In Cold Blood - Truman Capote [143]
"Yes. I like you." Cullivan's softly emphatic answer pleased and rather flustered Perry. He smiled and said, "Then you must be some kind of nut. "Suddenly rising, he crossed the cell and picked up a broom. "I don't know why I should die among strangers. Let a bunch of prairiebillys stand around and watch me strangle. Shit. I ought to kill myself first." He lifted the broom and pressed the bristles against the light bulb that burned in the ceiling. "Just unscrew the bulb and smash it and cut my wrists. That's what I ought to do. While you're still here. Somebody who cares about me a little bit."
The trial resumed on Monday morning at ten o'clock. Ninety minutes later the court adjourned, the case for the defense having been completed in that brief time. The defendants declined to testify in their own behalf, and therefore the question of whether Hickock or Smith had been the actual executioner of the Clutter family did not arise. Of the five witnesses who did appear, the first was the hollow-eyed Mr. Hickock. Though he spoke with a dignified and mournful clarity, he had but one contribution to make that was relevant to a claim of temporary insanity. His son, he said, had suffered head injuries in a car accident in July, 1950. Prior to the accident, Dick had been a "happy-go-lucky boy," had done well in school, been popular with his classmates and considerate of his parents - "No trouble to anybody." Harrison Smith, gently guiding the witness, said, "I will ask you if, after July, 1950, you observed any change in the personality and habits and actions of your son, Richard?"
"He just didn't act like the same boy."
"What were the changes you observed?" Mr. Hickock, between pensive hesitations, listed several: Dick was sulky and restless, he ran around with older men, drank and gambled. "He just wasn't the same boy." The last assertion was promptly challenged by Logan Green, who undertook the cross-examination. "Mr. Hickock, you say you never had any trouble with your son until after 1950?"
". . . I think he got arrested in 1949." A citric smile bent Green's tiny lips. "Remember what he was arrested for?"
"He was accused of breaking into a drugstore."
"Accused? Didn't he admit that he broke into the store?"
"That's right, he did."
"And that was in 1949. Yet now you tell us your son had a change in his attitude and conduct after 1950?"
"I would say so, yes."
"You mean that after 1950 he became a good boy?" Hard coughs agitated the old man; he spat into a handkerchief. "No," he said, studying the discharge. "I wouldn't say that."
"Then what was the change that took place?"
"Well, that would be pretty hard to explain. He just didn't act like the same boy."
"You mean he lost his criminal tendencies?" The lawyer's sally induced guffaws, a courtroom flare-up that Judge Tate's dour gaze soon extinguished. Mr. Hickock, presently set free, was replaced on the stand by Dr. W. Mitchell Jones. Dr. Jones identified himself to the court as a "physician specializing in the field of psychiatry," and in support of his qualifications, added that he had attended perhaps fifteen hundred patients since 1956, the year he had entered a psychiatric residency at Topeka State Hospital in Topeka, Kansas. For the past two years he had served on the staff of Larned State Hospital, where he was in charge of the Dillon Building, a section reserved for the criminally insane. Harrison Smith asked the witness, "Approximately how many murderers have you dealt with?"
"About twenty-five."
"Doctor, I would like