Evan Hunter - Lizzie

“Well, it either faded or the color wore off, I can’t tell you which. It changed color.”

“At that time, did she have an old wrapper which this was being made to take the place of?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you remember what she did with the old wrapper?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What did she do with it?”

“Wait a minute!” Moody said. “ If she knows of her own knowledge. I object anyhow.”

“The witness is only asked with reference to her own knowledge,” Mason said.

“My objection, however, is general. I meant to have put it so.”

“She may answer,” Mason said.

“Do you know what she did with the old wrapper that this took the place of?”

“She cut some pieces out of it and said she should burn the rest.”

Was it beginning to fall into place for them? Lizzie wondered. Was all this testimony about dresses and dressmakers, painters and paint stains, beginning to assume a decipherable form reasoned out by her attorneys well in advance and presented now in a progression of facts so precise that even the dullest farmer might understand them? Or would it all have to wait until the events of that Sunday morning, August the seventh, were related in detail?

Her sister now, her sister again.

“Now, then, Miss Emma, I will ask you if you know of a Bedford cord dress which your sister had at that time.”

“I do.”

“Won’t you describe the dress, tell what kind of a dress it was?”

“It was a blue cotton Bedford cord, very light blue ground with a darker figure about an inch long and, I think, about three-quarters of an inch wide.”

“And do you know when she had that dress made?”

“She had it made the first week in May.”

“Who made it?”

“Mrs. Raymond, the dressmaker.”

“Now where was that dress, if you know, on Saturday, August sixth, the day of the search?”

“I saw it hanging in the clothespress over the front entry.”

“At what time?”

“I don’t know exactly. I think about nine o’clock in the evening. After Mayor Coughlin and Marshal Hilliard had left.”

“How came you to see it at that time?”

“I went in to hang up the dress that I had been wearing during the day, and there was no vacant nail, and I searched round to find a nail, and I noticed the dress.”

“Did you say anything to your sister about that dress in consequence of your not finding a nail to hang your dress on?”

“I said, ‘You haven’t destroyed that old dress yet? Why don’t you?’ ”

“Did she say anything in reply?”

“I don’t remember.”

“What was the condition of that dress at that time?”

“It was very dirty, very much soiled, and badly faded.”

“Were you with her Friday and Saturday when she had it on?”

“Almost constantly.”

“When did you next see that Bedford cord dress?”

“Sunday morning, I think. About nine o’clock.”

Jennings nodded. The nod was almost imperceptible, certainly lost on the jury whose attention was focused entirely on Emma. But it was not lost on Lizzie. The nod told her that all the careful preparation would now come to fruition, the mystery of the dresses revealed as if by a magician pulling a paint-stained rabbit out of a torn top hat.

She almost smiled.

“Now will you tell the Court and the jury all that you saw or heard that Sunday morning, August the seventh, in the kitchen?”

“I was washing dishes,” Emma said, “and I heard my sister’s voice, and I turned round and saw she was standing at the foot of the stove, between the foot of the stove and the dining-room door. This dress was hanging on her arm, and she said, ‘I think I shall burn this old dress up.’ Do you wish me to go on?”

“Go right along.”

“I said, ‘Why don’t you?’ or ‘You had better’, or ‘I would if I were you’, or something like that — I can’t tell the exact words, but it meant ‘ Do it.’ And I turned back and continued washing the dishes, and did not see her burn it, and did not pay any more attention to her at that time.”

“Had you been to breakfast before this happened?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Who was there at breakfast?”

“Mr. Morse, Miss Russell, my sister and I.”

“Do you know where Mr. Morse was at that time?”

“I do not.”

“Was Miss Russell there?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you remember the breakfast on Sunday morning, Miss Russell?”

“No, I do not.”

“Who got the breakfast Sunday morning?”

“I got the breakfast.”

“After the breakfast had been got and the dishes had been cleared away, did you leave the lower part of the house at all?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Afterwards, did you return?”

“Yes, sir.”

“About what time in the morning was it when you returned?”

“I don’t know.”

“Was it before noon?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Will you state what you saw after you returned?”

I went into the kitchen, and I saw Miss Lizzie at the other end of the stove. I saw Miss Emma at the sink. Miss Lizzie was at the stove, and she had a skirt in her hand, and her sister turned and said, “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to burn this old thing up,” Lizzie said. “It’s covered with paint.”

I don’t know whether she said “covered in paint” or “covered with paint”. The dress was a cheap cotton Bedford cord. Light blue ground with a dark figure — small figure. I’m not sure when she got it. In the early spring, I think, that same year. The first time I saw it, she told me that she had got her Bedford cord, and she had a dressmaker there, and I went there one evening, and she had it on, in the very early part of the dressmaker’s visit, and she called my attention to it, and I said, “Oh, you have got your new Bedford cord.”

“Is that what we call a calico?” Jennings asked.

“No, sir.”

“Quite different from a calico?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And is it a cambric?”

“No, sir.”

“So it is neither a calico nor a cambric.”

“No, sir.”

“Very different material, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You are certain about that. Neither a calico nor a cambric. No doubt about it, is there?”

“I didn’t take hold of it to see and I didn’t examine it.”

“But you know what it was.”

“I know I suppose it was that same dress that I have reference to her having made in the spring.”

“And that was the Bedford cord.”

“Yes, sir.”

“No doubt about that. And any woman knows or ought to know the difference between the two, doesn’t she?”

“I don’t know as they do.”

“Well, you do. Did you see any blood on that dress?”

“No, sir.”

“Not a drop?”

“No, sir.”

“Did you see that it was a soiled dress?”

“The edge of it was soiled as she held it up. The edge she held toward me, like this, was soiled.”

“As she stood there holding it, you could see the soil on the dress, could you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you actually see it put into the stove?”

“No, sir. I’m quite sure I left the room. When I came into the room again, Miss Lizzie was standing at the cupboard door. The cupboard door was open, and she appeared to be either ripping something down or tearing part of this garment. I don’t know what part for sure. It was a small part. I said to her, ‘I wouldn’t let anybody see me do that, Lizzie’.”

“Did she do anything when you said that?”

“She stepped just one step farther back up toward the cupboard door.”

“Now, Miss Emma,” Knowlton said, “do you recall the first thing you said when Miss Lizzie was standing by the stove with the dress?”