Barbara Holloway: Desperate Measures Part 26

"All right. So the door was probably open, and the screen door closed. Is that what you're telling us?"

"Yes. He went in and put the hammer down and then went to the small bathroom and washed his hands. He went back to the kitchen and walked over to the stove and turned on the burner-"

"Stop a moment, Lieutenant. You left out the towel. Why would he pick it up when he had already washed and dried his hands?"

"I don't know why."

"Can you speculate as to where it was?"

"I don't know," he said. "He picked it up from somewhere. Probably from the towel rack. Or maybe he didn't pick it up at all. He used the mitt."

"What would he need the mitt for, Lieutenant?" she asked softly.

"To take the lid off the skillet," he said. "It might have been hot."

"If it was hot, why turn on the burner?"

For the first time he looked at her as if she had said something interesting. He shook his head. "I don't know."

She turned back toward her own table, and saw that Novak was conferring with an a.s.sistant. Then, standing by the defense table, she asked, "Lieutenant, let's continue with your speculative recapitulation of the crime. After Mr. Marchand was struck down, what did the killer do?"

The lieutenant was more tentative than he had been before when he said, "I think it's probable that he looked for something to wipe the handle of the hammer with and spotted the dish towel."

She stopped him again. "Where is the towel rack? Can you show us on the crime scene photograph?"

"It's on the inside of the cabinet door under the sink."

She showed him the photograph of the sink, and he said that was it. "Did you find any fingerprints on the k.n.o.b of the cabinet door?"

"Just smudges."

"Still speculating, Lieutenant Whorley, if the towel was neatly hung up, it would not have been visible, would it? Not until the door was opened?"

"That's right, but I don't know where the towel was."

"Of course. So he saw the towel and used it to wipe the handle clean. Then what?"

He paused, then said, "He tossed it down on the counter."

"That kitchen is eighteen feet from wall to wall, Lieutenant. The body was fifteen feet from the stove, and the hammer two feet beyond that. Do you mean he tossed the towel seventeen feet across the room?"

He shook his head. "I don't think so. I think he must have gone across the kitchen to throw it down." He looked past her toward Novak, and he no longer appeared indifferent or bored.

Abruptly Barbara said, "No further questions." She took her seat, and behind her Dolly said in a very audible voice, "Oh, my G.o.d!"

Judge Mac looked at her sternly and raised his gavel, but he laid it down again when she made no further sound; he nodded to Novak. "Redirect, Mr. Novak?"

"Still speculating, Lieutenant," Novak said, walking around his table. "Since that door is wide open, we'll all stroll through. Why do you suppose anyone would walk across the kitchen to put the towel down instead of just dropping it by the hammer?"

"If he wanted to turn on the stove and maybe start a fire, he might do that," Whorley said slowly.

"Who might do that, Lieutenant?"

"The killer might."

Before Novak could continue, Judge Mac said, "I think we've had quite enough speculation for one day. Do you have any more questions, Mr. Novak?"

He had a few, but they were of little consequence, and the day ended. As soon as Judge Mac left the bench, Dolly said shrilly, "Alexander, you have to get a new lawyer! Don't you understand, she's helping them! She's on their side!"

33.

Late that night Barbara stood at her darkened kitchen window gazing at the small swimming pool in the courtyard below. The weather had continued so warm and sunny that the pool had not been shut down yet. There was a pale yellow haze around the pool lights; a weather inversion was holding smoke in the valley from the many forest fires in the Cascades and in the Coast Range. The smoke dimmed all outside lighting, dimmed sunsets and moonglow. It had made her throat scratchy, raw-feeling, and burned her eyes.

After court that day Will Thaxton had taken the Feldmans, Alex, Dr. Minick, and Sh.e.l.ley to his house for a catered dinner. He was being heroic, she thought, not envious of an evening spent with Dolly Feldman.

Across the courtyard Sh.e.l.ley's lights had gone off finally, and Barbara continued to stand at her window, thinking about the day in court, about the coming days, about Frank's warning, repeated at dinner that night. "It's a risky strategy, Bobby. You know that. But I'll be d.a.m.ned if I can see a different way to play it."

Me, too, she thought, and turned away from the window to get ready for bed.

The next morning Barbara and Sh.e.l.ley arrived almost simultaneously at Frank's house. Bailey's old Dodge was already in the driveway. They would wait for the rest of their crew, and Bailey would drive them all to the courthouse, as he had done the day before and would do every day of the trial.

"How did it go?" Barbara asked Sh.e.l.ley when Frank opened the door.

"Fine," Sh.e.l.ley said brightly. "But I need expert advice. Which is better, a.r.s.enic or strychnine?"

