The Unbidden Truth (24 page)

F
riday morning Shelley invited everyone out to her house for Saturday afternoon and then dinner. “We can hike up in the woods and cut Christmas trees,” she said. “Unless it's pouring rain, I mean.”

Or even if it was, Barbara thought, yearning suddenly for a long hike in the forested hills above Shelley's house.

“Dr. Minnick said he would make dinner, and if we have some work to do, I have my office there,” Shelley went on.

“I'll help him with dinner,” Frank said. “Bobby, you need to move some. Let's do it.”

“If it's all right with you, I thought I would ask Darren and Todd,” Shelley said. “Todd loved it out there before. And Darren probably saw that article about the bomb. He must be anxious.”

In spite of her warning not to break the story to reporters,
someone had leaked it, and the article, while brief, had appeared in the morning newspaper.

Barbara drew in a breath, then nodded. “Fine with me. I intend to hike for hours, rain or no rain.”

“I'll pick you up,” Bailey said. “But I don't hike in cold wet muddy steep woods.”

When they left for court, they went out into the cold wet fog that had settled in over the city and looked as if it might persist for days. Bailey drove them to the courthouse and stopped only long enough for everyone to get out. They were met instantly with a bevy of reporters and a video team, all firing questions.

“A houseguest got suspicious and tossed it into a rain barrel,” Frank said as Barbara hurried on ahead with Carrie and Shelley. “That's all we know about it. Ask the bomb squad what they found. I haven't heard a thing.” He had a way of appearing to be accommodating while actually walking steadily forward, and they made their way to the courtroom where the media crew was stopped at the door.

Inside the courtroom Barbara was told by the bailiff that the judge wanted her in chambers. Mahoney had already gone back, he said.

“To recess or not to recess,” Barbara murmured to Shelley. “That's the question. Wanna bet?”

And it was the question. “Are you all right?” Judge Laughton asked, putting a football on a shelf. His room was more like a locker room than a judge's sanctum: photographs of him in his football days, a trophy or two, uncomfortable rugged furniture…He was not yet in his robes, and she was not surprised to see that he wore a green-and-yellow university T-shirt with a fighting duck.

“I'm fine,” she said. “Thank you. No harm was done.”

“If you want a recess, it's understandable,” he said. When she assured him that she wanted to continue with the trial, he nodded. “There's a problem about the jury,” he said. “We all know that they see the newspapers or television, or people tell them things. They'll know a bomb was sent to you and might speculate that it has something to do with the trial. I intend to talk to them and say that it is not related to this trial. Do you object to that?”

“I don't know what else you could tell them,” she said. “I have no objection.”

“May I make a suggestion?” Mahoney said then. “If you will instruct Ms. Holloway to stop pounding on Wenzel, just to take it a little easier, that would put an end to such speculation.”

She gave him a derisive look. “In your dreams.”

“Knock it off,” Judge Laughton said. “One other matter. Mr. Mahoney says he has another witness to call, one not on his witness list, Tricia Symington, the safe-deposit-box attendant at the bank. Do you need time to review her statement before she's called to the stand?”

“Since I have her on my list, she's okay by me,” Barbara said.

She added to Mahoney, “You planning to put the gun in the safe-deposit box?” She grinned at the flush that colored his face.

“I have a request,” Barbara said then. “When Symington's up to bat, I get to ask her the questions I'd like answered. There's no need to bring her back a second time in that case.”

Judge Laughton looked at Mahoney. “Any objection?”

“No. Let's just get all this over with as fast as we can.”

 

Back at her table Barbara asked Shelley to find Tricia Symington's statement. “It's going to be a few minutes before we
start,” she told Carrie. “The judge is telling the jury to disregard the bomb incident. For all the good that will do.”

Shelley found the statement and they both scanned it in the next few minutes before the jurors were led back in and the judge, now properly clothed in judicial robes, took his place. Wenzel was recalled to the witness stand and reminded that he was still under oath and the day really started.

 

Barbara stood up and wished the jurors a good morning and was given a few smiles, some nods, and looks of curiosity in response. She turned to Wenzel.

“Mr. Wenzel, you stated that you didn't approve of your brother's lifestyle. Can you be specific about your meaning?”

“I don't approve of overindulging in alcohol,” he said.

“Is that all you meant? Not his work habits or anything else other than that he drank too much?”

“Basically that's it.”

“Did your brother share family festivities? Holidays, birthdays, social events, things of that sort?”

“Rarely. He preferred not to.”

“I see. So your dealings with him were primarily about business? Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“You stated that when he was drinking he could become physically abusive and that he used vulgar language, and you indicated that you didn't want to be around him at those times. Is that correct?”

He was eyeing her warily. “I said I didn't like to talk to him at those times.”

“So when he was giving you valuable advice he was not drinking?”

“Yes. When he was sober he was a good businessman.”

She nodded. “You also said that when he was drinking, he became physically abusive with women. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Did you witness such abuse?”

“Sometimes I did.”

“When?”

“I don't recall just when,” he said. “I don't keep a diary of such incidents.”

