COURTROOM DRAMA
One of the most difficult ways in which to tell any story, let alone a McGuffin, is solely through dialogue; the dialogue in such a tale must not only be crisp and realistic, it must convey characterization and nuance of feeling, plant clues if and where necessary, and of course carry the entire weight of the plot. In “No More Questions,” which does not contain a single narrative sentence until the story’s powerful last line, Stephen Novak has written a memorable example of the dialogue-only type-and has created as well both a lovely McGuffin and a piece of courtroom drama to match the master himself, Erle Stanley Gardner. Mr. Novak, in addition to writing short stories, is also a playwright: he recently won a prize in a one-act playwriting contest held by the Paulist Players of New York, who will produce his play. B.P.
“The defense calls as its last witness, the defendant, William Dempsey.”
“The defendant will advance to be sworn.”
“Do you solemnly swear that the testimony you are about to give is the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”
“I do.”
“State your full name and occupation.”
“William Tunney Dempsey. I own an appliance store in town.”
“You may be seated.”
‘‘How old are you, Bill?”
“Forty-six.”
“That’s a fighting name you have.”
“It was my mother’s idea.”
“Are you married, Bill?”
“Yes, for over twenty years.”
“Any children?”
“No, sir.”
“And where do you live?”
“In Jersey, just over the line.”
“That’s about fifty miles away? Do you commute every day?”
“Yes, including Saturdays. Six days a week.”
“And how long have you had your appliance business here in Wickham?”
“Close to four years.”
“And what made you open a business in Wickham?”
“My father died, and I inherited a small estate. I’ve always wanted a business of my own.”
“And how has business been?”
“Fair. But not as well as expected. It’s difficult for a newcomer to be accepted here. And now this…”
“Yes…well now, Bill, the prosecution is going to try to make a big deal about that television set you gave to Maryann, so I’d like to clear that matter up right from the start. I ask you to identify that television set, which is marked Exhibit Sixteen. Is that the one you gave to Maryann?”
“Yes, sir. It is.”
“What make set is it?”
“None, sir. I made it myself. I wanted to experiment with the new circuitry.”
“The chassis says Magnavox.”
“I used an old portable shell, because the components fit into it so neatly and polished it up.”
“And about how much did it cost you to make?”
“Not counting my time, about two hundred dollars for the parts.”
“So all you actually gave Maryann was about two hundred dollars?”
“If you put it that way, yes, sir. But I didn’t think about the money. She liked the set, so I gave it to her.”
“She saw you working on it?”
“Oh yes. She’d come in the store, and, when I wasn’t needed on the floor, I’d be in my office working on this.”
“She’d often come into your office?”
“Maybe every two or three days.”
‘‘Tell us, if you will, about when you first met Maryann.”
“Well, sir, she was in her last year of high school, and she’d stop in every so often and buy records, you know, like most of the kids do, on their way home from school.”
“And?”
“I don’t know exactly how to explain it, but we got to talking to each other, she to me and me to her, and we were soon sort of confiding in each other. She always seemed so much older mentally than the other high school kids.”
“And very pretty?”
“Oh yes. Very. But she never seemed to have any boyfriends in the high school crowd. She was too much of a loner. After a while I found out why, and I think I understood why she sort of liked to talk to me.”
“We’d like to get to understand her character better, Bill, so would you tell the court why she liked to talk to you?”
“I guess I must of been something like a father or uncle that she’d never really had, but always wished she’d had.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, she never knew her real father. She grew up with a stepfather who was very nasty, drunk all the time. Even made passes at her once. He had lots of kids from a former wife who’d deserted him, and she was always neglected and left alone with all the dirty work and none of the love. As soon as she could, she left home and went on her own.”
“And how old was she then?”
“Maybe thirteen, fourteen.” “And what did she do?”
“Lived with an older married sister for a while. Then found various places to stay. Girlfriends mostly. A month here, a few weeks there. You know.”
“Did she ever tell you if she lived with any men?”
“No, sir. She never said that.”
“Did you ever get the impression that she...how shall I put it…played around?”
“No, sir. Not when she was in high school. At least as far as I know. As I say, she always seemed so much older, but then she was so naïve and trusting too.”
