Presumed Puzzled

by Parnell Hall

  “Actually, his wife found it, cleaning out his car for sale. She brought it to the police.”

  “Thank you, Officer Finley. That’s all.”

  Henry Firth declined redirect.

  “The witness is excused. Call your next witness.”

  “Call Paula Martindale.”

  The courtroom was abuzz as Paula Martindale took the stand. It was almost surreal for Cora and Becky to watch the woman they had been working for sworn in.

  Henry Firth didn’t mince words. “You’re Paula Martindale?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You were married to the decedent, Roger Martindale?”

  “Yes, I was.”

  “You were once accused of the murder of your husband, Roger Martindale?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did that happen?”

  “It wasn’t the fault of the police. I was manipulated into a position where it looked like I had done it.”

  “You were set up?”

  “Yes, I was.”

  “In what way?”

  “My husband had been missing for over twenty-four hours. He had been placed on the missing persons list. I didn’t know what happened. All I could think of was that he had been kidnapped. I was waiting for a ransom demand. It never came. Instead I got a crossword puzzle.”

  “Excuse me,” Henry Firth said. “I want to be sure I understand this. You say you got a crossword puzzle?”

  “That’s right.”

  “How did you get it?”

  “It was left on my doorstep.”

  “When?”

  Paula shook her head. “I have no idea. I’d been in the house all day, waiting to hear something. I was pacing nervously. I went to the front door, looked out. It was lying on the stoop.”

  “What time was this?”

  “Around five thirty. It was a printed puzzle, you know, like it was generated by computer. There was writing on the top.”

  “What did it say?”

  “It said, ‘Go to the Bakerhaven mall at six o’clock, park in front of Walmart, roll down your window, stick your hand out, and burn this puzzle.’”

  “It told you to burn the puzzle?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I assume as a signal that I was going along, doing what I was told.”

  “What did you do?”

  “First, I solved the puzzle.”

  “Why?”

  “To see if there was a clue. I figured there had to be a reason the kidnapper used a puzzle. It certainly wasn’t the most convenient piece of paper to use. He had to write along the edge, where there wasn’t much room. So I thought it might say something.”

  “Did it?”

  “Yes. There was a short poem. Suggesting my husband might have been involved with another woman.”

  “What did you think of that?”

  “I didn’t believe it. I figured it was a trick to keep me from knowing what was really going on.”

  “What did you do then?”

  “Just what it said. I hopped in my car, drove to the mall, and parked in front of Walmart. I rolled down my window and burned the puzzle.”

  “What happened then?”

  “Nothing. I sat there waiting, and nothing happened. Finally, I gave up and went home.”

  Cora sucked in her breath. This was bad. Very bad. The jurors were on the edge of their seats, waiting to hear what the witness said.

  “And what did you find when you got there?”

  “Roger’s car was out front. I was delighted. Suddenly, it all didn’t matter. The crossword puzzle, the mall, the stupid instructions. My husband was home. I rushed up the walk, went inside, called his name. There was no answer. I went in the living room, and … and…” She turned her head away.

  Henry Firth couldn’t have been more sympathetic. “I understand this is hard for you, but we need to know. Take your time, and tell us what you saw.”

  Paula Martindale looked up. Her lip trembled. It occurred to Cora if she was acting, it was a terrific job.

  “He was on the living room floor. There was blood everywhere. He was lying on a white rug, and the splatters—” Her voice caught. She looked away. “I can’t.”

  “Take your time.”

  “May I have some water, please?”

  The bailiff filled a glass with water, handed it to the witness. She took a sip, gagged, choked, gulped it down. She exhaled sharply as if she’d been holding her breath, then breathed in and out as if to calm herself.

  She extended the glass back to the bailiff. Composed herself. Looked up at Henry Firth expectantly.

  “You were telling us about finding your husband,” he prompted. He said it so softly, Cora had to strain to hear. She recognized the tactic. It was so quiet in the courtroom you could hear a pin drop. He was merely underlining the fact.

  Paula shuddered slightly. She gripped the arms of the witness stand, steeled herself, forged ahead. “Roger was on the floor, covered with blood. A big knife was sticking out of his stomach. I knelt by him, held his head, spoke to him. I told him to wake up. He … he wasn’t breathing. I grabbed the knife. Pulled it out of his stomach.” She closed her eyes, swallowed, opened them again. “Blood gushed out. I had a flash of fear, a sudden icy doubt that somehow I’d made it worse. That he would die, and it would be my fault.

  “I heard the sound of the doorbell. Help. I needed help. I lunged to my feet, ran to the foyer.

  “It was Chief Harper and Cora Felton. I said, ‘Something happened to Roger!’ I expected them to help me. They didn’t. Chief Harper told me to put down the knife. I didn’t know what he was talking about. I didn’t know why he wasn’t running to help. I just looked at him.

  “Then he drew his gun.

  “I couldn’t believe it. I thought he’d lost his mind. I thought I’d lost my mind. Nothing made any sense.

  “Cora Felton walked up to me, grabbed my arm. It took me a minute to realize what she was doing. I started to pull away. She twisted, hard. I heard something clatter on the floor. I looked, saw the knife.

