“I saw . . . her.” Percher pointed at Joy. “She was, uh, coming out of the store.”
“You saw Mrs. Michaels, the woman on trial here today?”
“Yessir.” He paused.
The prosecutor, affecting a bored stance drawled, “And?”
“Oh! Um, she was locking up the store. Yes. That’s right. She was locking up the store but . . . she had a sack in her hand. She, um, looked all around her and then walked away from the store and over to the trash can on the corner.”
“What did she do then, Mr. Percher?”
“Well sir, she, um, put that sack in the trash can.” Percher wiped his face again.
“Then what happened, Mr. Percher?”
“Well sir, she walked away.”
The courtroom tittered again. This time the judge merely glared out across the crowded room.
“And then?”
“Oh. And then I was curious, see. And I went and fetched that sack out of the trash. To see what was in it. Cause I was curious-like,” Percher recited in a monotone.
“What did you find in the sack, Mr. Percher?”
Voice low and eyes on the floor, Percher mumbled, “An empty jar of gasoline.”
The courtroom erupted but Joy could no longer take in anything around her. She heard voices but took no notice of them. Some time later, Arnie gently helped her to her feet. Søren’s chair behind her was empty.
“Is it over?” she whispered. She wondered vaguely about Søren, but her thinking was too muddled to ask where he had gone.
“For today. Tomorrow it’s our turn.”
~~**~~
Chapter 8
When they returned home Anna put Joy to bed and she was immediately asleep, partly due to the overwhelming strain of the day and partly through the help of a sleeping tablet. It was past midnight when Søren surreptitiously stole into Arnie and Anna’s house. Arnie silently met him and they closed the door behind them in Arnie’s study.
“What did you find out?”
Søren bent his head near Arnie’s and began to answer his question.
The following morning Anna helped Joy dress. After a hurried breakfast, Arnie, Anna, Søren, and Joy prayed together. Both Arnie and Søren had bags under their eyes.
Joy, too, was exhausted. Although she had slept the night through, it was as if her bones had turned to India rubber in the night and her mind had filled with fine silt. Every action was an effort, mentally and physically. Emotionally she felt detached, disconnected.
The courtroom, if possible, was even more densely packed than the previous day. When Joy and Arnie entered and sat down at the defense table, the crowd’s silence was oppressive and Joy felt the weight of every eye on her. As carefully as she could manage she kept her face impassive and calm. Arnie studied his notes intently.
At last it was the defense’s turn. Arnie called Tom Percher back to the stand. Percher, dressed in the same clothes as the day before, looked to have shriveled overnight. His face was pinched and gray under the lights of the courtroom. The judge loomed over the witness and reminded him that he was still under oath.
Arnie stood and walked casually toward the witness stand. “Mr. Percher, is it your sworn testimony that at approximately 6 p.m. on the night in question you saw Mrs. Michaels lock the doors of her business and then place a paper sack in the trash can on the corner near her store?”
“Yes.” Percher’s voice was mumbled and low.
“Speak up, Mr. Percher. We cannot hear you.”
“Yessir. That’s what I saw.”
“And you removed the sack from the trash can and looked inside.”
“Yessir.”
“And the sack contained an empty jar of gasoline.”
“Yessir.”
“What did you do with the jar?”
“What did I do with it?”
“Yes. That’s what I asked.”
“I, uh, well, I guess I threw it away again.”
“You guess?”
“I did. I threw it away.”
The prosecutor lumbered to his feet and protested, “Your Honor, the witness has already testified—”
The judge glared at him. “Sit down, Mr. Prosecutor.”
“But Your Hon—”
The judge’s gavel silenced him up. Joy, her mind clearing a little, looked for and found Robertson sitting a few rows behind the prosecutor. He glanced her way and gave her a slight nod and the glimpse of a smirking smile. Anger rushed into Joy again. She forced herself to sit up and pay attention to Arnie.
“Thank you, Your Honor,” Arnie nodded toward the bench. “Mr. Percher, let me see if I understand your testimony correctly. You opened the sack, saw an empty jar of gasoline, and threw the sack back into the trash. Is that right?”
