Evan Hunter - Lizzie

“I thought you went out because the fire wasn’t hot enough to heat the flats.”

“I thought it would burn, but the fire hadn’t caught from the few sparks.”

“So you gave up the ironing and was going upstairs.”

“Yes, sir. I thought I’d wait till Maggie got dinner, and heat the flats again.”

“When you saw your father, where was he?”

“On the sofa.”

“What was his position?”

“Lying down.”

“Describe anything else you noticed at the time.”

“I didn’t notice anything else, I was so frightened and horrified. I ran to the foot of the stairs and called Maggie.”

“Did you notice that he’d been cut?”

“Yes. That’s what made me afraid.”

“Did you notice that he was dead?”

“I didn’t know whether he was or not.”

“Did you make any search for your mother?”

“No, sir.”

“Why not?”

“I thought she was out of the house. I thought she’d gone out. I called Maggie to go to Dr. Bowen’s. When they came, I said, ‘I don’t know where Mrs. Borden is.’ I thought she’d gone out.”

“Did you tell Maggie you thought your mother had come in?”

“No, sir.”

“That you thought you heard her come in?”

“No, sir.”

“Did you say to anybody that you thought she was killed upstairs?”

“No, sir.”

“To anybody ?”

“No, sir.”

“You made no effort to find your mother at all?”

“No, sir.”

“Who did you send Maggie for?”

“Dr. Bowen. She came back and said Dr. Bowen wasn’t there.”

“What did you tell Maggie?”

“I told her he was hurt.”

“When you first told her.”

“I said, ‘Go for Dr. Bowen as soon as you can. I think father is hurt.’ ”

“Did you then know that he was dead?”

“No, sir.”

“You saw him...”

“Yes, sir.”

“... you went into the room...”

“No, sir.”

“Looked in at the door?”

“I opened the door and rushed back.”

“Saw his face?”

“No, I didn’t see his face. Because he was all covered with blood.”

“You saw where the face was bleeding?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you see the blood on the floor?”

“No, sir.”

“You saw his face covered with blood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you see his eyeball hanging out?”

“No, sir.”

“See the gashes where his face was laid open?”

“No, sir.”

“Nothing of that kind?”

“No, sir,” she said, and covered her face with both gloved hands, as though trying to hide from her eyes the images he had conjured for her. She sat that way for what seemed an eternity, motionless, her hands covering her face. He thought she might be weeping behind those hands, but he heard no sound from her. He waited. At last, she lowered her hands. The gray eyes were dry. They met his own eyes unwaveringly.

“Do you know of any employment that would occupy your mother for the two hours between nine and eleven,” he asked. “In the front room?”

“Not unless she was sewing.”

“If she had been sewing you would have heard the machine.”

“She didn’t always use the machine.”

“Did you see, or were there found, anything to indicate that she was sewing up there?”

“I don’t know. She’d given me, a few weeks before, some pillowcases to make.”

“My question is not that. Did you see, or were there found, anything to indicate that she had done any sewing in that room that morning?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t allowed in that room. I didn’t see it.”

“Leaving out the sewing, do you know of anything else that would occupy her for two hours in that room?”

“No. Not if she’d made the bed up. And she said she had when I went down.”

“Assuming the bed was made?”

“I don’t know anything.”

“Did she say she’d done her work?”

“She said she’d made the bed, and was going to put on the pillowcases. About nine o’clock.”

“I ask you now again, remembering that...”

“ I told you that yesterday.”

“Never mind about yesterday. Tell me all the talk you had with your mother when you came down in the morning.”

“She asked me how I felt. I said I felt better, but didn’t want any breakfast. She said what kind of meat did I want for dinner. I said I didn’t want any. She said she was going out, somebody was sick, and she would get the dinner, get the meat, order the meat. And... I think she said something about the weather being hotter, or something. And I don’t remember that she said anything else. I said to her, ‘Won’t you change your dress before you go out?’ She had on an old one. She said, ‘No, this is good enough.’ That’s all I can remember.”

“In this narrative, you have not again said anything about her having said that she’d made the bed.”

“I told you that she said she’d made the bed!”

“In this time saying, you didn’t put that in! I want that conversation that you had with her that morning. I beg your pardon again. In this time of telling me, you didn’t say anything about her having received a note.”

“I told you that before.”

“Miss Borden, I want you now to tell me all the talk you had with your mother when you came down, and all the talk she had with you. Please begin again.”

The gray eyes flared. Her gloved hands tightened on the arms of the witness chair; for a moment, she seemed about to rise. He was suddenly aware of a thin sheen of perspiration on her upper lip. She took a deep breath. Her hands relaxed. Her eyes met his again. The anger was gone now. She stared directly into his face, and began speaking slowly, monotonously, almost hypnotically.

“She asked me how I felt. I told her. She asked me what I wanted for dinner. I told her not anything... what kind of meat I wanted for dinner. I told her not any. She said she’d been up and made the spare bed, and was going to take up some linen pillowcases for the small pillows at the foot, and then the room was done. She said, ‘I’ve had a note from somebody that’s sick, and I’m going out, and I’ll get the dinner at the same time.’ I think she said something about the weather, I don’t know. She also asked me if I would direct some paper wrappers for her, which I did.”

“She said she’d had a note?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You told me yesterday you never saw the note.”

“No, sir, I never did.”

“You looked for it?”

“No, sir. But the rest have.”

“Did you have an apron on Thursday?” Knowlton asked, abruptly shifting his line of questioning.

“Did I what?”

“Have an apron on Thursday?”

“No, sir, I don’t think I did.”

“Do you remember whether you did or not?”

“I don’t remember sure, but I don’t think I did.”

“You had aprons, of course?”

“I had aprons, yes, sir.”

“Will you try and think whether you did or not?”

“I don’t think I did.”

“Will you try and remember?”

“I had no occasion for an apron on that morning.”

“If you can remember, I wish you would.”

“I don’t remember.”

“That is all the answer you can give me about that?”

“Yes, sir.”

Well, he thought, so much for any garment she might have been wearing over her dress to shield her from the almost certain torrent of blood caused by the butchering wounds. For surely, if an ax or a hatchet had been the murder weapon...

“Did you have any occasion to use the ax or hatchet?” he asked.