“To you?”
“Yes, sir. She was always the kind of person you felt sorry for, without ever knowing exactly why. But, yes, sir. She trusted me, I think. That’s why she always talked to me so much. But she never mentioned boyfriends. Just how lousy her family had been to her. And how she wanted to hurry and finish school, get a job, and be on her own. But, it seemed, she never could get what she wanted.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, first of all, she flunked and didn’t finish high school. Instead, she managed to get sent to some charity school with a bunch of other girls, where she was supposed to learn a trade she could work at. She used to write me and tell me how rotten the place was, how brutal and cheap and dirty the other girls were. And the dope and drugs! She stayed only a couple of months, then left and came back here, where she did get a job and was able to rent the room where she…where she was killed.”
“Tell me truthfully, Bill, do you think Maryann was in love with you?”
“I…I…guess so, maybe, in a special sort of way, as I said. She used to tell me that all she wanted out of life was someone to love her.”
“But you never encouraged her?”
“With me? No, sir.”
“Why not?”
“Why not? Why not. I don’t know how to answer. Maybe because I felt so sorry for her. Because I was so much older. Because I love my wife. But, I don’t wanna lie to you, Mr. Buchanan, I loved Maryann all right, but not in the way people might think, just in my own mind…in a special way…maybe not like a daughter, but more like a protective kind of thing, where I just couldn’t stand her being hurt by anyone after all she’d been through at such a young age.”
“And you never told her?”
“I didn’t have to tell her. She could see that, and that’s why she used to tell me everything. Even when she found out she was gonna have a baby.”
“She told you about her affair with another man?”
“Right away. The next day, in fact. And then later, when she found out she was pregnant, she was so scared. She didn’t know how to tell me. She was afraid she’d lose my friendship, I think.”
“And how did you react?”
“How could I? I knew right from the start this guy she was seeing was going to be trouble for her. She’d met him at a diner only a few months before…and she was so in love. I never liked it, but I yessed her and agreed with her because she was so happy about having found someone, even though he was married, and she said he’d leave his wife for her. I just thought to myself, ‘Oh, yeah? Well, let’s wait and see!’ Then she found out about the baby.”
“What happened?”
“She really broke down when she told me. She said the guy was no good. He was such a big shot, she said, but with her, he was nothing. He always took her to the most out-of-the-way places round here, where nobody would see them together. And when he found out about the baby, he really got angry with her. He blamed her for being careless, and he said he never wanted to see her again, unless she took the money he offered and got rid of the kid.”
“He paid her to have an abortion?”
“Yes, sir. He gave her five hundred dollars.”
“And she told all this to you?”
“Yes, sir. She told me.”
“And what then?”
“She didn’t know what to do. I suggested that she go see a priest or a minister, but she’d have none of that, and she sort of questioned me like I was her spiritual adviser, asking me what to do about the baby.”
“And what did you advise?”
“I told her that if she had the abortion and if fate was cruel to her in the future and never gave her another child, she might not want to live with the terrible thought of having gotten rid of the only child she ever had. I also tried to make her see that, if she had the baby, for the first time in her life she would really have someone to love. And I also said that she might consider having the baby and placing it out for adoption as soon as it was born. There were agencies that handled that right from the hospital.”
“How did she take these suggestions of yours?”
“I’m sure she was happier when she left than when she came in.”
“But you don’t know what she resolved to do?”
“No, sir. I don’t.”
“Did she ever tell you who her lover was, his name?”
“No, sir. Just that he’d told her not to tell anyone.”
“Can you guess who he might be?”
“Your honor, I object. Defense counsel knows better than trying to get his witness to implicate someone by innuendo. Indeed, if there is someone.”
“Mr. Buchanan, you are leading your witness.”
“I’m sorry, your honor. I thought the witness might have some clue as to his identity.”
“Rephrase your question then.”
“Bill, did Maryann ever give you any specific indication of who her lover might be?”
“No, sir. She did not.”
“And how long ago was this that she told you about the baby and getting the money from her lover?”
“About a month before she was killed.”
‘‘Now, Bill, and this is very important, as I know you realize, I want you to tell the court as best you can remember the details of the day Maryann was murdered.”
