Native Son - Richard Wright [152]
“His testimony would help to clear up any doubt as to the cause of the death of the deceased,” the coroner said.
“My client is already in police custody and it is his right to refuse….”
“All right. All right,” the coroner said.
Max sat down.
“Stay in your seat. It’s all right,” Max whispered to Bigger.
Bigger relaxed and felt his heart pounding. He longed for something to happen so that the white faces would stop staring at him. Finally, the faces turned away. The coroner strode to the table and lifted the kidnap note with a slow, long, delicate, and deliberate gesture.
“Gentlemen,” he said, facing the six men in the rows of chairs, “you have heard the testimony of the witnesses. I think, however, that you should have the opportunity to examine the evidence gathered by the Police Department.”
The coroner gave the kidnap note to one of the jurors who read it and passed it on to the others. All of the jurors examined the purse, the blood-stained knife, the blackened hatchet blade, the Communist pamphlets, the rum bottle, the trunk, and the signed confession.
“Owing to the peculiar nature of this crime, and owing to the fact that the deceased’s body was all but destroyed, I deem it imperative that you examine one additional piece of evidence. It will help shed light upon the actual manner of the death of the deceased,” the coroner said.
He turned and nodded in the direction of two white-coated attendants who stood at the rear door. The room was quiet. Bigger wondered how much longer it would last; he felt that he could not stand much more. Now and then the room blurred and a slight giddiness came over him; but his muscles would flex taut and it would pass. The hum of voices grew suddenly loud and the coroner rapped for order. Then a commotion broke out. Bigger heard a man’s voice saying,
“Move aside, please!”
He looked and saw the two white-coated attendants pushing an oblong, sheet-covered table through the crowd and down the aisle. What’s this? Bigger wondered. He felt Max’s hand come on to his shoulder.
“Take it easy, Bigger. This’ll soon be over.”
“What they doing?” Bigger asked in a tense whisper.
For a long moment Max did not answer. Then he said uncertainly,
“I don’t know.”
The oblong table was pushed to the front of the room. The coroner spoke in a deep, slow voice that was charged with passionate meaning:
“As Deputy Coroner, I have decided, in the interests of justice, to offer in evidence the raped and mutilated body of one Bessie Mears, and the testimony of police officers and doctors relating to the cause and manner of her death….”
The coroner’s voice was drowned out. The room was in an uproar. For two minutes the police had to pound their clubs against the walls to restore quiet. Bigger sat still as stone as Max rushed past him and stopped a few feet from the sheet-covered table.
“Mr. Coroner,” Max said. “This is outrageous! Your indecent exhibition of that girl’s dead body serves no purpose but that of an incitement to mob violence.….”
“It will enable the jury to determine the exact manner of the death of Mary Dalton, who was slain by the man who slew Bessie Mears!” the coroner said in a scream that was compounded of rage and vindictiveness.
“The confession of Bigger Thomas covers all the evidence necessary for this jury!” Max said. “You are criminally appealing to mob emotion….”
“That’s for the Grand Jury to determine!” the coroner said “And you cannot interrupt these proceedings any longer! If you persist in this attitude, you’ll be removed from this room! I have the legal right to determine what evidence is necessary….”
Slowly, Max turned and walked back to his seat, his lips a thin line, his face white, his head down.
Bigger was crushed, helpless. His lips dropped wide apart. He felt frozen, numb. He had completely forgotten Bessie during the inquest of Mary. He understood what was being done. To offer the dead body of Bessie as evidence and proof that he had murdered Mary would make him appear a