Дэвид Балдаччи - One Good Deed

“Your mother died in an accident out at the farm right before you left home, correct?”

Jackie looked startled by this abrupt segue. “Y-yes.”

“Can you describe what happened?”

Brooks got to his feet. “Judge, what does this have to do with anything?”

“Good question,” said Richmond. “You care to answer that, Mr. Archer?”

“I’ve got a theory of the case, Judge, and this one goes to motive on both the murders I’m accused of.”

Richmond looked at Brooks, who finally shrugged.

“Okay, proceed.”

“Your mother’s death?”

“She fell out of the hay bale in the barn and was impaled on a corn picker that was down below.”

“How do you get impaled on a corn picker?”

“One of the cones was pointing upward. The ends are very sharp, almost like the point of an arrow. That’s what she fell on.”

“Do you know how to raise the cone on that machine?”

“No. I’ve never had a reason to do it.”

“Well, I do — and before anybody objects to me testifying again, I got Mr. Bobby Kent sitting over there who will back up everything I have to say on the matter.”

Kent, who was sitting in the second row and dressed in an old suit, shyly waved his hand and nodded.

Brooks looked put out by this, but the judge finally nodded. “Go ahead, Mr. Archer.”

“While I was preparing for the trial I talked to Bobby Kent, and he told me the corn picker there now is the same one your mother fell on. There’s a little turn handle. Now, as you already testified to, I’m pretty strong, but it took a lot of my strength to turn that thing and point that cone upward. Kent said it’s always been that way.”

“So what are you getting at?” asked Jackie.

“Would it surprise you to learn that your father tried to suggest to me that you murdered your mother?”

The court broke into pandemonium over this until Richmond shattered a gavel bringing back order. He pointed the broken gavel at Archer and said, “You better get to your dang point, but fast, son.”

Here, Archer turned and looked over at Brooks. “A woman couldn’t have turned that handle to make the cone point upward. It would take a fairly strong man. So I think your father killed your mother by pushing her out of the hay barn and onto that corn picker, which he had set just underneath, because why else would it have been there with one of the cones pointing up?”

While Archer and Brooks exchanged a long, probing look, the whole courtroom went into such an uproar over this that it took a full minute for Richmond this time to restore order, using his fist against the wood of the bench and his high-pitched voice as he searched through the drawers of his bench for a fresh gavel.

The judge barked, “We are not interested in what you think , Mr. Archer. Is there a question in there somewhere for the witness?”

“Yes, Judge, and here it is.” He looked at Jackie. “Did you see your father kill your mother?”

The courtroom went quiet. Even Richmond seemed mesmerized, waiting for her to answer.

Archer and Jackie were locked in a stare-down. When it seemed apparent that Archer was not backing down, Jackie said quite firmly, “Yes. I saw him do it.”

“But you never told anyone?”

“No.”

“Why?”

Jackie dabbed at her eyes, and this time Archer could see that these were real tears.

“Because he told me if I did, that no one would believe my word over his and that he would then make me pay a tremendous price.”

“He threatened to harm you?”

“He told me he would blow my head off with his shotgun.”

Surprisingly, the courtroom remained quiet at this. Brooks and Judge Richmond were watching all this openmouthed, along with everyone else.

“Why would he want to kill his own wife?” asked Archer.

“I... I don’t know.”

“I think I might be able to help with that.” Archer went back to the table, picked up his hat and took the letter out of the liner. He held it up to Brooks. “I’m going to get her to identify this and then you can take a look.” He didn’t wait for Brooks to respond. He walked back to the witness stand.

He held the letter out. “You know your mother’s handwriting?”

“Of course I do.”

“I found this letter in the back of the picture frame that held the photo I showed you.” He held it up for her to see. “Is that Isabel Tuttle’s handwriting?”

Jackie stared at the letter for a few seconds and then nodded. “Yes, it is.”

Archer took the letter over to Brooks and let him read it. He looked shaken and handed the letter back to Archer.

“You okay with me asking her about this, Mr. Brooks?”

Brooks seemed to waver for a moment but said, “Go ahead, Archer. I... I think this needs to come out.”

“Thanks.”

He returned with it to the witness stand.

“Do you want to read this letter for the jury?” asked Archer.

“No, I do not.”

“Okay, but to sum up what it says, your mother was going to divorce your father, leave, and take you with her. She was doing this because he had physically and mentally abused you and your mother for many years, and she was not going to allow him to do that anymore. And here’re the last lines of her letter.” Archer held it up and read, “‘And, Lucas, if anything happens to me, you will have done it because you’ve threatened to kill me so many times, I’ve lost count. But if you end up killing me before I can leave with Jackie, rest assured that my beautiful daughter will know what really happened, and she will be free of you at last. May you rot in hell, you sick bastard.’”

Archer lowered the letter and then left it on the rail of the witness box. He stood there in silence while Jackie tried to compose herself.

Archer waited patiently while she did so. When her tears began to flow more freely, he handed her his handkerchief. She used it to dry her eyes. When she gave it back, he gripped her hand for a moment. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and probing.

A few seconds later Archer said slowly, “So your father never showed up the night he was murdered to meet at your house as was arranged?”

She glanced up at him and held his gaze. “Not while I was there, no.”

“That makes sense, since he later ended up dead at his place. But you did go out that night, didn’t you? When he didn’t show up?”

“How do—”

“It was the mud on your Nash. That meant it was driven during that hard rain.” Archer glanced at the judge. “Mr. Shaw took photos of it and wrote notes about it, so it’s included in the record.” He turned back to Jackie. “You went over to the Pittlemans’, didn’t you? Around eleven or so?”

Jackie looked hesitant and glanced around the room. “I—” Here, she faltered.

But right away Archer said, “You went over there to have it out with Mrs. Pittleman, about her husband, about a lot of things. Only you couldn’t see her. Isn’t that right? You two didn’t meet?” When she didn’t answer, he leaned in closer, held her gaze. “Isn’t that right? You two didn’t meet? All you need to tell us is the truth about that, Jackie. Just that.”

One of her hands was clenched on the box’s rail. Archer put his hand over hers and gently squeezed it. Her guarded and suspicious look fell away as their gazes comingled. “Yes, that’s right. I went over there, it’s true. But I didn’t see her that night. And that is the truth.”

He removed his hand and looked at Richmond. “No more questions, Judge. And I’d like to thank Miss Tuttle for coming back here and telling us the real deal.”

With a questioning look, Jackie got up from the witness stand. Archer put out a hand to assist her. As their flesh touched, more was communicated between them than a physical helping hand.