One Good Deed

by David Baldacci

  “And the sixty-five hundred dollars your father gave to Mr. Archer in repayment of the debt? What happened to it?”

  Jackie now glanced in Archer’s direction. Brooks had shifted positions, allowing her to do so. Archer looked back stoically.

  “I have no idea.”

  “Did he pay the money over to Mrs. Pittleman?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  All eyes turned to Marjorie, who slowly shook her head.

  “So Mr. Archer kept it then?” offered Brooks.

  Archer, who had been feverishly turning the curled down pages of one of the law books, rose and said in a tremulous voice, “O-objection, um, spec-speculation on the witness’s part, um, Your Honor.”

  “Overruled,” snapped Judge Richmond. “Witness may answer the question.”

  “I don’t know. He might have,” she added, half-heartedly.

  Brooks said smoothly, “So to sum up your testimony and those who have come before you, Mr. Archer was the only person who was with both men at around the times they died. And he gained a great deal of money by their deaths. Isn’t that right?” When she didn’t answer, he added, “Miss Tuttle?”

  “Yes, I guess that’s right,” she replied, her features frustrated.

  “And did Mr. Archer tell you that he had killed plenty of men during the war?”

  “What?”

  “You mentioned to Detective Shaw that you had spoken to Archer about his military service.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Did he tell you that he had killed during the war? With a gun, a knife, his bare hands even?”

  “I suppose most of the men who fought did that.” She glanced at Archer. “I mean, that was sort of the point of them being over there, right?”

  There were a few guffaws from the crowd at her response, and Archer noted that a few of the jurors were nodding and looking almost sympathetic now.

  Brooks also seemed to have noted this. “But that also means he knows how to kill someone with a knife and a gun, correct?”

  To this Jackie said nothing, and Brooks did not persist.

  “Nothing further, Your Honor,” said Brooks, who retreated to his table.

  “Mr. Archer, would you care to cross-examine this very informative witness?” said Richmond tauntingly, holding up his gavel like a broadsword ready to strike.

  “I would,” said Archer, who had once more been consulting a few pages in one of the books.

  He closed his eyes and took three deep breaths because he was once more going into battle. And just as he had known as a scout, one mistake here and he was a goner.

  This is it, Archer. For all the marbles.

  He rose, picked up a piece of paper with scribblings on it, and walked toward the witness box and the woman sitting there.

  Chapter 49

  ARCHER CAME TO STAND directly in front of Jackie, who looked back at him impassively.

  “Where have you been all this time, Miss Tuttle? You just disappeared right after your father was killed, and no one’s seen hide nor hair of you till now.”

  “I had nothing left in Poca City. Hank was dead. And my father, too. I went to stay with some friends, so I could think things over about what to do going forward.”

  “So why in the world did you come back here then?”

  “I…I heard what was happening here, and that my presence was required. So I came back. To do my civic duty.”

  “Okay, can you tell us what your real relations with Mr. Hank Pittleman were?”

  Brooks shot to his feet. “Objection! Relevancy?”

  “Goes to motive, Judge,” said Archer sharply, as he gazed at the paper in his hand. This comment drew an astonished look from Brooks.

  “How so?” asked Richmond incredulously.

  Archer glanced at his paper with the notes on it and then approached the jury.

  “Well, the standard for guilt in a criminal case, my law books say, is beyond a reasonable doubt. So it makes sense that if I can show that others had a motive to kill Hank Pittleman, that creates doubt and helps my case, doesn’t it? Consequently, for a man in danger of swinging from a hangman’s rope, I’d say that’s about as relevant as you can get.” Archer turned to look at Richmond. “You agree, Judge?”

  Richmond glanced at Brooks, who shrugged and sat back down.

  “Okay, go ahead then, but I’ll be watching you sharp,” admonished the judge.

  Archer walked back over to Jackie. “Your relations with the man?”

  “He was a good friend.”