“Yessir, that sounds right.”
“You immediately threw it back in the trash?”
“Um, yessir, I suppose.”
“You looked at it and then threw it back in the trash.”
Percher nodded.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Percher--you looked at it and then threw it immediately back in the trash, yes or no?”
Percher swallowed hard. “Yessir.”
“What kind of jar was it, Mr. Percher?”
“Well, um, it was just a regular glass jar, you know. A Mason-type jar.”
“With a canning lid and ring on it?”
Percher relaxed a little. “Yessir. That’s right.”
“And it was empty.”
“Yessir.”
“How did you know the jar had once had gasoline in it, Mr. Percher?”
Percher fidgeted a moment. “Well, sir, I saw a little in the bottom, sloshin’ around I guess.”
“You guess? I thought you said it was empty.”
Percher paused and licked his lips. “Well, I’m thinkin’ it wasn’t quite empty. Just mostly empty.”
Joy wondered where Arnie was going with his questions. The courtroom seemed intent also.
“Hmmm. So the jar had a little gasoline in it?”
“Yessir.” Percher reached for his handkerchief and wiped his face. Absently, Joy wondered if it was a clean one or yesterday’s well-used one.
“How did you know it was gasoline in the jar, Mr. Percher?”
Percher looked a little befuddled. “Well, sir, I saw it. Like I said.”
“I see.” Arnie motioned to Søren. Søren stood and handed Arnie a box. The contents clanked a little. Arnie removed three canning jars from the box and set them on a tray on the defense table. All three jars were filled about a third full with pale liquid.
The prosecutor jumped to his feet but the judge leveled his gavel at him and thundered, “If you stand up again during the defense’s presentation, I’ll have you removed from my courtroom. Do you understand?”
The prosecutor, his face flaming in indignation, sank into his seat.
“Your Honor, if it pleases the court, I have three jars here. I would like the witness to identify the jar with gasoline in it. May I proceed?”
The judge frowned. “This is a little irregular, Mr. Thoresen.”
“Indeed, Your Honor. And so is testifying to finding an empty jar of gasoline that, on cross examination, is not empty.”
“I take your point, Mr. Thoresen. Proceed.”
Arnie picked up the tray and carried it to the witness stand. “Mr. Percher, would you please identify which jar contains gasoline?”
The prosecutor squirmed in his chair but remained seated. Joy looked behind him and saw Robertson staring steadily at Percher. She recognized the coldness of that stare and shivered.
Percher saw the look, too, and shrank a little. He looked over the jars and glanced toward Robertson and back.
“Well, sir . . .”
“Take your time, Mr. Percher,” Arnie said softly.
Percher’s eyes jumped from one jar to another. A drop of perspiration slid down his forehead.
“Oh! Well, you see, sir, um, actually, I opened the jar a
nd smelled the gasoline.” Percher’s relief at coming to this remembrance was palpable.
“But you testified that you immediately threw the jar away, Mr. Percher,” Arnie pressed.
“Well, sir, I did, you see, but first I opened the jar and smelled the gasoline inside.”
Percher’s testimony was so patently artificial that a low grumbling went around the courtroom. Arnie quickly pressed on.
“Well, which is it, Mr. Percher? I’m confused. First you say the jar is empty. Then you say it isn’t. You also testify that you immediately threw the jar away after looking at it, and now you tell us you took the time to unscrew the cap, remove the lid, and sniff the insides.” Arnie’s shaggy head shook and his voice rose as he pressed Percher. “Which is it, Mr. Percher? Or do you have another tall tale to tell us?”
Percher shrank into the witness chair and stuttered, “No sir, that’s the God’s honest truth, it is!” He appeared ready to slide out of the witness stand.
Arnie turned toward the courtroom and, voice still raised, directed another question over his shoulder toward Percher. “Mr. Percher, please tell the courtroom. Are you acquainted with Mr. Robertson, the prosecution’s other witness?” He pointed at Robertson.
