, Deputy,” Novak said.
”I got the call on the car radio, me and Steve Philpott got there at just about the same time, and he went out to see if anybody was hanging out in the barn or garage, and I took a look inside and saw that Gus was on the floor, and they were saying he was dead. Bakken and Wilberson, I mean. And they were saying how n.o.body could have gone in without they would have seen them, and I called Steve back to the house and told him I would go check on the frea-check on Feldman and make sure he was not going anywhere before the sheriff and the homicide guys got there. So I went over there again. I went around to the back and I could see them, Minick and Feldman, I mean, at the kitchen table eating. And I said something, and Minick stood up and put his hand on Feldman's shoulder, like to hold him down, and he came to the door, and I told him Gus was dead. He said he knew that, he had been over there.”
”How did Feldman look that time, Deputy?”
”He looked wild, kind of crazy, and real mean. He grabbed up his sungla.s.ses and stuck them on like he was trying to hide his eyes.”
”Then what did you do?”
”I just told them to stay there because someone would come around to ask some questions, and I got out of there and back to Gus's house.”
”Did you drive to Dr. Minick's house that evening?”
”No, sir. I walked through the woods, like I thought someone else might have done. I wanted to see if the woods got too thick or anything to walk.”
”Did the woods get too thick?”
”No, sir. It's an easy walk, just a few minutes at the most, not hurrying any.”
Barbara started her cross-examination by asking Strohm if he had known Gus Marchand very long.
”Most of my life, I guess.”
”In what capacity? I mean, were you a neighbor, a friend?”
”My folks live out that way, and I did until I moved to Springfield four years ago. Gus was in our church, and he was my Sunday-school teacher when I was small.”
”So you knew the whole family, Gus Marchand, his wife, and his children?”
”Yes, ma'am.”
”Did you also know Dr. Minick and Alex Feldman?”
”I seen Dr. Minick around, not Feldman.”