The Touch of Treason (20 page)

Thomassy arrived at the courthouse parking lot twelve minutes late. He ran, his left arm hugging his briefcase, his right trying to keep the umbrella vertical despite the wind that whipped rain into his face. Inside, he stopped in the john to paper-towel his face and hair. Then he tried to comb it, remembering the days when it was short enough not to need a hair blower. Nothing he could do about his soaking pants bottoms. Or his spirits.

The second he was behind the counsel table, the court officer shouted “All rise!” as if in reproof for Thomassy’s late arrival, and Judge Drewson swept in. Ed wanted to ask Thomassy something.

“Not now,” Thomassy said. He hoped everybody had wet pants bottoms.

Roberts called Leona Fuller to the stand. Thomassy knew what was coming this rain-drenched day; the widow routine. Focus on the loss instead of who did or didn’t do it. The ancient strategy worked on the jury if the widow played her part.

In the confines of the witness box, Leona Fuller looked like a diminutive of her stoic self. Few old women sat ramrod straight as she did. She affirmed the oath as if she were granting a decree. He wondered if Francine would have that kind of majesty at Leona Fuller’s age. It didn’t matter. He wouldn’t live to see it.

Thomassy knew that Roberts might try to make her cry. He sat on the edge of his chair, ready to rise and shout “Objection” to make the jury see that this had nothing to do with a life that was already lost; it was a game in which one player had to cast the widow’s chip.

Roberts’s voice had the expected gentleness. “Please tell the court your name and your relationship to the deceased.”

“Leona Albright Fuller. I am Professor Fuller’s widow.” Flat words caught by every ear in the suddenly silent courtroom.

“I will try to keep my questions to a minimum, Mrs. Fuller,” Roberts said. “Please tell us in your own words what happened the morning your husband was killed.”

Thomassy was on his feet instantly. “Objection, Your Honor. The defense has stipulated that the deceased died from burns. The prosecution has yet to prove that the fire was not accidental. The use of the word killed is improper.”

He had turned away from the judge to see Leona Fuller’s reaction to the word “improper.” Not a flinch.

“Sustained,” Judge Drewson said.

Roberts collected himself, tried again. “Mrs. Fuller,” he said, “tell us what you heard and saw the morning your husband was burned.”

Thomassy was on his feet again. “I’m sorry Your Honor. The same objection. ‘Was burned’ implies the commission of an act by another person. The ‘was’ is improper.”

The judge shook his head. “Mr. Thomassy, this isn’t a course in linguistics.”

“I understand, Your Honor, and I have no intention of making petty objections with regard to Mr. Roberts’s misuse of words except where they clearly could incorrectly prejudice the jury with regard to the circumstances of Professor Fuller’s death.”

The cost of rattling Roberts was rattling the judge. But now Thomassy could see a slight crack in Mrs. Fuller’s composure. She had readied herself to get her testimony over with as quickly as possible.

“Strike the question,” Judge Drewson said, a touch of annoyance in his voice. “Please rephrase it one more time, Mr. Roberts.”

Articulating each word, Roberts said, “Mrs. Fuller, tell us what you saw and heard the morning your husband burned.”

He should have said died,
Thomassy thought. Repeating burned wasn’t helping her maintain her composure.

Her hands clenched, Leona Fuller told her story without further interruption. Thomassy jotted down just one word on the pad in front of him.
Love.

“Mrs. Fuller,” Roberts said, “in describing the events surrounding your husband’s death, you mentioned the name of Edward Porter several times. Is he in this courtroom?”

She sighed as if to lament the barter of words that contributed nothing to anyone’s understanding. “Yes,” she said.

“Will you point him out to the court, please.”

How could one point without it being the widow’s accusing finger? She did as she was asked.

“What was the defendant’s relationship to your husband?”

She thought for a moment. “At first a student, then a friend in the GPW. That’s what they called the Great Political War.”

“Was the defendant a friend of yours as well?”

“In a different way. He and my husband had a mentor-disciple relationship that worked well for both of them. There was a warmth between them.”

“Like father and son perhaps?”

There go the harp strings, Thomassy thought.

“More like brothers distant in age.”

“Would you say that they were close?”

She nodded.

Judge Drewson said, “Please speak up a little, Mrs. Fuller, for the court reporter.”

“I’m sorry. Yes, they were close.”

“But not like father and son?”

“Increasingly like colleagues.”

“Like Brutus and Caesar perhaps?”

Thomassy was on his feet shouting “Objection!” and Mrs. Fuller glanced over at the judge as if to plead for his intercession.

“You will not lead the witness, Mr. Roberts,” Judge Drewson said. “Nor will you offer your own opinions in the guise of questions. Questions are not evidence. The jury will disregard Mr. Roberts’s comments about Brutus and Caesar.”

Thomassy thought old Brutus Roberts got
his
knife in. The judge’s instructions to disregard were as useless as Francine telling him
Don’t think of me.

“Mrs. Fuller,” Roberts was saying, “did there come a time when Edward Porter Sturbridge stayed over frequently?”

“Yes.”

“For what purpose?”

“To sleep.”

There was a guffaw from where the reporters sat, snuffed out immediately by the judge’s glare in their direction.

“To your knowledge, did the defendant have a place of his own?”

“Yes, of course.” Her impatience showed. “We’d all talk long after dinner, and whoever stayed the course, usually slept over.”

“Would you say that the defendant stayed over more often than other students and friends did?”

“In recent months, perhaps.”

“Mrs. Fuller, would you say that the defendant had the run of the house?”

“Yes.”

