Away with the Fishes (29 page)

“Objection!” May cried out, standing up from her VIP seat. “Madison has never thrown a woman in the sea in his life!” May’s friends and supporters hooted and cheered.

“Order! Order in the court!” Judge Samuels shouted, pounding his gavel. “There will be no objections during opening arguments! Mr. Jones, please continue.”

Branson and Trevor looked at each other, worried. Branson wished he could sit closer to May, to hold her hand and comfort her, but a teacher at the Boys’ School was not as Very Important a Person as a Minister in charge of sewage.

“As I was saying, ladies and gentlemen, the sea is unforgiving. So unforgiving, that we have no body to show you. The Defense will argue, ‘no body, no crime,’ but there
is
a body, my fellow citizens”—so had he beguiled them with his performance thus far that they forgot he was a citizen of Killig—“there is a body in the sea. Because we can’t see it, does that mean it isn’t there? Do we see every swimming fish and every coral reef when we look at the sea from our windows? Of course we don’t! Does that mean we believe them not to be there? Of-course-we-don’t,” he finished, punching the last four words in an ominous, singsong baritone.

“The last thing I wish to say, before we begin, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, is this: I’ve always been a lucky man. My momma, rest her soul, named me Monday because I was born on a Monday, and that’s my lucky day. I ask therefore that you show no bias toward the young man accused of this heinous crime, simply because fate has seen fit to start his trial on
my
lucky day, not his. The law requires us, all of us, to treat him as an innocent man until the trial is over, even if in our hearts we know him to be guilty.”

Solemnly he walked back to his place at the table, while the spectators applauded his eloquent speech and the display of integrity with which he had closed it.

Monday Jones was a tough act to follow. Glynray Justice, though one of Oh’s top attorneys, lacked Monday’s stage presence and hoped the plain truth would trump showmanship.

“Members of the jury,” he said, wasting no words on the audience or even the judge, “I would like to start by responding to something said a moment ago by my esteemed colleague. Mr. Jones, here, has suggested there are plenty of fish swimming in the sea, and that we ought not to assume otherwise because we don’t see every one of them.” He paused for dramatic effect, inspired by the stage and by the rapt attention of the spectators.

“Well, he’s absolutely right.” The crowd collectively gasped, and Glynray paused again before going on. “Mr. Jones would have you accept that the fish you cannot see are vibrant and alive, and so too would I ask you to accept that Rena Baker is vibrant and alive. We have no proof to the contrary, and the fact that we can or cannot see her is not the matter at hand. What matters here is the future of a wrongly accused man, a man accused of murder when there is no corpse to be found. Remember, ladies and gentlemen of
the jury, that your verdict must be based on the truth—the truth as supported by irrefutable and
visible
(here he raised his index finger) evidence. You may not—indeed you
must
not—base your ruling on what you cannot see. Do not determine my client’s guilt or innocence on the basis of invisible fish.”

Though the trial had barely begun, the judge called a short recess after the opening arguments, both sides having succeeded in riling up the crowd. Raoul was chagrined by the interruption, for once the gavel went down, the islanders would mill about, visit the toilets or the beer stalls, and start heated debates from which it would be hard for him to herd them back inside the official perimeter.

During the break, Monday had his corkboard wheeled close to where the jury sat, and Glynray conferred with Madison and with Trevor, who had sneaked up onto the dais.

“Great start,” Trevor said, though whether speaking to Madison or Glynray, he wasn’t sure. “Invisible fish. That was good!” He clapped Madison on the back.

“We’ve got a long way to go,” Glynray cautioned. “They’ll call the police as witnesses first and go through the evidence piece by piece. I’m sure that shyster will drag it out for days.”

“Then you get to cross-examine?” Trevor asked.

“That’s right.”

Through a megaphone, Raoul’s voice could be heard requesting that everybody return to their seats, so Trevor gave Glynray and Madison a nod, then jumped down off the dais. On the way to his place in the crowd, he stopped by May to say hello and
wish her well, and to assure her that Glynray wouldn’t let them down. On the one hand, May felt relieved that the trial was finally under way, but on the other, she was scared to death. Every word that the loquacious Prosecutor spoke sent chills up and down her spine.

As Trevor reached his place next to Patience, Monday Jones arose from his chair and called his first witness, Officer Arnold Tullsey. Officer Tullsey stated his name for the record and Monday swore him in.

“May I present Exhibit A,” Monday announced, flamboyantly waving high in the air a copy of the
Morning Crier
, sealed in a clear plastic bag. “Can you describe this item for the court, please, Officer.”

“Yes, sir, that would be a newspaper, sir,” Arnold answered. He spoke his words close into the microphone, rendering them almost unintelligible.

“Thank you. No need to get so close to the mic, son. Now, tell the court please why this particular newspaper is so important.” (Bruce beamed, somewhere amidst the onlookers.)

“It’s the edition with the ad, sir.”

“The ad?”

“Yes, sir, the ad for a lady,” Arnold explained.

“Would that be the lady sought to fill the vacancy left behind by the murdered Rena Baker?”

“Yes, sir. The ad came out the same day the mangled bike was discovered. It seemed obvious that whoever placed the ad needed a woman, to fill in for the one he got rid of by knocking her off the bike.”

“I see,” Monday said, pinning to his corkboard a large, glossy photograph of the newspaper. “What makes you so sure that Mr. Fuller placed this ad?”

“The ad was placed by a fisherman, and that’s what Mr. Fuller is. We confiscated a fishing pole when we searched his house.”

“Would this, Exhibit B, be the fishing pole?” Monday asked, showing Arnold another glossy photo, then tacking it to the cork-board as well.

