Evan Hunter - Lizzie

“Your American friends are always so lovely and charming,” Mildred said, and Lizzie at once thought extravagant praise was surely a British trait, and then wondered how many American friends Alison had, and how many of them had been brought here for luncheon at the Ashtons.

The men returned from their port and cigars, the afternoon lingered, the sunset over the sea was spectacular. It was not until they returned to the villa that Lizzie realized she had been bored witless by the Ashtons and all their guests, including the Russians in their dairymen uniforms and their dime-store medals.

“Your name?”

“James E. Winwood.”

“You are an undertaker?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you have charge of the funeral of Andrew J. Borden and his wife?”

“I did.”

“While you were preparing Mr. Borden’s body for the grave, did you observe whether or not he had any ring upon his finger?”

“I cannot remember positively now. I cannot remember positively.”

“Did you see him have any ring upon his finger while you were having anything to do with him?”

“I cannot remember so long ago.”

Ah, but Lizzie could remember longer ago than that, could recall in vivid detail that summer of 1890 when in Alison’s beautifully cluttered drawing room they had taken tea and laughed away the lengthening shadows of dusk. She had told her about the ring then, how she had returned it to her beau, and how it had come back in the mail not three days later.

“Did you return the ring yet another time?” Alison had asked.

“No.”

“You certainly didn’t throw it away, did you? Gold?”

“I gave it to my father. He still wears it.”

“Dr. Bowen, I wish to know if — after you had given Miss Borden the bromo caffeine on Thursday — you had occasion to prescribe for her on account of mental distress and nervous excitement?”

“Yes, sir.”

“When was it?”

“Friday.”

“The next day?”

“Friday night. At bedtime.”

“Was the prescription of medicine the same as the other?”

“It was different.”

“What was it?”

“Sulfate of morphine.”

“Well, what is commonly called morphine?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You directed morphine to be taken?”

“Yes, sir.”

“In what doses?”

“One-eighth of a gram.”

Lizzie watched as Marianna Holmes entered the witness box and was sworn in. She had known the woman for the better part of her life, and had gone to the same school as her daughters. At the Central Congregational Church, she and Mrs. Holmes were both members of the Christian Endeavor Society, and though they were not engaged together in many church activities — Mrs. Holmes was a member of the Sunday school Bible class, whereas Lizzie taught in the Chinese department — they nonetheless served on the same board at Fall River’s Good Samaritan Hospital. She was fond of the older woman, and seeing her now recalled for Lizzie a happier, less complicated time. Mrs. Holmes took her hand from the Bible, sat and then turned her attention to Jennings, who asked the preliminary questions that identified her to the jury.

“Now, tell us, Mrs. Holmes,” he said, “anything you can about Lizzie’s conduct at the funeral, more particularly in relation to the dead body of her father.”

“I pray Your Honors’ judgment,” Knowlton said.

“I will withdraw the question,” Jennings said. “Mrs. Holmes, were you there on the day of the funeral?”

“I was.”

“What day was it?”

“On Saturday, August the sixth.”

“Forenoon or afternoon?”

“Forenoon.”

“About what time?”

“Eleven, I think.”

“Before the funeral began, did Miss Lizzie go down to see her father’s remains?”

“Wait a minute,” Knowlton said. “I pray Your Honors’ judgment.”

“Assuming the question to be preliminary only,” Mason said, “it may be answered.”

“Please state your question again.”

“Before the funeral began, did Miss Lizzie go down to see her father’s remains?”

“She did.”

“Where were they?”

“In the sitting room.”

“Were they in the casket?”

“They were.”

“Prepared for burial?”

“They were.”

“Both bodies in the same room?”

“They were.”

“What did Miss Lizzie do after she went down into the room?”

“Pray Your Honors’ judgment,” Knowlton said.

“Exclude the question,” Mason said.

“Now, Mrs. Holmes,” Jennings said, “just pay attention to the question which I ask you, and do not attempt to answer anything else except that particular question. On the Saturday morning two days after the murder, did Lizzie Borden come downstairs into the room where her father’s body was lying prepared for burial?”

“She did.”

“And did she go to the casket?”

“She did.”

“In your presence?”

“Yes, sir.”

“When she was viewing her father, did she shed tears?”

“She did.”

“Did she kiss her father?”

“She did.”

On Saturday, I doubled the dose of sulfate of morphine to one-quarter of a gram...

“Miss Russell, how long did you remain at the Borden house after the day of the murder — homicide?”

“I went there when I was called, and I came away the next Monday morning. I occupied what was Mr. and Mrs. Borden’s room Thursday and Friday nights. Saturday and Sunday nights, I occupied Miss Emma’s room.”

“Were you there on Saturday, August sixth, when the officers went all over that house, over and over again?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Was there any part of it they didn’t examine?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t go round with the officers.”

“How long were they there on that business?”

“They were to come at three. I don’t know what time they got through.”

“Didn’t they come just as soon as the funeral party went from the house?”

“There were some came.”

“What hour was the funeral?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Wasn’t the funeral in the forenoon?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Eleven o’clock or so?”

“I think so. I’m not sure. Eleven or twelve.”

“You know the location of the cemetery where Mr. and Mrs. Borden were buried?”

“Yes, sir.”

“About how far is that from the house?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you go to the cemetery?”

“No, sir.”

“You remained in the house?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Who else remained there?”

“Well, I think the undertaker’s assistants and Mrs. Holmes.”

“Miss Lizzie went to the cemetery?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now, didn’t the officers come right into the house as quick as the funeral party went, and search everything about the house in her absence?”

“No, sir.”

“Didn’t they come in during that time?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And they made searches.”

“They made a search, but they didn’t search everywhere. They went into her room, I think one of the officers took the keys that lay on the bureau after Miss Lizzie had left, and unlocked one or two drawers in her bureau, and didn’t search any further there. I think they opened what she called her toilet room, pulled the portiere to one side, just looked there a little. I don’t know how much they searched. I don’t think very much. And they went into Miss Emma’s room and looked around, and opened the cupboard door in her room, and I remember one of the officers pressing against a bundle after he shut it, some pillow or blanket, something of that kind. And the bed was taken to pieces. That’s all that I saw.”