“All right. My donor, Eunice Branca, my former secretary and the sweetest, loveliest girl I’ve ever known, was not only a perfect secretary; she was a beauty contest winner not many years back. I know what a treasure I inherited from her. I don’t wear her body with the charming grace she gave it—but I’m trying to learn.” (You’re learning, Boss.)
“It is the opinion of this Court that you have learned.”
“Shut up, Mac. Brother Schmidt, I agree with him merely because he’s right.”
“Thank you both—on behalf of Eunice Branca. Jake? Now that Court has adjourned do I have to wear this Mother Hubbard? It’s too warm.”
“That’s up to you. I suppose it depends on how much you have under it.”
“Mmm…perhaps I’d better not. Minimum decency under the customs of today—but it would get a burlesque queen thirty days back when I was a youngster.” (Exhibitionist. You’re asking to be coaxed.) (Certainly. And who taught me? At least the bra isn’t just paint, like that mermaid outfit you zapped me with.)
Alec Train said, “Brother Schmidt, in identity cases it is sometimes necessary to require the challenged individual to strip completely. Birthmarks and scars and such—tell her, Judge.”
“Ignore him, Brother Schmidt. I wouldn’t call that lovely Grecian robe a ‘Mother Hubbard.’ But I can see that it was intended for outdoors and I’ll happily hang it up for you.”
“Uh…oh, goodness, I’m having trouble shucking off my early-twentieth-century Puritanism. Jake has seen me in the nothing-much girls wear today, and he’s seen Eunice in even less than I have on under this; Eunice wasn’t shy about sharing her beauty.” (You milked that, didn’t you, dearie? Which one are you after?) (Shut up!) Joan ran a finger down the magnostrip, let the robe fall open; Alec Train hurried to claim it ahead of the Judge.
Then she posed. “See? This is almost the way Eunice Branca looked—except that she walked in glory, always…while I am an old man who is trying to learn to wear her body.” Besides Eunice’s body, Joan was wearing some of Winnie’s clothes—black frill skirt, translucent black Cling-On cups, six-inch Sticktite stilt sandals that left her pretty feet in view—no paint, just restrained enhancement with rouge and shadow.
She posed, they stared. Jake cleared his throat louder than usual. “Joan, had I known what you were wearing—not wearing, rather—under that robe, I would have advised you to keep it on.”
“Oh, pooh, Jake, you wouldn’t have scolded Eunice for dressing this way. But that brings up something I must ask. Judge, I can’t go on being ‘Johann Smith.’ Will you let me change my name?”
“That’s not properly put, Brother Schmidt. You can have any name you like. At most a court confirms it. You mean that you need a girl’s name now. Helen, perhaps? Or Cleopatra?”
“Thank you—for Eunice.” (Boss, find out if Judge is still married.) (Go back to sleep!) “Not either of those names. I want to be known as ‘Joan’—for ‘Johann’—‘Joan… Eunice… Smith.’”
Judge McCampbell looked surprised, then smiled in approval. “A good choice. The flavor of your masculine name, plus, I assume, a tribute to your donor. But may I offer a word of advice? You can start calling yourself that today—”
“I already have.”
“I noticed that Jake called you ‘Joan.’ But let it be a family name, and keep your masculine name at other times—use it to sign letters, checks, and so forth—until your identity has been finally established—in the Supreme Court if possible. Don’t cloud the issue.”
“I gave her the same advice,” Salomon put in.
“I’m not surprised. Miss—Brother Schmidt, what do you want me to call you? In private.”
“Why, either ‘Joan’ or ‘Eunice.’ Both by preference, as I do not want anyone ever to forget Eunice Branca. Me least of all—I want to be reminded of my benefactor. Benefactrix. But don’t call me ‘Miss’ in private. Look, brothers, as ‘Brother Schmidt’ I am half a century older than you two…but as ‘Joan Eunice’ I am only a few weeks old. However, Eunice’s body is that of a young woman, and that is what I am learning—must learn!—to be. You could have daughters my age. So please call me ‘Joan Eunice’ and save ‘Miss Smith’ for court appearances.” She smiled. “Or ‘Brother Schmidt’ if you wish—although ‘Yonny’ was what I was called by our brothers in my chapter.”
