The Unbidden Truth (22 page)

“Did you see a shoulder bag?”

“No.”

“Did she turn so that you could see her face?”

“No.”

Lorine had been watching Barbara and only incidentally the courtroom behind her. Something attracted her attention, and she appeared to focus on the back of the courtroom. Her eyes widened and she drew in a breath. Barbara turned to look. A figure with long black hair, wearing a black skirt and white blouse, stood at the door of the courtroom in the kind of pose that Lorine had just described.

“Does that look like the person you saw?” Barbara asked.

Lorine nodded and said yes at the same time that Mahoney yelled, “Objection!”

“Sustained. Counselors, come up here,” Judge Laughton snapped.

The person at the door turned and pulled off the wig to reveal a young man of seventeen or eighteen. He grinned and slipped from the courtroom.

Judge Laughton's face was red with fury, his lips tight, when Barbara and Mahoney stood before him. He turned off his microphone and leaned forward. “Ms. Holloway, I warned you at the start that I won't tolerate any of your stunts. When I instruct the jury, I'll tell them they can't consider that cha
rade. And if you cross that line again, I'll hold you in contempt of court. That little melodrama will cost you a hundred dollars. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

He motioned them away angrily, and as Barbara turned she caught a glimpse of Frank. She could tell from his posture and the fixed expression on his face that he was laughing on the inside. She kept her own expression grave when she addressed the witness once more.

“Mrs. Purdom, will you describe the person you saw at the motel door?”

Lorine moistened her lips. She glanced at Carrie, away. “I saw the back of someone with long black hair, a white blouse and a black skirt.”

“Can you positively identify that person?”

“No.”

“No more questions,” Barbara said and took her seat.

Mahoney hammered at Lorine but she stuck to her description: a person with long black hair, wearing a white blouse and a black skirt. She refused to say it had been Carrie at the door.

Terry Purdom was thirty-four, his hair was in a ponytail, and he had a small gold stud in one ear. He gave his occupation as a sound engineer. He seemed to weigh each question with deliberation before he answered.

After a few preliminary questions, he said in answer, “I heard her laugh, but I didn't look until my wife touched my arm and indicated that I should. I saw someone standing at the door, which was open a few inches, remain there for a minute, then enter and close the door.”

“Who did you see at the door and then enter the room?” Mahoney asked brusquely.

“I don't know. I didn't see a face.”

“In your original statement you said you saw the defendant at that door. Is that correct?”

“It is, but I was hasty and jumped to conclusions.”

“Describe the woman you saw, if you will.”

Barbara objected. “It has not been established that that person was a woman,” she said.

The judge sustained the objection and Mahoney rephrased the question with heavy sarcasm. “Just describe the
person
you saw that night.”

“I saw the back of someone with long black hair in a white blouse and a black skirt.”

Mahoney frowned and leaned against his table as if preparing for a long ordeal. “Did you watch the defendant play the piano for over an hour in the lounge?” Purdom said he did. “Did you see her leave, walk away from the piano and go behind the bar and through a door?”

“Yes. I watched her leave.”

“Will you describe how she looked walking away?”

“She was wearing a white blouse and a black skirt, and her hair was loose on her back.”

“Is that the description of the
person
you saw at the motel door?”

“Yes.”

“Would any reasonable person conclude that the
person
at the door was the same as the woman who played the piano?”

“I don't know,” Purdom said. “I don't know what a reasonable person might conclude.”

Mahoney kept at it, but Terry Purdom obviously had drawn a line that he was determined not to cross. He refused to identify the figure at the door as Carrie.

When Barbara stood up for her cross-examination, she asked, “Did you see the hands of the person at the motel door?”

“Not the left hand. The right hand was on the door frame.”

“Did you see any gloves on that person?”

“No. I didn't notice any, but if there had been a flesh-colored glove, or a surgical glove, something of that sort, I wouldn't have been able to see it from that distance.”

Barbara could have kissed him for his answer. Instead, she thanked him and said no more questions.

The judge called for the luncheon recess then, and when Barbara and her team went out, Bailey was there with his ticket and a sour expression. “I've been warned,” he said. “I'm not supposed to stop there again.”

Frank nodded. “We'll go through the tunnel. Meet us in the lot across the street from now on.”

In the back seat Carrie huddled, drawing her jacket close. “Did you see the jury, the way they were looking at me? They think I went in the room. They think you're just playing tricks and that was me going in that room. I swear I never went in there, Barbara.”

“I know you didn't,” Barbara said. But she had seen the expressions on the faces of some of the jurors, and Carrie's assessment was accurate.

A
t one of the pretrial motion hearings Mahoney had argued successfully that the Wenzel Corporation had nothing to do with Joe Wenzel's private life, and that the defense must not be permitted to besmirch the reputation of one of the city's leading businessmen. No mention was to be allowed of whatever irregular arrangement had been reached with Joe Wenzel about his employment with the company, and since all the Wenzels had ironclad alibis for the night of the murder, they were not to be implicated by any suggestion or innuendo of any complicity in that murder.

