To Save a Son (46 page)

“I have no knowledge, interest or awareness of the bank account from which that payment was made to Snarsbrook,” insisted Franks doggedly. “I did not bribe Snarsbrook to set up the casino. The use of the word ‘Eddie' is an obvious and blatant entrapment.”

“Would you describe yourself, hitherto, as a successful businessman, Mr. Franks?”

“I would like to think so.”

“An experienced businessman?”

“Yes.”

“Certainly not one to be tricked or cheated.”

Franks saw the pit yawning before him but didn't know how to avoid it. “I have already explained, in my main evidence to this court, how for the first time I was tricked and cheated. It never happened before. Nor—believe me—will it ever happen again. I was gullible and I was stupid and I was used.”

“By Scargo?”

“Initially, yes.”

“The relationship between yourself and Scargo went beyond that of simple brothers-in-law, did it not?”

“Yes.”

“You spent a considerable time in the Scargo family; you were evacuated here to America during the European war?”

“Yes.”

“I've heard the description given in court that the relationship was, in fact, not that of brothers-
in-law
but as that of brothers?”

“Yes,” admitted Franks.

“The Scargo family took you in, when you were a refugee? Protected and cared for you?”

“I have also given evidence to that effect.”

“You've also given evidence that Nicholas Scargo, someone whom you knew as a brother, ensnared you into a criminal business activity.”

“Yes!”

“You'd fallen out; become bitter enemies?”

“No.”

“You mean you were friends?”

Never friends, thought Franks. “I thought so,” he said, lying knowingly.

“Mr. Franks,” said Samuelson, stressing the incredulity, “are you asking this court to accept as the truth that Nicholas Scargo, whom you regarded as a brother and who loved you as a brother in return, set out to deceive and trap you, for no reason that has ever been presented to this court? And that you, an experienced, sensible businessman, allowed that entrapment to take place!”

“That's how it happened,” said Franks desperately.

“You're English, are you not?” said Samuelson.

“Yes,” said Franks.

“Are you familiar with the writings of an English author called Lewis Carroll?”

Franks shook his head, looking inquiringly toward Ronan, who was also frowning.

“In a work called
Through the Looking Glass
, Carroll had one of his characters, Tweedledee, comment upon logic.” Samuelson went to his reminder pad, starting to quote, “‘If it was so, it might be; and if it were so, it would be; but as it isn't, it ain't.'” The lawyer looked up, not bothering to leave his desk. “That, Mr. Franks, is the most apt description of your evidence I can imagine.”

Ronan was on his feet, objecting on the grounds of comment rather than questioning, but Samuelson had already sat down, rendering the protest meaningless.

Tripodi rose to continue, but the judge declared the midday adjournment. Franks ate with Ronan, apologizing at once for what had happened. The district attorney insisted that Franks' showing had not been as bad as the man imagined it had been, but Franks was unconvinced. His own opinion was that he'd done extremely badly and nullified any impression he might have created while presenting the main part of his evidence.

“The mistakes you made were genuine ones,” said the state lawyer. “You looked like a man unaccustomed to courts; not like someone who was lying.”

“More or less confident than before?”

“About the same,” said the district attorney.

When the court resumed in the afternoon, Franks thought Tripodi looked like a greyhound impatient to be released from the trap; certainly he came forward with a set-free urgency. Samuelson had been hard, but there had been some leisurely buildup to his cross-examination, which wasn't Tripodi's style.

He thrust a document toward Franks, and said, “Tell the court what that is.”

Franks took it, recognized it at once. “Company records,” he said.

“Which company?”

“The island hotels.”

“What is recorded on page twenty?”

Franks knew, from the volume number, but turned to the page anyway. “The initial discussion about installing a casino at one of the hotels.”

“Initial?”
snatched Tripodi.

“The first board discussion,” said Franks.

“But not the first discussion in which you'd been involved, was it, Mr. Franks?”

“I've explained the circumstances of that,” said Franks wearily.