Alec said, “Joan Eunice Brother Yonny Schmidt, I’m pleased to call you whatever you like, and I don’t have daughters your age and you make me feel younger just to look at you. But I’m not speaking for my roommate and I’d hate to tell you how old some of his offspring arc; he was the scourge of P.S. 238—stay away from him and let me protect you. And did I mention how happy I am that Mrs. Seward fired me? Brother Joan Eunice, I would never have been in this case other than as a favor to Parkinson’s mother-in-law. But at first it did look like a straightforward case of protecting the interests of an invalid too ill to protect himself. Believe me.”
“Don’t listen to him,” advised the Judge. “He’s an ambulance chaser. I throw legitimate business his way just to protect the good name of our Brothers. But back to this matter of identity. Joan Eunice, I don’t know how much law you know—”
“Just what has rubbed off in the course of a long and evil life. I depend on experts. Such as Jake.”
“I see. Well, your granddaughters probably think it is wrong of me to help you establish your identity. It is not. True, in a civil suit or a criminal action a judge must be impartial. But such a matter as establishing identity is neither one, and there is no rule of law or equity which prohibits a court from being helpful. The situation is like that of a citizen who has lost his passport and appeals to his consul. The consul doesn’t sit as a judge; he tries to get the mixup straightened out. So—Jake, you’ve been in the Law much longer than I have; do you want my opinions?”
“I am always most happy to have Judge McCampbell’s opinions on any matter.”
“I think I’ll reconvene court and slam you for contempt. After I’ve finished this drink. All right, you’re going to get ’em anyhow. Do you anticipate any difficulty in proving that the brain of Brother Schmidt was moved into the body of Eunice Branca?”
“None. A nuisance but no difficulty.”
“Or in showing that this body—this lovely body—was once that of Eunice Branca?”
“Same answer.”
“What evidence?”
“Police reports, photographs, hospital personnel, and so forth.”
“Let’s say it’s my court. I’m going to make you go back and touch second at every opportunity. I intentionally got into the record today that ruling based on ‘Parsons’ estate v. Rhode Island’; I think it’s important—”
“So do I.”
“Thank you. In following the principle that identity lies in the brain and nowhere else”—(We could tell him something, couldn’t we, Boss?) (Yes, beloved—but we aren’t going to!)—“I am going to be as tough as possible. No depositions when it is possible to bring the witness into court. Photographs and other records not only allowed but required—but the originals must be brought into court, not copies, and photographers or record keepers must appear and identify same, and the surgeons or others whose work appears in those films, photographs, or records must appear and confirm each record. Do you know if each body was fingerprinted just prior to surgery?”
“Not of my own knowledge. Damn it, I was taken by surprise today—and at the time of Eunice Branca’s death I had other things worrying me.”
Joan Eunice reached over and squeezed his hand.
Alec Train said, “I can help on that. When Parkinson brought Mrs. Seward to see me, I checked on that point at once. Prints were taken from both bodies—so I gave identity no further thought. That’s why I was taken as much by surprise as you two. I don’t know what chimney-corner lawyer put the idea in Mrs. Seward’s head—Parkinson, probably; he’s stayed at her elbow all through—but I received instructions just as court convened. I’
m not spilling any privileged communication when I say that—nor do I know of any Canon which forbids me to say that I am damn sick of both Mrs. Seward and Parkinson.”
“Hmm. Every possible bit of evidence.” McCampbell went on. “You will have to trace that brain out of that body—Joan Eunice—no, Jake. Jake, do you know what became of Johann Smith’s body?”
“That one I can answer. Here we have a unique. case of a body becoming a chattel while the person who lived in it is still alive. I knew what Johann Smith—Joan Eunice, that is—had wanted done with it, as his will contains the standard ‘donated for medical research’ clause. But the will did not control because Johann Smith was, and is, alive. The Medical Center asked what to do with it. I told them to hold it, in their morgue. I assume that it is still there.”
Mr. Train said, “Counselor, I hope you’re right. But unless that cadaver was nailed down, two gets you ten that some eager medical student has chopped it up.”
