by Parnell Hall
“Now, what is this all about?”
“I have just been informed that a woman needs to see me right away. She says it’s urgent. I don’t know the details, but it has something to do with the case, and it is my duty to check it out.”
“Oh, for goodness sakes,” Beerbaum said.
Judge Weston turned to him. “You have a problem with that?”
“I most certainly do. Don’t you see what’s happening here? He’s losing. The witness has corroborating testimony, he’s unhappy to hear it, so he turned around and signaled his secretary, some sort of secret sign or distress call, to which she responded. Then he pretends she’s the one who signaled him, goes over, confers with her, and announces he needs an adjournment to talk to a witness. In all probability what he said was ‘I need an adjournment; find anyone I can talk to as a pretext to get one.’”
“Your Honor, in the first place, that’s not true. However, I am struck by Mr. Beerbaum’s statement that I was surprised to find there was a corroborating witness. I most certainly was. In light of discovery, I hardly expected to find the prosecution had an additional witness.”
“Not an additional witness, Your Honor. You will find the cook, Gretchen Rudall, has been on the witness list from day one.”
“Yes, with regard to finding the body. I don’t recall any reference to her having heard this conversation in her testimony before the grand jury.”
“Come, come, Counselor, we don’t present everything to the grand jury, just enough to get an indictment.”
“That will do,” Judge Weston said. “Mr. Winslow, the prosecution contends that you are merely stalling. I would like some assurance that is not true. Who is this woman who needs to see you so urgently?”
“Her name is Marjorie Wilkins, Your Honor.”
“And where is this Marjorie Wilkins?”
“I understand she’s right outside.”
“Then an adjournment is unnecessary. A short recess should suffice.”
Judge Weston returned to the bench and announced that the court would stand in recess for half an hour.
As the jurors filed out and the court officer led the defendant away, Steve Winslow hurried to Tracy Garvin. “This better be good, Tracy. I’m in real trouble here.”
“It’s not that bad, is it?”
“Yes, it is. Not that there’s a witness. That I didn’t know it. It’s a court-appointed case, and I didn’t do my homework. I feel awful. It’s like I’m letting my client down because he can’t pay.”
“How can you say that? You hired Mark Taylor to work on this case out of your own pocket.”
“I put up the money. That doesn’t mean I don’t have to do my job. Where’s this woman?”
“Right outside.”
“Well, she better have something to help.”
Steve Winslow and Tracy Garvin came out the back door of the courtroom. The corridor was mobbed with people. Steve Winslow looked around. “Where is she?”
“I left her sitting on a bench.”
“Where?”
“Over there.”
Steve Winslow followed Tracy Garvin down the hallway.
Sitting on a bench was an elderly woman in a gingham dress. She wore too much perfume and too much costume jewelry, including several strands of large pearls which were obviously fake. Next to her on the bench was a huge fur coat, also obviously fake, though what actual fur it was attempting to represent Steve couldn’t even begin to guess. The woman had a broad face, accentuated by cat’s-eye glasses, made of blue plastic with embedded glitter. She wore slightly more eye shadow than a vampire, slightly less lipstick than Bozo the Clown.
Steve Winslow grimaced. This was the witness he was pinning his hopes on? He glanced at Tracy Garvin as if asking her to tell him it wasn’t so.
But Tracy Garvin turned to the woman and said, “Miss Wilkins, this is Mr. Winslow.”
Marjorie Wilkins raised her head and batted her eyes. She looked anything but pleased. “Well,” she said. “It’s about time.”
Steve Winslow smiled. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Miss Wilkins, but I was in court.”
“So they tell me. You’re Mr. Hobbs’s lawyer?”
“That’s right.”
“When is he going to get out of jail?”
“I was hoping you could help me with that.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “Me? What do you mean, me?”
“Well, do you have some information that might help?”
“Information? What sort of information?”
“That would prove he didn’t commit the crime.”
