Evan Hunter - Lizzie

“No, sir.”

“Was there any officer there at the side gate when you went in?”

“No, sir.”

“Any on the walk?”

“No, sir.”

“Any on the steps?”

“No, sir.”

“Do you know Officer Medley?”

“No, sir.”

Officer Medley, she thought.

Whose testimony — when it came, and if it were believed by the jury — would make what she’d said at the inquest seem untruthful. Her mind circled back to the inquest testimony. Her attorneys were fearful of its admission and were proceeding under the assumption that it might be admitted. In which case they were carefully preparing the ground for all she’d said about her visit to the barn. The ground Officer Medley could overturn as if with a shovel — if he were believed by the jury.

When Medley took the stand and when either Knowlton or Moody put him through his carefully rehearsed paces, would it matter who had seen what at the barn or who had gone into the loft before Medley? Whether it had been she alone, or half a hundred men, would it matter? If the jury believed him, would any of this matter to the hangman adjusting her noose?

Nervously, she waited.

My name is Walter P. Stevens. I was a reporter for the Daily News at Fall River at the time of the Borden murder. I arrived there with Officer Mullaly. There were several people in front of the house. I didn’t see Officer Medley when I arrived. I went around the front of the house and yard between the Kelly yard and Borden house. Looked out through the grass and along the fence. Then I went to the rear fence and looked over it into the Chagnon yard, along the length of the fence, following it to the corner. I didn’t spend very much time in the yard before I entered the house. I was standing in the side entryway when Mr. Medley passed me. Going in. Very shortly after he came in, I went out to the back of the house again, and went back as far as the fence. I think I looked over the fence again. Then I went into the barn.

When I went into the barn there was nobody downstairs. While I was in there, I heard somebody go upstairs. I think I heard at least three people going upstairs. I heard them going upstairs, and they had disappeared when I turned.

This couldn’t have been many minutes after I saw Mr. Medley in the house.

“Your name is William H. Medley?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You are at present doing special work on the Fall River police force?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Under the title of what is called inspector?”

“Inspector.”

“And last year you were a patrolman?”

“Patrolman.”

“Did you act in any special capacity last year?”

“From the fourth day of August afterwards. I’ve not returned to patrol duty since.”

“Upon the fourth day of August, did you obtain any knowledge of a homicide at the Borden house?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Where were you when you obtained it?”

“Near the North Police Station — or rather in the North Police Station.”

“From whom did you obtain the information?”

“The city marshal. By telephone.”

“What time was it at that time?”

“About twenty-five minutes after eleven o’clock.”

I stopped a team that was going by the police station and rode in the team to the city marshal’s office. A sort of grocery-order wagon with a cover on it. I couldn’t say as to the gait of the horse, but it was quite fast, as fast as I could get the man to urge the horse. It took six or seven minutes to get to the city marshal’s office. I delayed there long enough to get a message from Marshal Hilliard, and then I walked to 92 Second Street, arriving there at about twenty or nineteen minutes to twelve.

The first person I saw when I got to the Borden house was Mr. Sawyer, a man at the door. I inquired for Mr. Fleet, but he did not get there until a minute or two later. After Mr. Fleet came, I went round the house, and walked round part of the way to the back door, and tried a cellar door. The cellar door was fast. I went in the rear of the house and saw Mr. Fleet again, and Mr. Mullaly, and Miss Russell, and Mrs. Churchill, and one or two doctors, and Miss Lizzie Borden. I asked her if she had any idea as to who committed the crimes, and she didn’t have the remotest idea. I asked her where Bridget had been, and she told me that Bridget had been upstairs in her room.

“Where were you?” I asked.

“Upstairs in the barn,” she said. Or “up in the barn.” I’m not positive as to the “stairs” part. She said she was up in the barn. I talked with her only that one time. She was upstairs in her room, at the head of the front hallway stairs.

There were quite a number of officers there — seemed to come very rapidly — and they were searching everywhere. And I came downstairs from there and went through the room where Mr. Borden lay, and went out of the house. Mr. Sawyer was outside of the door, outside of the house, standing on the step, as I recollect it. There were quite a number outside in the yard, one or two officers, Mr. Sawyer, and Mr. Wixon and someone else. I couldn’t recall them all. I went to the barn. The barn door was fast with a hasp over a staple and an iron pin in it. By a hasp, I mean a piece of metal that goes over the staple and is held in place by a pin.

I went upstairs until I reached about three or four steps from the top, and while there, part of my body was above the floor — above the level of the floor — and I looked around the barn to see if there was any evidence of anything having been disturbed, and I didn’t notice that anything had or seemed to have been disturbed.

I stooped down low to see if I could discern any marks on the floor of the barn having been made there.

I did that by stooping down and looking across the bottom of the barn floor.

I didn’t see any.

I reached out my hand to see if I could make an impression on the floor of the barn, by putting my hand down so, and found that I made an impression on the barn floor. I could see the marks that I made quite distinctly when I looked for them in the accumulated dust.

I stepped up on the top.

It was hot in the loft of the barn, very hot. You know it was a hot day.

There’s a little door on the side of the barn upstairs — I think it was on the south side of the barn — which they used for putting in hay. There was two windows, one on each side of the barn. The door and the windows were closed.

I took four or five steps on the outer edge of the barn floor, the edge nearest the stairs that came up, to see if I could discern those — and I did.

I discerned those footprints that I’d made by stooping and casting my eye on a level with the barn floor.

And could see them plainly.

I saw no other footsteps in that dust than those which I’d made myself.

Lizzie looked at the jury box.

The faces of the twelve jurors were impassive.

My name is Michael Mullaly, I’ve been a Fall River police officer for something over fourteen years. On August fourth, last year, I first went to the Borden house when Officer Allen went back there. It was he who gave me the news at the patrol-wagon house on the corner of Rock and Franklin Streets. I went from there to the station house and then to the Borden house. Officer Allen and I went in the door on the north side of the house. There was quite a number of people around the house, out at the gate, outside the fence. I didn’t notice anyone inside the fence.

I told Mrs. Churchill that I’d come there for a report, and she told me that I would have to see Miss Lizzie Borden. I went to Miss Borden and told her that the marshal had sent me there to get a report of all that had happened to her father, that is, he who laid dead on the sofa at the time. She told me that she was out in the yard, and when she came in she found him dead on the sofa. I then inquired of her if she knew what kind of property her father had on his person, and she told me that her father had a silver watch and chain, a pocketbook with money in it, and a gold ring on his little finger. About that time, Officer Doherty came back in...