“That there had been informal talks, in the absence of Nicky Scargo; that my client and Mr. Pascara and Mr. Dukes were aware of what was going on?”

“Yes!” insisted Franks, with growing exasperation.

“What would you say, Mr. Franks, if I were to tell you that my client has no recollection whatsoever of any talks with you or with anyone else about installing a casino either in Bermuda or on the Bahamas before the date set out in those company records? By which time you'd already been to Las Vegas and to the islands and engaged in detailed talks with a great number of people?”

“I would say that Flamini is a liar,” said Franks simply.

“Mr. Flamini contends that you're the liar, Mr. Franks.”

“He doesn't have any alternative, does he?”

“He has some interesting evidence, though,” said Tripodi, unruffled. “Let's turn to page twenty-two. What's set out there?”

Resigned, Franks went through the appearance of consulting the records and said, “It sets out the debate concerning the casino installation.”

“Sets out the debate concerning the casino installation,” echoed Tripodi for emphasis. “Is there not a remark of yours there attesting that in the Bahamas there was a market for a casino …” Tripodi looked toward the jury. “And here I quote,” he said, “‘above the common denominator.'”

“Yes,” said Franks.

“Did you make that remark, at that meeting?”

“I don't remember specifically, but if it's written there I must have done. I signed them as a true record of the meeting.”

“Indeed you did, Mr. Franks. And I'm obliged to you for having made that clear to the jury. We are considering a true and accurate record of a meeting at which a discussion was held about a casino, the very first discussion in which my client was involved.”

“That's not true!” rejected Franks. “He was at the previous meeting.”

“Of which there is no record and of which no one, with the exception of yourself, has any recollection.”

“It happened!” said Franks, knowing his desperation was showing.

“According to you,” sneered Tripodi. “Read to the jury what is recorded on the tenth line of page twenty-two.”

Franks strained down, trying to find the place. “It quotes Flamini saying that each would destroy the other.”

“What does that mean?”

Franks saw the chance of recovery and snatched at it. “He was actually quoting me; reiterating my objection to the idea of a casino at all.”

“Was he!” said Tripodi, equally as quick. “The early part of the report of that meeting specifies you as saying that the idea of Las Vegas-type casinos would be destructive; it was not an argument against a casino as such.”

“It was!” insisted Franks.

“From Mr. Flamini,” said Tripodi. “Not from you.” He turned to the jury, repeated the page and line number, and said, “I would invite you, members of the jury, to consider the evidence that Mr. Franks agrees to be an accurate record and decide for yourselves—which is, after all, your function—whom to believe on this matter.” Coming back to Franks, Tripodi said, “Don't the records that you're holding, on that very page, show Mr. Flamini referring to the idea of a casino as being a risk?”

“Yes,” said Franks.

“And isn't it from Mr. Flamini that the idea comes—and I quote again, ‘even if we decide to proceed'—to establish a company separate from the hotels, to minimize any risk?”

“Yes,” said Franks.

“Turn the page, Mr. Franks,” invited the lawyer. “Read for the benefit of the jury the first three lines that begin that page.”

Franks turned the page, sighing down at what was written. He looked up forlornly toward Ronan.

Tripodi said, his voice loud and hectoring, “Read the section, Mr. Franks.”

Franks went back to the page and read, “‘So you're in favor of a specialized, exclusive casino operation? Your attitude is important, don't forget. You've got the controlling stock-holding.'”

“This comes from a document you attest to be a true record?” repeated Tripodi.

“I've already said that,” reminded Franks.

“Who made that remark?”

“Flamini.”

“To whom?”

“Me.”

“Read your response from the document in front of you,” ordered Tripodi.

“‘I am in favor but I think the argument for holding the gambling operation under a separate company is a good one. I'd like the ease of severance, if it becomes necessary.”

“You said that?” insisted Tripodi.

