Away with the Fishes (33 page)

Raoul reached home and crawled into bed. Ms. Lila had left him some supper, but he wasn’t hungry. As she snored gently next to him, Raoul replayed the day’s events in his mind, the particulars of the trial, Captain Dagmore and the girl at the bank, and… Bruce! It struck Raoul suddenly that as he left the court that evening, Bruce had spoken to him with a strange smile on his lips. A strange smile that Raoul had seen before.

“I wonder what in the world he’s up to now,” Raoul sighed. Inside his head, though, a quiet and desperate little fly prayed that Bruce had indeed got up to something.

And, whatever it was, it had better be awfully good.

42

B
ruce was up and at the bakery early on the Thursday of the second week of trial. He knew he was in for a busy day of court reporting, and he wanted some of Trevor’s whole wheat buns to boost his stamina. Truth be told, he also suspected a hero’s welcome at the bakery, and who would pass up one of those?

“Bruce!” Trevor exclaimed, holding the
Morning Crier
in his hand. “Do you realize what this means?”

“If you mean,” Bruce replied, “that the real killer is still out there somewhere and still putting ads in my paper, then yes, I do.”

“I wonder if Glynray has seen it?” an overjoyed Trevor asked no one in particular.

“Seen what?” Patience asked, coming into the bakery from the storeroom in back, where she had been counting bags of flour.

“This!” Trevor held out the morning edition.

Patience wiped her hands on her apron and took it from him. “What’s this supposed to mean?” she asked, confused, looking alternately at her husband and at Bruce.

“It means whoever placed the first ad is still out there,” Trevor said gleefully. He grabbed Patience by the waist and danced her around. “Wait until May hears this!”

Trevor was so excited he didn’t know who to call first, Glynray Justice or May Fuller. He phoned the lawyer’s office, only to discover that Glynray, no slacker, was already at court with a copy of the paper, waiting for an audience with the judge. Next, Trevor called May, but she, too, had seen the ad and reached the same happy conclusion as everyone else. She rushed to court to see if Madison would be freed on the spot, but it wasn’t quite as simple as that. Still, Judge Samuels did declare a day of recess, mostly to diffuse the reaction that the news of the ad had triggered. He figured the lawyers could sort the matter out for themselves, while
he
could spend a much needed day at the beach.

Not only did the lawyers not sort it out for themselves, but each dug in his heels, adamant about making a public show of the new piece of evidence. Glynray didn’t want some quiet dismissal of Exhibit A (the first lonely hearts ad) in light of the ad just placed, and neither did Monday, who felt the new ad needed rebutting head-on and on stage. The day off was thus for nothing. Worse, while Judge Samuels blew off steam, the local gossip only picked some up.

Raoul had experience with newspaper ads, having placed one or two in the past. He knew there was always more to them than
met the eye. Though he hadn’t seen the
Crier
that morning, he heard about the second lonely hearts ad the minute he got to court. Mr. Justice and Mr. Jones might be content to discover the ad’s merits in front of an audience, Raoul thought to himself, but
he
was not. He thought it best to investigate them beforehand and in private, and for that he sought out Bruce.

Raoul couldn’t have imagined the two blows the day would hold for him. Before he could even get to Bruce, the first one came at him all the way from Killig. Raoul had stopped at his office, and there he had gotten a terrible call. The official results of the blood analysis were in and they weren’t good. As it happened, they weren’t bad, either. They were inconclusive, which was worse.

“Are you sure?” Raoul asked Betty Grewber’s supervisor.

“I’m one-hundred percent sure of inconclusiveness, sir,” she answered. “I have the technician’s report right in front of me. Perhaps you sent us an insufficient sample. If you’d like to send another, we’ll be happy to run the tests again.”

Raoul hung up, cursing Fred Nettles. Bloody builder must have shaved the samples too thinly, Raoul thought. Poor Fred! His shavings were perfectly proportioned. The blame lay with Betty and her lemongrass. She needed her job, you see, and couldn’t admit to her spilled cup of tea, which as it turned out hadn’t contaminated the sample all that badly. Betty was almost positive the blood wasn’t human but fish. Still, she dared not say so to a scientific certainty, lest her lemongrass lead her to wrongly rule out a murder.

With a shake of his head, Raoul imagined the field day the Prosecution would have with the results, and he hoped his chat with Bruce would bring better news.

It didn’t. Bruce told Raoul—off the record—that the two lonely hearts ads were placed by two different lonely hearts. Or so he thought. One of the ads was hand-written, the other typed. One on graph paper ripped from a schoolbook, one on writing paper pulled from a box. One was tucked in an envelope with cash, the other was clipped to one of Oh’s rainbow bills.

“In other words,” Bruce summed it up, not seeming terribly concerned, “Madison is technically not in the clear, and they told me this morning that I have to testify tomorrow.”

“For the Prosecution or the Defense?” Raoul asked.

“Both,” he said cheerfully. “But don’t worry. I know just what I have to do.”

“You have to tell the truth,” Raoul said reluctantly. “What else can you do?”