“Commit the crime? Of course he didn’t commit the crime. Mr. Hobbs wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“Which is just what I’m attempting to prove, Miss Wilkins. Now, do you think you could help me with that?”
“No, I don’t,” she said irritably. “And it’s the second time you’ve asked me. That’s not my job. That’s your job. Now, when are you going to get him out of jail?”
Steve Winslow frowned. “I don’t know how long the trial will last.”
“Well, will it be this afternoon?”
“I can almost assure you it won’t.”
Miss Wilkins snorted. “Well, then that’s enough for me.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“In that case, I wash my hands of the whole affair. I mean, a favor is a favor. But there are limits. I mean, did he think I would keep her forever?”
“I beg your pardon?” Steve Winslow repeated.
“No, sir, she’s yours,” Marjorie Wilkins said.
She reached under the bench and pulled out a large, brown carrying case. It had a handle on the top and air holes in the sides. She lifted it up on the bench, opened the top, and reached in and pulled out the biggest, blackest cat Steve Winslow had ever seen.
“Oh, what a sweetheart!” Tracy Garvin said.
“Isn’t she?” Marjorie Wilkins said. “This is Molly, Mr. Hobbs’s cat. He asked me to look after her when they took him away. Then he didn’t come back. Now what do you think of that?”
Steve Winslow didn’t know what to think of that. He was gawking at the cat, which was staring at him with large green eyes, as if recognizing him as the new master and challenging his authority. Oh yeah, Molly seemed to say. You just think you’re in charge. Well, think again.
“Miss Wilkins,” Steve Winslow said, “I know nothing about cats.”
“What’s to know? You feed her when she’s hungry—Molly makes her wishes known. And you let her run around your apartment. Don’t worry, she’ll make herself right at home. Here, you want to hold her?”
Steve Winslow blinked. He had never had much luck with cats. He wouldn’t want to hold one under normal circumstances, even if he weren’t in the middle of a murder trial. But he couldn’t be out and out rude to the woman. He found himself lilting his hands to receive Molly.
It didn’t happen. Before he could take the cat, Molly bared her teeth, hissed, snaked out an enormous paw, and raked him across the wrist.
Steve Winslow flinched, then gawked at the cat. “Good lord,” he said. “That’s the biggest paw I’ve ever seen.”
Marjorie Wilkins actually smiled. “Yes,” she said. “Molly has double paws.”
“Double paws?”
“Yes. Some cats are born that way. She has ten toes on her feet. It makes her paws very big.”
“And gives her a lot of claws,” Steve Winslow observed, examining the scratches on his wrist. “I’m sorry, Miss Wilkins. I’m afraid this cat doesn’t like me.”
“Oh, she just doesn’t know you,” Marjorie Wilkins said. “You reach for her, she sees it as a threatening gesture. Here now, you sit down on the bench. There, that’s right. Sit right down, and I’ll put Molly on your lap. Here, Molly, sit on the nice man’s lap.”
Steve Winslow’s whole body tensed as Marjorie Wilkins lowered the cat onto him, particularly since Molly didn’t lie down but instead stood on his lap with her enormous paws.
She swiveled her neck around and looked up at his face. Satisfied, she turned back and began to tread on his lap.
Steve Winslow nearly jumped off the bench, but Marjorie Wilkins put her hand on his shoulder.
“It’s all right. She likes you, and she’s going to lie down.”
Sure enough, after tromping on his legs, Molly swiveled around in a one-eighty, curled up on his lap, and began to purr.
Marjorie Wilkins beamed. “See,” she said, “she likes you.”
“I’m flattered,” Steve Winslow said. “Look here, Miss Wilkins. I’m not prepared to handle a cat.”
“Really?” she said. She stroked the cat and patted Winslow on the cheek. “Then you’d better get your client off.”
With that, she smiled at him and walked away.
Steve Winslow looked up at Tracy Garvin. “Tracy—”
“Don’t look at me,” Tracy said. “I don’t have room for a cat.”