The air in the courtroom evaporated as every observer inhaled.
“W-w-what?”
“I’m sorry—was I unclear, Mr. Percher?” Arnie strode to the witness stand and enunciated with exaggeration, “Do you know Mr. Robertson, the prosecution’s other witness?”
Percher’s eyes grew wide. “N-n-n-no! I-I-I d-don’t know him!” He cast around the room looking anywhere but at Robertson. “W-w-why would you say that? I don’t kn-n-now him!”
While all stared at the drama playing out at the front of the courtroom, Joy stared at Robertson. His face was white and set. Then he turned toward her and smiled. Joy shuddered and felt like a mouse caught in the paws of a malicious cat. She forced herself to continue watching him intently.
“Your Honor,” Arnie said, facing the judge. “I would like to dismiss this witness temporarily and ask Søren Thoresen to the stand.”
“Relation of yours?” The judge queried.
“My cousin, Your Honor. Mrs. Michael’s brother.”
“Proceed.”
Søren took the stand and was sworn in. Arnie did not waste time. “Mr. Thoresen, where did you go when you left the courtroom yesterday afternoon?”
“I followed the witness, Mr. Percher,” Søren replied. He was matter-of-fact and calm.
“Where did he go?”
“He first went to his room, over on Eighth Street. Later he went to a bar on Tenth and Dodge. The Cattleman’s. About 9 p.m.”
“Did you follow him into that bar?”
“I did.”
“What did he do in the bar, Mr. Thoresen?”
“He ordered a drink. A few drinks, actually. He spoke to some acquaintances.”
“Where were you sitting, Mr. Thoresen? And where was Mr. Percher sitting?”
“He sat at the end of the bar facing the door. I sat at a table in a corner a little behind him.”
“He didn’t see you?”
“I don’t believe so. The corner I sat in was dark.”
“How long did you watch Mr. Percher?”
“About two hours.”
“What else did you observe while you were in the bar, Mr. Thoresen?”
“Just after 11 p.m. Mr. Robertson came into the bar.”
The courtroom erupted again. It was several minutes before the judge could restore order.
Arnie continued his questioning. Joy’s attention was now riveted on him. “Did Robertson join Percher at the bar?”
“Yes he did. They spoke for several minutes.”
“Did Robertson give Percher anything?”
“He did. He handed him an envelope. Looked like a linen envelope. Then he left.”
The murmuring in the courtroom continued and this time the judge ignored it.
The prosecutor stood to his feet and respectfully addressed the judge. “Your Honor, really, I don’t know how we can give any credence to Mr. Thoresen’s testimony. He is, after all, the defendant’s brother.”
Before the judge could respond, Arnie asked Søren another question. “Mr. Thoresen, did you visit the bar alone last night?”
Søren spoke clearly. “No, I did not.”
Joy glanced back toward Robertson—and all she found was an empty seat. Craning her neck, she searched throughout the courtroom . . . and saw a side door quietly closing. He was gone!
Arnie asked another question. “If you were not alone, who was with you, Mr. Thoresen?”
“William Evans and Isaiah Kimball.”
Arnie faced the crowded room. “Are those men in this courtroom, Mr. Thoresen?”
“Yes. They are sitting just there.”
Her former employee, Billy, and a man Joy didn’t know stood.
Arnie spoke to the judge. “Mr. Kimball is Tom Percher’s employer and can identify him.” He called to both men. “Can you corroborate Mr. Thoresen’s testimony?”
Billy nodded and Kimball said loudly, “I can.”
“Thank you, Mr. Thoresen. That will be all.”
Franklin stared at Robertson for several minutes. His expression was impassive as always. Franklin was always composed, always in control. In truth, Robertson had never seen him display a hot temper; nevertheless, something dangerous radiated from the man. For the first time in years, Robertson was nervous. He struggled to control his face and his voice.
Finally Franklin spoke. “Apparently Percher was not the ideal selection for the task, wouldn’t you say, Robertson?”
