Beyond This Point Are Monsters (7 page)

“Why would a husband do that?”

“To make people think his wife was on her way to meet another man and run away with him. The easiest method of avoiding blame is to cast it on someone else. That suit­case turned Leo into a poor grieving widower and Robert into an irresponsible seducer.”

“What was in it?”

“You mean exactly?”

“Yes.”

“I don't know. What difference does it make?”

“A woman preparing for a rendezvous with her lover wouldn't pack quite the same things as a man would pack for her, even a husband. I presume the contents of the suitcase were exhibited at the coroner's inquest.”

“I didn't attend the inquest. By that time I'd stopped going anywhere because of the gossip. Oh, nothing was ever said in front of Robert or me, but it was there on everyone's face, even the people who worked for us. If she hadn't died it would have been laughable, the idea of Robert running off with a woman twice his age, a pale skinny little thing who looked like an elderly child.”

“What do you think happened to Ruth Bishop, Mrs. Osborne?”

“I know what didn't happen. She did not pack a suit­case and start across that river in order to keep a rendez­vous with my son. It was raining before she left the house, and she was well aware of the danger of a flash flood.”

“You believe that she walked into the river deliber­ately?”

“Perhaps.”

“And that Leo Bishop packed a suitcase and put it into the water so it would be found later downstream.”

“Again, perhaps.”

“Why?”

“A wife's suicide puts her husband in a bad light, starts people asking questions and prying under surfaces. As it was, all the bad light was on us. I sent Robert on a trip East to give the scandal a chance to blow over. That's where he met Devon and married her two weeks later. Funny how things repeat themselves, isn't it? The first thing that struck me about Devon was how much she looked like Ruth Bishop.”

People had begun returning to the courtroom: the high school students; Leo Bishop and the ranchers; the Estivars, with Lum Wing shuffling along behind like a family pet that was currently out of favor; Carla Lopez, freshly groomed and without her baby, as though she'd suddenly decided she was too young to be burdened with a child and had left it somewhere in the corridor or the ladies' room.

Ford's only reaction to the people coming back in was a slight lowering of his voice.

“You also sent Robert away after his father's death, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“How did his father die, Mrs. Osborne?”

“I've already told you.”

“Tell me again.”

“He fell off a tractor and fractured his skull. He was in a coma for days.”

“And after his death Robert was enrolled in a school in Arizona.”

“I was depressed and poor company for a growing boy. Robert needed men to guide him.”

“Estivar claims that the guidance was the wrong kind.”

“He exaggerates. Most Mexicans do.”

“Do you agree with Estivar that Robert had changed when he returned home?”

“Of course he'd changed. They're years of change, be­tween fifteen and seventeen. Robert went away a boy and came back a man who had to take over the management of a ranch. I repeat, Estivar exaggerates. The relationship between him and Robert was never as close as he likes to remember it. Why should it have been? Robert had a per­fectly good father of his own.”

“And they were on friendly terms?”

“Of course.”

“How did Mr. Osborne fall off the tractor, Mrs. Os­borne?”

“I wasn't there when it happened. And my husband didn't tell me because he never regained consciousness. Just what are you trying to prove anyway? First, you bring up Ruth Bishop's death and now my husband's. They were totally unconnected and half a dozen years apart.”

“I didn't bring up the subject of Ruth Bishop,” Ford said. “You did.”

“You led me into it.”

“By the way, it's not exactly easy to fall off a tractor.”

“I wouldn't know. I've never tried.”

“The rumor is that your husband was drunk.”

“So I heard.”

“Was he?”

“An autopsy was performed. There was nothing in the report about alcohol.”

“You said a minute ago that Mr. Osborne lay in a coma for days. All traces of alcohol would have disappeared from the bloodstream during that time.”

“I'm not a doctor. How would I know?”

“I think you know a great deal, Mrs. Osborne. The problem is getting you to admit it.”

“That was an ungentlemanly remark.”

“I come from a long line of ungentlemen,” Ford said. “You'd better go back to your place. The recess is over.”

Judge Gallagher was striding back into the courtroom, his black robe flapping around him like the broken wings of a raven.

“Remain seated and come to order,” the clerk said. “Superior Court is now in session.”