Afterward, Barbara had said furiously, “But you better believe if he opens a forbidden door even a crack, I'll be in there like gangbusters.”

That afternoon when Mahoney called Larry Wenzel to the stand, she was on full alert for a door left open a crack. Larry
Wenzel was as impeccably groomed as before, with a fine gray suit, tie, freshly shaved and coiffed. Nora and both sons were in the courtroom, and they all could have posed for a clothing ad for a glossy magazine. Luther, the older son, had inherited Nora's fair complexion and blond hair. Gregory looked very much like the photograph Barbara had seen of Larry and Joe when they were about his age, ruggedly handsome, with thick dark hair and a muscular build.

Mahoney led Larry Wenzel through a few opening statements: the company had been in Eugene since 1975; the Cascadia Motel restaurant and lounge were company property; Joe Wenzel had lived in the motel after a fire destroyed his house.

“Do you recall an occasion when the motel manager, Mr. Ormsby, spoke to you about your brother's behavior regarding the defendant?”

“Yes.”

“And did you do anything about that?”

“I talked it over with my wife, and we agreed that Joe's personal life was none of our business, but I was curious about the lounge and restaurant receipts, which Mr. Ormsby said had improved considerably since she started playing the piano. We, my wife and I, visited the lounge to look over the books and saw that there was a vast improvement. Joe had a remarkable sense of business, and I knew appealing to the businessman in him would be effective. I suggested that he confine his attention to the piano player during her off-hours, not distract her when she was working.”

“Did you hear of any more complaints following that talk?”

“No. I assumed he was following my advice. I never gave it another thought.”

“Now, on Friday, August ninth, Mr. Joe Wenzel deposited
a check from the Wenzel Corporation for five thousand dollars, and withdrew one thousand in cash. Did you speak to your brother about that check?”

“Yes. He called on Thursday and said he needed an advance against his next paycheck. Since his checks were on an automatic electronic deposit schedule, it would have been a little hassle to do it that way, and I suggested that he could simply pick up a check. I asked him to meet Nora, my wife, at an auto repair shop and drive her home to meet me after she left her car there, because I wanted his advice about some property I was considering for possible development. I told him that if I was delayed Nora could sign the check, but I hoped to see him that late afternoon. I had a business trip scheduled, and had to leave on Saturday morning and didn't expect to return home until Wednesday of the following week. I wanted to talk to him before I left if possible. As it happened, I was delayed, and my wife signed the check and he was gone when I arrived home.”

“Why didn't you have him drop by your office to pick up the check?”

“Nora was going to be tied up in meetings, and I was out on Friday. I had three properties to inspect, and it took all day to cover them.”

“All right. Did your brother say why he needed the check?”

“Yes.”

“What was his stated reason?”

“He reminded me of our talk about the piano player and said there wouldn't be any more complaints, that he was taking my advice and dealing with her in her off-hours. I'm afraid he used rather crude language.” He turned an apologetic grimace toward the jury. “He said he planned to buy himself
a piece of her ass that weekend, and there was nothing like cash to thaw a…” He shrugged. “Anyway, he had been drinking and his language tended to become vulgar at those times. I was a bit disgusted and cut the conversation short.”

“Mr. Wenzel, did your brother specifically mention the defendant? Did he use her name?”

“Yes. He used her name, and he also referred to her with various street obscenities.”

“When your brother was drinking, did he become physically abusive?”

“Sometimes, especially with women.”

“Did he drink to excess?”

Wenzel shifted in his chair, then said in a low voice, “I'm afraid he was an alcoholic. He was cursed with an illness he couldn't control. Since our father died of alcoholism, I was concerned about it.”

“Did you maintain a good relationship with him?”

“Yes. I didn't approve of his lifestyle, but he was the most astute businessman I've ever known and I had great respect for his advice. And he was my only living relative outside of my immediate family. I promised our mother years ago that I would always look after him and I did, always with the hope that he would seek help for his problems.”

“Had he been married?”

“Yes. Three times.”

“How long have you been married, Mr. Wenzel?”

He looked past Mahoney and smiled slightly at Nora. “Forty good years,” he said.

“Thank you, Mr. Wenzel. Your witness,” Mahoney said to Barbara.

Larry met her gaze with the same frank, open expression
he had shown to Mahoney, that of a man who wanted nothing more than to be helpful in a difficult situation.

“Mr. Wenzel,” she began, “when your brother's house burned, did he lose all his possessions in the fire?”

“I believe he did, except for the few things he had taken along on a trip.”

“He was out of town when the fire occurred?”

“Yes.”

“Did he collect insurance on the house?”

“Objection,” Mahoney said. “Irrelevant.”

“I don't think it is,” Barbara said. “A few weeks later he said he needed five thousand dollars. It's pertinent to learn how low in cash he might have been.”

“Overruled,” Judge Laughton said after a moment.

“The house was company property,” Wenzel said. “The corporation collected insurance.”

“I see. Did he have a lease arrangement, a rent arrangement, something of that sort?”

Mahoney objected again and this time was sustained.

“Whose idea was it to have him move into the motel after he returned home?”

