Desperate Measures (35 page)

She nodded. “Whether a suspect, or just a witness for one side or the other, she would have come under investigation; their affair could have been revealed. If he hadn't been so stupid about getting that book,” she said, “none of this would have come to light. Even if the prosecution thought of it, they wouldn't have brought it up and ruined their case. He must have worried about the book. Maybe they had talked about it, laughed about it, and then he started to worry that someone in her family would read it.”

“I'm going to make dinner,” Frank said, rising.

“Before I forget,” she said, “there's something I'd love to have you and Patsy do for me. Leona's sister said Leona had a terrible time with pregnancies before she managed to bear two kids. I'd like to know more about all that. Did she have a condition that made sex itself difficult? Could that have accounted for Gus's turning off the way he apparently did? I think I need to subpoena Leona's hospital records.”

“What you mean,” he said coolly, “is that you want me to get those records for you, knowing damn well there's no legitimate reason for doing it.”

She grinned. “Exactly.”

He nodded, then went to the kitchen to start cooking. Barbara sat at the table, rolling the little blue car back and forth, thinking, Just one more week. She gave the little blue car a push that sent it across the table and off the side.

31

Frank had said
that Judge Lou MacDaniels had seen everything in his thirty years on the bench, that he did not suffer fools gladly or any other way, and that he was a stickler for details and facts and would tolerate no speculation. But he had not seen anyone like Alex Feldman, Barbara thought Monday morning when the trial started. She had attended four pretrial hearings with the judge, and she had shown him the pictures of Alex to prepare him, but no one could ever be really prepared. As soon as the defense team reached their table, Alex had removed his beret and his sunglasses, and now when Judge Mac strode into the courtroom to take his seat at the bench, he gazed at Alex, breaking his stride, then shook himself and continued to his chair.

Frank called him Judge Mac, and Barbara found herself thinking of him that way. He was tall and slender, and in his street clothes he had appeared misshapen, with his head too large for his body and his neck. Today, he was dressed in his robes and his head seemed proportionate. His face was ruddy, his silver hair stylishly brushed back in waves. He wore gold-rimmed eyeglasses. Very much a family man, he had been married to the same woman for forty-three years; they had four children, seven grandchildren, and two great-grandchildren. In his chambers she had seen dozens of framed photographs of his family.

She turned her attention to the assistant district attorney, who was starting his opening statement. Jase Novak was forty-one, and five to ten pounds overweight. In ten years he would be a tub, she thought, if he couldn't control it now. His face was round and smooth, his eyes round and mildly protuberant. His hair was dark, not quite black, and straight; it looked stiff.

He outlined the case the state was prepared to make succinctly and without a single flourish, evidently in response to Judge Mac, who had warned that he would tolerate no histrionics, and since there would not be a jury to play to, they would be wasted in any event.

The state's case would rely on the time chart, she understood quickly, the impossibility of anyone's approaching the Marchand house except on foot; on the statement made by Isaac Wrigley; and on the two threats Gus Marchand had made, the charge of stalking and the proposed housing unit. Novak spent a good deal of time psychoanalyzing Alex: a violent boy, a suicidal youth, and now a violent adult.

When Novak sat down, Judge Mac turned to Barbara. “Ms. Holloway, do you have your opening statement?”

“I would like to reserve my opening statement until after the prosecution has presented its case,” she said.

Judge Mac nodded. “Very well. Mr. Novak, your first witness, if you will.”

Barbara had told Alex and Dr. Minick how the beginning would go: the state would prove death by murder…. Interrupting her, Alex had said solemnly, “Yee-ep, he's dead all right.” And to Barbara's surprise, Frank had burst out laughing.

Now she listened as Dr. Steiner detailed the facts of the death of Gus Marchand. The Marchand children were not in court for this grisly account, but Dolly and Arnold Feldman had flown in to attend their son's trial, and Barbara was very much afraid that if there were any histrionics, Dolly would provide them. When the autopsy pictures were put up on an easel for Dr. Steiner to refer to, she heard a gasp from behind her and gritted her teeth. There was another gasp when the hammer was exhibited.

