Evan Hunter - Lizzie

“Could you tell anything about whether there were ashes upon the head of the hatchet?”

“I don’t think you should make any suggestions,” Robinson said. “I object to that style of question.”

“Well,” Moody said, “describe further.”

“I should say that upon this hatchet was dust, or ashes as though the head...

“Wait a moment!” Robinson said. “I object to that!”

“Describe on what parts of the hatchet,” Moody said.

“On both the faces and all over, the hatchet was covered with dust or ashes.”

“Was that fine dust...?”

“Wait a moment,” Robinson said. “The witness didn’t say fine dust. We object to that.”

“Describe the dust there,” Moody said.

“The dust, in my opinion, was ashes.”

“According to your observation, what did it look like?”

“I object to it,” Robinson said.

“Describe it,” Mason said. “Whether he recognized it as ashes or any particular substance, he may say.”

“I recognized it as ashes.”

“Can you tell me how fine or coarse the ashes were?”

“They were fine.”

“Did you notice anything with reference to the other tools in the box at the time?”

“Yes, sir. There was dust upon them.”

“The same as upon this?”

“No, sir.”

“What difference was there, if any?”

“The dust on the other tools was lighter and finer than the dust upon that hatchet.”

“At that time, Mr. Fleet, did you observe anything with reference to the point of breaking of the hatchet?”

“The only thing I recognized at the time was that this was apparently a new break.”

“I object to that answer,” Robinson said. “That this was a new break.”

“At that time,” Moody said, “did you observe anything, with reference to the ashes, upon the point of the break upon the handle, upon the wood where it was broken?”

“There seemed to be ashes there like the other.”

“Now Mr. Mullaly,” Robinson asked, “when did you see the one that has no handle?”

“When Mr. Fleet called my attention to it.”

“Well, how was that? What was the condition of that?”

“That had ashes, what I call ashes, on each side of it. The handle was broken and it looked fresh, fresh broken.”

“I haven’t asked you about that just now. I am asking you about the hatchet part, the metal. How did that look as compared to today?”

“It looked different.”

“How?”

“That is, it was covered with ashes.”

“And those have been removed since that time?”

“There is none on there now that I can see.”

“And do you know where that has been since?”

“I do not.”

“And that piece of the handle — which is now out of the eye of the hatchet — you think does not look so new as it did at that time?”

“It don’t to me, not now.”

“Did you afterwards look in the box?”

“I did not. As I remember of, I didn’t look in it.”

“Do you know anything of what became of the box?”

“No, sir.”

“Nothing else was taken out of it while you were there?”

“Nothing but the hatchet and parts of the handle.”

“Well... parts ? That piece?”

“That piece, yes.”

“Well, that was in the eye, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. Then there was another piece.”

“Another piece of what ?”

“Handle.”

From where Lizzie sat, she saw Robinson’s back stiffen, as though he were a hunting dog catching the scent of an elusive quarry. In the same instant the jury became suddenly alert, the bearded and mustached faces seeming to come alive all at once. From the spectators’ benches at the back of the courtroom, she heard a murmur like a single exhalation of breath, and then all was silent again. At the prosecutors’ table, both Moody and Knowlton were frowning.

“Where is it?” Robinson asked.

“I don’t know,” Mullaly said.

“Don’t you know where it is?”

“No, sir.”

“Was it a piece of that same handle?”

“It was a piece that corresponded with that.”

“The rest of the handle?”

“It was a piece with a fresh break in it.”

“The other piece?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, where is it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you see it after that?”

“I did not.”

“Was it a handle to a hatchet ?”

“It was what I call a hatchet handle.”

There was the same murmur at the back of the courtroom. One of the justices, looking annoyed, glared toward the spectators’ benches. The twelve jurors, to a man, were leaning forward, listening intently now. Lizzie searched their faces, and then turned her attention back to Robinson.

“I want to know how long it was,” he said.

“Well, I couldn’t tell you how long it was. I didn’t measure it.”

“Well, did you take it out of the box?”

“I did not.”

“Do you know where Mr. Fleet is now, this minute?”

“I do not.”

“Is he below?”

“I don’t know.”

“Have you seen him since this morning?”

“I saw him downstairs.”

“You mean before the adjournment?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I would like to have Mr. Fleet come in,” Robinson said. “I would like to have him sent for.”

She welcomed the respite.

The day, which had begun so uncomfortably hot and humid, had turned considerably milder. Aware of the spectators’ eyes upon her, she walked nonetheless to one of the open windows, the deputy sheriff at her side like a shadow, and glanced down at the grass growing on the courthouse lawn. She took in a deep breath. Giant elms arched their branches over the walk below, their leaves moving gently in the new breeze. Sparrows sang in the capitals of the great Grecian columns. The flowers in the little plots on the lawn and in the big boxes on the courthouse portico bloomed red, white and yellow. She longed to be there in the warm sunshine, free for a moment from the strain of this confined room and the tensions it contained.

There were crowds outside even now.

This morning, as she’d made her way up the path to the Court House entrance, escorted by the deputy sheriff, the crowds had jostled and shoved beyond the erected fences, and many of the women had called out taunts and jeers to her. She could not understand why her own sex had turned against her, but their enmity was so positive and manifest that even in the courtroom the female spectators looked disappointed whenever a witness said anything to her advantage. She suddenly wondered, and this was a prospect she had never before considered, what her life would be like if and when the jury found her innocent. Would she ever again be able to enjoy in peace and privacy the harmless beauty of a June morning?

Someone in the crowd below had spied her at the open window.

She turned abruptly away.

Fleet was being led back into the courtroom.

“Mr. Fleet, returning to the subject we had under discussion this morning, about what you found in that box downstairs.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Will you state again what you found there at the time you looked in?”

“I found a hatchet head, the handle broken off, together with some other tools in there and the iron that was inside there. I don’t know just what it was.”

“Was this what you found?” Robinson asked, and showed him the hatchet head.

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you find anything else? Except old tools?”

“No, sir.”

“Sure about that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Who was with you at that time?”

“Michael Mullaly.”