Sons of Fortune (64 page)

The
prosecutor transferred his gaze to Nat.

“I
can well understand you feeling some sympathy for this man, but after you have
heard all the evidence, I believe you will be left in no doubt of Mr.
Cartwright’s guilt, and with no choice but to carry out your duty to the state
and deliver a verdict of Guilty.”

There
was an eerie silence in the courtroom when Richard
Ebden
resumed his place. Several heads nodded, even one or two on the jury. Judge
Kravats
made a note on the pad in front of him, and then
looked down toward the defense counsel’s table.

“Do
you wish to respond, counselor?” asked the judge, making no attempt to hide the
irony in his voice.

Fletcher
rose from his place and, looking directly at the judge, said, “No thank you,
your honor, it is not my intention to make an opening statement.”

Fletcher
and Nat sat in silence looking directly in front of them amid the pandemonium
that broke out in the courtroom. The judge banged his gavel several times,
trying to bring the proceedings back to order. Fletcher glanced across at the
state attorney’s table, to see Richard
Ebden
, head
bowed, in a huddle with his prosecution team. The judge tried to hide a smile
once he realized what a shrewd tactical move the defense had made; it had
thrown the state’s team into disarray.

He
turned his attention back to the prosecution.

“Mr.
Ebden
, that being the case, perhaps you’d like to
call your first witness?” he said Matter-of
factly
.

Ebden
rose, not quite as confidently now that he’d worked out what Fletcher was up
to. “Your honor, I would in these unusual circumstances seek an adjournment.”

“Objection,
your honor,” cried Fletcher, rising quickly from his place. “The state has had
several months to prepare their case; are we now to understand they cannot even
produce a single witness?”

“Is
that the case, Mr.
Ebden
?” asked the judge. “Are you
unable to call your first witness?”

“That
is correct, your honor. Our first witness would have been Mr. Don Culver, the
chief of police, and we did not want to take him away from his important duties
until it was entirely necessary.”

Fletcher
was on his feet again. “But it is entirely necessary, your honor. He is the
chief of police, and this is a murder trial, and I therefore ask that this case
be dismissed on the grounds there is no police evidence available to place
before the court.”

“Nice
try, Mr. Davenport,” said the judge, “but I won’t fall for it. Mr.
Ebden
, I shall grant your request for an adjournment. I
shall reconvene this court immediately after the lunch break, and if the chief
of police is unable to be with us by then, I shall rule his evidence
inadmissible.”
Ebden
nodded, unable to hide his
embarrassment.

“All
rise,” said the clerk, as Judge
Kravats
glanced at
the clock before leaving the courtroom.

“First
round to us, I think,” remarked Tom, as the state’s team hurriedly left the
courtroom.

“Possibly,”
said Fletcher, “but we’ll need more than Pyrrhic victories to win the final
battle.”

Nat
hated the hanging around, and was back in his seat long before the lunch break
was up. He looked across at the state’s table to see Richard
Ebden
also in his place, knowing he wouldn’t make the same
mistake a second time. But had he yet worked out why Fletcher had risked such a
bold move?

Fletcher
had explained to Nat during the adjournment that he believed his only hope of
winning the case was to undermine Rebecca Elliot’s evidence, and therefore he
couldn’t afford to let her relax even for a moment.

Following
the judge’s warning,
Ebden
would now have to keep her
waiting in the corridor, perhaps for days on end, before she was finally
called.

Fletcher
took his seat next to Nat only moments before the judge was due to reconvene.
“The chief’s out there in the corridor storming up and down fuming, while Mrs.
Elliot is sitting alone in a corner biting her nails. I intend to keep that
lady hanging around for several days,” he added as the clerk called, “All rise,
Judge
Kravats
presiding.”

“Good
afternoon,” said the judge, and turning to the chief prosecutor added, “Do you
have a witness for us, Mr.
Ebden
?”

“Yes,
I
do,
your honor. The state calls Police Chief Don
Culver.”

Nat
watched as Don Culver took his place on the stand and repeated the oath.
Something was wrong, but he couldn’t work out what it was. Then he saw the
second and third fingers of Culver’s right hand twitching, and realized it was
the first time he’d seen him without his trademark cigar.

“Mr.
Culver, would you tell the jury your present rank?”

“I’m
the chief of police for the city of Hartford.”

“And
how long have you held that position?”

“Just
over fourteen years.”

“And
how long have you been a law enforcement officer?”

“For
the past thirty-six years.”

“So
it would be safe to say that you have a great deal of experience when it comes
to homicide?

“I
guess that’s right,” the chief said.

“And
have you ever come into contact with the defendant?”

“Yes,
I have, on several occasions.”

“He’s
stealing some of my questions,” Fletcher whispered to Nat, “but I haven’t yet
worked out why.”

“And
had you formed an opinion of the man?”

“Yes,
I had, he’s a decent law-abiding citizen, who, until he murdered
. .”

“Objection,
your honor,” said Fletcher, rising from his place, “it is up to the jury to
decide who murdered Mr. Elliot, not the chief of police.

We
don’t live in a police state yet.”

“Sustained,”
said the judge.

“Well,
all I can say,”
said
the chief, “is that until all
this happened, I would have voted for him.” Laughter broke out in the court.

“And
after I’ve finished with the chief,” whispered Fletcher, “he sure won’t be
voting for me.”

“Then
you must have had some doubt in your mind that such an upstanding citizen was
capable of murder?”

