Part 24 (1/2)

”If this is what you told Ruth Murphey, no wonder she ran away,” Bondelli said.

”I told Ruth I'd help any way I can.”

”You have a strange way of showing it.”

”Look,” Thurlow said. ”We've a community up in arms, fearful, excited. Murphey's the focus for their hidden guilt feelings. They want him dead. They want this psychological pressure taken off them. You can't psychoa.n.a.lyze a whole community.”

Bondelli began tapping a finger impatiently on the desk. ”Will you or will you not help me prove Joe's insane?”

”I'll do everything I can, but you know Joe's going to resist that form of defense, don't you?”

”Know it!” Bondelli leaned forward, arms on his desk. ”The d.a.m.n' fool blows his top at the slightest hint I want him to plead insanity. He keeps harping on the unwritten law!”

”Those stupid accusations against Adele,” Thurlow said. ”Joe's going to make it very difficult to prove him insane.”

”A sane man would fake insanity now if only to save his life,” Bondelli said.

”Keep that very clearly in mind,” Thurlow said. ”Joe can't in any way entertain the idea that he's insane. To admit that -- even as a possibility -- or as a necessary pretense, he'd have to face the fact that his violent act could've been a useless, senseless thing. The enormity of such an admission would be far worse than insanity. Insanity's much preferable.”

”Can you get that across to a jury?” Bondelli asked. He spoke in a hushed tone.

”That Murphey considers it safer to play sane?”

”Yes.”

Thurlow shrugged. ”Who knows what a jury will believe? Joe may be a hollow sh.e.l.l, but that's one h.e.l.luva strong sh.e.l.l. Nothing contradictory can be permitted to enter it. Every fiber of him is concentrated on the necessity to appear normal, to maintain the illusion of sanity -- for himself as well as for others. Death is far preferable to that other admission . . . Oscar Wilde concurring.”

”'Each man kills the thing he loves,'” Bondelli whispered. Again, he turned, looked out the window. The smoky pattern was still there. He wondered idly if workmen were tarring a roof somewhere below him.

Thurlow looked down at Bondelli's tapping finger. ”The trouble with you, Tony,” he said, ”is you're one of G. K. Chesterton's terrible children. You're innocent and love justice. Most of us are wicked and naturally prefer mercy.”

As though he hadn't heard, Bondelli said: ”We need something simple and elegant to show the jury. They have to be dumbfounded with the realization that . . .” He broke off, stared at Thurlow. ”And your prediction of Joe's trouble fits the bill precisely.”

”Too technical,” Thurlow said. ”A jury won't sit still for it, won't understand it. Juries don't hear what they don't understand. Their minds wander. They think about dress patterns, bugs in the rose garden, what's for lunch, where to spend a vacation.”

”You did predict it, didn't you? Ruth did report your words correctly?”

”The psychotic break, yes, I predicted it.” The words were almost a sigh. ”Tony, haven't you focused on what I've been telling you? This was a s.e.x crime -- the sword, the violence . . .”

”Is he insane?”

”Of course he's insane!”

”In the legal sense?”

”In every sense.”

”Well, then there's legal precedent for . . .”

”Psychological precedent's more important.”