“Yes sir. My mistake.” Robertson hoped that by taking full responsibility Franklin would give him the chance to fix things.
“Indeed.” That was all Franklin said. The silence grew.
At last Robertson, unable to restrain himself, coughed and looked down. Damn! he thought. I just flinched.
“Mr. Franklin, I take responsibility for this situation. I would like the, er, opportunity to rectify it, if I may have your permission.” Inside, Robertson scorned himself for his obsequiousness, yet his self-survival instinct was in full play.
Franklin fixed him with a cold eye. “Very well, Robertson.”
As the door closed behind Robertson, Su-Chong stepped from behind the screen where he had been standing, unseen by Robertson. He stood near Franklin waiting orders.
“After he takes care of Percher.”
Su-Chong bowed.
“Oh, and Su-Chong.” Franklin flicked a speck of lint from his sleeve. “I’m afraid we won’t be staying in Omaha quite as long as I had anticipated. Unfortunately, that will force me to take a loss on one or two of my investments, but I have prospects in mind west of here. I would like to be ready to leave as soon as our business here is concluded. Please make the arrangements.”
Su-Chong bowed again.
~~**~~
Chapter 9
“The defendant will please rise.”
Joy, with Arnie at her side, stood calmly. Søren, as he had been all during the trial, was seated close behind them.
The judge leveled his gaze at Joy. For the first time, Joy saw something less than condemnation in his demeanor. Something . . . perhaps kindness?
“Mrs. Michaels, the Court has weighed the evidence brought against you. The burden of proof lies on the prosecution’s side.”
He turned to the prosecutor. “You, sir, provided no physical evidence. Your ‘eye witness’ was proven to be a liar and a perjurer. As he was also found to be an associate of your other witness, Robertson, that witness’s credibility is also suspect.”
In the courtroom the crowd began to fidget and murmur.
“Silence!” The judge turned to the prosecutor again. “You have failed to meet your burden of proof, counselor.”
“Mrs. Michaels, this court finds you not guilty of arson and insurance fraud.”
The crowded courtro
om burst into excited chatter. Joy heard several cheers but also a few boos.
“I SAID SILENCE!”
The judge, on his feet, towered over his bench and waved his gavel at the courtroom. “One more outburst and I will have this room cleared! Do I make myself clear?”
Order returned to the room.
“Mrs. Michaels, this verdict clears you of the charges. I regret to say, however, that Liberty Indemnity is still free to press civil suit against you and to refuse payment on your insurance claim until the civil suit is settled.”
He cleared his throat. “I also regret to say that the City of Omaha has already moved to condemn your property. Unless you receive building permits from the city, you will be unable to rebuild. From what I have heard, that will not be happening.”
He leveled his gaze at several men seated in the courtroom. “In point of fact, I have begun to have my own suspicions regarding this situation. Unfortunately, suspicions are not easily proved. And corrupt government officials are not easily unseated.”
The courtroom took a collective breath at this statement and began to search out members of the town council seated in the courtroom.
“I cannot do anything regarding the actions of the council. Those actions may not be ethical or moral but they are within the City’s legal rights. I have issued an arrest warrant for Robertson, but he seems to have flown the proverbial coop. Hopefully we’ll find him soon and get to the bottom of this. In the meantime, this case is dismissed. Mrs. Michaels, you are free to go.”
Joy walked out of the courtroom with Arnie and Søren on either side, Petter and Willem in front breaking a path for her. They put her into a motor car and drove directly to Burlington Station. She and Søren boarded the train and left Omaha within the hour.
Later that day she returned to Papa and Mama in RiverBend. Returned to her childhood home. Returned with nothing but ashes.
Joy woke again in the room she grew up in. The curtains were the same. The modest furniture was the same. The early morning light coming in the window was the same. Yet she was so very different from the young girl who had left here after graduating from college. She was a woman now living again in her parents’ home as she had when she was a still-innocent child. She was no longer a child and no longer innocent about the world or about the hardships of life.
Joy on This Mountain (A Prairie Heritage, Book 2) Page 6
