A Matter of Conviction by Evan Hunter

Author:Evan Hunter
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
Published: 2016-07-05T00:00:00+00:00

NINE

Judge Abraham Samalson sat in the outdoor slate patio of the Bell house in Inwood, a brandy snifter of cognac in his delicate hands. The sky to the west was peppered with stars, and the judge tilted his bald head and examined the heavens, and all the while he rolled the glass of cognac in his thin hands, and occasionally he sniffed at the bouquet, and occasionally he drank. Music came from the hi-fi setup inside the house, oozing onto the patio, where Karin had planted a wild array of summer-blooming flowers that formed the flanking walls of the terrace. The open side of the terrace faced the river and the New Jersey cliffs on the opposite shore.

“That was a nice job Barton did on you in the newspapers, Hank,” Samalson said.

“Oh, very nice,” Hank agreed.

“I think it’ll work in reverse for you. It makes you sound very dashing and romantic. Who is there in the entire city of New York who hasn’t longed to lift the skirts of an Irish lass? Not that I believe a word of the story’s implications. But it serves to illustrate the dangers of incompetent composition. Barton starts out to kill you, and what does he achieve? He creates a romantic figure.”

“I didn’t think the story was so romantic,” Hank said.

“You’re too sensitive. The Mike Bartons of America are people to laugh at, not to hate. Give Barton a trench coat and a juicy piece of gossip and he’s happy. He can play at being a reporter.”

“I think he’s a dangerous man,” Hank said.

“Only if we take him seriously. If we laugh at him, the danger is immediately dissipated.”

“I wish I could agree with you, Abe,” Hank said.

“You never did agree with me, so I see no reason for you to begin now. You were the most argumentative student I ever had in any of my classes, and I taught law for fourteen years. I might add, in the fairness becoming my role as a magistrate, that you were also the most promising student I ever had.”

“Thank you.”

“I think I can safely say, in fact, that in the fourteen years I taught law I had only six students who I thought should be lawyers. The rest should have been shoe clerks.” Samalson paused. “Or is that a prejudiced statement?”

“A bit snobbish perhaps, but …”

“I’m referring to Danny Di Pace’s father. He runs a shoe store, doesn’t he?”

“Oh. Yes.”

“What sort of a person is he?”

“I’ve never met him.”

“He must be—Well, forget it.”

“What were you going to say?”

“Only that delinquency doesn’t simply spring from the soil. If a kid turns bad, chances are nine out of ten you’ll find some sort of trouble with the parents.”

“So what do we do? Prosecute the parents instead of the kids?”

“I don’t know what we do, Hank. The law makes no provision for the allocation of blame. If three men conspire together to commit a murder and only one of them actually pulls the trigger of the gun, the three are nonetheless tried for acting in concert.

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