  “And he gave you a house to live in, a car to drive? Cash money in your pocket?”

  “He was a very generous…father figure.”

  “A father figure? Okay, did you go to bed with him?”

  The courtroom exploded in muttered discussions over that one, until Richmond restored order by bangs of his gavel. “Don’t be disgusting, Mr. Archer,” roared the judge, but Jackie put up her hand.

  “It’s all right, Your Honor, I’ll answer.” She had kept her gaze on Archer this whole time. “I did what Hank asked me to do, so long as it was something a lady could reasonably commit to doing.”

  “Now, was Marjorie Pittleman okay with this relationship?”

  “I don’t know. Hank never said.”

  “You’ve been to their home? You know her?”

  “Yes.”

  “How would you say your relations are with Mrs. Pittleman?”

  Jackie glanced over at the older woman, who was making no effort to hide her true feelings for the witness. “Right this minute? I’d say mine are nonexistent and hers are homicidal.”

  Marjorie looked around at everyone watching her and quickly attempted a weak smile that lapsed into a well-practiced placid expression.

  “You may well be right about that, since Mrs. Pittleman suggested to me that you were quite cunning and had perhaps killed your own mother and father.”

  Now Jackie looked at Marjorie with a homicidal expression.

  “Stop badgering the witness, mister, right now,” ordered Richmond.

  Archer put his hands on the witness box rail. “Do you recall that Mr. Shaw and I saved your life when a man named Dickie Dill and another fellow named Malcolm Draper attempted to murder you in your bedroom?”

  “Yes, of course I do. You were both very brave and nearly died helping me.” Jackie’s features softened. “I would be dead but for what you did.”

  Archer’s features also relaxed. “Well, I have to say the same about you. Without your well-placed lamp against Dickie Dill’s head, I don’t think I’d be here today.”

  The two shared a meaningful look before Archer said, “Now, did your father employ Malcolm Draper at some point in time?”

  She looked confused. “Mr. Draper? No, he worked for Hank.”

  From his jacket pocket Archer took the photo of the two men.

  “Can you identify the men in this picture?”

  “Objection,” said Brooks. “I’ve never seen that photo.”

  Archer walked it over to him and held up the photo. “You recognize these two men?”

  Brooks looked mightily confused but nodded.

  “Then can I show Miss Tuttle?”

  Brooks glanced at the judge, curtly nodded, and sat down.

  “Go ahead, Archer,” said the judge.

  Archer walked back to the witness box and showed the picture to Jackie.

  “It’s my father…and Malcolm Draper.” She blanched and gazed up at Archer. “I don’t understand.”

  Archer took the photo back. “Let me see if I can clear it up for you. Malcolm Draper went to work for Hank Pittleman right about the time that your father took out the loan from him, correct?”

  “Yes, I believe that’s what Hank told me. He thought he was a good man.”

  “But what if Draper was actually working for your father while he was also employed by Hank Pittleman?”

  “But why would that be the case?”

  “Your father to
ld me that he wanted to take the loan out from Pittleman’s bank, but the man refused him.”

  Brooks jumped to his feet. “Objection. Your Honor, the defendant is testifying without the benefit of being under oath.”

  “Sustained,” barked the judge.

  “Okay,” said Archer. “Let me put it this way then. Based on what you know of the two men, would it strike you as possible that Mr. Pittleman wanted the loan to be a personal debt, so he could charge more interest and because he liked your father owing him directly?”

  “That sounds like Hank, actually. But it still doesn’t explain why Draper would be working for my father while also working for Hank.”

  “Did you know that Mr. Draper would go out to the slaughterhouse most nights?”

  Richmond said, “Hey now, we’re getting far afield here.”

  “I’m gonna bring it back around, Judge, I swear,” said Archer. “And Mr. Shaw had that in his notes.”

  “Well, hurry it on up, then.”

  “No, I didn’t know,” said Jackie.

