Маргарет Миллар - Spider Webs

A buzzer sounded the end of recess, and the courtroom began to fill up, with first spectators, then jurors, and finally the judge himself.

The judge’s eyes surveyed the courtroom over the top of his glasses and came to rest on the two Arnolds in the front row. “Mr. Arnold, I must ask you to wait in the corridor.”

“Why? This is my son, he’s a minor. I got a right—”

“The only rights people have in this courtroom are these. I give them.”

“That don’t sound like democracy to me.”

“It isn’t, and it’s not going to be. Every witness is required to stay outside the courtroom both before and after testifying.”

“But Richie was remanded to my custody. I’m supposed to stick right beside him night and day so he don’t do anything stupid.”

“Bailiff, will you please escort Mr. Arnold out into the corridor?... Richie, we’re ready for you now.”

Richie stood up and opened the gate to the well. A black comb was sticking out of the left rear pocket of his jeans. He ran it through his hair before taking his place in the witness box. With the departure of his father he seemed more at ease.

The judge said, “Both counsel for the prosecution and for the defense have agreed to let you tell your story in your own words, and after it is completed, Mr. Owen will be given a chance to ask questions, and then Mr. Donnelly. It may be unorthodox, but I believe it will save time and truth.”

“Where do you want me to begin?”

“From the time you first saw Mrs. Pherson.”

“She was coming up the gangplank with Cully. And Harry said, ‘Goddle mighty, he’s got a floozy with him.’ I could see she wasn’t a floozy, but I didn’t argue with him. All women are floozies to Harry. He’s had kind of hard luck with women, not like Cully who just had to snap his fingers and—”

“Stick to your story, young man.”

“Yes, sir. Cully introduced the lady to me and Harry as the new cook. I guess it was some kind of joke because she never went near the galley. The two of them went to Cully’s quarters. I didn’t see her again until the next day. Cully and Harry were in the engine room and I was taking the cover off the mains’l when the lady suddenly came up behind me and asked would I do her a favor for a hundred dollars. Well, I never had a hundred dollars in my life — Harry always takes my pay and puts it in the bank in St. Thomas — so I said, ‘Sure, what’s the favor?’

“The favor sounded okay, nothing illegal or anything like that. I was just to hide something for her on the boat where no one else would find it. She handed the green leather case to me, the one on the table over there and gave me five twenty-dollar bills. I asked her whether it mattered if it got sort of wet, and she said no. Right away I thought of the bilge because nobody goes down there unless they have to. So I wrapped the green case in an old sail bag and hid it underneath the iron pigs in the bilge.”

“Would you explain to the court what iron pigs are?”

“Pigs are pieces of iron used as ballast when and where ballast will make the boat run smoother. Mr. Belasco keeps a whole pile of them in the bilge. I hid the sail bag with the case in it underneath the pigs. I expected Mrs. Pherson would ask for the case back at the end of the trip. But I never saw her again.”

He hadn’t told Harry this story. Nor did he tell the police when they were searching the boat. He didn’t know what was in the green case, and at first he tried not to speculate. But as more and more references to it were made in the newspapers and on TV and by Harry, he became aware that lost or found, it was an important part of the evidence against Cully. If it was found — some guard might be more curious and more careful than the others — its contents might give Cully a stronger motive for murdering the woman. Richie decided to retrieve the case. He almost got away with it.

He looked down at Cully with a mixture of pride and apology. Cully shrugged and turned away. Any student of body English could have translated the exchange: “I did it for you, Cully.” “Don’t do me any favors, kid.”

“Have you finished, Richie?” the judge said.

“I guess so.”

“Mr. Owen, do you have any questions to ask the boy?”

“Yes, Your Honor... Richie, you were aware, were you not, that the police were searching for the green case?”

“I heard some talk.”

“Why didn’t you inform them that Mrs. Pherson had given it to you to hide?”

“They never asked me.”

“Didn’t you consider it your duty to volunteer the information?”

“No.”

“Do you consider yourself a good friend of the defendant, Richie?”

“He’s the boss.”

“Is he also your friend?”

“I’m his friend. I don’t know for sure whether he’s mine.”

“Was it as a result of this friendship, one-sided or not, that you swam out to the Bewitched and stole the case?”

“I don’t think of it as stealing.”

“You were arrested, were you not?”

“Yes.”

“So obviously other people think of it as stealing, do they not?”

“I guess.”

“Do you realize now how stupid it was to put yourself in jeopardy for the sake of someone who may not even be your friend?”

Richie sat in obstinate silence, his arms crossed on his chest. He would rather be punished like a man than scolded like a child.

It was Donnelly’s turn. He was in no hurry. He wanted the scene between Richie and Owen to remain vivid in the minds of the jurors, showing the defendant as a man who inspired loyalty and friendship. He rearranged some papers, made a couple of notes and finally stood up to face Richie.

“Richie, when Mrs. Pherson handed you the green case, did she use the actual word ‘hide’?”

“I don’t remember exactly, but she said something like I was to put it away where no one else could find it.”

“Did you wonder what was in it?”

“I wondered why she paid that much money, a whole hundred bucks, to have it hidden.”

“When you found out what the case contained, were you surprised?”

“Everybody was. But it kind of explained the way she was acting, nice and friendly and all that, but not quite normal.” Richie turned to look at the judge. “I guess that’s all. Did I do okay?”

“You did fine, Richie. You’re free to go now.”

“You mean, go home like to the islands? I don’t want to. I want to wait for Cully. Me and him can go together.”

“That is not a matter for this court to decide. Please step down, Richie. Thank you. Considering the circumstances I believe we have been very lenient with you. Do you know what that means?”

“Yeah. What it really means is I got to stay with Harry like he was my father.”

“That’s enough, Richie. Please step down. Thank you.”

“At this point,” Donnelly said, “I would like to request a ten-minute recess for the purpose of checking page and line numbers of the transcript referring to certain portions of the testimony of Mr. Pherson and of Mr. Elfinstone and Miss Gomez of San Diego. If the relevant passages are read aloud to the court, it will not be necessary to recall these three witnesses.”

“You have ten minutes,” the judge said, and tapped his gavel. The gavel was comfortable in his hand, the right weight, the right balance. He had heard a rumor that at his retirement dinner he was going to be presented with a silver-plated gavel to replace the old wooden one. But he was not a man who replaced things. He hadn’t married again after his wife died, he hadn’t bought another dog and certainly nothing would ever replace the dull, earthy thud of wood on wood. The sound of silver was without memory or meaning.