“This is ridiculous,” Franks tried to fight back. “Everything is being taken and twisted, out of every context and out of every truth. I went to Las Vegas and I went to Bermuda and the Bahamas as the result of a board discussion. I was discharging my proper duty, as chairman, fully to investigate a situation before committing my board to it. Having made that examination, I was responding to a board meeting as honestly and truthfully as I felt able.”

“I don't believe you know the meaning of honesty and truth,” said Tripodi.

“Objection!” came in the waiting Ronan at once. “That is not a question but a comment and a highly improper one at that.”

“I agree,” said the judge. “It will be taken from the record and the jury will discount it. I invite you to behave yourself with more propriety, Mr. Tripodi.”

“I apologize,” said the lawyer, but Franks decided there was no contrition because the man had achieved precisely what he intended. Tripodi waved the copy of the company minutes toward Franks, like a matador enticing a bull to overcommit itself, and said, “‘If, at the end of all the inquiries and negotiations, we decide to go on, then I'd be very pleased to act as chairman'…” He looked up. “You said that, didn't you, Mr. Franks?”

“Yes,” Franks admitted.

“Because you wanted to go on controlling everything. The hotels that you created, the capital you received from my client, a respectable and honest financier, and then the casino, which you wanted to establish for its illegal potential.”

“No!” said Franks. “I did not want to retain control for anything illegal. I wanted to retain control because that's the way I've always worked.”

“I'm interested in the way you've always worked,” said Tripodi. As Samuelson had before him, the young lawyer made much of crossing the room to his table and notes and taking up his yellow legal pad, searching for a reminder. He smiled up and then recrossed the courtroom. “Who are Peter Armitrage and Winston Graham and Richard Blackstaff and Herbert Wilkinson and James Partridge and Eric de Falco?”

Franks swallowed. “Officials with whom I dealt in the establishment of the hotels in Bermuda and the Bahamas.”

“You're an honest man, Mr. Franks?”

“Yes.”

“Who would not consider anything illegal or questionable in his business dealings?”

“It's a recognized practice,” said Franks, too anxious to defend himself.

“What is, Mr. Franks?”

“Paying commissions, for assistance.”

“These people were employees of their island governments?”

“Yes.”

“Salaried employees?”

“I presume so.”

“Yet you paid them commissions!”

“Like I said, it's a recognized practice.”

“Recognized by whom, Mr. Franks?”

“Businessmen. Officials,” groped Franks helplessly.

“You know, don't you, that the men I've identified are currently facing trial in their own countries? And that the charge is accepting bribes?”

“Yes,” said Franks. “I understand that.”

“Bribes supplied by you: an honest, truthful businessman who would never consider anything illegal.”

“Properly recorded in the company accounts!”

“Improperly
recorded in the company accounts, as commissions to people who had no right to receive them and who are facing legal proceedings as a result of being seduced into criminality by you,” said the lawyer.

“That isn't the way it was,” protested Franks. It was appalling, Franks knew. Absolutely and utterly appalling. Whatever impression he'd managed to create with the jury was being completely destroyed by these men twisting and juggling the facts. Why couldn't Ronan or the judge intervene, to stop it happening!

“You entrapped Mr. Flamini, didn't you?”

“No.”

“Persuaded him into an investment and then used that investment to establish a pattern of gross illegality?”

“No.”

“And then turned state's evidence to save your own neck?”

“No!”

“You're a crook, aren't you, Mr. Franks? A crook who thinks he's found the way out of a prosecution?”

“I'm not a crook. I'm telling the truth,” protested Franks.

Tripodi turned triumphantly to the jury. “Your function, members of the jury, is to decide who is telling the truth in this matter!”

There was another conference but no meal that night, and Ronan didn't bother with any false reassurances. Franks apologized again and the district attorney repeated that some telling points were made in favor of the prosecution case but that some damage had been done to it as well. There would still be an opportunity to reestablish the facts in the jury's mind when the time came for reexamination. Neither Waldo nor Schultz took a very active part in the discussion, but toward the end Waldo said, “The bastards can't get away; they just can't!”