"Do it the American way," Bailey said from the doorway to the kitchen. "Get yourself a cute little gun and shoot him, whoever it is you're after."

"Her," Sh.e.l.ley said. "That's not a bad idea. Thank you, Bailey."

She turned to Barbara and said, "Will told them you're the best defense attorney west of the Mississippi. Now she thinks you're sleeping with him."

"All three," Barbara said. "A gun, strychnine, and a.r.s.enic. How was Alex?"

"He never said a word, and he kept his beret and his sungla.s.ses on all evening. Maybe we can send her on an errand to Tahiti or someplace like that."

"We'll have a conference and then dinner here after court recesses today," Frank said, his face grim. "They can fend for themselves. I'll tell them," he added.

And here we go, Barbara thought, back in the courtroom. Today the Marchand children were present along with their aunt, Mrs. Dufault. Rachel looked ill, hollow-eyed, even gaunt, and very pale. Half a dozen or more young men were present, schoolmates of Daniel's, his rooting section, fellow track-team members. When everyone was in place and Judge Mac had taken his seat at the bench, Novak called his first witness of the day, Detective Mallory Stedman.

He was a slightly built man with thinning hair and thick eyegla.s.ses. His eyes were inflamed and watery with allergies or perhaps a cold; when he gave his credentials and experience, he sounded nasal and hoa.r.s.e.

Novak took him straight to June ninth and asked what he had done that day.

"I made a visual inspection of the immediate surroundings of the house, all the way to the rear, and out to the road."

"What were you looking for?" Novak asked.

"Anything that didn't seem to belong there. Or signs of footprints, just anything out of place."

"And did you find anything that didn't belong there?"

"Yes, sir."

"What did you find?"

"A drawing pencil. Back by the blackberries in the rear of the property."

Novak held up an evidence bag. "Is this the pencil you found?"

"Yes, sir."

"Will you describe this pencil for the court, Detective?"

"It's a Faber Extra Soft drawing pencil."

"Thank you." Novak picked up a second evidence bag. "Did you come across any similar pencils while investigating this crime?"

"Yes, sir."

"Where was that?"

"In the defendant's studio."

Novak took a pencil from the second bag and had him identify it and then describe it.

"It's a Faber Extra Soft drawing pencil like the other one."

When Barbara stood up to cross-examine, she smiled at the detective. "Good morning. Has the smoke gotten to you?"

He nodded.

"I'll try not to keep you too long," she said. "When you discovered the pencil by the blackberries, was it just lying on the ground?"

"It was half under some leaves, half showing."

"You have sharp eyes, Detective. Was it dirty, crusted with dirt?"

"A little bit dirty, yes."

"Did you recover any fingerprints from it?"

"No, ma'am. It had been out in the weather, maybe rolled a little."

"So it was partly exposed, and a little dirty. Did you know it was a drawing pencil immediately?"

"No, ma'am. It just looked like a pencil at first."

"Does it say anywhere on it that it's a drawing pencil?"

"No."

"Detective Stedman, what made you think that a pencil partly covered with leaves, partly covered with dirt, on the property where two children lived, was a clue to murder?" She kept the question easy, conversational, but he stiffened.

"It was out of place," he said. "I was looking for anything out of place."

"I see. Is that the only object you found that appeared to be out of place?"

"I recovered a soda pop can, and two little toy soldiers."

"Did they strike you as being out of place?"

He hesitated, then said, "Yes."

She shook her head and walked to her table where Sh.e.l.ley handed her the detective's statement. "I have a copy of your statement here, Detective. Can you tell me where you mentioned a soda pop can or toy soldiers?"

"I didn't include them in the report," he said. He brought a tissue from his pocket and blew his nose.

She smiled sympathetically and waited. Then she asked, "So you considered the pencil important, but not the can or the toys. Do you have children, Detective?"

"Objection," Novak said. "Irrelevant."

"Sustained. Move on, Ms. Holloway," Judge Mac said, but he was making notes, she saw with satisfaction.

"Detective, do you know where pencils like that can be purchased?"

"I don't know," he said.

"All right. Did you notice how the pencil had been sharpened?"

He shook his head. "I didn't notice that."

"Let's examine it now to find out," she said. She removed the pencil from the evidence bag and handed it to him. "Does it appear to have been sharpened with a pencil sharpener?"

He studied it closely, then said yes.

"Can you see where the blades left marks?"

"Yes."

"Now, when you partic.i.p.ated in the search of Mr. Feldman's home, did you find many drawing pencils?"

"Seven or eight, maybe more."