Before Arnold could reply, Glynray jumped up and interrupted.

“Objection, Your Honor! It’s common knowledge that my client is a fisherman, an activity in which he takes great pride. The witness is suggesting that Mr. Fuller tried to hide his occupation, when in fact he has nothing to hide, occupational or otherwise.”

“The objection is sustained. The jury will disregard the fishing pole,” the judge ruled. “Mr. Jones, kindly remove the photo.”

“Of course, Your Honor,” Monday conceded. “There’s plenty more where that came from.” Turning back to Arnold, he continued. “Was there anything else about the ad to indicate that Mr. Fuller was the one who placed it?”

“Yes, sir. He wasn’t just asking for a lady. He wanted a lady who cooked and who had a bike. Rena used to cook him lunch every day, but Rena was a walker. We suspect he wanted a lady who had a bike, so she could get his food to him a little faster.”

“Yes, that makes good sense,” Monday agreed.

“Speculation, Your Honor!” Glynray called out.

“Overruled,” the judge declared. “I agree completely that the testimony makes good sense.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Monday said, bowing to him slightly. “Officer Tullsey, let’s try another Exhibit B, shall we?” Again he wagged a clear plastic bag high in the air for the audience to see. In it was the beach towel the police had found at Madison’s house, the one covering the picnic basket that belonged to Rena Baker.

“Can you tell the court what this item is, please?” He handed the towel to Arnold and pinned a picture of it on the board.

“That’s a beach towel, sir. We found it at Mr. Fuller’s house.”

“Where exactly at Mr. Fuller’s house did you find it?”

“It was on top of a basket belonging to Rena Baker,” Arnold said.

“Is
this
the basket that belonged to Miss Baker?” Monday tacked a photo marked “Exhibit C” onto the board.

“Yes. Her things were inside it, with big R’s all over them.”

“Thank you, Officer. Right you are.” Monday attached to his corkboard pictures of the articles found in Rena’s basket—a dinner plate, knife, fork, spoon, three plastic bowls tucked one inside the other, and three plastic lids (Exhibits D, E, F, G, H, and I).

Like so, the questioning continued for three days, until Monday Jones’s corkboard was completely covered, with pictures of exhibits J through P as well. Halfway through Arnold’s testimony, Monday had excused him and called to the stand Joshua Smart instead, so both of the officers could take a turn. When the Prosecution finally rested its case, the most damning pieces of evidence were Madison’s ad (the Prosecution excluded the notion that someone else might have placed it), Rena’s basket (particularly the initialed lids inside it), and a pair of Madison’s muddy shoes, muddied presumably when he picked her remains up off the shortcut that leads from Thyme to Port-St. Luke.

It took the remainder of that first trial week for Glynray Justice to cross-examine Officers Tullsey and Smart. Exhibit by Exhibit,
Glynray ran down the list of incriminating items, refuting every one as best he could, first and foremost the classified ad.

“Tell me, Officer Tullsey, how is it that the Police determined my client to be the author of this ad, placed anonymously, if I’m not mistaken, in our only island daily?”

Arnold opened his mouth to respond, but Glynray kept talking.

“I mention that it is our
only
island daily,” he explained, “so as to remind the court that the entire population of Oh reads this newspaper and this newspaper alone.” (Publicity! Bruce hadn’t thought of that!) “If the entire population reads the
Morning Crier
, then the pool from which to fish out the writer of that unusual ad is vast, Officer Tullsey, is it not?”

“I suppose.”

“The ad might have been placed by any one of the hundreds of spectators seated here before us. Not to mention those seated at home, listening to our proceedings on the radio.” (Raoul, hoping to stem the number of onlookers, had arranged for radio transmission of the trial.) “How did you narrow it down to my client?”

“Your client was the only one who was missing a girl.”

“I see, and did you bother to interview the editor of the paper?” Glynray asked.

“Yes, sir. He told us the ad was anonymous, like you said. Someone slipped an envelope with cash and an unsigned note under the door of the
Crier
offices.”

“Do you have a girlfriend, Officer Tullsey?”

“No, sir,” Arnold said.

“Do the court the favor of reading the ad aloud, please, would you?” Glynray handed Arnold the plastic bag that housed Exhibit A.

“Honest man, early 40s, athletic, with fishing boat seeks honest woman, early 30s, with bicycle, cooking skills, and dainty hands. For immediate marriage,” he read.

“How old are you, Officer?”

“I turned forty last month.”

“Do you like a nice home-cooked meal?”

“Who doesn’t?”

“So, you just turned forty, you find yourself with no girl, and admit to liking good home-cooking. Did you perhaps buy yourself a birthday present, Officer? Get yourself a boat and put an ad in the local paper to get your forty-year-old life in order?”

“Absolutely not!” Arnold said. “I don’t need the newspaper to find myself a girl.”

“And yet you don’t have one,” Glynray said.

“Objection, your honor!” Monday Jones hollered, standing up. “Now who’s stabbing at invisible fish?”

“Sustained. Move it along, counselor,” Judge Samuels ruled.

“Fine.” Glynray feigned frustration, but was satisfied that he had made his point, as the animated whispers from the crowd clearly indicated. He made a show of rifling through a stack of papers, then started in again on Officer Tullsey.

“Allow me to read to you a piece of your own testimony from earlier this week. Speaking about the newspaper ad in question, you said, and I quote, ‘Rena was a walker. We suspect he wanted a lady who had a bike, so she could get his food to him a little faster.’ If Rena was a walker, and the alleged victim of the crime with which my client is charged was a biker, then how do you figure Rena and the victim to be one and the same?”