The prosecuter was maybe mid 30's or so, hair graying perhaps a bit prematurely.
We were in his office. Well, I wouldn't exactly call it an office, more like a cubicle. He glanced at me, chuckled, sat down.
"You've got a lot on your plate with this case," he said, the smile had settled in around his eyes.
"Yep," I said.
"You know, I'd never heard of this Cade kid being in trouble before," he said, rummaging through drawers for the files I had requested. I noticed a styrofoam cup of coffee cooling on his desk next to a half eaten bagel.
"Of course," he said, slamming his desk drawer and opening up his file cabinet, "there are these Cades that live over on the east side, fight like cats and dogs, it's the booze, you know," I nodded.
"His parents," I said.
"Yeah, figures, apples don't fall far from the tree, uh? Well, what do you expect of these kids growing up in that environment?" He shook his head, still grinning, and plopped the files on his desk.
"I'll have my secretary copy these for you," he said. I thanked him and rose to go, shook his hand.
...........................................................Chronic Pain
I felt the weird queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach as I waited for Ms. Johnson to arrive for our meeting.
It was noonish, the sun falling full force through the lobby doors. I had a martini gleaming in front of me. I was drinking lunch.
She came in wearing a suit nearly identical to the one she wore the other day, but this one was closer to the color of oatmeal instead of pencil lead. I rose to greet her, offered my hand. She sat, and I thought I saw her eye my drink with dissapproval.
"So?" I said, hoping I didn't sound as anxious as I felt, "did you get to talk to him?"
She nodded a bit absently, started taking out her notes. I sighed in relief. He'd talked to her, at least.
"Does he remember it? The thing with Bob from several months ago?"
"Yes, he does,"
I took a swallow of my martini, fished out the olive and ate it. Damn it.
"Tell me," I said.
"O.k. He said he was in a vacant lot in his neighborhood and a blue mustang had pulled up. There were four "socs", he said, "socs" are the wealthier teenagers who live on the west side," Her voice was still professionally sympathetic, the tone like she's heard all of this before and heard worse. Damn it, damn it. They had even been in the blue mustang. Johnny had said they were in a blue mustang the night he killed Robert, Bob.
"He said they caught him and that one of them had a lot of rings on his hand, that the rings had cut him very badly and caused the scar on his cheek. They had threatened him, scared him, and since that incident he began carrying a six inch switchblade with him everywhere,"
I traced the circle of moisture left by my drink and motioned the waittress over so I could order another one.
"So he recognized him on that night he killed him?"
"Yes, he did. He recognized the car and the rings on Robert Sheldon's hand,"
Damn it. I looked at the bottles behind the bar, noticing the baby blue of the Bombay
Sapphire gin.
"So what do you make of this?" I said.
"I think that Johnny reacts to physical threats differently based on his history. Let me make an analogy concerning pain. The more pain one feels the more sensitive one becomes to it,"
I tried to look like I got her point, but I'm not sure I did. From the corner of my eye I saw the bartender mixing my drink.
"You might think that an individual who experiences chronic pain would become accustomed to it, able to handle more pain than those who are not always in pain," I nodded, noticing the wild red in her pinned up hair.
"To constantly be in pain makes the body more sensitive to pain, less able to handle it. For Johnny it is a similar thing, he is always under the threat of violence, from his father and from these "socs". Instead of being able to handle this well because it is always present, he can not. So what does he do? Sleeps at friends' houses and on the streets to avoid his father. Carries a lethal weapon to protect himself from the "socs". And when his friend is nearly drowned and the threat of another beating is facing him he kills the perpetrator,"
The waitress glided over with my drink, and it shimmered iridescent in the glass, the olive nestled at the bottom.
O.K. O.K. This sounded like Robert Sheldon's fault, Johnny reacted. That's how I'd play it.
.............................................................Files
The copies of the prosecutor's files were waiting for me at the front desk. I hauled them up to my room.
The coroner's report. Awful. The prosecution always uses this even if the manner of death is not in question. It drums up sympathy from the jury.
I flipped through it. Robert Alan Sheldon, 18 year old Caucasian male, brown hair, blue eyes, no distinguishing marks. He had died of a stab wound to the stomach, it had perforated the large intestine, liver, spleen, and knicked the left lung. From when Johnny brought the knife up, just as he had said. I closed my eyes. I'd heard this event described so many times but now, with the coroner's report open in front of me, I could see it.
He'd lost a lot of blood, and Johnny had described that, too. But he hadn't died right away. I wondered, then, about that period of time, when Bob was dying, when Ponyboy was still unconscious. What had Johnny been doing? Staring in disbelief at the thing he had done?
And the pictures, the glossy photos of the corpse, blueish from lack of oxygen, the gaping, bloodless stab wounds. I shuddered. How could I ever save Johnny once the jury sees this?
I glanced at the list of witnesses. David Smith? He was with the socs, claims that they had not threatened Johnny or even touched him. That the killing was malicious and unprovoked. Sarah Collins, a 15 year old who attended their high school, claims to have known Johnny carried the switchblade and planned to use it on, "the jerk with all the rings,". The truant officer, stating that Johnny's attendance at school is, "dismal," he also states that Johnny chooses to "pal around with thieves and hoodlums, criminals," A police officer, officer Lawrence, talks about the police records of Dallas Winston, Keith "Two bit" Mathews, Steven Randle, Timothy Shepard, Curly Shepard. He states, "hanging around with this element it is not surprising that Johnny Cade used such violence in a neighborhood scuffle." Neighborhood scuffle. Good lord.
I rubbed my temples. I thought I could counter most of the witnesses. His choice of friends was a bit unfortunate. Especially Dallas, but I'd argue that Johnny had never been in any trouble before this despite those he hung around with and I'd point out the clean records of the Curtis brothers. But there would be no countering the coroner's report.