Novak finished with Dr. Steiner in record time, and Barbara stood up. “Dr. Steiner, would such a blow require a very strong arm?”

“Not at all,” he said. “That was a ten-pound hammer, swung with sufficient force to sever the brain stem, but it was the edge of the hammer that was the cutting agent and the immediate cause of death, not the force of the blow. It would not have required great strength.”

“From your findings on doing the autopsy, when would you say Mr. Marchand had eaten his last meal?”

“At least five hours before death,” he said promptly. “It's quite possible that it was closer to six hours.”

“Would it be a fair assumption to say that he ate lunch around noon, and nothing more that day?”

“Exactly so.”

She nodded. “Thank you, Doctor. No further questions.”

The next witness was Michael Bakken. He was a shaggy-haired man in his fifties; even his eyebrows were shaggy, growing in every possible direction. No doubt, he had shaved that morning, but already his face was shadowed as if a heavy beard might erupt any second.

Novak asked him to relate in his own words the events of the evening of June ninth. Bakken told very simply how he had been inspecting his trees with Harvey Wilberson, how they heard the smoke alarm and discovered the body.

“Did you see any traffic on Old Opal Creek Road that evening?” Novak asked.

“Yes, two cars went by. Leona Marchand's car, and then Hilde Franz's.”

“Your Honor,” Novak said, going to his table, where his assistant was setting up an easel, “we have here an aerial map of the area, but since all that's really visible from above is the canopy of the trees, we have had an overlay transparency prepared with the significant details enhanced. Here is the road, Mr. Bakken's orchard, Opal Creek, the Marchand driveway and house, and part of the Marchand orchard.”

Barbara inspected the exhibit, nodded, and resumed her seat. She made a note of the number; she would use that same transparency later, she decided; it was better than her map.

“Now, Mr. Bakken, if you would just step down and show us where you were at different times,” Novak said.

Bakken went to the easel, where Novak handed him a short pointer. He traced the route they had taken, and it became clear that he and Wilberson had walked quite a few miles that day.

“About where were you when you saw Leona Marchand's car on the road?” Novak asked.

Bakken pointed. “I heard it first,” he said, “and turned to see who was driving on the old road. She came out of the driveway and headed west.”

“I have a marker here,” Novak said. “Would you please place it at approximately where you were when you saw Mrs. Marchand's car.”

His marker was a little green arrow; Bakken put it on the transparency, east of the Marchand driveway.

“Did you look back at the road when you turned to see Mrs. Marchand's car?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Could you see this spot marked with a circle?”

“No, sir. It's around that curve, out of sight behind all those lilacs and laurels on the Marchand place.”

“All right. Then what did you do?”

“We walked a little more, and then Hilde Franz drove out.”

Novak had him place another arrow at the spot he thought they had reached when he saw Hilde's car, and asked him to continue.

“We went up to the end of the orchard, and turned back, down between the last two rows of trees. We'd come back to about here when Harvey heard the smoke alarm. We walked a few more steps and I heard it, too.” The arrow was almost directly across from the Marchand driveway, pointing toward it.

“During that time did you see anyone other than Leona Marc- hand and Hilde Franz driving on that road?”

“No, sir, we didn't.”

“Did you see anyone walking on the road?”

“No, sir.”

“At any point along that route could you see the Minick house?”

“No, sir. It's way back with a lot of trees between it and the road.”

“Could you see past the trees anywhere along that route?”

“No, sir. Not more than a couple of feet anyway.”

“All right. After you waded across the creek, did you see anyone on the driveway to the Marchand house? Or anywhere else on the property?”

“No, sir.”

After Novak had him give more details about what he had done at the house, he nodded to Barbara. Her witness.

