“Sorry, little sister,” Samuel said quietly. “All right, what course do you propose to follow?”
I had been considering this question while the men squabbled amongst themselves. I had finally reached the conclusion that the only logical option was to launch a three-pronged attack.
“First, we must ascertain why Pierce Godfrey met with Lucius Arlen at the hospital that night,” I began, ticking each action off on a finger. “Second, we have to determine if Margaret Barlow was also at the hospital during this critical time period, or if Nurse Harbetter was somehow mistaken. Third, we should question the suspects’ neighbors to learn if anyone saw Dora Clemens the morning of her death. There can be little doubt she left her boardinghouse at eight o’clock to meet with the killer. According to her friend, she fully expected this person to give her a large amount of money.”
“Instead, she was murdered,” Samuel put in. “Blackmail is a dangerous game.”
Papa nodded thoughtfully. “Sarah’s right, you know. If we could trace Dora’s movements that morning, they might well lead us to the killer.”
“It won’t be easy,” I said, pleased that he agreed with my strategy. “I’ve already spoken to the Godfreys’ neighbors, but they deny seeing a girl fitting Dora’s description that morning.”
“What made you start with the Godfreys?” Samuel asked curiously.
“It’s obvious she wants to clear her friend Pierce Godfrey of suspicion,” said Robert, an acerbic edge to his voice. “Lately they seem to have become very—close.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Robert!” I exclaimed. “I’m weary of your innuendos. A man’s life is at stake. If you can’t add anything constructive to the discussion, then keep silent.”
Robert’s face colored. He started to retort, then noticed my father and brother watching him and instead lowered his head to his coffee.
“Just because no one remembers seeing the girl doesn’t mean she didn’t visit the Godfreys that morning,” Papa pointed out. “It’s too bad we can’t talk to their servants.”
“You know, I think we can,” Samuel said, his handsome face breaking into a sudden grin. “As it happens, both Godfrey brothers belong to the Bohemian Club. Since I’m also a member, I’d say that provides me with a good enough excuse to pay them a social call. Especially when I know they’re not home,” he added with a wink. “If I play my cards right, I should be able to wheedle some information out of the servants.”
“That’s a wonderful idea, Samuel,” I exclaimed, then looked at my father. Allowing Papa to use his connections in city government to obtain information was one thing. Asking him to go to his old friend’s home and question his servants behind Barlow’s back was quite another. At this point, however, I couldn’t let niceties stand in the way of saving my client.
“Papa, would you consider trying the same ruse at the Barlow house? Their servants know you so well after all these years. They might feel more comfortable talking to you than to Samuel or me.”
My father leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. After a few moments, he opened them again and reluctantly nodded his head. “I suppose I can, if I must.”
“Thank you, Papa. I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t so important.” I turned to Robert. “I’d like you to visit the hospital again tomorrow morning and try to verify Nurse Harbetter’s story about seeing Mrs. Barlow. Better yet, see if you can find anyone who saw Margaret in the kitchen with Arlen that evening.”
“Again? Oh, all right,” he agreed without much enthusiasm. “But that still leaves us with why Pierce Godfrey met with Lucius Arlen that night.”
“I’ll take care of that,” I said.
Robert’s eyebrows rose. “And just how do you plan to pull off that little maneuver?”
“We’re running out of time,” I said, getting to my feet. It was well after midnight, time we were in bed. Tomorrow would be a busy day for us all.
“The quickest way to obtain information is to go straight to the source,” I added matter-of-factly. “After court tomorrow, I’ll pay Mr. Godfrey a visit and ask him.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
As it happened, Pierce saved me a trip to his office that afternoon. I was surprised—and yes, I admit, pleased—to see him enter the courtroom and take a seat in the gallery several rows behind Mama and Celia. Catching my eye, he rose and started toward the defense table. Beside me, Robert gave a little groan, but I paid him no mind.
“You’ve been having a rough time of it, I hear,” Pierce said, after he and Robert exchanged more or less polite greetings. “The press has been merciless.” His face creased in a smile. “Although I seem to recall someone once telling me not to believe everything I read in the newspapers.”
“I only wish more people would heed that advice.” I paused, then said impulsively, “Have lunch with me this afternoon, Pierce, and I’ll bring you up to date on what’s really been going on.”
His answering smile sent unwelcome warmth to my cheeks. “Nothing would please me more, Sarah. Until then?”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. The man was a philanderer, an adulterer, a liar—if only by omission—and God only knew what else. He was also beguiling, considerate and incredibly handsome. A lethal combination, against which—God help me!—even I did not appear to be totally immune.”
“Have you any idea how pathetic you behave whenever that man is around?” Robert remarked, after Pierce returned to his seat. “It’s disgusting!”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Despite this spirited response, I secretly feared Robert might not be too far off in his assessment, a fact that did not please me one iota. Still, it was no business of his how I behaved toward my friends. “Jealousy does not become you.”
