"Joseph Delaney - Brainchild" - читать интересную книгу автора (Delaney Joseph)

this, the first day of his professional death. He reached down, found her
hand, and grasped it firmly. Ruth, his small, ferocious champion, hair
hanging down over the shoulders of her somber black suit, stood like an
oak in a storm.
Through the door behind the bench a tall, gray-haired man swept the
skirts of his black robe around him, walked briskly to his chair, and sat
down.
"Hear Ye, Hear Ye!" the clerk's voice boomed. "The United States
District Court for the Southern District of Texas, now holding session in
Corpus Christi, is open pursuant to adjournment. God save these United
States and this Honorable Court."
"Heavy stuff, eh, Delmar?" Ruth whispered.
"Be seated," said the court.
Ruth looked around at the rest of the room. She'd seen movies of the old
Scopes "monkey" trial of a couple of generations ago. History does repeat
itself, she mused.
Admission was by ticket only, with serious-faced GSA guards on the
doors, checking credentials carefully. Most spectators were media people,
and they came from everywhere, as witness the variety of clothing and
racial types. The front rows were reserved for artists, who now worked
furiously to pencil figures on pre-prepared background scenes.
So here I am. Me, Ruth Purley, at center stage. And why not? Slavery
prosecutions were news. There hadn't been one since U.S. vs. Booker, out
in the fourth circuit, back in '81. That had been a relatively colorless affair.
But Schoonover was no cotton farmer and Adam was no farmhand. No,
this trial wouldn't be colorless.
She gazed to her left. Marshal Ralph McGill sat on a wooden chair,
knees crossed, looking banal, twitching his right foot inside its fancy boot.
To her right was Roberto Monte, the Assistant U.S. District Attorney,
relaxed, hand on a massive file, conversing in whispers with the Agent In
Charge of the local F.B.I. office.
Then she looked up at the bench. Judge Cook was silently reading the
minute sheet, determined to be certain that in this, the most controversial
trial of his career, he made no errors obvious to the press. Around him,
the various functionaries waited patiently: the minute clerk, who smiled
demurely behind folded hands; and Paul, the reporter, surrounded by
microphone wires that spread like spider legs from his recorder, hands
resting on the keys of his stenotype.
Finally the court spoke. "The court will call case number CR C-95 101,
the United States of America vs Delmar Schoonover. What says the
Government?"
Monte stood. "Ready, Your Honor." He resumed his seat, shuffling his
file aside.
"Very well, what says the defendant?''
Ruth stood. "Subject to our motion to dismiss the indictment and our
motion to suppress the defendant's statements, we're ready, Your Honor.
If the court please, I'd like to be heard on those motions before we bring
the jury in."
Monte jumped to his feet. "Your Honor, if it please the court, we've
already been over the motion to dismiss, and the court has memoranda