  “I worked out there butchering hogs. And on payday they could only make half wages. Now, I wondered about that because it looked like the hog business was doing fine. But what if Mr. Draper was going out there to cook the books, so to speak? And maybe he was doing that to Pittleman’s other businesses, too.”

  Archer saw Brooks jump to his feet to object, but forestalled this by saying, “That was actually Mr. Shaw’s idea. It’s in his notebook where he wrote everything down. And Mr. Brooks said those notes are part of the official record, so I can use what’s in there as part of my defense, just like he’s been doing this whole time to make the jury believe I’m guilty.”

  All eyes went to a helpless-looking Brooks.

  “Well, Mr. Brooks?” said the judge, who was regarding Archer in a somewhat more favorable light.

  Brooks said, “That is…correct. And…I waive any objection I might have made.”

  Archer continued his questioning. “And Mr. Shaw found a mess of unpaid bills that he thought Draper had tossed in the trash so Mr. Pittleman wouldn’t see them.”

  “And you think my father had him do this? Why?”

  “Well, let’s look at your father for a minute. He’d had bad farming years due to the drought. But Mr. Pittleman, he had water on his property and had the cash to truck in more if needed. I think maybe that didn’t sit well with Lucas Tuttle. And then he has to borrow money from the man. That must’ve stung his pride. And then, what does Hank Pittleman do? He starts using you as his—what did you call yourself again?”

  Jackie looked down and said something.

  “I couldn’t quite get that, Miss Tuttle.”

  “I was his chattel,” she said sharply.

  “That’s right. Like his property. Must’ve made your old man mighty upset. And then, someone goes into Hank Pittleman’s hotel room and cuts his throat.”

  “So who do you think killed Hank, Mr. Archer?” she asked.

  “Maybe the same pair who tried to kill you—Dickie Dill and Malcolm Draper.”

  Brooks shot to his feet. “Your Honor, really! He’s doing it again.”

  Archer grinned and said, “Well, hell, I was just answering the lady’s question.”

  Archer and Jackie once more shared a look and exchanged tiny smiles as folks in the courtroom laughed over his remark.

  Richmond said to the jury, “You are hereby instructed to not listen to any of what the defendant has just said. There’s not an ounce of proof in any of it.”

  Archer turned to the jury and said, “You folks remember reasonable doubt? I just need to let you good people see that others had a reason to kill Hank Pittleman, not just me, and Lucas Tuttle had a damn good reason. A lot more than me.”

  He turned back to find Jackie’s gaze upon him.

  Archer leaned against the witness box, folded his arms over his chest, and said, “You moved out of your father’s house. Why?”

  “I wanted to make my own way in the world.”

  “Your father approved of this?”

  “I don’t know if he did or not.”

  “But he wanted you back home, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, but so what? I wasn’t going back. I told you that.”

  “Your mother died in an accident out at the farm right before you left home, correct?”

  Jackie looked startled by this abrupt segue. “Y-yes.”

  “Can you describe what happened?”

  Brooks got to his feet. “Judge, what does this have to do with anything?”

  “Good question,” said Richmond. “You care to answer that, Mr. Archer?”

  “I’ve got a theory of the case, Judge, and this one goes to motive on both the murders I’m accused of.”

  Richmond looked at Brooks, who finally shrugged.

  “Okay, proceed.”

  “Your mother’s death?”

  “She fell out of the hay bale in the barn and was impaled on a corn picker that was down below.”

  “How do you get impaled on a corn picker?”

  “One of the cones was pointing upward. The ends are very sharp, almost like the point of an arrow. That’s what she fell on.”

  “Do you know how to raise the cone on that machine?”

  “No. I’ve never had a reason to do it.”

  “Well, I do—and before anybody objects to me testifying again, I got Mr. Bobby Kent sitting over there who will back up everything I have to say on the matter.”

  Kent, who was sitting in the second row and dressed in an old suit, shyly waved his hand and nodded.

  Brooks looked put out by this, but the judge finally nodded. “Go ahead, Mr. Archer.”