“We discussed it, and he decided that would be best.”

“Do you recall when the fire occurred?”

“I believe it was on July seventh.”

“When did your brother return home?”

“The next day. I called him and he flew home the same day.”

“Did you meet him at the airport?”

Mahoney objected. “Your Honor, this is irrelevant.”

“It isn't,” Barbara said. “I'm trying to learn how Mr. Wenzel's handgun escaped damage or destruction in a house fire that destroyed all of his possessions.”

“Overruled,” the judge said, but he sounded impatient, and he was frowning at Barbara as if in warning.

“Would you like for me to repeat the question?” she asked Wenzel then.

“No. I did not meet him. He had left his own car at the airport lot and he drove himself to the motel.”

“He went straight there from the airport?”

“Yes.”

“When did you discuss his living arrangements with him after the fire?”

“We talked on the phone about it when I called him,” he said. “Later, I met him at the house site and we talked further.”

“At that time did you discuss building a new house for his use?”

He hesitated a moment, then said yes.

“Did you know that he owned a handgun?”

“I knew he had owned one years ago. I wasn't aware that he still had it.”

“Mr. Ormsby testified that he told you about Ms. Frederick's complaint on Tuesday, July 23, the day after she spoke with him. Is that your recollection?”

He shrugged. “I don't recall the date.”

“How long after he notified you of possible trouble was it that you visited the lounge and inspected the books?”

“The following weekend,” he said. “I believe it was on a Saturday night.”

“That would have been on the twenty-seventh,” she said. She went to her table and picked up a large calendar, placed it on an easel and moved it to where it would be visible to the jury. It already had a note by July 23, the day Ormsby had talked to Larry about Carrie's complaint. She made another
note to indicate that Larry and Nora had visited the lounge on Saturday, July 27. “And how long after that was it when you spoke with your brother?”

“Not long. A day or two. I don't remember exactly.”

“Isn't it true that you and Mrs. Wenzel flew to San Francisco on Sunday, July 28, for a week-long vacation?”

He narrowed his eyes slightly, and a new tightness appeared around his mouth, probably unnoticeable to anyone not looking for a reaction, she thought, watching him steadily.

When he hesitated, Mahoney called, “Objection. Improper cross. Irrelevant.”

“No, it isn't,” she said. “I'm trying to fix a chronology of when various events occurred that Mr. Wenzel referred to in his testimony.”

The judge overruled, and Barbara repeated the question.

“I think that's about right,” Wenzel said. “I just don't recall those dates offhand.”

She added that note to the calendar. “So it was more than a day or two from the time Mr. Ormsby spoke to you that you spoke to your brother. Is that correct?”

“If you say so after consulting a calendar. I don't remember exactly.”

“If you returned home on August third, a Saturday night, that would be eleven days,” she said. “Did you speak with him on Sunday?”

“I may have done so,” he said.

“Before or after you played golf?” she asked, keeping her gaze fixed on him.

“Not on Sunday,” he said. “I think it was Monday, a working day. I met him at the house site.”

“You spoke with him in person, not on the telephone?”

“Yes.”

“That would have been on August fifth,” she said, adding that to the calendar. “Almost two weeks from the time you learned about the complaint. Were you not concerned about the matter?”

“Not particularly,” he said after a moment. “I was more interested in the increase in business than his private affairs. But I didn't put a high priority on it.”

“All right. Did you leave work to go meet him at the house site?”

“Objection. Counsel is beating this into the ground, Your Honor. And to no purpose.”

“I agree. Sustained. Please move on, Ms. Holloway.”

She nodded. “Did you see Mr. Vincent at the house site that day?”

Wenzel hesitated, then shook his head. “No.”

“You stated that your brother was planning to rebuild on the site. Would the new house have been company property the same as the one that burned?”

“Objection! This is all extraneous and has nothing to do with the trial we are hearing.”

The judge sustained it, and then said, “At this time the court will have a ten-minute recess.”

After the judge walked out and the bailiff was leading the jurors from the courtroom Barbara murmured to Frank, “I always suspect he wants a little nip of something to sustain life.”

Frank grinned and nodded. And Carrie said, “Wenzel has the eyes of a snake, just like his brother. He's scary.”

“Come now, he's a leading businessman,” Barbara said. “Let's have a cup of coffee. We won't get back to it until about four, I'm afraid.”

Shelley stood up, but Frank was already on his feet. “I want to stretch my legs,” he said. “I'll bring coffee back.”

Barbara was watching Wenzel and Mahoney having a conference at the prosecutor's table. She suspected, or perhaps simply hoped, that Wenzel was giving orders and Mahoney was explaining why he couldn't follow them.

When Frank returned, he said, “The press is out there waiting. They want to talk to the Wenzels, I suppose. I told Bailey to forget using the lot across the street. He can circle the block until we appear. I don't want us to wade through reporters, photographers and a video crew on the way out.”

 

When court was in session once more, Mahoney stood up and asked permission to approach the bench. Judge Laughton motioned them both forward. “What now?” he snapped. Barbara caught a whiff of mint.