Маргарет Миллар - Spider Webs

“Would you say, Mr. Arnold, that the cabin was deliberately arranged to make it look as though nobody had been there?”

“Objection,” Donnelly said. “Speculation, opinion.”

“Sustained.”

“Let me rephrase the question,” Owen said. “Did the cabin look as though nobody had occupied it?”

“That’s how it looked, yes, sir, exactly.”

“So would you say somebody must have arranged it that way?”

“Yes.”

“Who could that somebody have been?”

“It had to be Cully King. He was the only one there excepting me and Richie.”

Donnelly’s cross-examination took the rest of the week. Under intensive questioning Harry was forced to concede that the screams might have come from a radio.

Considerable doubt was also cast on his testimony about seeing the clothes thrown overboard.

Donnelly said, “By clothes, do you mean wearing apparel?”

“Yes.”

“What kind of wearing apparel?”

“I don’t know.”

“Shirt? Coat? Trousers?”

“I couldn’t see what kind it was.”

“You couldn’t see any particular article of clothing?”

“No.”

“Then how do you know it was clothing?”

“I saw what I saw.”

“If you’re positive it was clothing thrown overboard, why can’t you name a single article?”

Harry stared down at his own clothing for a minute. “A shirt. I saw a shirt.”

“What kind of shirt?”

“I didn’t see it that clear.”

“What color was it?”

“Counsel is badgering the witness,” Owen said. “The scene lasted only a few seconds. Mr. Arnold can’t be expected to tell us that he saw a pink sport shirt with a button-down size thirteen white collar.”

“Mr. Arnold claims to have seen a shirt,” Donnelly said. “I’m attempting to find out how he reached this conclusion.”

Harry’s eyes shifted anxiously from counsel to counsel, then finally rested on the judge. “I saw clothing. Maybe it wasn’t a shirt, but it was clothing. And those screams didn’t come from no radio neither. When Cully brings a woman on board, it’s not so as they can listen to the radio.”

Laughter spread across the courtroom. Donnelly could have objected and the judge would certainly have ordered Harry’s remarks stricken from the record and from the jurors’ minds. But Donnelly knew that the jurors would not, could not forget, so he decided to take advantage of the situation.

“Are you implying, Mr. Arnold, that the alleged screaming might have indicated, shall we say, sexual excitement?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me.”

“Then your answer is yes?”

“More like maybe.”

Donnelly waited for the spectators’ amusement to subside before taking another tack.

“You testified, Mr. Arnold, that you talked with Cully King after the Bewitched tied up?”

“Yes.”

“And he stated that he was going ashore so he could get treatment for a toothache?”

“Yes.”

“And he was holding a handkerchief against his left cheek with his left hand?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t notice him carrying anything in his right hand?”

“I didn’t notice.”

“The jewel case in question is rather a large object, is it not?”

“Yes.”

“You saw it, did you not?”

“When she came on board, yes.”

“Is it possible that he could have been carrying an object of that size without your observing it?”

“Not likely.”

“Not even possible, is it, Mr. Arnold?”

There was no answer.

“At this time, Your Honor, I would like to offer in evidence a tape recording.”

The tape was brought in by Eva, and the machine to play it on was carried by the bailiff and placed in the middle of the counsel’s table.

“I’m going to ask you to listen to this, Mr. Arnold, and see if you recognize the sound.”

The machine was turned on. The sound was that of a 671 GMC diesel engine powering at ten knots. It had been made by Gunther on a local yacht under the supervision of two deputy sheriffs.

A low-pitched, vibrating hum filled the courtroom.

“Do you recognize that sound, Mr. Arnold?”

“It’s a diesel. Six cylinders, maybe eight.”

“Is the sound similar to that made by the engine of the Bewitched? ”

“Yes, sir.”

“What kind of engine does the Bewitched carry?”

“Six-seventy-one GMC. That’s six cylinders.”

Donnelly switched off the tape for a moment. “It has not been established where you were on the boat when you heard the alleged screaming.”

“I was in the engine room with my son, Richie. He liked to fool around with engines, you know, like any kid messing under the hood of a car.”

“Will you please step down here for a moment and adjust the volume of this recording so the jury can hear fairly accurately what you heard?”

Harry turned up the volume, and the vibrating hum increased. A juror in the back row put her hands over her ears.

Donnelly switched it off and resumed questioning. “Tell me, Mr. Arnold, is there anything special about the way the Bewitched’ s engine room was designed?”

“Everything on the Bewitched is special.”

“I’m referring specifically to anything that was done to muffle the engine sound.”

“The engine room is well insulated.”

“So that people on deck couldn’t hear the full noise of the engine?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Could it also mean that people in the engine room could not hear the full deck noises?”

Harry didn’t answer.

“Did you hear me, Mr. Arnold? Insulation works both ways, does it not?”

“I saw what I saw,” Harry said. “And I heard what I heard. My son Richie was with me. Just ask him.”

“I will, when I get the chance.”

The chance didn’t come until the following Wednesday. On the first two days of the week court was in recess to allow the judge time to preside at a special psychiatric hearing in the northern part of the county.

On Wednesday morning Richie made his first appearance in court. He’d had his hair cut very short at his father’s insistence, and he was wearing a long-sleeved sweater his father had bought him to replace the tight muscle shirt he usually wore. He looked uncomfortable and sullen, and he spoke in such a low voice that the court reporter had to ask him several times to repeat his answers.

He said he was fifteen, that he’d dropped out of school to take this cruise on the Bewitched because he wanted to and because his father said it would be a valuable experience helping to take a ship through the Canal and up the West Coast.

Most of the time he was speaking he kept his eyes downcast. It was only when he was asked about the night Mrs. Pherson disappeared that he looked directly at Cully, almost as if he were asking permission to answer. Cully turned his head away.

Owen said, “Do you understand the meaning of the oath you took a few minutes ago, Richie?”

“I got to tell the truth.”

“And if you don’t tell the truth, what is it called?”

“Lying.”

The audience was as quick to laughter as a church congregation. The sound of laughter in court irritated Owen. He always felt that somehow it was directed against him.

“Of course, it’s lying,” he said brusquely. “The legal term is perjury, and it is a punishable offense. Now, you wouldn’t want to commit a serious offense like perjury, would you?”

Owen knew from the boy’s expression that he had taken the wrong approach. It might have worked on his own boys, but this wasn’t a boy. He was a man doing a man’s job with a man’s responsibility. He wasn’t a teenager messing around under the hood of his car; he was in the engine room of a million-dollar yacht.