“Well, sir, it was about five-fifteen in the afternoon. She must have just gotten home from work when she called me.”
“She telephoned you?”
“Yes, sir. Said she had turned on the TV set and wasn’t getting any picture and could I do anything about it after I finished work. Well, I close the store at six, so I said I’d stop by and check the set. Probably just a cold solder joint. I know how much she loved the TV set, because she always kept it on when she was home, always, from the time she got up, until going to sleep. She never had anything, you see. Never got a gift like it before from anyone. So…I closed the store about six-ten, got my tool caddy, got into my car, and drove the twenty blocks or so to her apartment.”
“You’d been there before?”
“Several times outside, when I’d give her a lift home. Only once inside, and then only for a minute or so, when I carried the set inside the room for her and set it up. That was the only time.”
“And when was that?”
“Just the week before. I guess I gave it to her to cheer her up.”
“And that was the only time you were in her apartment?”
“Yes, sir. Except it wasn’t really a whole apartment, just one room in this old private house, one room on the street side with its own side entrance.”
“So, after you closed the store, you drove to her flat?”
“Yes, sir. It was dark out already. When I got there, I could see her lights were on and I could hear the TV set playing. So, I knocked at her side door entrance. There was no answer. I tried the doorknob and it opened. At first, I didn’t see her, ’cause the couch faced the other way. First thing I noticed was the TV set, sounding off with one of the children’s programs, but absolutely no picture—gray blank. I called her. ‘Maryann?’ Thought she might be next door or in the bathroom, but no answer. Then I saw her on the floor in front of the couch. Her face was all bruised and she was just lying there, all crumpled up. I touched her and I saw she was dead.”
“Then what?”
“Then what? Oh, I think I cried, ’cause I remember hearing myself sobbing. I think I shut the TV off.”
“How long was it before you called the police?”
“I don’t know. Maybe ten minutes. Maybe fifteen.”
“And they arrested you for her murder?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And did you, William Tunney Dempsey, kill Maryann Ravelle?”
“No, sir. I swear I did not kill her.”
“And now, Bill, with his honor’s permission, I am going to tum you over to Mr. Whitaker, the district attorney, for cross-examination. I will have more questions to ask you on redirect.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, William Tunney Dempsey, your attorney has tried to portray you as sort of a generous poor slob, with a kind heart and a father’s protective instinct over this poor little innocent girl who you say was killed by a person unknown, by a lover unknown who fathered her unborn child, paid her to have an abortion, then in a murderous rage beat this poor girl to death, killing not only her, but, if you are right, his unborn child also? Am I correct? Is that the gist of your testimony?”
“I object, your honor.”
“Objection overruled. You may continue, Mr. Whitaker.”
“If I offend learned counsel, I apologize, but I see his client as a vicious, calculating, heartless murderer, who, to exonerate himself, having had an affair with this child not half his age, has concocted this absurd story of another lover to draw suspicion from himself by trying to create a sympathetic doubt in the jury’s minds. Well, I for one don’t believe this jury will overlook the cold, hard facts of this crime, based on the testimony of all the witnesses we’ve had who have sworn to the relationship existing between the defendant and the victim.”
“Is the district attorney making his summation at this point?”
“I’m sorry, your honor.”
“Confine your remarks to questions of the defendant.”
“Mr. Dempsey. Do you deny the testimony given by your employees…that they would see Maryann come in time and time again and go right into your office, where you’d close the door, and she’d stay for hours? Do you deny their testimony that they saw you drive away with her many evenings on closing the store?”
“No, sir. I don’t deny any of that. But they have all read something into our relationship which just wasn’t there.”
“Oh, really? You mean to tell me that a man of your age, a good-looking middle-aged man, I might add, a handsome, mature-looking man—you mean to tell me you were not flattered by the affection shown you by this young girl? That you did not in the slightest return her affection?”
“I was flattered, yes. But I did not return her affection—not in the way you mean.”
“And just what do I mean? I haven’t asked that question yet.”
“You’re implying an affair which didn’t exist.”
“All right, do you deny having had sexual relations with Maryann Ravelle?”