“And of the garage?”

“Yes, of course.”

“For what purpose?”

“He frequently cut the lawn for us. He put snow tires on our car in the fall and took them off in the spring.”

“Did he ever put kerosene in your husband’s bathroom heater?”

“My husband usually did that himself. Ed would have if Martin asked him to. I don’t know.”

“Do you know how the kerosene would be transported to the house?”

“The kerosene was kept in a five-gallon can. My husband couldn’t carry anything that heavy so he kept a one-quart plastic lamp-oil container in the garage and would bring in fuel for his heater that way.” She paused for a moment before saying, “He hated keeping kerosene supplies in the house.”

Roberts coughed into his left hand. “Mrs. Fuller, in your description of what happened on the morning of April fifth, you said that when your husband screamed, of the three overnight guests the defendant appeared first. Is that correct?”

“He helped me push Martin into the shower.”

“What was the state of his dress?”

“His bathrobe was burning.”

“I mean the defendant’s dress.”

“He was naked.”

“Stark naked?”

“Yes.”

“How did the defendant seem to you, excited?”

The judge anticipated Thomassy’s objection. “Mr. Roberts,” he said, “please try not to lead the witness.”

“What did the defendant’s state of mind at the time seem to you, Mrs. Fuller?”

Thomassy objected. “The witness cannot testify to someone else’s state of mind, Your Honor.”

“Oh Your Honor,” Leona Fuller said, “I know what he means. Of course Ed was agitated. He rushed down naked because it was an emergency. I respected his not stopping to put something on.”

The judge looked at Roberts and Thomassy in turn. “If neither of you objects, I’ll let that answer stand. Proceed.”

“That’s all for this witness, Your Honor,” Roberts said.

He didn’t get a tear out of her, Thomassy thought. He didn’t get anything out of her. Roberts had promised brevity and produced a long drawn-out nothing.

Thomassy walked up to the witness box and placed his hands on the edge. Leona Fuller looked as if she expected him to shake hands with her.
Such civil greetings are not permitted in this court. All I want to get across to you is that you are not on the other side.

“Mrs. Fuller,” Thomassy began, “I know how difficult this procedure must be for you. It’s my duty to represent the defendant and I am required to ask just a few questions to help the jury decide the facts. You do understand that?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Thank you. Mrs. Fuller, do you yourself know for a fact that a kerosene heater in close quarters can be dangerous?”

“Oh yes, I’d warned Martin about that when we first bought it.”

The rule was you never asked a question of a witness you didn’t know the answer to. Sometimes you had to gamble.

“Mrs. Fuller, did you ever discuss with your husband his wearing of a long and possibly flammable bathrobe in the close quarters of his bathroom with the kerosene heater on?”

“Many times. He thought I was a crank on the subject.”

“You testified earlier that your husband hated keeping kerosene in the house. Why was that?”

“Because he knew it could lead to a dangerous accident.”

“Was kerosene used for any other purpose in your house than for the bathroom heater?”

“Oh yes,” she said. “We have a couple of hurricane lamps on the dining room table.”

“Are those lit daily?”

“For dinner.”

“When you have guests?”

“Even when we eat alone. Martin…Professor Fuller and I enjoyed that kind of light almost as much as candlelight. We used to use candles, but the wax dripped on the table and was a chore to remove sometimes.”

“When the small container you say was kept in the pantry had to be refilled, was the five-gallon container brought into the house or was the small one taken out to the garage?”

“The latter, of course. Martin never allowed the five-gallon one into the house. And it doesn’t make sense to carry the heavy one in when you can carry the empty out.”

“Quite right, Mrs. Fuller. And who did the refilling?”

“Usually Martin. I did once or twice when he had the flu, though I found it difficult to lift the large can for pouring when it was rather full. Lately we’ve been asking younger people when they’re around to refill the container.”

“Any younger people?”

“Usually the ones we know best. The ones who come frequently or sleep over.”

“Could you name those young people who to your knowledge ever refilled the kerosene container?”

Thomassy glanced over at Roberts. So far he hadn’t given the district attorney an opening.

Mrs. Fuller said, “Now let me see. Of course, the three who slept over the night of the accident. Melissa Troob was always very helpful that way. And so was Ed Porter. And Scott Melling, I remember him doing it at least once or twice.”

“In other words, all three guests who stayed in your house the night preceding your husband’s death had not only had access to the kerosene, but had actually used it, taken some of it into the house?”

“Yes.”

“Do you recall any other guest who might have had access to the kerosene and/or gasoline?”

“Well, Barry Heskowitz, he was with us the evening before but didn’t stay over. Barry did the lawn for us at least once. I don’t remember if he filled the kerosene up, or just used the gasoline for the lawn mower.”

“Anyone else?”

“Well, there was a young man named Yuri something or other who was studying at the Russian Institute and for a period of weeks was around the house a lot, but I think he and Martin had ideological differences and the young man stopped coming.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Oh, months.”

At last Roberts was on his feet objecting. “Your Honor,” he said, “I object. Unless counsel can demonstrate that the student who has no last name yet was in the house more recently, I don’t see how this line of questioning is relevant to what happened on the night in question. I move to strike the last two questions.”

“Your Honor,” Thomassy said, “I am exploring other hypotheses not excluded by the alleged proof, and it is certainly relevant that people other than the defendant, perhaps many other people, had ordinary access to the kerosene and gasoline that were kept in the Fuller garage, quite apart from the fact that the gas needn’t have come from the Fuller garage. It could have been siphoned from a car. It could have been brought in from anywhere by anybody.”