Bruce didn’t answer. He flashed Raoul a knowing grin and harrumphed.

When the trial reconvened the next day, lawyers for both sides champed at the bit to put Bruce on the stand and address the new lonely hearts ad. First, however, Raoul whispered something to the judge, who motioned for Monday and Glynray to approach the bench, where the judge whispered to both of them in turn. Then the lawyers whispered to each other, whispered to the judge again, and finally took their seats—all of which sent whispers rippling through the crowd. What was going on? everyone wanted to know.

Judge Samuels pounded his gavel and announced that the results of the blood found on Madison’s fishing boat were inconclusive.
This meant the blood and boat meant nothing, he instructed the jury, and he ordered the lawyers not to mention them again until closing arguments. Judge Samuels was cranky and impatient that morning, for his previous day off had, by contrast, reminded him of the trial’s tedium. He was tired of exams and cross-exams, of directs and redirects, when it was plain enough where the trial was headed.

In light of the ruling regarding the results, Glynray requested that Judge Samuels have the boat’s photo removed from the center of Monday’s corkboard, but the judge, angered that Glynray had mentioned the boat against express orders not to, punished him by denying the request and allowed the photo to stay.

Because the Defense had the floor, Glynray was the one who called Bruce to the stand. After necessary but banal questions concerning his full name (Bruce Kandele), domicile (Bishop Street, Port-St. Luke), and occupation (the
Morning Crier
’s editor-in-chief, copyeditor, reporter, and special correspondent), Glynray brought up the subject of the classified ad.

“Please tell the court how the ad that appeared in your newspaper yesterday differs from the ad you published nearly a month ago, or Exhibit A,” he said, holding up the first ad in its plastic bag.

“They’re identical. Yesterday’s ad contains one extra word, ‘still,’” Bruce answered.

“Is it your opinion that both ads were placed by the same person?”

“I couldn’t say, but it would be quite a coincidence for two different people to place identical ads.”

“Both of the ads were placed anonymously, that’s right?” Glynray asked.

“Yes, sir. Found them both slipped under the exact same door.”

“You are no doubt aware that the Prosecution is convinced my client placed the first one,” Glynray said.

“Exhibit A? I’m aware.”

“You said it was unlikely that two different people placed the two ads in question.”

“I said it would be quite a coincidence, yes.”

“Assuming that the party responsible for Exhibit A and the party responsible for yesterday’s ad are one and the same, do you have an opinion as to whether or not my client is that party?”

“I don’t see how he could be, unless they let him out of jail to slip a note under my door.”

“Thank you, Mr. Kandele,” Glynray said. “I wish to state for the record, Your Honor and members of the jury, that Mr. Fuller was not at any time released from custody to deliver correspondence to Mr. Kandele or to anyone else. I have no further questions.”

Monday Jones pensively rubbed his palms together as he approached Bruce on the witness stand.

“Mr. Kandele,” he began. “I would never cast doubt on the veracity of your testimony, but, if it pleases the court, I would like to ask that you produce the original ads that were slipped under your office door.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Mr. Jones.”

“Why is that?”

“I don’t have the first one. I threw it out after it was typeset.”

“And the second?”

“Yes, sir, I did keep that one.”

“Yet you can’t submit it to the court?”

“No, sir, Mr. Jones. I’m a journalist, and therefore my sources are privileged. If I started revealing every piece of information I got, what kind of reporter would I be?”

“You’re a man of principle,” Monday nodded. “I like that. Surely, though, as a reporter, you can appreciate the potential fact-finding significance that this second ad would afford us.”

“I can. But that doesn’t change the fact that a journalist never reveals his sources.”

“Then tell me this, sir,” Monday said, changing direction. “How can I be sure the second ad exists at all? Maybe you invented it. Maybe you slipped it under the office door yourself to influence the jury in Mr. Fuller’s favor.”

“That’s absurd!” Bruce cried out, insulted. “Why would I slip an anonymous ad under my own office door? I am in possession of a full set of keys to the newspaper office.”

Monday could feel the sympathies of the jury slipping away and adopted a harder line.

“Alright, Mr. Kandele. I’ll go along with you. Let’s assume that Mr. Fuller did not place the ads in your paper, not either one of them. Is there anything in your journalistic experience, any case study, any news story you’ve written, that says a man not guilty of newspaper ads is automatically not guilty of murder?”

Bruce stared at Monday and swore under his breath. It seemed the Prosecutor had one-upped him.

“Not to my recollection,” Bruce answered vaguely.

“Let’s make sure I have that right, Mr. Kandele. It is entirely possible that a man who has
not
placed an ad in your newspaper, has in fact committed murder. Is that your testimony?”

Bruce threw Glynray a threatening glance, and with raised eyebrows urged him to object.

“Objection, Your Honor!” Glynray shouted, stumbling as he jumped up from his chair. “He’s badgering my witness.”

“I’ll allow it,” the judge said.

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Monday said. “Mr. Kandele, is it your testimony that a man who has
not
placed an ad in your newspaper could in fact be a murderer?”

“Yes,” Bruce said. “It looks that way.”