“Yes. I deny it. I certainly do deny it!”
“And can you prove you did not have an affair with her?”
“I object, your honor.”
“Objection sustained.”
“Do you deny having the opportunity for an affair?”
“I object.”
“Objection overruled. Answer the question, Mr. Dempsey.”
“How can I deny having the opportunity? Certainly. I drove her home many times. I can’t get witnesses to prove we went straight from the office to her home, or witnesses to say I stayed only a minute or two outside, or that I never went in, or that I didn’t meet her somewhere on the sly.”
“Thank you, Mr. Dempsey. Let’s turn now to the gifts. Are you normally a generous person?”
“What do you mean by normally?”
‘‘Well…do you give things to all your employees…all your customers?”
“Of course not.”
“Do you give gifts to some of your customers?”
“Sometimes. Yes.”
“Give me some examples.”
“I can’t think of any special examples. Certainly, when I liked a person, I gave small gifts, like records or books or things like that.”
“But never television sets?”
“No, sir.”
“But you gave Maryann a color television set. Did you give her any other gifts?”
“Just for Christmas and her birthday. You know.”
“That’s all? You never gave her money?”
“Oh, money. Yes, I guess I did. Occasionally.”
“How much and how occasionally?”
“You know, ten dollars here, five there. Just to keep her going when things were tough.”
“And you expect this jury to believe there was nothing more than platonic friendship between you and the girl?”
“Just friendship.”
“Did you ever tell your wife about Maryann?”
“I object to this line of questioning, your honor. I don’t see that it’s relevant in view of the fact that the defendant’s wife has already testified to the fact that she did not know of her husband’s friendship for Maryann. District attorney is trying to prejudice the character of the defendant.”
“Your honor. Learned defense counsel is correct in that I am trying to show that the character of the defendant is indeed on trial here.”
“Objection overruled.”
“No. I never mentioned it to my wife.”
“But Maryann knew you were married?”
“Yes. She did.”
“You saw nothing wrong with this young girl establishing a relationship with you—a married man, but yet you want this court to believe this fictitious story of another man she’d supposedly known for four months? The defense has not produced one shred of evidence to prove the existence of another man. I submit, your honor, that there never was such a third party. I submit, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, that the defendant has fabricated this story to cover his own sins, that he is the father of—”
“Mr. Whitaker! How long must I pound this gavel to get your attention? The jury will disregard the district attorney’s statements. Mr. Whitaker, you will kindly save your emotional outbursts for your summation to the jury.”
“Yes, your honor. I’m sorry. Now, Mr. Dempsey, if such a third party existed, and I emphasize the word ‘if,’ why do you think he would have killed Maryann? If he was so concerned about protecting his reputation?”
“I think she must have refused to have the abortion. That she told him so. And, in a fit of anger, he hit her, probably accidentally killing her.”
“That’s your guess?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Mr. Dempsey. You admit having a relationship with the girl. You expect us to believe in your virtue. You admit to giving her gifts. You expect us to believe you are merely a generous person, without motives. You were at the scene of the crime when the police arrived. You expect us to believe that you did not run, but called the police because it was your duty to do so. You expect us to believe that you were in her apartment only once before; yet so many witnesses saw you drive her from your store time and time again. You expect us to believe in the existence of another man, when no one, not one single witness has corroborated your testimony? You expect us to believe all this?”
“Yes. Because it’s true.”
“Then what happened to the five hundred dollars this lover supposedly gave her? The police didn’t find it. No bank accounts. No evidence of large purchases. Where is it? What did she do with it, Mr. Dempsey?”
“I don’t know.”
“No more questions, your honor.”
“Mr. Buchanan, do you wish to redirect at this time?”
“Your honor, I would prefer adjourning until the day after tomorrow, so that I might study all the testimony given.”
“Very well. Any objections from the district attorney?”
“No objection.”
“This court stands adjourned until ten o’clock on Thursday.”
“This court is now in session, the Honorable James R. Flanigan presiding.”
“The defendant is reminded that he is still under oath. Mr. Buchanan, you may proceed with your redirect.”
“Before I begin, your honor, may I ask the court’s permission to have my clerk come forward with an electrical extension and connect the power to the television set, State’s Exhibit Sixteen?”