“You think I do?” Steve Winslow ran his hand over his head. “Good lord, what a position to be in. If I can’t get my client off, I’m stuck with her.”
“Well, here’s Mark Taylor,” Tracy said. “Maybe he’s got something to help.”
The private detective approached them hurriedly. “Hi, Steve. Tracy. What you got there?”
“Clinton Hobbs’s cat,” Steve Winslow said. “If I can’t get him off, she’s mine.”
“Then you better start buying cat food,” Mark Taylor said. “’Cause I got nothing good. Everyone I question says the same thing: Clinton Hobbs had it in for the decedent, felt he’d dorked him out of a pair of cufflinks. Hobbs was obsessed with it, talked about it to everyone he’d meet. In short, nothing contradicts Overmeyer’s story, and everything supports it.” Mark Taylor ran his fingers through his curly, red hair. “Didn’t the police find those cufflinks under your client’s bed?”
“Under the mattress.”
Mark Taylor grimaced, shook his head. “I don’t want to tell you your business, Steve, but if I were you, I’d plead him out.”
“I can’t plead him out, Mark. I’m stuck with the cat.”
“What?”
“I’m kidding, of course,” Steve Winslow said. “But Clinton Hobbs says he didn’t do it, and if he didn’t do it, I can’t plead him out.”
“It’s an assigned case, Steve. You’re not making a dime.”
“That’s got nothing to do with it.”
“Well, you’re payin’ me out of your own pocket. I’m billin’ you at cost, but still.”
“Bill me at your regular rates, Mark. Mr. Hobbs isn’t entitled to anything less just because he can’t pay. Now, did you get me anything, anything at all I can use?”
The PI. frowned, shook his head. “No.”
“Great,” Steve Winslow said. He scratched Molly under her chin. “Looks like I’m stuck with a cat.”
When court reconvened, Steve Winslow took a seat next to his client.
“So?” Clinton Hobbs demanded. “Did you get anything?”
“Frankly, nothing that helps.”
“Helps?” Clinton Hobbs said. “The witness is lying. What more do you need?”
“It would help to prove it.”
“So prove it,” Clinton Hobbs said. “The man says I went into the shed and planted the murder weapon. I didn’t do it, I didn’t go near the shed, the man is lying.”
“But you did have the argument?”
“Yes, I had the argument. That afternoon. But I didn’t go to his room that night, I didn’t go to the shed, and I didn’t steal a pair of cufflinks and hide ’em in my bunk. I mean, how stupid do they think I am?”
“And where were you all that time?”
“I told you where. Sitting down by the boat dock cooling off.”
“And having a little drink?”
“So I was drinking. So what?”
“Anyone see you there?”
“You think I wouldn’t have mentioned that?”
“No, I’m sure you would. As I recall, it was just you and your cat. Is that right?”
“Yeah, that’s right. You gonna put my cat on the stand?”
“That’s not what I have in mind,” Steve Winslow said.
“Yeah, well what do you have in mind? Listening to your cross-examination, I would say not much. I suppose that doesn’t matter to you since I’m the one going to jail.”
Steve Winslow sighed. Clinton Hobbs was cranky and irascible, just like his cat. They were certainly well suited for each other. It was up to him to keep them together.
Judge Weston called the court to order. “Mr. Overmeyer, I remind you you are still under oath. Mr. Winslow, you may proceed with your cross- examination.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.” Steve Winslow approached the witness and smiled. “Now, Mr. Overmeyer. When we left off, I believe you had just testified that the cook had also overheard the conversation between your uncle and my client.”
“That’s right. She did.”
“This was the conversation where they argued over the cufflinks?”
“That’s right.”
“You heard my client threaten your uncle?”
“Yes, I did.”
“And as a result of this conversation, you had reason to notice the jewelry box was open when you entered your uncle’s room. That’s why you pointed it out to the police. Now, were you present when the police subsequently made a search of my client’s cabin?”
“Yes, I was.”
“Can you tell us what they found?”
