Parnell Hall: The Innocent Woman

Steve Winslow walked back to the witness stand. He frowned, thought a moment. “Mr. Cunningham. You have stated you were going to an eight o’clock showing at the Olympia theater?”

“Yes. But I believe I stated the movie actually starts about ten after. What with previews and everything.”

“I understand that,” Steve said. “And I wasn’t disputing the time element. I was merely stating that you and Amy Dearborn were going to what would generally be referred to as the eight o’clock showing. Is that right?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Is it?” Steve said. “Mr. Cunningham, do you recall a conversation I had with you prior to this trial, when I asked you what movie you were going to and you had no idea?”

“No, I don’t recall that at all.”

“As I recall the conversation, you stated that you were going to the Olympia theater all right, but you had no idea what was playing there. I pointed out to you that the only two choices were a eight o’clock showing of a romantic comedy, or a nine o’clock showing of a rap movie. Is it not true that it is only since that conversation that you made up this whole explanation of how the movie you going to started at eight o’clock, but with previews and everything it would have started at eight-ten, and that’s how you got out of the restaurant so late?”

Cunningham looked at Steve Winslow as if he couldn’t believe he was asking him that. “Absolutely not,” he said. “Why would I do such a thing?”

“I’ll tell you why,” Steve said. “Is it not a fact that while Amy Dearborn may have thought she was going to the movies, you never had any intention of doing that at all? Is it not a fact that the reason you didn’t know when the movie started was because you didn’t plan to go? Is it not a fact that after dinner, instead of going to the movies, you were going to take Amy Dearborn back to her apartment and try to get her to go to bed with you?”

“Why, you son of a bitch!” Cunningham exclaimed.

“Objection!” Dirkson shouted. “Incompetent, irrelevant and immaterial.”

“It is an impeaching question, Your Honor.”

Judge Wylie banged the gavel, silencing the attorneys and the rumble from the spectators in the courtroom. “The objection is overruled. Witness will answer.”

“Is that not a fact, Mr. Cunningham?”

“No, it is not a fact. And I object to the insinuation.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Steve Winslow said. “But these allegations come up, and they have to be aired. I would think you would welcome the opportunity to set the record straight.”

“On that score, I do,” Cunningham said. “And I may say there was absolutely no truth to that allegation. We were going to the movies.”

“It was always your intention to go to the movies?”

“That’s right.”

“And the only reason you didn’t go was because you got a phone call from a client summoning you to work?”

“That’s right.”

“Well, that’s not quite right,” Steve said. “I phrased the question incorrectly. You didn’t get a phone call . You got a message on your answering machine, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, it is.”

“You called your answering machine, got a message from a client asking you to meet him that night?”

“That’s right.”

“You made this call to your answering machine at a little before eight o’clock on the night of the murder?”

“That’s right.”

“Is that so? Mr. Cunningham, do you have call-forwarding?”

There was a pause. Cunningham, who had been snapping out the answers to the questions, choked on that one.

Dirkson filled the void. “Objection, Your Honor. Incompetent, irrelevant and immaterial.”

Judge Wylie, looking at the expression of the witness, rather reluctantly said, “Objection sustained.”

“I’ll withdraw that question and ask another. Mr. Cunningham, whatever you might say to the contrary, was it not your intention that evening to go back to the defendant’s apartment? Is it not true that for that reason you set call-forwarding on your phone to transfer your calls to hers? Is it not true that when you called from the restaurant to get your messages, you didn’t call your answering machine, you called hers ? Because your messages had been transferred there?

“Only there wasn’t any message for you on the answering machine, was there? The message you heard was for her. It was a message from Frank Fletcher, your hated rival, asking her to come down to the office. It was an arrogant, obnoxious message, implying a past relationship. When you heard it, you were outraged. But you hid it well. You went back to your table, told Amy a business matter had come up and you would have to leave.

“Only it wasn’t at eight o’clock. You left the restaurant at seven-thirty, as Amy Dearborn has always maintained. She went home, and you went straight down to the office, found Frank Fletcher and shot him dead.

“Is that not a fact, Mr. Cunningham?”

On the witness stand, Larry Cunningham had gone white as a sheet. He opened his mouth, closed it again. Blinked his eyes. Failed to answer.

In the silence that followed, Steve Winslow murmured, “No further questions.”

For Someone who’d just been handed the solution to a murder case, District Attorney Harry Dirkson did not look particularly happy. He stood next to the desk in Judge Wylie’s chambers and rubbed his head. “Let me hear it again.”

“Yes, let’s have it again,” Judge Wylie said. “If I’m going to dismiss this case, I’d like to be sure of my grounds.”

Steve Winslow leaned back in his chair, looked over at the judge. “Sorry I couldn’t get you a confession,” he said, “but the number of people who break down in court and say, I did it, is somewhat smaller in real life than it is in books.”

“Spare me,” Dirkson said. “Just get on with it.”

Steve Winslow looked up at him. “I don’t like your attitude and I don’t like your tone. If you don’t want to hear this, I’m perfectly happy to walk out now and let the case go to the jury. Now, you take a minute and consider whether or not you think they’d convict.” He paused a moment, let that sink in. “If you nail Cunningham, you still come up with a killer. Which will look a little better in the scorebook than losing all the way around. Now, you want to hear this or not?”

Dirkson said nothing, looked away.

“Yes, let’s have it,” Judge Wylie said. “I think I have the picture, but let’s nail it down.”

“It’s really very simple,” Steve said. “We have your basic, simple crime of passion. Larry Cunningham killed Frank Fletcher in a jealous rage. He was infatuated with the defendant. Unfortunately, the feeling was not mutual. Amy Dearborn had no interest in Cunningham-he simply wasn’t her type. She was willing to let him buy her dinner now and then, but that was it.” Steve shrugged. “Not entirely admirable, I suppose, but somewhat less heinous than murder.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dirkson said. “What about Cunningham?”

“Well, there’s your picture,” Steve said. “We have your repressed young man carrying a torch in a one-sided love affair. Just the type to pop his cork and go berserk when he thinks she’s being hit on by someone else.”

“Never mind the motivation,” Dirkson said irritably. “For my money, anyone will kill anyone. Just tell me how he did it. More to the point, how can I prove he did it?”

“He did it just like I said in court. He took Amy out to dinner with the hope of getting her into bed. It was a vain hope by the way, but guys like him never quite believe that. He was going to kiss off the movie, get her up to her apartment, and make his move. He was obsessed, so the fact it had never worked before wasn’t enough to dissuade him.”