“For what purpose, Mr. Buchanan?”
“The defendant has testified that the set was in need of repair. I wish to corroborate that testimony.”
“Does the district attorney have any objection?”
“None, your honor.”
“Proceed then.”
“Jack, will you connect that extension please? Thank you. Now, Bill, you claimed that Maryann had called you to repair the television set and that when you arrived, one of the first things you noticed was that the sound was playing, but there was no picture. Is that correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Would you now leave the stand and turn on the switch of the TV set?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Fine. That’s it. Is it on? I see nothing but a dark screen, no picture at all, no lines, nothing, the same as if the set were turned off. Am I correct, Bill?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Nevertheless, I do hear people talking on what I think is the Channel 7 A.M. New York show. Is that correct?”
“Yes, it is. It’s tuned to Channel 7.”
“May I ask your honor for permission for this witness to step down temporarily, so that I may recall Sergeant Capilan of the Wickham police department to the stand?”
“Very well. Sergeant Capilan will take the stand, please.”
“Now, Sergeant. I ask you to recall the scene of the death. When you arrived, was this television playing or not?”
“It was not playing, sir.”
“And did you or anyone else, during the entire time this set has been in the custody of the police department, tum this set on to test it?”
“No, sir. We did not. We merely dusted it for fingerprints.”
“And, of course, as you’ve already sworn to, you found the prints of both the defendant and the victim on it…and no other prints?”
“That’s correct, sir.”
“And the set has been in your custody all this time?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And once more, did anyone, to your knowledge, turn this set on at any time since the crime?”
“No, sir.”
“Thank you, Sergeant. Will the defendant please resume the stand?… Now, Bill, I would like to ask you more about this television set. You said you made this set?”
“Yes, sir, I did.”
“I’m going to ask you, Bill, with the court’s permission, to see if you can’t repair that set for us right here and now.”
“Your honor. I object to this display of showmanship by the defense counsel!”
“Do you have a purpose, Mr. Buchanan?”
“Yes, your honor. My client’s guilt or innocence may very well depend on this exhibit, and I don’t want him denied that chance.”
“Very well. Proceed.”
“Bill, would you then take your tool caddy, State’s Exhibit Twenty-Four, and proceed to repair the set, if you can?”
“This shouldn’t take too long.”
“I call your attention, your honor, for the record, to the fact that the defendant is now turning the set over, loosening some screws, sliding the component tray out and checking the wire circuitry beneath. Have you spotted the trouble, Bill?”
“Just as I thought. Looks like a loose connection. Just a moment while this soldering iron gets hot…there, now we should have a picture. Yes, there it is.”
“I was right, your honor. It is the AM. New York show, in living color. Thank you, Bill. You may turn the set off and take the stand. Now, Bill, that cabinet, the outside wood, where did that come from?”
“That was an old Magnavox portable. I took the old works out of that set and put the new works inside this box. It was lightweight and cut just right for the controls you see there.”
“You mean the tuning knob, the volume, tone, et cetera?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And tell me, Bill, is there any indication whatsoever…any marking on the cabinet or on the controls to indicate whether this is a black and white set or a color set?”
“No, sir, there is not.”
“And tell me, did you, at any time during your testimony, or did I, in any of my questioning, indicate whether this was a color set?”
“No, sir, we did not.”
“And exactly why did neither you nor I mention that this was a color set?”
“Because we knew that the only one else who could possibly know it would be Maryann’s lover.”
“And did we know who her lover was?”
“Yes, sir. We knew. But we couldn’t prove it.”
“And how did we know?”
“Because Maryann told me who her lover was.”
“Then you lied when you were asked if you knew?”
“Yes, sir, I lied.”
“And you were willing to commit perjury?”
“Yes, sir. He was too powerful. Who’d have believed me? But I knew sooner or later he’d have to say something, ask something which would give us the proof.”
“He could have guessed it was color. Most sets are today.”
“Yes, but only he could have known about the exact time he first met Maryann…four months before. I was careful not to mention that either.”
“No more questions. Your witness, Mr. Whitaker.”
But the district attorney was weeping.