CHAPTER SIX

the name of john loomis
was called, and one of the men in ranchers' clothes came to the witness box and was sworn in: John Sylvester Loomis, 514 Paloverde Street, Boca de Rio; occupation, doctor of veterinary medicine. Dr. Loomis testified that on the morning of October 13, 1967, he was asleep in the apartment above his place of business when he was awakened by someone pounding on the office door. He went downstairs and found Robert Osborne with his dog, Maxie, on a leash.

“I gave him hell, if you'll pardon the expression, for waking me up so early, since I'd been at a foaling until three o'clock. But he seemed to think it was urgent, that someone had poisoned his dog.”

“What was your opinion?”

“I saw no evidence of poison. The dog was lively, his eyes were clear and bright, nose cold, no offensive breath odor. Mr. Osborne said he'd found Maxie in a field before dawn, that the dog's legs were twitching violently, it was frothing at the mouth and had lost control of its bowels. I persuaded Mr. Osborne to leave the dog with me for a few hours, and he said he'd pick it up on his way home from San Diego in the late afternoon or early evening.”

“And did he?”

“Yes. About seven o'clock that night.”

“Meanwhile you'd had a chance to examine the dog.”

“Yes.”

“And what did you find out?”

“Nothing absolutely positive. But I was pretty sure it had suffered an epileptic seizure. Such seizures are not uncommon in dogs as they get older, and spaniels like Maxie are particularly susceptible. Once a seizure is over, the dog makes an immediate and complete recovery. It's the speed of the recovery, in fact, which helps with the diagnosis.”

“Did you explain this to Mr. Osborne, Dr. Loomis?”

“I made an attempt. But he had this thing in his mind about poison, that the dog had been poisoned.”

“Was there any basis for his belief?”

“None that I could see,” Loomis said. “I didn't argue with him, though. It seemed a touchy subject.”

“Why?”

“People often identify with their pets. I got the impres­sion that Mr. Osborne thought someone was trying to poi­son
him.”

“Thank you, Dr. Loomis. You may step down now.”

Leo Bishop was called as the next witness. His reluc­tance to take the stand was evidenced by the slowness of his movements and the look of apology he gave Devon as he passed her. When he responded to Ford's questions about his name and address, his voice was so low that even the court reporter, who was sitting directly below the wit­ness box, had to ask him to speak up.

Ford said, “Would you please repeat that, Mr. Bishop?”

“Leo James Bishop.”

“And the address?”

“Rancho Obispo.”

“You are the owner as well as the operator of the ranch?”

“Yes.”

“What's the location of your ranch in relation to the Osborne ranch?”

“It's just to the east and southeast, with the river as the boundary line.”

“In fact, you and the Osbornes are next-door neigh­bors.”

“You might put it like that, though it's a long way be­tween doors.”
A long way and a river.

“You knew Robert Osborne, of course.”

“Yes.”

“Had known him for many years.”

“Yes.”

“Will you tell the court when and where you last saw him, Mr. Bishop?”

“On the morning of October thirteen, 1967, in town.”

“The town of Boca de Rio.”

“Yes.”

“Would you explain the circumstances of that meet­ing?”

“One of my green-carders showed up for work suffer­ing from stomach cramps. I was afraid his symptoms might be the result of an insecticide we'd used the previous day, so I drove him into Boca to a doctor. On the way I saw Robert's car parked on Main Street outside a cafe. He was standing on the curb talking to a young woman.”

“Did you honk your horn or wave at him, anything like that?”

“No. He seemed busy, I didn't want to interrupt. Be­sides, I had a sick man in the car.”

“Still, it would have been the natural thing to do, taking a second or two to greet a close friend.”

“He wasn't a close friend,” Leo said quietly. “There was a generation between us. And some old trouble.”

“Would this ‘old trouble' have any bearing on the pres­ent case?”

“I don't think so.”

Ford pretended to consult the pages of yellow foolscap on the table in front of him, giving himself time to decide whether to pursue the subject further or whether it would be wiser to stick to the main theme he'd chosen to present. Overkill might be a mistake in view of Judge Gallagher's skeptical mind. He said, “Mr. Bishop, you've been present in the courtroom all morning, have you not?”

“Yes.”