“Jealousy!” he exclaimed, his sunburned face turning crimson. “Of what, you irritating, egotistical woman? If you think I give a damn who you make yourself a fool over, you’re even more—”
Fortunately, the Scot—his r’s rolling along in excellent form—was cut off as Chin was ushered to the defense table. He wore his customary dark tunic and trousers, his hair fashioned into a long queue. Ignoring the packed gallery as if it was beneath his notice, he nodded sourly and took his seat between us.
Dormer stood and called Ah Kwung, a cross-looking Chinese man, to the stand. This caused an immediate stir in the courtroom. Citizens of Chinatown rarely gave evidence in the white man’s courtroom; in some instances they were forbidden by law to testify altogether.
As the witness walked to the front of the courtroom, Chin half rose from his seat and began shouting at Ah in a furious torrent of Chinese.
“Silence!” the judge commanded, banging his gavel with authority. “If you cannot restrain your client, Miss Woolson, I will have him removed from the courtroom.”
Ignoring the judge, Chin continued his harangue, all the while shaking his fist at Ah as if eager to engage him in mortal combat. It took the combined efforts of Robert and myself to force our client back into his seat.
Fixing Chin with an equally baleful scowl, Ah Kwung acknowledged that he had known the defendant since they’d arrived in San Francisco some fifteen years ago. He went on to portray Chin as a liar and a thief, a man as likely to stab you in the back as to say hello.
Upon cross-examination, I established that Ah and Chin were old enemies who had once fought over the affections of the same young woman. In the end, the girl had wisely chosen another man altogether, but Ah and Chin’s animosity had grown and festered with the years. I glanced toward the jury and decided that at best I had merely nullified Ah’s testimony. But I was growing weary of engaging in a solely defensive battle. In three days I had done nothing to cast doubt on my client’s guilt!
Dormer next called upon a succession of hospital board members who had observed the last fight between Chin and Arlen that fatal Monday afternoon. Robert and I took turns cross-examining these witnesses. We did our best to neutralize their testimony, but as they were basically describing what I, to
o, had witnessed, our efforts were less than spectacular.
After the third board member was excused, Judge Carlton called the noon recess and the courtroom quickly cleared. Pierce and I exited through the side door that Robert and I now used exclusively to avoid reporters.
As I professed to have little appetite, we chose a small French patisserie located across the street from the courthouse. After we’d been served coffee and an assortment of pastries, Pierce regarded me speculatively.
“All right, Sarah, to what do I owe this honor? I don’t for one moment believe you suggested we have lunch together because you’ve missed my company.”
I had already made up my mind that professionalism—and honesty—was my best approach. “I have a difficult question to ask, Pierce. Actually, three difficult questions.”
“That sounds intriguing. What do you want to know?”
“First, why have you and your brother kept your ownership of the warehouse on Battery Street a secret?”
He looked surprised. “That’s a strange thing to ask. Why on earth do you care?”
“I understand the building stood vacant for more than eight years. You must have been pleased when the hospital board showed an interest in leasing it.”
His face lit with sudden comprehension. “So that’s it. You think Leonard and I were so desperate to rent that old place, we killed three people to clinch the deal.”
Put like that, the notion sounded ludicrous. Still, I pressed on. “We’re engaged in a murder trial, Pierce. We have to investigate every possibility.”
“Of course you do,” he answered in mock solemnity. “No matter how preposterous they seem.”
“Be that as it may, I would still like to know why you chose to keep your ownership of the warehouse a secret.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Sarah, think about it! My brother’s wife led the group in charge of renting the new hospital facility. How would it have looked if they’d known her husband owned the warehouse they wished to lease?” He held up a hand. “Before you raise a din about nepotism and unfair business tactics, know that neither Leonard nor I had anything to do with the lease negotiations. They were handled exclusively by our representative.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a card. “If you doubt my word, you can check with him yourself.”
He sipped his coffee, still angry, but apparently satisfied he had won the first round. “What’s your second question? You said there were three.”
“I understand you’ve lost several ships over the past two years, and this has led your company into grave financial difficulties. Yet, as we both know, you’ve recently put in an order for six new vessels.”
For a long moment he said nothing as his dark eyes bored unflinchingly into mine. “Let me see if I’ve got this right. Because we were in danger of losing our company, Leonard and I decided to resort to whatever means necessary—including murder, evidently—to lease our warehouse.” His sober expression turned to one of wry amusement. “Do you know how much money the hospital pays us for renting the warehouse, Sarah?”
“No, but I—”
“Allow me to enlighten you. In one year, the income we receive from the hospital is enough to run Godfrey Shipping for about three months—if we’re lucky. Believe me, nothing is left over from the lease money to buy one new ship, much less a small fleet.”
I felt my face grow warm at his condescending tone. “Then how were you able to turn things around so expeditiously?”
“For a start, all our ships—including their cargoes—are generously insured. Then there’s a little thing called a bank loan. Surely you’ve heard of those, Sarah?”
“You must have good friends in the financial community to obtain a bank loan for a company facing bankruptcy,” I replied, ignoring his sarcasm.
“I have my share.” He swallowed more coffee. “Not that it’s any of your business, but we obtained the loan from the First National Gold Bank of San Francisco, authorized, I might add, by Matthew Grady himself.”