When Barbara stood up to cross-examine, Bakken stiffened as if expecting an attack, preparing himself. She smiled at him. “That was a good report, direct and to the point. Thank you. I have only a few questions, Mr. Bakken.” If he relaxed, it was not perceptible.

“When you ran to the house, why didn't you enter by the front door instead of continuing around to the back?”

He frowned, and his shaggy eyebrows nearly met in the middle. “I don't know,” he said after a moment. “I didn't stop to think about it. I was wet, you know, wet feet and pants legs. I just didn't think of it.”

“Were you chilled from getting wet?”

“No, ma'am. It was a hot day, low eighties.”

She nodded. “Is it the custom to go in through the back door unless it's a real visit for a meal or something like that?”

“That's how we usually do it in the country.”

“Is there a screen at the back door?”

He looked as if he suspected she might be a little crazy. “Sure there is.”

“Was it closed?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Was the back door itself closed?”

“Yes, it was.”

“All right. You approached the closed door, then what?”

His eyebrows drew together again, as if he had to consider what she was driving at, what it meant, or else as if to try to remember. After a moment, he said, “I touched the doorknob, just to feel it, see if it was hot. Then I pushed the door open and we had to step back a little because a lot of smoke came pouring out in our faces. Then we went inside.”

“When Dr. Minick arrived, did he walk around to the back of the house the way you did?”

“No, ma'am. I went to the corner of the house and waved him to come back. He was heading for the front door.”

“How did he appear that day?”

“Same as always. Kind of calm and easygoing. He told me to sit down with my head down for a few minutes, and to stay out of that smoke. I was feeling a little sick, I guess.”

“Did he stay until the police arrived?”

“No. He said that the driveway was going to be a mess of cars and an ambulance and things like that, and he'd get out of the way. He said to tell them where he was if they wanted him for anything. Then he left.”

“In the house, did you touch or move anything?”

He shook his head. “Oh, the telephone book. I used the kitchen wall phone to call Doc Minick, and I had to look up his number first. That's all.”

“Did Dr. Minick touch or move anything?”

“No, ma'am. He looked at… He just knelt down and maybe touched the body, and we went back out.”

Barbara nodded, then walked to the transparency. “You were at this point when you saw Leona Marchand's car, and several feet beyond it when you saw Hilde Franz's car. How much time passed between seeing one and then the other?”

“About a minute,” he said promptly. “I said something like that to Harvey, that in the last minute there was more traffic than that road usually got all day long.”

“If a car had come from the Minick property and turned east instead of west, would you have been able to see it?”

“Yes, ma'am. We could see a good bit of the road up that way, and we would have heard it. It's real quiet back there. You can hear a car coming or going.”

“Both cars headed west,” she said. “It's closer to the school if you go east on that road, isn't it?”

“It's closer, but no one drives that way. The road's too bad, with bad curves and steep places. It's faster just to go on out to the new road and use it.”

“Everyone says the new road, but actually when was it built?”

“About twenty-one years ago.”

“Thank you, Mr. Bakken. No further questions.”

When she turned, she caught a fleeting, wary look on the prosecutor's face. She could almost read his thoughts: Why was she confirming the points he had made? What was she up to?

The state's next witness was Harvey Wilberson, who corroborated Bakken's testimony in every detail. Novak finished with him quickly.

“Mr. Wilberson,” Barbara said, “was the skillet on fire when you entered the house?”

“No, just smoking a lot.”

“Was the skillet covered?”

“No.”

“How did you lift it?”

“With an oven mitt. It was on the counter, and I used it.”

“Was the skillet red-hot?”

“No. Not yet.”

“All right. Then what did you do? You put the skillet down on the porch, then what?”

“I went back in and looked at the stove to make sure there wasn't any fire anywhere.”

“What did you do with the oven mitt?”

“I tossed it down on the counter.”

“Did you look inside the oven?”