The Judge said, “I’m afraid Alec could be right. Jake, it may be a matter of great urgency to perpetuate the evidence—all the evidence. Verb. sap. We all know how key evidence has a way of disappearing when big money is involved. And besides eager medical students—well, we all know that almost any illegal act is for sale at a price. Films and records can be stolen, others substituted, ostensibly respectable witnesses can be bribed. Let’s speculate for a moment that Brother Schmidt is opposed by nameless dishonest persons, persons willing to bribe, suborn, and so forth. Such crime is not cheap. Does anyone have a guess as to how much money might be used to destroy or change the evidence?”
Jake said, “I won’t guess. But in the case of four nameless females I can find out.”
Joan said, “I can help a little on this. Marla and Elinor lost their father before they were of age and his estate wound up minus and no insurance to speak of. So I supported my daughter Roberta until she died and kept her kids in school until they flunked out, then continued to support them until each married—one of their grievances against me is that I stopped their allowances when they married. But I continued a credit watch on them, as I did not want any descendant of mine to become a charge on the taxpayers. Much the same with the other two girls except that Jim Darlington outlasted my daughter Evelyn, and both girls—Johanna and June—married while their parents were living. To put it briefly, unless one of them has come into some windfall, all four could not scrape together enough money to tackle any really expensive crime.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” said McCampbell. “Just the same, Jake, time is of the essence in preserving evidence—and I want you to know that this court will give you all possible legal help in protecting and perpetuating any evidence you dig up. Unh, Alec and I plan to be away four days—but I’ll leave my emergency wavelength with Sperling and will bounce back here if you need me.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Wait a minute,” said Alec Train. “There is money in this case. Mac, you know how I am about fees.”
“Yes. Larcenous.”
“Ignore him, Brother Schmidt. I tailor my fees, all the way from zero up to outrageous. In this case I did not want the job, so I demanded an outrageous retainer against a, yes, larcenous per diem—and Parkinson paid without a quiver. Through Mrs. Seward but there was no question as to who called the tune. The question is: Will Parkinson go on paying…and is he willing to hire his friendly, neighborhood safecracker to go after some necessary link? I don’t know—especially as it isn’t his money, but his mother-in-law’s.”
“I don’t know,” answered Jake, “but I always assume that my opponent might cheat if I fail to cut the cards. I’m going after that evidence with all possible speed. Sorry, Joan, I should have anticipated this—I’m getting old.” (He is not. Tell him so, Boss.)
Joan Eunice patted his hand. “Jake, you are not getting old and there was no reason to anticipate this. Gentlemen, let me say again, I don’t care a whit if my granddaughters win. If they win, they lose—because if they prove me legally dead, I have cut them off with that shilling. And, thanks to Eunice Branca and Dr. Boyle and Jake Salomon, I’m young and healthy and enjoying life and not distressed at the idea of losing a fortune that has become a burden to me.”
Alec Train said, “Brother Schmidt Joan Eunice honey, don’t you realize that it is unAmurrican to talk that way about millions of dollars?”
She grinned at him. “Brother Alec, if I come out of this broke, I’ll bet you a million dollars that I can net a million dollars after taxes in the next five years, starting from scratch. Jake, will you back my bet? Since it calls for me starting broke?”
“Certainly.”
“Wait a minute!” Train protested. “I’m just a poor but honest lawyer. Will you make that bet fifty cents? Mac, will you lend me fifty cents?”
“Not without security. Joan Eunice, listen, please. I don’t doubt that you are willing to tackle the world broke. But I know in my heart that you are indeed Brother Johann Schmidt…who okayed a loan to me when I really needed it. Old Eata Bita Pi didn’t let me down…and I’m not going to let Brother Schmidt down.”
“Thank you, Brother Mac.”
Jake growled, “You frat house aristocrats made me sick when I was in college and I don’t like it much better today. Judge, the only good reason for giving Joan Eunice a hand is because it’s the fair thing to do. Not because she—he—okayed a loan years ago to some snot-nose fraternity brother.”