Matthew Grady. The name rang a bell. Of course, I thought, making the connection. Grady was the name embossed on one of the cards I’d taken from Lucius Arlen’s office. I was surprised I hadn’t recognized it at once. Grady was one of the city’s most influential bankers. Pierce might be lying, but why fabricate a story Samuel could verify in five minutes?
“Question number three?” he went on coolly.
I steeled myself. “Why did you meet with Lucius Arlen at the hospital the night he was poisoned?”
His lips curled in a mocking smile. “Well, well, you are well informed. Have you taken to having me followed? I wouldn’t put it past you.”
“You were seen by a nurse in Arlen’s office,” I told him, controlling my temper with difficulty.
“I see.” He drummed long fingers on the table. “All right, Sarah. Since you seem so eager to pry into my affairs, Lucius Arlen brokered the loan application between Godfrey Shipping and the bank. He has acted on our behalf on and off for the past several years, especially when we wished to keep a low profile. Let’s just say Leonard and I preferred our dealings with the bank to remain private.”
“Yes, I can see why you would.” I studied his face but could detect no sign of duplicity. But then Pierce Godfrey was a master at masking his emotions. “Can you prove that was why you met with Arlen that night?”
“No, of course I can’t prove it. I just told you we didn’t want our competitors—or the confounded newspapers—getting wind of the loan. I met with Arlen that night to finalize the details of our agreement with the bank.”
By now he appeared thoroughly annoyed and was probably as repulsed as I was at the thought of food. Still, we went through the motions of eating, although we barely spoke a word to each other and made little dent in the excellent pastries set before us.
It was a wretched lunch. I’d obtained the information I’d come for, yet I felt dispirited and strangely empty as I returned alone to the courtroom.
Taking my seat at the defense table, I ignored Robert’s inquisitive looks and glanced around the gallery, not surprised when I saw no sign of Pierce. After our little tête-à-tête, I doubted our paths would cross again anytime soon. I did spy Adelina French and Reverend Prescott seated across the aisle from my family, and I was delighted to see Samuel making his way to sit with Mama and Celia. They both smiled and gave me a wave.
A moment later, an unusually sober-looking Chin was escorted to our table. He silently took his usual seat between Robert and me. When I asked him a question about this afternoon’s session, he merely shook his head, as if he cared little about the outcome of the proceedings. Lord, give me patience, I prayed, wondering yet again if any novice defense attorney had ever been cursed with a more fractious client!
That afternoon, yet more witnesses testified to the acrimonious relationship between Chin and Lucius Arlen. They were followed by an accountant who had been hired by the police to examine the hospital’s accounts. He described several discrepancies he’d found in the books, all of them illicit items entered in Mr. Chin’s name.
Under cross-examination, the accountant reluctantly agreed it was possible the items could have been entered by someone else, without the cook’s knowledge. It was a hollow victory. The jurors’ expressions left little doubt they considered this explanation improbable. Strangely, not one word had been said about the thousands of dollars missing from the hospital fund, just Chin’s bogus orders for his kitchen. I debated raising this subject with the witness, then decided to let the matter rest, at least for now.
An expectant murmur filled the courtroom when Margaret Barlow was called to the stand. Every eye in the gallery followed her progress down the center aisle as she walked, head held high, to the front of the room. Mrs. Barlow looked elegant in a forest-green taffeta gown, with a long cuirass bodice. The front of her skirt was trimmed with pleated flounces, while the back was equipped with a particularly large bustle, an accessory that forced her to sit uncomfortably straight
and well forward in the witness chair. On her carefully styled hair she wore a small green velvet hat, tilted becomingly to one side of her face.
Because of her place in San Francisco society—as well as her husband’s position as superior court judge for the county of San Francisco—Dormer treated Mrs. Barlow with considerably more deference than he’d shown previous witnesses. With embarrassing obsequiousness, he asked her to describe the fights she had witnessed between Chin and the accountant, especially the row they’d had the day Arlen was presumed to have been poisoned.
With an uncomfortable glance in my direction, Margaret depicted Chin’s mercurial temperament, then related the brawl he’d had with Mr. Arlen while she’d been conducting a tour of the hospital. She described how anxious the accountant had been to speak to her after the fight, saying she’d had to put him off because of a previous appointment. In the end, she’d agreed to meet with Mr. Arlen the following morning.
“Did you have any idea what was upsetting Mr. Arlen?” Dormer asked.
“From his manner, I presumed it had something to do with the hospital’s accounts. He was adamant he would discuss the matter with no one but me.”
“Since Mr. Arlen had just accused Mr. Chin of being a thief, do you think it reasonable to assume he had discovered some spurious entries made in Mr. Chin’s name?”
“Objection,” I called out. “The witness cannot speculate on what was bothering Mr. Arlen, or what, if anything, he’d found in the books.”
“Sustained,” Judge Carlton agreed.
“My apologies,” Dormer said with a smug smile, and thanking his witness, he returned to his seat.
Before I stood to cross-examine, Carlton looked at his timepiece and declared that, as the hour was growing late, it was time to adjourn for the day. If I wished, I could conduct my cross-examination of Mrs. Barlow on Monday.
The Russian Hill Murders Page 21
