The Twelfth Child (34 page)

“But, what if I lose?”

“Will that change the way you feel about me?”

“Of course not!” she answered.  “It’s just that –”

“Better or worse,” he repeated.

She smiled a smile that sent a glow of happiness clear up to heaven, then she extended her left arm across the table and offered him her finger.  “There’s nothing in the entire world,” she sighed, “I want more than to be married to you.”

T
he following morning when Destiny promised to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth, there was a gleam in her eyes that out-sparkled the diamond on her finger.   A person blind from birth could have seen she was in love and paying way more attention to her lawyer than the questions he was asking.   

Charles on the other hand, was trying to pull from her the story as she’d told it to him.  Finally, he said in desperation, “Please, Miss Fairchild, in your own words, tell the court the nature of your relationship with Abigail Lannigan.”  As it turned out, that was the right thing to ask, because Destiny opened up like a daisy in sunshine.

 “We were close as sisters,” she said.  “There wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do for Miss Abigail and nothing she wouldn’t do for me.  When I moved into the house with not a nickel for furniture, she gave me a whole bunch of stuff.”

Knowing what her answer would be Charles asked, “You mean she
bought
the furniture for your house?”

“No.  It was mostly things she didn’t use.  We hauled them up from the basement, the two of us.  I carried most everything, but Miss Abigail helped with the table and recliner – you know, big things that were hard to maneuver around the corner.” 

“Did you pay for any of this furniture Abigail Lannigan gave you?”

“Not with money,” she answered, “but, I cleaned her house, ran errands, took her places she had to go, things like that.”  Destiny gave the most nostalgic sigh, and then said, “That’s how we became friends.”  After that she didn’t need a lot of prodding to tell about things we’d done.  When she went on to tell how we’d planned to swim naked in the ocean, Eleanor Farrell, a housewife sitting in the front row of the jury box, was grinning like a person who might have considered doing such a thing herself. 

Eventually Charles moved on to the issue of my will.  “When Abigail Lannigan wrote what was intended as her last will and testament,” he asked, “couldn’t you see that the handwriting was totally illegible?”

“No,” she answered.  “Miss Abigail put it in the drawer; I never saw it.”

“Weren’t you curious?  Here, she’d indicated that you, not a blood relative, were to inherit her entire estate – didn’t you want to safeguard that inheritance, check to make certain the document was legal, maybe have it notarized?”  Charles’ question sounded almost harsh, but he was pushing her to tell the story as he’d first heard it. 

“She tried to show me what she’d written, but I wouldn’t look,” Destiny finally said, her voice thin and weighted down with sorrowful memories.  “I told her I wasn’t interested in seeing it, because I didn’t believe she was going to die.”

“What was Miss Lannigan’s reaction to that?”

“She put the paper in the nightstand drawer and told me when I was ready to face the fact of life and death; it would be there for me.”

Then Destiny started sobbing like her poor little heart was going to break, so Judge Kensington called for a fifteen minute recess.  When they returned to the courtroom, Charles focused on questions about household expenses, various checks that had been written, bank accounts, and whether or not she had any knowledge of the money that was allegedly missing.  Of course, Destiny said she’d never known me to have that much money, and if I had, she’d no idea where it could have gone to, which I assure you was the absolute truth. 

After Destiny had adequately accounted for every dime she’d ever spent, Charles went on to asking about my relationship with Elliott.  When, straight-faced as a judge, she started telling how I’d said nobody who claimed to be a Baptist could ever be a Lannigan, the jury snickered – all except for Herman Cohen, a crotchety old fart who’d insisted on being the jury foreman.  Once Destiny finished going over the rest of what I’d had to say about Elliott, Charles told the judge he had no further questions and asked if that might not be a good time for a noon recess.

After lunch, Hoggman started an antagonistic cross-examination of Destiny.  “Do you honestly expect this jury to believe,” he sneered, “that you and eighty-eight year-old Abigail Lannigan were like
sisters
?”  Before she could answer, he thundered on, “That you had
no
designs on her money?  That your intention was
not
to swindle Elliott Emerson out of his rightful inheritance?  That you –”

 “Objection!” Charles said.  “Your Honor, he’s badgering the witness, pounding her with suppositions and not allowing time for an answer.”