A.D.A. Beerbaum was on his feet. “Your Honor, the officers will speak for themselves.”
“If he knows, he may tell,” Judge Weston ruled. “Provided he was personally present.”
“I was,” Overmeyer said. “I directed the police to Clinton Hobbs’s cabin. I watched them search it. I was there when they found the cufflinks.”
“The cufflinks that were missing from your uncle’s jewelry box?”
“That’s right.”
“Is it, Mr. Overmeyer? I ask you, is it possible that you were mistaken in any part of your testimony?”
“No, it is not.”
“Your entire testimony is true?”
“Yes, it is.”
“If any portion of your testimony is untrue, is it possible your entire testimony is untrue?”
“Objection, Your Honor.”
“I’ll withdraw it,” Steve Winslow said. “Mr. Overmeyer, you have testified that you saw my client, the defendant, enter the tool shed where the murder weapon was found on the night in question.”
“That’s right.”
“Are you aware of the fact he denies going anywhere near that shed?”
“I know that’s what he claims.”
“How do you account for that?”
“He’s lying.”
“Because his statement contradicts yours?”
“Because he’s testifying to something I know isn’t true.”
“Well, that would certainly seem to be the case,” Steve Winslow said. “He says one thing, you say the other. These things are diametrically opposed, therefore one of you is lying. I put it to you, Mr. Overmeyer, that the one who is lying is you. Is it not a fact that my client never went anywhere near the tool shed? Is it not a fact that you yourself put the murder weapon in the tool shed after you used it to kill your uncle?”
“No, it is not a fact. And I resent the insinuation.”
“It’s more than an insinuation,” Steve Winslow said. “It’s a direct accusation. Did you or did you not kill your uncle?”
“Oh, Your Honor,” A.D.A. Beerbaum said.
“Goes to bias,” Steve Winslow said.
“I’ll allow it,” Judge Weston said. “But under very narrow grounds.”
“Did you kill your uncle?”
“No, I did not.”
“Thank you,” Steve Winslow said. “Now, Mr. Overmeyer. You say you were present when the police searched the defendant’s cabin and found the cufflinks?”
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br /> “Yes, I was.”
“Did you tell them where to search?”
“No, I just told them where the defendant lived.”
“And they proceeded to search his cabin?”
“That’s right.”
“And you were present during the search?”
“Yes, I was.”
“And did you direct the officers to search any portion of the cabin in particular?”
“No, I did not.”
“And where were the cufflinks discovered?”
“Under the mattress.”
“Under the defendant’s mattress?”
”That’s right.”
“By under the mattress you mean ... ?”
“Between the mattress and the box spring. The defendant had a small single bed, but it did consist of a mattress and a box spring.”
“Was that one of the first places the police searched?”
“Not really. They went through his dresser drawers. His bathroom things. His kitchen alcove.”
“And you never directed them to the mattress?”
“No, I did not.”
“But you knew the cufflinks were under the mattress, didn’t you?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Sure you did. You knew they were there because you planted them there after you killed your uncle and placed the murder weapon in the tool shed.”
“I did none of those things.”
“None of them?”
“That’s right.”
Steve Winslow frowned. “That’s what bothers me, Mr. Overmeyer. See, my feeling is if you did one of them, you did them all.”
“Objection, Your Honor.”
“Sustained. Mr. Winslow, this is not the time for an argument.”
“Yes, Your Honor. Mr. Overmeyer, I cannot prove you killed your uncle, and I cannot prove you placed the murder weapon in the tool shed. But I can prove you planted those cufflinks under my client’s mattress. Would it change your story to know I have a witness?”
“Objection, Your Honor.”
“Overruled. The witness may answer.”
“No, it would not. You can’t have a witness because what you say isn’t true.”
“Is that so, Mr. Overmeyer? Before you answer any more questions, I’m telling you now that I have a witness who saw you on the night in question enter Mr. Hobbs’s cabin, lift up his mattress, and place something under it. In light of that, would you like to change your testimony?”