“Not
at all, Mr.
Ebden
,” said the chief.

“Murderers
aren’t run-of-the-mill criminals.”

“Would
you care to explain what you mean by that, Chief?”

“Sure
will,” said Culver. “The average murder is a domestic affair, usually within
the family, and is often carried out by someone who not only has never
committed a crime before, but probably never will again. Once they’re in
custody, they are often easier to handle than a petty burglar.”

“Do
you feel Mr. Cartwright falls into this category?”

“Objection,”
said Fletcher from a seated position, “how can the chief possibly know the
answer to that question?”

“Because
I’ve been dealing with murderers for the past thirty-six years,” Don Culver
responded.

“Strike
that from the record,” said the judge.

“Experience
is all very well, but the jury must in the end deal only with the facts in this
particular case.”

“Then
let’s move on to a question that does deal with fact in this particular case,”
said the state’s attorney. “How did you become involved in this case, Chief
Culver?”

“I
took a call at my home from Mrs. Elliot in the early hours of February twelfth.

“She
called you at home? Is she a personal acquaintance?”

“No,
but all candidates for public office are able to get in touch with me directly.

They
are often the subject of threats, real or imagined, and it was no secret that
Mr. Elliot had received several death threats since he’d declared he would run
for governor.”

“When
Mrs. Elliot called you, did you record her exact words?”

“You
bet I did,” said the chief. “She sounded hysterical, and was shouting. I
remember I had to hold the phone away from my ear, in fact she woke my wife.” A
little laughter broke out in the court for a second time, and Culver waited
until it had died down before he added, “I wrote down her exact words on a pad
I keep next to the phone.” He opened a notebook.

Fletcher
was on his feet. “Is this admissible?” he asked.

“It
was on the agreed list of prosecution documents, your honor,”
Ebden
intervened, “as I feel sure Mr. Davenport is aware.
He’s had weeks to consider its relevance, not to mention importance.”

The
judge nodded to the chief. “Carry on,” he said as Fletcher resumed his seat.

““My
husband has been shot in his study, please come as quickly as possible,”
“ said
the chief, reading from his notebook.

“What
did you say?”

“I
told her not to touch anything, and I’d be with her just as soon as I could get
there.”

“What
time was that?”

“Two
twenty-six,” the chief replied after rechecking his notebook.

“And
when did you arrive at the
Elliots
’ home?”

“Not
until three nineteen. First I had to call the station and tell them to send the
most senior detective available to the
Elliots
’
residence.

I
then got dressed, so that when I eventually made it, I found two of my officers
had already arrived-but then they didn’t have to get dressed.” Once again
laughter broke out around the courtroom.

“Please
describe to the jury exactly what you saw when you first arrived.”

“The
front door was open, and Mrs. Elliot was sitting on the floor in the hallway,
her knees hunched up under her chin. I let her know I was there, and then
joined Detective
Petrowski
in Mr. Elliot’s study. Mr.
Petrowski
,” the chief added, “is one of the most
respected detectives on my force, with a great deal of experience with
homicide, and as he seemed to have the investigation well under way. I left him
to get on with his job, while I returned to Mrs. Elliot.”

“Did
you then question her?”

“Yes,
I did,” replied the chief.

“But
wouldn’t Detective
Petrowski
already have done that?”

“Yes,
but it’s often useful to get two statements so that one can compare them later
and see if they differ on any essential points.”

“Your
honor, these statements are hearsay,”

Fletcher
interjected.

“And
did they?”
Ebden
hurriedly asked.

“No,
they did not.”

“Objection,”
Fletcher emphasized.

“Overruled, Mr. Davenport.
As has already been pointed out, you have had access to these documents for
several weeks.”

“Thank
you, your honor,” said
Ebden
. “I would like you to
tell the court what you did next, Chief.”

“I
suggested that we go and sit in the front room, so that Mrs. Elliot would be
more comfortable. I then asked her to take me slowly through what had happened
that evening. I didn’t hurry her, as witnesses are quite often resentful of
being asked exactly the same questions a second or third time.

After
she’d finished her cup of coffee, Mrs. Elliot eventually told me that she had
been asleep in bed when she heard the first shot. She switched on the light,
put on her robe and went to the top of the stairs and that was when she heard the
second shot. She then watched as Mr. Cartwright ran out of the study toward the
open door.

He
turned to look back, but couldn’t have seen her in the darkness at the top of
the stairs, although she recognized him immediately. She then ran downstairs
and into the study where she found her husband lying on the floor in a pool of
blood. She immediately called me at home.”

“Did
you continue to question her?”

“No,
I left a female officer with Mrs. Elliot while I checked over her original
statement. After a farther consultation with Detective
Petrowski
,
I drove to Mr. Cartwright’s home accompanied by two other officers, arrested
the defendant and charged him with the murder of Ralph Elliot.”

“Had
he gone to bed?”

“No,
he was still in the clothes he had been wearing on the television program that
night.”

“No
more questions, your honor.”

“Your witness, Mr. Davenport.”

Fletcher
walked across to the witness box with a smile on his face. “Good afternoon, Chief.
I won’t detain you for long, as I’m only too aware how busy you are, but I do
nevertheless have three or four questions that need answering.” The chief
didn’t return Fletcher’s smile. “To begin with, I would like to know what
period of time passed between your receiving the phone call at your home from
Mrs. Elliot, and when you placed Mr. Cartwright under arrest.”