“Well, did you see an incident during the past year?”

He hesitated, then said no. “I think it was longer ago than that.”

“All right. You said sometimes you saw such abuse, indicating more than one incident. Did you mean more than one incident?”

“I think it was often.” He was sounding more defensive, less sure of himself with each answer, as if he suspected that she was trying to trap him and he was trying to avoid entrapment.

“Mr. Wenzel, can you give us one specific example of such abuse? When it was and where?”

“A few years ago,” he said after a moment. “At his house. He was slapping a woman around.”

“Did you intervene?”

“Yes. I made him stop. She ran out and left.”

“Who was the woman?”

“I don't know. I had never seen her before.”

“And the other incidents you mentioned? Where did they occur?”

“Usually at his house.”

“Did any of those women ever press charges against him?”

“No. I don't think so.”

“How many such incidents did you happen to witness?” she asked, not bothering to conceal her disbelief.

His eyes narrowed and his words came out more clipped. “I said several times. I can't be more specific.”

“Did these incidents occur during the day, or at night?”

Mahoney finally objected. “Your Honor, this is all irrelevant to the trial at hand.”

“He brought it up in previous testimony,” Barbara said. “I'm just trying to get some specific details. We can't leave it as a simple generality.”

Judge Laughton looked disgusted, but he overruled the objection.

“Daytime or at night,” she reminded Wenzel.

“I think late afternoon,” he said icily.

“On those occasions were you calling on him to seek advice?”

“Usually.”

“When you wanted his advice did you call ahead of time to make certain you could find him at home?”

“Most often I did. Not always.”

“Mr. Wenzel, you've stated that when your brother was sober he was a good businessman, and also that you did not like to talk with him when he was not sober. Are you now saying that you happened to drop in on him more than once when he had been drinking heavily, just in time to see him abusing a woman?”

“Yes, I am,” he snapped.

“When you visited him to seek advice did you take various documents to review, like cost estimates, appraisals, EPA statements, photographs, blueprints of what you had in mind and other materials?”

Mahoney called out his objection almost before she finished.

“Sustained,” Judge Laughton said without hesitation.

She smiled slightly and turned away from Wenzel, but not before he saw it. His face was a shade darker when she turned toward him again. “Mr. Wenzel, when did you promise your mother that you would look after your brother?”

He blinked at the change in subject. “Just before she died.”

“Do you mean days before, or weeks? How long before her death?”

“Weeks, I believe.”

“And when was that?”

“In 1960.”

“How old were you and your brother at the time?”

He hesitated, then said, “I was nineteen. Joe was seventeen.”

“Were you living at home at the time of her death?”

“Yes, I was.”

“I see,” she said. “I have copies of two clippings, one from the monthly newsletter published by the First Methodist Church of lower San Diego, and the other from a county newspaper,
The Bugler.
” She showed them both to Mahoney, then to the judge, and finally handed them to Wenzel. “Will you read through them, please,” she said. “Then I'd like to ask a few questions about the accuracy of the reports.”

He took out his reading glasses, put them on and read the two articles slowly.

When he put the articles down and took off his glasses, Barbara asked, “Are the articles accurate?” He said they were. “Then you weren't living at home at the time of the accident that claimed your mother's life. Were you rooming with another apprentice carpenter near the construction site at the waterfront?”

“Yes. I had forgotten that.”

“According to both articles, your mother was killed in a boating accident while attending a church picnic. Is that accurate?”

He said yes again, and she went through the articles item by item, stopping frequently to ask if that was correct. His father had been a department-store deliveryman, he had taught a Sunday School class and led prayer meetings on Wednesday nights. Both boys had made good grades in school, worked part-time after school and were active in sports. Joe was already planning on following his brother into the construction trade.

She summed it up then. “Your family was close, active in church, in good health all around. Your mother was forty-two years old at the time of her tragic death. She would have had a life expectancy of another thirty years at least. Your father was active in the church, hardly an alcoholic at that time. Why would she have told you to look after your brother?”

Mahoney objected angrily. “Counsel is making speeches.”

“Sustained. Just ask your questions,” the judge said to Barbara.

She asked the same question.

“I don't know why. Maybe just because I was older.”

She regarded him for a moment, then turned away. “Did you ever see your brother using a wrist brace?”

“Yes. Now and then he used one.”

“Do you know what was wrong with his wrist?”

“Years ago he fell and hurt it. He said it was just a sprain, but it flared up painfully now and then, and he used the brace.”

“You stated that the house he planned to build would be company property. Was he responsible for the design of the house?”

“Yes.”

“Was there a monetary limit to what he could build?”

“We assumed it would be kept within reason. There were no real plans yet, just ideas and sketches.”

“Was one of your company architects working with him on the plans?”

“Yes.”

“Was he keeping you informed of the progress being made on the design of the house?”

“No. I told him that after there was something on the boards, something on paper, the three of us would discuss it.”

“So, in effect, the architect and your brother had carte blanche for the preliminary plans. Is that correct?”