  “Cora Felton spun me around, held me tight.”

  “What happened then?”

  “Chief Harper took me into custody.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Martindale.” Henry Firth turned to the defense table. His eyes locked with Becky Baldwin’s. “Your witness.”

  Cora knew what the prosecutor was doing. Having presented the witness in such a sympathetic light, with the sobs and the water, he was daring Becky Baldwin to attack her.

  Becky knew what he was doing, too. She hesitated a moment.

  “Ms. Baldwin,” Judge Hobbs prompted. “Does the defense have any questions for the witness?”

  Becky rose to her feet.

  “The defense does, Your Honor.”

  Chapter

  43

  Becky took her time approaching the witness. “Mrs. Martindale, I realize this is difficult for you, but I need to go over your statement just to be sure I understand everything. With regard to the crossword puzzle you found. You say it was left on your doorstep?”

  “That’s right.”

  “When you found it, what made you think it had to do with your husband’s disappearance?”

  “The message on the top. Telling me to go to the mall.”

  “Did it mention your husband?”

  “Not specifically. It just said those were my instructions and I should follow them to the letter.”

  “And the instructions were to go to the mall and burn the puzzle?”

  “Yes.”

  “Which you did.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Since you burned it, you have no evidence you ever received it.”

  “That’s not true. The police found a copy of the puzzle.”

  “How do you know?”

  “They told me. They showed me the puzzle.”

  “How do you know it’s the same puzzle?”

  “It had t
he same message.”

  “The same exact message?”

  “I think so.”

  “And what was that message?”

  Paula Martindale took a breath. “‘Wanna know where he is? Wooing her with a kiss.’”

  “You remembered it word for word?”

  “Not at the time. I’ve learned it now.”

  “You learned it from the puzzle the police showed you?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you didn’t know it when they first showed it to you.”

  “I knew it generally. And it certainly seemed the same.”

  “You were on trial for this crime?”

  “Yes.”

  “The charges against you were dismissed on the basis of this puzzle you claim you burned at the mall.”

  “The charges were dismissed because I didn’t do it.”

  “I understand your contention. But the reason the prosecutor reached that conclusion was on the strength of your alibi that you burned the crossword puzzle at the mall at the time of the crime. You described a crossword puzzle. A similar crossword puzzle was established to exist, giving some basis to your story of burning one. Which doesn’t mean you did.”

  “Is the defense attorney asking a question or making an argument?” Henry Firth said.

  “Is it or is it not true that the only evidence that you burned anything at the mall at the time of the murder is your unsubstantiated story?”

  “No, it is not.”

  Becky frowned. “It is not?”

  “No. I have witnesses.”

  “Witnesses?”

  “People saw me do it.”

  “You now claim you have witnesses to the fact you burned something at the mall?”

  “That’s right.”

  “When you were my client, did you ever tell me you had witnesses to the fact you burned something at the mall?”

  “Objection, Your Honor. How is anything the witness may have told her former attorney possibly relevant?”

  “Sustained.”

  “May I be heard, Your Honor?” Becky said.

  “At the sidebar.”

  Becky and Henry Firth moved to the sidebar to confer with the judge out of earshot of the jury.

  “Your Honor,” Becky said, “the witness is attempting to bolster her story with the claim that people actually saw her do it. I think the fact that it’s just now that it occurs to her that there were witnesses to the event is entirely relevant.”

  “And you’re entitled to your opinion,” Judge Hobbs said. “However, what the witness may or may not have told you is clearly not relevant. If you wish to make that point, make it another way. Step back.”

  Becky and the prosecutor resumed their positions.

  “Mrs. Martindale, with regard to these witnesses you now claim saw you at the mall: Who might they be?”

  “Ken Jessup. He walked right by me. Just as I was about to burn the puzzle.”

  “The hell I did!”

  Heads turned.

  In the middle of the gallery, Ken Jessup had lunged to his feet to glare at the witness.

  Judge Hobbs banged the gavel. “Order! Order in the court! Mr. Jessup, hold your tongue and sit down!”

  “But she’s lying, Your Honor!”

  “Silence! Another word and you’ll be in contempt of court!”

  “Who, me? She’s the one—”

  “Bailiff! Remove this man!”

  The bailiff pushed through the gate and took hold of Jessup’s arm. Jessup twisted away.

  “Chief Harper: Would you assist the bailiff?”

  Dan Finley was already on his feet. The three men converged on Ken Jessup, who put up his hands. “Hold on! Hold on! This isn’t necessary. I’ll be quiet.”

  “A little late for that, Mr. Jessup. Bailiff?”

  A rather chastened Ken Jessup was led out.

  Becky Baldwin watched him go, then turned back to Paula Martindale with an ironic smile. “That’s your witness?”

  “He saw me. He may not want to admit it, but he walked right by me just as I was about to burn the puzzle.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely. He was a friend of my husband. I wanted to ask him if he’d seen him. I started to get out of my car. I stopped myself. I realized I shouldn’t. The kidnapper must be watching to see if I burned the puzzle. I pulled my head back in the window and he went on by. But I’m sure he saw me.”

