Маргарет Миллар - Spider Webs

“Indeed I do. In fact, I’m about to use it.” He approached the table where Eva Foster was sitting. “Would you bring in the blue book I gave you this morning?”

Eva went back to the exhibit room and returned carrying a blue vinyl book with the name Bewitched printed on it in gold letters. The district attorney took the book from her and offered it to Donnelly to examine. Donnelly did so briefly.

The judge said, “Are you offering this in evidence, Mr. Owen?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then let it be marked people’s exhibit one. At this point I would like to explain to the jury that all people’s exhibits will be marked by numbers, and those of the defense by letters of the alphabet.”

The district attorney showed the book to the witness. “Do you recognize this, Mr. Belasco?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What is it?”

“The log of the Bewitched .”

“What is entered in such a log?”

“Everything that concerns a boat.”

“Give us some examples, please.”

“Well, the obvious thing is the weather, wind velocity and direction, water conditions such as size of swells, information on whether the vessel is proceeding under sail or power, how much fuel is added to the engine, et cetera.”

“Is such information entered in the log on a regular basis?”

“Yes.”

“How often?”

“Every hour or half hour, depending on the circumstances... Since you’ve seen the log, you already know all this.”

“The jury doesn’t. For their benefit I am trying to set the stage, to show them the setting in which this tragedy occurred. Now go on, Mr. Belasco. What circumstances would increase the number of entries in the log?”

“If the weather is foul and the seas are heavy; if one of the crewmen is ill or has met with some kind of accident; if the jimmy is kicking up—”

“Jimmy?”

“The engine is a GMC diesel commonly referred to as jimmy.”

“I am going to open this logbook,” Owen said, “and show you the initial entry for the journey we’ve been discussing. Can you see the first entry?”

Belasco squinted down at the page a couple of times, then took a pair of reading glasses from his pocket and put them on. “Yes, I see it.”

“What does it indicate?”

“The time and date and point of departure, St. Thomas. Seas calm, wind five knots. Proceeding under power. Two crewmen aboard, Harry Arnold, Richie Arnold.”

“Stop there a moment. Is it standard procedure to record the names of the crew?”

“Yes.”

“What about passengers?”

“I’m not sure what the question is.”

“If there are passengers on board, is their presence duly noted in the log?”

“It depends on what kind of boat it is and the policy of whoever is in charge.”

“The boat I’m referring to is the Bewitched. Does that clarify my question?”

“Yes.”

“Then answer it, please.”

“Usually the presence of passengers aboard the Bewitched is recorded, but it’s not a hard-and-fast rule.”

“Before you answer the next question, I would like to advise you that I have been over this entire log. Can you, Mr. Belasco, recall any journey where the passengers were not listed in the logbook?”

Belasco tightened his mouth as if he were reefing a sail during a storm. “Evidently you know more about my journeys than I do, Mr. Owen.”

“We are back to square one. Is it customary for the log of the Bewitched to show the arrival of a passenger on board?”

“Yes.”

“We could have saved time if you’d answered that in the beginning.”

Owen turned his attention to the judge. “Your Honor, I think at this point the jury should be advised that Mr. Belasco is a reluctant witness, if not a downright hostile one.”

“I object,” Donnelly said. “Witness has shown neither reluctance nor hostility, only a desire for the district attorney to be more precise in his questions.”

“Sustained. The jury will disregard the last remarks of the district attorney.”

Owen took the log from Belasco’s hand and opened it to a later page, indicated by a bookmark. “Please note, and state for the record, the time of arrival in San Diego’s Harbor Island.”

“April thirtieth. The boat cleared customs, took on fuel and provisions and prepared to leave the following morning before dawn.”

“And did it?”

“That’s what the log says.”

“Does the log indicate a passenger coming on board with Mr. King?”

“No.”

“There is no record of a passenger coming on board?”

“No.”

“Yet one did, isn’t that right?”

“So I’m told.”

Donnelly was about to get up to object, but the judge spoke first. “Take heed, Counselors. I have warned you before about the time element. This case promises — or shall I say threatens? — to become one of the longest in the county’s history. We must try to keep within the budget allotted to us by the Board of Supervisors. We now know every square inch of the boat and just about every square inch of the people on it.”

He gave each man in turn his sternest look, but it was a wasted effort. Donnelly was whispering to his client and Owen was consulting his notes.

I have lost my personal ascendancy in this courtroom, the judge thought. In the old days attorneys quailed when I stared at them like that. Now they don’t even notice. They know I won’t be here next year. Maybe I’m not altogether here this year, judging by the way Mildred and Miss Foster look at me. In order to regain my prestige, I might have to do something quite drastic, make a very unusual ruling that will be quoted decades after I’m gone.

“You previously testified, Mr. Belasco,” Owen said, “that the Bewitched is eighty-five feet in length, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“That is long for a yacht. But it is quite small when you consider it as an area where people are confined. It is, in fact, something less than one-third the size of a football field. If you put four people in an area one-third the size of a football field, it would be difficult for them to remain unaware of each other, would it not?”

“I’ve never put four people on one-third of a football field.”

“You are rather frivolously evading the question, Mr. Belasco.”

“I don’t mean to. The fact is, a yacht like the Bewitched is not simply a length; it is a structure like a house with a number of rooms, an upstairs, downstairs, cellar. One person could easily remain out of sight of the others.”

Owen’s throat was beginning to feel constricted, a warning that his voice would start to rise in pitch and to sound peevish.

He was a student of voices, especially his own. He could tell by listening to a tape whether he had had an argument with his wife, Virginia, or one of the boys had gotten into mischief at school. Trouble that could be hidden inside the eyes or behind a smile showed quite clearly in a voice.

Owen took three or four deep breaths to relax his throat muscles before he spoke again. “At several places in the log there are references to communications with P. B. Who is P. B.?”

“They’re my initials.”

“When the Bewitched is at sea not under your command, do you keep in touch with the skipper?”

“When possible or necessary we talk by radiophone.”

“Do you give Mr. King, for instance, orders?”

“I may make suggestions, but usually Cully merely keeps me informed what’s going on.”

“Did you discuss with Mr. King the upcoming race to Honolulu, the Transpac?”

“Naturally.”

“Did you ask him to try to pick up a cook for that race? A simple yes or no answer, please.”