“I believe it,” Carl whispered. He almost made Jackie smile. For a moment, she forgot Michael and Carl could hear every word.
“Mark made more money here,” Holly continued, “but he didn’t think about how much more it would cost to live here. We were always broke. When he got arrested, we didn’t have enough saved to pay the mortgage.”
“What did you do?” Jackie asked.
“I hoped they would let him out on bail so he could keep working, but they said he was a flight risk. I didn’t really want him to come home anyway.”
“Getting someone out on bail costs money too.”
“I know, but his parents would have come up with bail money.”
“Wouldn’t they help you pay the mortgage?”
Holly rolled her eyes, “Haven’t you heard? This whole mess is my fault.”
“Oh, I see.”
“I had to go on welfare, which I truly hated. After my picture was printed in the paper, people looked at me as though I killed her. You can’t imagine what it’s like to have to buy groceries with food stamps, and have everyone watch to see what you buy. The reporters are the worst. They followed me everywhere, even when I had the girls with me. There should be laws against that.”
“Yes, there should.”
“Mark’s attorney had to ask the court to order them to stay away from the house, but that didn’t stop them. They just parked on the other side of the street, until the neighbors complained.”
“You have no family?”
“I do, but they live in Salt Lake. Mr. Livingston, that Mark’s attorney, said if the kids and I didn’t stay, it would make Mark look guilty. Thing is, I couldn’t pay the mortgage, so we had to go somewhere.”
“Is he guilty?”
Holly fiddled with the strap of the small purse she had in her lap. “Are you sure you’re not a reporter?”
Jackie smiled. “I swear I am not a reporter. I own my own business, and we stay away from the press too, as much as possible.”
“Well, if you are a reporter, and you don’t print anything I say until after the trial, I guess it is okay to tell you. My husband is as guilty as sin. He refused to take a lie detector test and that tells me everything I need to know.”
“He wasn’t home with you that night?”
“He didn’t come home all night. The next morning, he was there when I woke up and he had a fire going in the fireplace. I usually had to beg him to light a fire, so I knew something was up. It’s a good thing the court can’t make me testify against him.”
“It’s a federal law, I think.”
“That’s what I’ve heard. What kind of business do you own?”
Jackie looked at her watch and smiled. “It’s time to go back in. We can talk later if you like.”
“Will you sit by me? I have no one in Portland I can talk to, and I could use a friend just now.”
“I would like that,” said Jackie.
It was just what the detective team was hoping for. The closer Jackie could sit to the person they suspected was the object of their search, the better. She followed Holly back into the courtroom and continued to follow her to the front pew. A man and a woman were already there and looked annoyed when they spotted Jackie.
“She’s with me,” said Holly. She let Jackie go in first, and then sat down beside her. “Mark’s parents,” she whispered.
Jackie didn’t pay any attention to either of them. Instead, she watched the victim’s four children retake their seats behind the prosecution table, where Braxton Davis was busy working on his laptop. This time, the DA had a woman assistant with him, and when Jackie looked behind her, the courtroom was filling up fast.
“We are missing a few Lockhart spouses, I notice,” Carl said. “I wonder why they’re not interested in seeing the man who killed their mother-in-law get the death penalty.”
“I spotted at least a dozen reporters with iPads while you were out of the room,” said Michael. “Looks like they were afraid to give up their seats. At least three of them are sending out live tweets. I hope they don’t pay any attention to you, Jackie. Don’t give anyone your last name, okay?”
For years, the team had been careful not to get their pictures taken and Jackie hadn’t actually thought about the chance she was taking. Being associated with the defendant’s wife truly might draw undo attention to her, but it couldn’t be helped. It was the only way to get close enough to the front. Fortunately, none of the reporters was taking pictures inside the courtroom. Outside might be a different matter, however.
Once more, she leaned forward a little and turned her attention to the victim’s four children seated directly across the aisle from Holly. They sat in the order of their birth, with the oldest at the end nearest Jackie and the youngest at the other end. Their individual expressions said nothing of what was going on in their minds, nor did they speak to each other. Michael was right. They seemed aloof and so unmoved by the circumstances of their mother’s death that rumors of the children having her killed didn’t seem that remote after all.
PUBLIC DEFENDER LIVINGSTON was also busy at his table. He didn’t appear to be finished before the bailiff s brought the defendant in, and the court clerk and recorder resumed their places, but he stood up to greet the defendant.
Mark Barrett nodded to his parents and then smiled and winked at his wife before he sat down. Holly did not return his smile, but it didn’t seem to bother Mark.
Before now, Jackie hadn’t paid too much attention to the man sitting beside her, but when she glanced down, she noticed Mark’s father was toying with a wedding band that was too loose. Jackie guessed he had lost weight since his son’s arrest and felt sorry for him. His wife looked glad to see her son, just as any mother would who worried about the conditions and the dangers inmates faced in jail.
Michael started to speak, stopped, and took another swallow of his soft drink. “In case you hadn’t guessed, you are sitting next to Mr. Mark Barrett the second. The defendant is actually Mark Barrett the third. Barrett the elder probably knows he has a stupid son. I know I would have guessed by now. The Barretts do pretty well according to a Salt Lake newspaper. He’s in real estate and she’s a teacher. Mark the third is their only child.”