“Sustained,” the judge said and gave Hoggman a hard glare.

 “Sorry, Your Honor,” Hoggman mumbled and then went back to his questioning.  After almost an hour of picking at every aspect of our relationship, he asked, “Miss Fairchild, before you sought out Abigail Lannigan you knew that she had come into a sizeable inheritance, didn’t you?”

“No.”

“There is reason to believe you did.  In fact, Elliott Emerson believes that you not only knew about the money, but worked to turn Miss Lannigan against him so that you alone would inherit the entire estate.”

“That’s not true, I never –”

“After Miss Lannigan’s demise, did you try to sell the house or probate the handwritten will to claim your inheritance?”

“No.” 

“Of course you didn’t, because you knew that so-called will would never hold up in court!  In fact this entire story is nothing but a giant fabrication, isn’t it?”  Hoggman turned to the jury and gave the smug grin of a man who had proven his point.  Herman Cohen, the self-appointed foreman nodded as did two other men sitting in the front row. 

“That’s not why,” Destiny answered tearfully, “keeping Miss Abigail alive was more important to me than having her money.  If I cashed in the accounts and sold her house, she’d be gone from my life.  So, I kept the house and made believe she was asleep in the bedroom.”  She twisted the left side of her mouth into a sad sort of half-smile, “Sometimes I’d forget it was just pretend and make two pork chops for supper or hesitate to turn on the television set because it might wake her.”

“Oh, please!” Hoggman sneered with an air of disbelief, but by then, Eleanor Farrell and Francine Walker – a woman with two kids and a deadbeat husband at home – already had tears rolling down their cheeks.  

Seeing the jury’s sympathy slide over to Destiny, Hoggman moved on to questions about the money and where exactly the million dollars had gone to.  After she’d said a number of times that she knew nothing of the money, had never seen it, nor had ever known Abigail Lannigan to have it, Hoggman exclaimed, “Are you asking this jury to believe
all that money
just disappeared, vanished into thin air?”

“Objection!” Charles said but right away Hoggman jumped in, claiming that Destiny was a hostile witness and he had the right to treat her as such.

“I’m not the least bit hostile!” she snapped back at him.

“Enough!” Judge Kensington said and rapped his gavel.  “The objection is sustained, now move on Mister Hoggman.”

“You claim to know nothing of the money, but since Miss Lannigan’s death, you’ve purchased a new car, new furniture, extensive amounts of clothing, where did the money for those things come from?”

“Out of Miss Abigail’s account, but she’d said that money was mine.”

“Oh really?  Well, if you believed that money to be rightfully yours, then why didn’t you at least present the will for probate so a court could verify it?”

Destiny shrugged.

“You have no answer, do you?  That’s because you knew all along that the money should have gone to Elliott Emerson, a true Lannigan heir!”  When Hoggman saw six nodding heads in the jury box, he said he had no further questions for the witness and court was adjourned for the day.

The next day started with a lineup of witnesses testifying as to the nature of Destiny and my relationship.  Dear old Doctor Birnbaum was first and he told how she was right there by my side every time he saw me.  “I’ve never known a more dedicated caretaker,” he told Charles.  Then when Hoggman tried to twist those words around and make it seem that Destiny was a person who did little more than drive me to and from his office, Doctor Birnbaum told how she’d cried like a broken-hearted baby the day we found out I had pancreatic cancer.    

They say if you live long enough, you’ll have seen it all, but I was pretty amazed when the four Bountiful Basket clerks, three Middleboro Savings Bank tellers and Harvey Brown, the Branch Manager I used to deal with, all showed up to tell the truth of how things were. Every one of them put their hand on the bible and swore to God that I treated Destiny like she was my own child and that she took care of me as kindly as any daughter would have.  When they finished up, Scott Bartell, the lawyer who’d helped me settle up my brother’s estate told exactly how much I’d gotten.  “One-hundred and sixty-seven thousand dollars,” he said.  Of course, he never knew about the bonds Will had hidden in Papa’s bible – thank heaven for that, I thought.

At one o’clock Judge Kensington called for a lunch recess. 

