Evan Hunter - Lizzie

“No, sir.”

“Did you know where they were?”

“I knew there was an old ax downcellar. That’s all I knew.”

“Did you know anything about a hatchet downcellar?”

“No, sir.”

“Where was the old ax downcellar?”

“The last time I saw it, it was stuck in the old chopping block.”

“Was that the only ax or hatchet downcellar?”

“It was all I knew about.”

“When was the last you knew of it?”

“When our farmer came to chop wood.”

“When was that?”

“I think a year ago last winter. I think there was so much wood on hand, he didn’t come last winter.”

“Do you know of anything that would occasion the use of an ax or hatchet?”

“No, sir.”

“Do you know of anything that would occasion the getting of blood on an ax or hatchet downcellar?”

“No, sir.”

“I don’t say there was, but assuming an ax or hatchet was found downcellar with blood on it.”

“No, sir.”

“Do you know whether there was a hatchet down there before the murder?”

“I don’t know.”

“You aren’t able to say your father didn’t own a hatchet?”

“I don’t know whether he did or not.”

“Did you know there was found, at the foot of the stairs, a hatchet and ax?”

“No, sir, I did not.”

“Assume that is so... can you give me any explanation of how they came there?”

“No, sir.”

“Assume they had blood on them... can you give any occasion for there being blood on them?”

“No, sir.”

“Can you tell of any killing of an animal, or any other operation, that would lead to their being cast there, with blood on them?”

“No, sir,” Lizzie said, and hesitated. “He killed some pigeons in the barn last May or June.”

“What with?”

“I don’t know, but I thought he wrung their necks.”

“What made you think so?”

“I think he said so.”

“Did anything else make you think so?”

“All but three or four had their heads on. That is what made me think so.”

“Did all of them come into the house?”

“I think so.”

“Those that came into the house were all headless?”

“Two or three had them on.”

“Were any with their heads off?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Cut off? Or twisted off.”

“I don’t know which.”

“How did they look?”

“I don’t know. Their heads were gone, that’s all.”

“Did you tell anybody they looked as though they were twisted off?”

“I don’t remember whether I did or not.” A faraway look came into her gray eyes. When she spoke again, her voice was uncommonly low. “The skin was very tender. I said, ‘Why are these heads off?’ ” She paused. The eyes snapped back into focus. “I think I remember telling somebody that he said they were twisted off.”

“Did they look as if they were cut off?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t look at that particularly.”

Did you look at your stepmother particularly? he wondered. Did you look at your father particularly? Did you wonder why their heads were off, or virtually off, after you butchered them to death with a sharp weapon, hatchet or ax, what ever you used? He realized all at once that he was sweating profusely. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his forehead.

“Is there anything else besides that,” he asked, “that would lead in your opinion, so far as you can remember, to the finding of instruments in the cellar with blood on them?”

“I know of nothing else that was done.”

Judge Blaisdell cleared his throat. “Was there any effort made by the witness,” he asked, “to notify Mrs. Borden of the fact that Mr. Borden was found?”

“Did you make any effort to notify Mrs. Borden of your father being killed?” Knowlton asked.

“No, sir. When I found him, I rushed right to the foot of the stairs for Maggie. I supposed Mrs. Borden was out. I didn’t think anything about her at the time, I was so—”

“At any time, did you say anything about her to anybody?”

“No, sir.”

“To the effect that she was out?”

“I told father when he came in.”

“After your father was killed.”

“No, sir.”

“Did you say you thought she was upstairs?”

“No, sir.”

“Did you ask them to look upstairs?”

“No, sir.”

“Did you suggest to anybody to search upstairs?”

“I said, ‘I don’t know where Mrs. Borden is.’ That’s all I said.”

“You did not suggest that any search be made for her?”

“No, sir.”

“You did not make any yourself?”

“No, sir.”

“I want you to give me all that you did, by way of word or deed, to see whether your mother was dead or not. When you found your father was dead.”

“I didn’t do anything, except what I said to Mrs. Churchill. I said to her,”I don’t know where Mrs. Borden is. I think she’s out, but I wish you’d look.”

“You did ask her to look?”

“I said that to Mrs. Churchill.”

“Where did you intend for her to look?”

“In Mrs. Borden’s room.”

She had told him yesterday that the last time she’d seen her stepmother alive was at about a quarter to nine in the morning when she’d come downstairs to find her dusting in the dining room. Was it conceivable that someone had somehow found his way into the house, killed Mrs. Borden, hidden himself somewhere on the inside, and then waited for Mr. Borden’s return to kill him with the same weapon in the same manner?

“Will you give me the best judgment you can as to the time your father got back?” he asked. “If you haven’t any, it’s sufficient to say so.”

“No, sir, I haven’t any.”

“Can you give me any judgment as to the length of time that elapsed after he came back and before you went to the barn?”

“I went right out to the barn.”

“How soon after he came back?”

“I should think not less than five minutes. I saw him taking off his shoes and lying down. It only took him two or three minutes to do it. I went right out.”

The shoes again. Why this idiotic insistence that the man had taken off his shoes, when for certain he was found wearing his shoes? Was her memory on this point simply faulty? Then why did it persist so strongly? Had he taken off his shoes, and then put them on again? Or was the remembered removal of his shoes only another attempt to account for lapsed time? “It only took him two or three minutes to do it. I went right out.”

“When he came into the house,” Knowlton said, “didn’t he go into the dining room first?”

“I don’t know.”

“And there sit down?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why don’t you know?”

“Because I was in the kitchen.”

“It might have happened? And you not have known it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You heard the bell ring...”

“Yes, sir.”

“... and you knew when he came in...”

“Yes, sir.”

“You didn’t see him?”

“No, sir.”

“When did you first see him?”

“I went into the sitting room, and he was there. I don’t know whether he’d been in the dining room before or not.”

“What made you go into the sitting room?”

“Because I wanted to ask him a question.”

“What question?”

“Whether there was any mail for me.”

“Did you not ask him that question in the dining room?”