“All rise,” said the bailiff, as Judge Blackwell came back in and took his seat.
“You may be seated. Are we ready to continue, Counselors?” the judge asked.
Just as Steve Livingston stood up, a man came to the fence behind him, and handed the attorney a note. “May I have a moment?” Livingston asked. He opened the note, read it, and then quickly rifled through some papers on his table.
“Mr. Livingston, we are waiting,” said the judge.
“Sorry, Your Honor.” Livingston finally found what he was looking for and looked up. “At this time, the defense asks for a mistrial,” Livingston said.
The judge raised an eyebrow. “On what grounds, Councilor?”
“It has come to my attention that two of the jury members are cousins.” Livingston searched his list of jurors for two of the names. “Juror number six and number eleven.”
As if he was expecting it, Davis begrudgingly got to his feet. “Your Honor, there is no law against relatives being on the same jury.”
“Well, there should be,” Livingston argued.
“Mr. Livingston,” said the judge, “why would this be a concern?”
“You know how families are. One cousin might agree with the other just to keep from causing strife in the family.”
“Your Honor,” Davis argued, “we can’t base decisions on what might someday, maybe happen in the future, and I see no reason to make an issue of it.”
“I agree,” said Judge Blackwell. “Motion for dismissal is denied. Anything else?” The judge watched each man shake his head and then said to the bailiff, “You may bring the jury back in.”
Everyone waited and watched as the twelve jurors and two alternates returned.
“Juror number six and number
eleven don’t look anything alike,” said Michael.
“I don’t look like my cousins either,” said Carl.
“You have cousins? In all these years, you never said anything about any cousins.”
“That’s because I’m afraid you’ll try to marry one of them,” Carl shot back.
“Mr. Davis,” said Judge Blackwell, “you may call your next witness.”
“The People call Mrs. Jane Bridges to the stand.”
Everyone in the courtroom turned to watch as an elderly woman entered from the back of the courtroom. She needed a cane to walk, and after the clerk swore her in, the bailiff took the elderly woman’s arm and helped her up the step to the witness box. She plopped down in the seat and then hung her cane on the bannister in front of her. She wore a light pink dress with a white collar and a pillbox hat that she most likely bought in the sixties. Her hair was white, she wore just a touch too much rouge, and when she realized everyone was looking at her, she bashfully smiled.
“Please state and your name and occupation.”
“My name is Jane Bridges. I am retired.”
“Thank you. Mrs. Bridges, how old are you?” the DA asked.
“Ninety-three.”
“Really? You do not look that old.”
She slightly blushed. “Thank you.”
“Oh brother,” Carl whispered, “Talk about flattery.”
”Yes, but it made the jury smile,” said Michael.
Davis continued, “Mrs. Bridges, you live directly across the street from the Lockhart residence. Is that correct?”
“I do.”
“Do you recognize the woman in this portrait?”
The elderly woman looked at the painting with a touch of sadness in her eyes. “Yes, that is Mrs. Lockhart. She brought the painting over to show me when it was finished. What a beautiful portrait, and it looks so like her. It doesn’t look much like her now, I suppose, not with a bullet in her head.”
Davis quickly moved on before his witness got upset. “Mrs. Bridges, please think back to June 5th, 2012. Do you recall seeing someone come out of Mrs. Lockhart’s house early that morning?”
“I do. It was a man.”
“About what time was that?”
“It was just after three-thirty in the morning. My rheumatism woke me up and when that happens, there’s no point in trying to go back to sleep. I got up, took some aspirin, and sat in my chair a while.”
“Would that be the chair in your bedroom?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And is your chair positioned so that you can look across the street at Mrs. Lockhart’s property?”
“It is.”
Davis turned, looked directly at juror number ten, and then quickly looked away. “Have you ever seen a man come out of her house at that time of the morning before?”
“No, but then I usually sleep all night.”
“Did you think seeing someone come out of her house was odd?”
“Sure I did.”
“Did you go across the street to see if Mrs. Lockhart was alright?”
Jane Bridges gave the DA an exasperated look. “No, sir, I am too old to go out at night in the dark. I might fall and break my neck.”
“I understand. Did you call the police?”
“Yes I did, and they came right away. An officer drove down the street shining a light on Mrs. Lockhart’s house, but by then, the man was gone.”
“Mrs. Bridges, did the officer go inside Mrs. Lockhart’s house?”
“Not that I saw. I suppose he didn’t want to wake her up.”
“Was the man you saw leaving the house carrying anything?”
“Not that I could see.”
“Did you fall asleep after the officer left?”
“Right in my chair, too.” As if she just remembered there was an audience, Mrs. Bridges looked around when she heard a woman giggle.
“Did you see Mrs. Lockhart the next day?”
“Well, when I woke up, Mrs. Lockhart was in her yard fussing with her flowers, so I supposed everything was alright.”
“Did you talk to Mrs. Lockhart about what you saw?”
“Yes, but not that day. It was a day or two later when she came to see how I was getting on. She generally came once or twice a week. I asked her about it, but she said...”
