Rage of Angels
Judge Stevens turned to Jennifer. “It seems to the court that there is enough prima facie evidence here to have an arraignment and a trial. Do you have anything more to say?”
“I do, Your Honor. There is not one single witness who can positively identify Paul Richards. The FBI has been unable to find any of the stolen money. In fact, the only thing that links the defendant to this crime is the imagination of the prosecutor.”
The judge stared down at Jennifer and said with ominous softness, “What about the computer that picked him out?”
Jennifer sighed. “That brings us to a problem, Your Honor.”
Judge Stevens said grimly, “I imagine it does. It is easy to confuse a live witness, but it is difficult to confuse a computer.”
Carter Gifford nodded smugly, “Exactly, Your Honor.”
Jennifer turned to face Gifford. “The FBI used the IBM 370/168, didn’t it?”
“That’s right. It’s the most sophisticated equipment in the world.”
Judge Stevens asked Jennifer, “Does the defense intend to challenge the efficiency of that computer?”
“On the contrary, Your Honor. I have a computer expert here in court today who works for the company that manufactures the 370/168. He programmed the information that turned up the name of my client.”
“Where is he?”
Jennifer turned and motioned to a tall, thin man seated on a bench. He nervously came forward.
Jennifer said, “This is Mr. Edward Monroe.”
“If you’ve been tampering with my witness,” the prosecuting attorney exploded, “I’ll—”
“All I did was to request Mr. Monroe to ask the computer if there were other possible suspects. I selected ten people who had certain general characteristics similar to my client. For purposes of identification, Mr. Monroe programmed in statistics on age, height, weight, color of eyes, birthplace—the same kind of data that produced the name of my client.”
Judge Stevens asked impatiently, “What is the point of all this, Miss Parker?”
“The point is that the computer identified one of the ten people as a prime suspect in the bank robbery.”
Judge Stevens turned to Edward Monroe. “Is this true?”
“Yes, Your Honor.” Edward Monroe opened his briefcase and pulled out a computer readout
The bailiff took it from Monroe and handed it to the judge. Judge Stevens glanced at it and his face became red.
He looked at Edward Monroe. “Is this some kind of joke?”
“No, sir.”
“The computer picked me as a possible suspect?” Judge Stevens asked.
“Yes, sir, it did.”
Jennifer explained, “The computer has no reasoning power, Your Honor. It can only respond to the information it is given. You and my client happen to be the same weight, height and age. You both drive green sedans, and you both come from the same state. That’s really as much evidence as the prosecuting attorney has. The only other factor is the way in which the crime was done. When Paul Richards committed that bank robbery ten years ago, millions of people read about it. Any one of them could have imitated his modus operandi. Someone did.” Jennifer indicated the piece of paper in Judge Stevens’ hand. “That shows you how flimsy the State’s case really is.”
Carter Gifford sputtered, “Your Honor—” and stopped. He did not know what to say.
Judge Stevens looked again at the computer readout in his hand and then at Jennifer.
“What would you have done,” he asked, “if the court had been a younger man, thinner than I, who drove a blue car?”
“The computer gave me ten other possible suspects,” Jennifer said. “My next choice would have been New York District Attorney Robert Di Silva.”
Jennifer was sitting in her office, reading the headlines, when Cynthia announced, “Mr. Paul Richards is here.”
“Send him in, Cynthia.”
He came into the office wearing a black raincoat and carrying a candy box tied with a red ribbon.
“I just wanted to tell you thanks.”
“You see? Sometimes justice does triumph.”
“I’m leaving town. I decided I need a little vacation.” He handed Jennifer the candy box. “A little token of my appreciation.”
“Thank you, Paul.”
He looked at her admiringly. “I think you’re terrific.”
And he was gone.
Jennifer looked at the box of candy on her desk and smiled. She had received less for handling most of Father Ryan’s friends. If she got fat, it would be Father Ryan’s fault.
Jennifer untied the ribbon and opened the box. Inside was ten thousand dollars in used currency.
One afternoon as Jennifer was leaving the courthouse, she noticed a large, black, chauffeured Cadillac limousine at the curb. As she started to walk past it, Michael Moretti stepped out. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
Close up, there was an electric vitality to the man that was almost overpowering.
“Get out of my way,” Jennifer said. Her face was flushed and angry, and she was even more beautiful than Michael Moretti had remembered.
“Hey,” he laughed, “cool down. All I want to do is talk to you. All you have to do is listen. I’ll pay you for your time.”
“You’ll never have enough money.”
She started to move past him. Michael Moretti put a conciliatory hand on her arm. Just touching her increased his excitement.
He turned on all of his charm. “Be reasonable. You won’t know what you’re turning down until you hear what I have to say. Ten minutes. That’s all I want. I’ll drop you off at your office. We can talk on the way.”