  “But he didn’t see you burn a puzzle?”

  “No.”

  “He just saw you sitting in a car in front of Walmart.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Then he would have no reason to remember the incident.”

  “Except that it’s important.”

  “It wasn’t important then.”

  “No, but my husband was missing. He must have thought it odd I was sitting alone in a car with my husband missing.”

  “You’re saying it would have made an impression on him and he would remember it?”

  “I believe so.”

  “Clearly, it didn’t.”

  “Clearly, it did. He may deny it because he doesn’t want to help me, but it’s true.”

  “If I might have a moment, Your Honor.” Becky walked over to the defense table, looked through her papers. She selected one, said, “Your Honor, I ask this be marked for identification as Defense Exhibit A.”

  “So ordered.”

  When the paper had been marked for identification, Becky handed it to the witness. “Mrs. Martindale, I handed you a piece of paper. Do you know what this is?”

  “It’s a list of names.”

  “That’s right. Do you know what discovery is? With regard to courtroom procedure?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “The prosecution has to tell the defense what witnesses they intend to call. So we can be prepared for them. This is a list of the prosecution’s witnesses in this case.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Your name is on the list.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Do you see the name Ken Jessup?”

  Paula scanned the list. “No, I do not.”

  “Mrs. Martindale, have you discussed your testimony with the prosecutor, Henry Firth?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Did you tell him you had witnesses to burning a puzzle at the mall?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Wouldn’t you think if Ken Jessup really had seen you at the mall, his name would be on this list?”

  “Objection, Your Honor. Is defense counsel asking questions or making an argument?”

  “Sustained. You’ve made your point, Ms. Baldwin. Move it along.”

  “Yes, Your Honor. Well, Mrs. Martindale, that’s one witness. Who are the others?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?” Becky said ironically. “Then it’s no wonder their names aren’t on the list.”

  That sally drew an appreciative murmur of amusement.

  “Lots of people went by. I can’t remember who. I remember him because he was a friend of my husband. But no one else made an impression. You have to understand: I was distraught. I was thinking of my husband. If Ken Jessup hadn’t been his friend, I wouldn’t have noticed him. He went by. I almost talked to him. I was angry at myself that I didn’t. I kept vacillating: ‘I should talk to him. No, I shouldn’t.’ I wished I had. When he drove out, I even thought about stopping his car. But I was about to burn the puzzle, and—” She sucked in her breath. “Oh! The old man!”

  “What old man?”

  “An old man stumbled in front of Ken’s car. He almost hit him. He had to swerve to avoid him.”

  “So?”

  “He saw me.”

  “The old man?”

  “Yes.”

  “And who was this old man?”

  “I don’t know his name. He was just an old man.”

  “Is he in the courtroom?”

  Paula scanned the crowd. “
No, he is not.”

  “Why am I not surprised,” Becky said.

  “Oh, Your Honor…” Henry Firth said.

  “Exactly,” Judge Hobbs said. “Ms. Baldwin, if you would keep your editorial comments to yourself.”

  “Yes, Your Honor.” Becky turned back to the witness, smiled broadly. “So, Ken Jessup is the only witness you can produce who saw you in that parking lot?”

  “Yes.”

  “No further questions.”

  There was a shocked gasp from the courtroom, followed by the buzz of voices.

  With a frozen smile plastered on her face, Cora murmured out of the corner of her mouth, “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Tell you during recess.”

  “I can’t wait until recess.”

  “Don’t think you’ll have to.”

  “Any redirect?” Judge Hobbs said.

  Henry Firth stood up. “Frankly, I’m not sure, Your Honor. If I might have a short recess?”

  “Very well. Ten minutes. Court is in recess.”

  Chapter

  44

  Cora managed not to explode until they were alone in the conference room. “Are you out of your mind? That’s a key prosecution witness. She just told a wild fairy story about finding her husband murdered. The only reason she’s telling it is the prosecution has to account for the fact she was found clutching a bloody knife. It’s a gore-dripped horror story any third-grade kid would be embarrassed to have made up. But do you challenge it? Not at all. Instead you make a big deal about the crossword puzzle. Which is the last thing in the world we want to emphasize. It may seem stupid as hell I would use a crossword puzzle in a plot to kill someone, but that doesn’t mean twelve moronic jurors won’t take it at face value and decide I must have done it. Particularly when it’s been planted on my computer.”

  “You make a good point.”

  “I make a good point? What do you mean, I make a good point? I don’t want to make a good point. I want you to tear that slimy, lying bitch a new one.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  Cora’s mouth fell open. “Now you’re telling me what I want?”

  “No, I’m telling you what you need. You need Paula Martindale’s testimony not to crucify you. Which it is very apt to do. Did you see the faces of the jurors as she told her story? They were lapping it up. They couldn’t wait to hear what she was going to say next.” Becky put up her hand. “Yes, I could tear her apart. How do you think the jury’s going to feel about that? Every question I ask just makes it worse. This poor, wronged woman, confronted with her bloody, dying husband. You want to give her a few more chances to stutter, sob, drink a glass of water? Not only does it paint a sympathetic picture of her, but they’ll hate me for it. And if they hate me, they hate you.”