Livingston hopped to his feet. “Hearsay, Your Honor.”
“Withdrawn,” Davis quickly said.
“What does hearsay mean?” the elderly Jane Bridges wanted to know.
Davis smiled to comfort her. “It means I messed up and asked my question the wrong way.”
“That’s okay, it happens to all of us.” Mrs. Bridges managed to make more than one person on the jury chuckle, and most of the spectators smiled, but she didn’t seem to notice this time.
“Thank you, Mrs. Bridges. Now, without telling us what she said, did Mrs. Lockhart seem concerned about a stranger being in her house?”
“No, she shook it off as if it were nothing to worry over.”
“I have no further questions, Your Honor.” The DA removed his papers from the lectern and returned to his table.
“Mr. Livingston, do you have any questions for this witness,” the judge asked.
Stephen Livingston stood up, but he didn’t go to the lectern. “I do, Your Honor.”
“You may proceed.”
“Mrs. Bridges, thank you for coming to talk to us today.”
“You’re welcome. What is your name?”
“I am Steve Livingston. Now...”
She pointed a crooked finger at the DA. “Are you friends with the other guy?”
Livingston smiled, “Most of the time.”
“Okay, then you can talk to me.”
“Thank you, I appreciate that.” Livingston couldn’t help but smile too, and then he walked to the lectern. “Mrs. Bridges, you said it was a man you saw coming out of Mrs. Lockhart’s house? Wasn’t it dark?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Mrs. Lockhart’s house sits on the corner of the block, is that correct?”
“Yes, it does.”
“And is there a street lamp on that corner?”
“What?”
Livingston realized he was talking too fast, and intentionally slowed his speech. “Is there a street lamp on that corner?”
“Usually, but the blasted thing keeps going out. I complain, but the city never can fix it right. I’ve been complaining since we bought the house in 1956.”
“Do you recall if the street lamp was on that night?”
“Not specifically... not that night.”
“I see. Mrs. Bridges, did you recognize the man you saw that night?”
“No, it was too dark.”
“Would you know him again if you saw him?”
She paused to consider something. “I bet the streetlight was out that night. Of course, Mrs. Lockhart’s porch light wasn’t on either, and she always left it on. It was on the next night, as I recall.” She thoughtfully put a finger on the side of her cheek. “That’s right, her outside light was on the next night. I remember, because knowing it was turned on made me fall asleep easier.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Bridges,” said Livingston. “That is very helpful. I wonder, could the person you saw have been a woman dressed like a man?”
“It could have been. I can’t tell one from the other these days, even on TV.”
“Could the person you saw have been one of Mrs. Lockhart’s children?”
“Yes, but that’s not likely. They rarely came around, even in the daytime.”
“Thank you,” said Livingston. “Now, Mrs. Bridges, have you ever heard one of Mrs. Lockhart’s children threaten her or her husband?”
Davis leapt out of his chair, “Objection, no foundation. Move to strike, Your Honor.”
Judge Blackwell nodded. “Sustained. The jury shall disregard the last question.”
Confused, Mrs. Bridges answered the question anyway. “Not since that big blow up with Mr. L
ockhart before he passed away. There was yelling and screaming that day, the likes of which I have never seen before or since.”
“Move to strike,” Davis said, although he said it a lot softer than he had previously so he wouldn’t upset the witness.
“So moved,” said the judge. “The jury will disregard.”
“Did I do something wrong?” Mrs. Bridges asked the judge.
Judge Blackwell calmly explained, “It’s just a point of law, Mrs. Bridges. You haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Oh, good.”
“Anything else, Mr. Livingston?” the judge asked.
“Yes, Your Honor. Mrs. Bridges, have you ever met any of Mrs. Lockhart’s children?”
“Oh, my yes. When they were youngsters, they came over to play all the time, but they stopped coming some years ago. Children grow up, you know.”
Again, Livingston smiled. “Aside from the person you saw coming out of Mrs. Lockhart’s house the morning of June 5th, did you see anything else suspicious?”
“Not until they found poor Mrs. Lockhart’s body. She was murdered, they tell me. After that, there were policemen and reporters everywhere, even on my lawn. Now, there’s just those prison guards.”
“Do you mean the guards the Museum sent to protect the house?” Livingston asked.
“Is that who they are? I’m not complaining, mind you. I like them watching the neighborhood. I was scared after she got killed.”
“Thank you. Your witness, Mr. Davis.” Livingston went back to his table, but he didn’t sit down quickly.
“Redirect, Mr. Davis?” the judge asked.
“Yes, Your Honor.”
Davis walked back to the lectern, noticed Livingston was still standing and wrinkled his brow. Even then, the defense attorney didn’t sit, so he turned his attention back to the witness. “Mrs. Bridges, when did Mr. Lockhart die?”
“Objection, relevance,” Livingston said.
“Overruled. You may answer the question, Mrs. Bridges,” the judge said as he watched Livingston reluctantly sit down.
“I don’t remember when he died exactly,” the witness answered.
“If you had to guess, how many years ago do you suppose it was?” Davis asked.
Greed and a Mistress Page 4