“So you heard Mr. Estivar testify that he hired a crew of Mexicans to work on the Osborne ranch at the end of September, and that these men disappeared on the night of October thirteen . . . As a grower you're familiar with the pirating of work crews, are you not, Mr. Bishop?”

“Yes.”

“In fact, in the summer of 1965 you had occasion to report that a crew which you'd hired to pick melons had disappeared during the night following a payday.”

“That's correct.”

“Now, on the surface, what happened to your crew and what happened to Mr. Estivar's crew appeared to be simi­lar. There was, however, an important difference, was there not?”

“Yes. My men were located by noon the next day. A grower near Chula Vista had simply convinced them they could do better at his place, so they left. But the men from the Osborne ranch were never found. Chances are they crossed the border before the police even knew a crime had been committed.”

“When did you learn that a crime had been committed, Mr. Bishop?”

“I was awakened about one-thirty in the morning by a deputy from the sheriff”s department. He said Robert Os­borne was missing and the surrounding ranches were be­ing searched for traces of him.”

“What did you do then?”

“I got dressed and joined the search. At least I tried to. The deputy in charge sent me back in the house.”

“What was his name?”

“Valenzuela.”

“Why did he refuse your offer of assistance?”

“He said a lot of searches had been me
ssed up by amateurs and this wasn't going to be one of them if he could help it.”

“All right, thank you, Mr. Bishop. You are excused.”

Ford waited until Leo returned to his place in the spec­tators' section, then asked the clerk to call Carla Lopez to the stand.

Carla rose and walked slowly to the front of the room. In the hot dry air her pink and yellow nylon shift clung to her moist body like a magnet. If she was embarrassed or nervous she managed to conceal the fact. Her voice was bored when she took the oath, and the huge round sun­glasses gave her an Orphan Annie look of complete blankness.

“State your name, please,” Ford said.

“Carla Dolores Lopez.”

“Miss or Mrs.?”

“Miss. I'm getting a divorce, so I took back my maiden name.”

“Where do you live, Miss Lopez?”

“431 Catalpa Street, San Diego, Apartment Nine.”

“Are you employed?”

“I quit my job last week. I'm looking for something better.”

“Did you know Robert Osborne, Miss Lopez?”

“Yes.”

“A few minutes ago Mr. Bishop testified that he saw Mr. Osborne on the morning of October thirteen talking to a young woman outside a cafe in Boca de Rio. Were you that young woman?”

“Yes.”

“Who initiated the conversation?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Who started talking first?”

“He did. I was just walking along the street by myself when he pulled up to the curb beside me and asked if he could speak to me for a minute. I had nothing better to do, so I said yes.”

“What did Mr. Osborne talk to you about, Miss Lopez?”

“My brothers,” Carla said. “They used to work for him, my two older brothers, and Mr. Osborne wanted to know if they might want to come and work for him again.”

“Did he give any reason?”

“He said the last crew Estivar had hired was no good, they had no experience, and he needed someone like my brothers to show them how things were done. I told him my brothers wouldn't be caught dead doing that kind of labor no more. They didn't have to squat and stoop like monkeys, they had respectable stand-up jobs in a gas sta­tion.”

“Did Mr. Osborne make any further remarks about the crew he had working for him?”

“No.”

“He gave no indication, for instance, that he suspected they might have entered the country without papers?”

“No.”

“Did he use the terms wetback,
mojado
or
alambre?”

“Not that I remember. The rest of the talk was personal—you know, like between he and I.”

The girl's long silver-painted fingernails scratched at her throat as if they were trying to ease an itch deep inside and out of reach. It was her first sign of nervousness.

“Was there anything in the conversation,” Ford said, “which might have bearing on the present hearing?”

“I don't think so. He asked me about my baby—I wasn't showing yet but the whole town knew about it, it being that kind of town—and he said his wife was having a baby too. He seemed kind of jumpy about it. Could be he was scared it would turn out like him.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well, there was a lot of gossip about him when Mrs. Bishop drowned. Maybe some of it was true. Or maybe he just had a jinx like me. I'm an expert on jinxes. I've had one ever since I was born.”

“Indeed.”

“For instance, if I did a rain dance there'd probably be a year's drought or even a snowstorm.”

“The court must deal in facts, Miss Lopez, not jinxes and rain dances.”

“You have your facts,” the girl said. “I have mine.”