Destiny was trying to force down a chicken sandwich when Charles told her he thought Herman Cohen and the two men sitting alongside of him were sympathetic toward Elliott.   “I’m pretty sure we’ve got five jurors on our side,” he said, “but the other four, I’m not sure about.  We could be looking at an even split, which would mean a mistrial.” 

“Then what?”

“We do it all over again.”

“Oh no,” Destiny moaned.

“There’s one other alternative – a strategy that can probably prevent Elliott Emerson from getting the money, but it doesn’t do anything to help your case.”

“Do it,” she answered, willfully. “Do whatever you can to keep Elliott from getting his hands on Miss Abigail’s money.”

At two-fifteen when the court reassembled, Charles said he would like to recall Elliott Emerson to the stand for additional cross.  The bailiff reminded Elliott that he was still under oath, then Charles started his questioning.

“You’ve petitioned the court to name you as beneficiary to Abigail Anne Lannigan’s estate based upon the fact that you are a direct descendent of her father, William Lannigan Senior, is that true?”

“Yes,” Elliott answered apprehensively.

“The great grandson of William Lannigan?”

“Yes.”

“If being a direct descendent gives you a legal right to the estate, then may I assume that other relatives – children, grandchildren, great grandchildren would have the same right?”

“Do you see any other relatives in this courtroom?” Elliott answered angrily.  “There’s only me.  I’m the one who ought to get the Lannigan money.”  

“You’ve made certain that there are no other relatives in this courtroom,” Charles said, “but there
are
other Lannigans.  Your sister, Felicia, for example; fourteen first cousins who went to high school with you – including yourself, there are one-hundred and forty-eight Lannigan descendents alive today.”

“I object!” Hoggman shouted.

“To what?” Charles asked, “The fact that William was such a prolific man?”

Everyone in the jury box, including Herman Cohen chuckled.

Judge Kensington banged down his gavel.  “Approach the bench,” he said.  “Now just what is it, that you’re objecting to?” he asked Hoggman.

“This wasn’t mentioned in discovery.”

“He’s your client,” the judge growled, “it’s up to you to find out the facts.  Objection overruled.”

“Back to the Lannigan descendents,” Charles said, “there are forty-six grandchildren, eighty-four great grandchildren, one of whom is Felicia, your sister.  There are also seventeen cousins.  Are you planning to share the Lannigan estate proportionately with all of them?”

“They don’t deserve to get anything,” Elliott said, “they were never close with Abigail Lannigan.”

“Judging by the testimony given here,” Charles replied, “neither were you.”  He then turned to the judge and said, “The defense rests, your Honor.”

Judge Kensington rapped his gavel, “The court will hear final summations at nine-thirty tomorrow and I would strongly recommend that both sides limit themselves to forty-five minutes.”

H
oggman began his summation bellowing like a cow in labor; he claimed the facts had proven beyond a doubt that Elliott Emerson, the great grandson of William John Lannigan, was indeed the rightful heir to Abigail Anne Lannigan’s estate.  He made sweeping gestures with first one arm then the other as he ticked off item by item every fragment of testimony that was marginally favorable to Elliott.  He focused on discrediting Destiny and never once mentioned that there were one-hundred and forty-seven other Lannigan descendents.  “The scrap of paper which the defense would have you believe to be Abigail Lannigan’s will is laughable!” he said.  “Why, the defendant herself could have scribbled those lines in an attempt to give credence to the preposterous claim of being the sole beneficiary.  Then, there is the issue of the missing money –
one million dollars
– which she claims to know nothing of.  I don’t for one minute believe that such a huge amount of money just vanished into thin air.  Nor do I believe that Abigail Anne Lannigan intended that scrap of paper to be her last will and testament!  The truth of this matter is that Abigail Lannigan died intestate, and without the existence of a duly executed will, therefore, her estate by law belongs to surviving relatives.” 

After the summation had rambled on for close to an hour, Judge Kensington coughed loudly and pointed a finger at his watch.  “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” Hoggman quickly concluded, “I trust that you will see through Destiny Fairchild’s scam and award Elliott Emerson, the estate to which he is legally entitled.”