“Counselor, your point is well taken. I think I can truthfully say that I have never allowed fraternal bonds—including Shriner, which you and I are—to affect my behavior on the bench—”
“The hell it hasn’t, old buddy mine; you rule against me just for the hell of it. Ask anybody.”
“Even when I’ve been forced to instruct this Irishman in the finer points of the law. I would have helped in this matter in any case; both as a citizen and as a ward of the Court Joan Eunice is entitled to any help a court can offer in establishing her identity. But I confess that my emotions were aroused by a circumstance that I did not dream existed. Not that Joan Eunice is my fraternity brother—that is simply a pleasing coincidence—but that she—he at that time—gave me a hand when it mattered. Uh”—he stared at his glass—“no need to go into details. You know them, Joan Eunice?”
“Yes.”
“You can tell Jake later. Let me list the things I think are necessary in this case; both of you lawyers check me and I’m going to stick a fresh tape in this thing so that we can all have copies.” He turned to his clerk’s recording equipment. “That is I think I am going to. Damn! Excuse me, Joan Eunice. I wonder if Sperling has gone home.”
(Let’s look at that thing, dear.) “I’m ‘Brother Schmidt’ any time you feel like swearing, Judge. May I look at your recorder? It’s a bit like one I have at home.”
“Go ahead. I sometimes wish we still used shorthand reporters.”
“Thank you.” (How about, Eunice?) (It’s Betsy’s idiot baby sister, no huhu. You whistle Yankee Doodle or think about Judgie Wudgie and don’t bother me.) (Om Mani Padme Hum. Om Mani Padme Hum. Om Mani Padme—) (Got it, dearie.) “Recording with a fresh tape, Judge; set for three copies, and erase memory.”
McCampbell said, “I’m amazed every time I find someone who understands machinery.”
“I don’t, really. But Eunice Branca taught me to run one somewhat like yours.” (Boss, you’re learning how to lie—just tell the truth but not all of it.) (Honey girl, I invented that way of lying way back when your great-grandmother was a virgin.)
“First, Eunice Branca’s death must be established. As it was murder, we will assume extensive records with positive identification including fingerprints—and since they are police records, we must also assume that they are vulnerable to any determined and well-financed attempt to destroy or replace them. Then Mrs. Branca’s body must be followed into surgery and positive identification of the body again established at that point. Johann Schmidt’s body must also be followed to t
hat point and positively identified just before surgery. Then we must be certain beyond any doubt that the brain was removed from the Schmidt body—Joan Eunice, this must be distressing to you. Would you like to retire to my washroom? There’s a couch in there.”
“Please go ahead, sir; I’ve learned to live with it.” (Makes me feel like throwing up, Boss.) (Me, too, darling—but we aren’t going to; we’re going to look solemnly serene. Om Mani Padme Hum.) (Om Mani Padme Hum. Let’s make a Lotus; this chair is big enough.) (Yes, darling. Om Mani Padme Hum.)
“—and finally, in court, we will take Joan Eunice’s fingerprints, have them compared by experts with each earlier set, and thereby forge the final link. Joan Eunice, do I simply switch this off now?”
(After the three copies pop out, it will shut itself off.) “When the three copies pop out, it will erase and shut off. Jake, we’re keeping these gentlemen from their fishing.”
“Those fish aren’t restless,” the Judge assured her. “Just a moment.” He stepped to his closed-circuit viewphone. “Evelyn.”
“Yes, Judge.”
“How are things outside? Quiet?”
“Judge, how did you guess? I’ve got three men in the infirmary and the building is buttoned up. You might take a look on three and four, and then play back the sixteen o’clock spot news.”
“How badly were your men hurt?”
“Nothing serious. One with a lungful of sneeze gas when we had to clear the main entrance and seal the riot doors, one with a flesh wound on a cheekbone, and the third with cracked ribs. My guess is the newsies bought ’emselves a riot, as cameras were in position when the trouble started.”
“I see. Are we going to need the Guard?”
“I wouldn’t say so. The police have the streets around us pretty well patrolled and our own people are either staying overnight or being taken off the top by chopper. Message from Judge Anders—says there’s no reason for you not to go fishing and he’ll assume that he’s presiding judge pro tem. He’s staying in his chambers tonight.”