  “While I was preparing for the trial I talked to Bobby Kent, and he told me the corn picker there now is the same one your mother fell on. There’s a little turn handle. Now, as you already testified to, I’m pretty strong, but it took a lot of my strength to turn that thing and point that cone upward. Kent said it’s always been that way.”

  “So what are you getting at?” asked Jackie.

  “Would it surprise you to learn that your father tried to suggest to me that you murdered your mother?”

  The court broke into pandemonium over this until Richmond shattered a gavel bringing back order. He pointed the broken gavel at Archer and said, “You better get to your dang point, but fast, son.”

  Here, Archer turned and looked over at Brooks. “A woman couldn’t have turned that handle to make the cone point upward. It would take a fairly strong man. So I think your father killed your mother by pushing her out of the hay barn and onto that corn picker, which he had set just underneath, because why else would it have been there with one of the cones pointing up?”

  While Archer and Brooks exchanged a long, probing look, the whole courtroom went into such an uproar over this that it took a full minute for Richmond this time to restore order, using his fist against the wood of the bench and his high-pitched voice as he searched through the drawers of his bench for a fresh gavel.

  The judge barked, “We are not interested in what you think, Mr. Archer. Is there a question in there somewhere for the witness?”

  “Yes, Judge, and here it is.” He looked at Jackie. “Did you see your father kill your mother?”

  The courtroom went quiet. Even Richmond seemed mesmerized, waiting for her to answer.

  Archer and Jackie were locked in a stare-down. When it seemed apparent that Archer was not backing down, Jackie said quite firmly, “Yes. I saw him do it.”

  “But you never told anyone?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  Jackie dabbed at her eyes, and this time Archer could see that these were real tears.

  “Because he told me if I did, that no one would believe my word over his and that he would then make me pay a tremendous price.”

  “He threatened to harm you?”

  “He told me he would blow my head off with his shotgun.”

  Surprisingly,
the courtroom remained quiet at this. Brooks and Judge Richmond were watching all this openmouthed, along with everyone else.

  “Why would he want to kill his own wife?” asked Archer.

  “I…I don’t know.”

  “I think I might be able to help with that.” Archer went back to the table, picked up his hat and took the letter out of the liner. He held it up to Brooks. “I’m going to get her to identify this and then you can take a look.” He didn’t wait for Brooks to respond. He walked back to the witness stand.

  He held the letter out. “You know your mother’s handwriting?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “I found this letter in the back of the picture frame that held the photo I showed you.” He held it up for her to see. “Is that Isabel Tuttle’s handwriting?”

  Jackie stared at the letter for a few seconds and then nodded. “Yes, it is.”

  Archer took the letter over to Brooks and let him read it. He looked shaken and handed the letter back to Archer.

  “You okay with me asking her about this, Mr. Brooks?”

  Brooks seemed to waver for a moment but said, “Go ahead, Archer. I…I think this needs to come out.”

  “Thanks.”

  He returned with it to the witness stand.

  “Do you want to read this letter for the jury?” asked Archer.

  “No, I do not.”

  “Okay, but to sum up what it says, your mother was going to divorce your father, leave, and take you with her. She was doing this because he had physically and mentally abused you and your mother for many years, and she was not going to allow him to do that anymore. And here’re the last lines of her letter.” Archer held it up and read, “‘And, Lucas, if anything happens to me, you will have done it because you’ve threatened to kill me so many times, I’ve lost count. But if you end up killing me before I can leave with Jackie, rest assured that my beautiful daughter will know what really happened, and she will be free of you at last. May you rot in hell, you sick bastard.’”

  Archer lowered the letter and then left it on the rail of the witness box. He stood there in silence while Jackie tried to compose herself.

  Archer waited patiently while she did so. When her tears began to flow more freely, he handed her his handkerchief. She used it to dry her eyes. When she gave it back, he gripped her hand for a moment. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and probing.