The Gray Drake

by Charles Cutter

  Exactly. “I have no further questions.”

  “Call your next witness.”

  Cullen stood. “The State calls Norwynn Potter.”

  The bull of a man with the black beard took the witness stand. He raised his baseball-mitt hand, and the bailiff swore him in.

  Cullen walked the burly barman through the ins and outs of the Two Track, the backwoods bar with a food-poisoning-waiting-to-happen menu. Cullen got right to the main course.

  “Did you see Quinn Shepherd in the Two Track on the night of June 21st?”

  Potter scratched at his beard. “Yeah, I seen him there that night.” Burr wondered what might be living in Potter’s beard. It looked like Potter did, too. He picked something out of it, studied it for a minute or two, then he ground whatever it was between his thumb and forefinger. Cullen pretended not to notice.

  “Thank you, Mr. Potter. Would you please tell us what you saw?”

  Cullen has some faith in Potter. They must have been practicing.

  “Well, Quinn comes in and sits in the corner by hisself. He orders a shot, then another. Then this woman comes in and sits down at his table.”

  “Mr. Potter, did you see what they were doing?”

  “They looked to me like they liked each other.” He’s right on script.

  “What made you think that?”

  “They were sitting next to each other. She had her hand on his knee, and she was whispering in his ear.”

  “Did it look like they were romantically involved?”

  “Yeah, it did.”

  “So, Mr. Potter, it looked to you that Mr. Shepherd and this woman were romantically involved. Did anything else happen?”

  So Cullen had decided that Potter couldn’t be trusted to tell the story without prompts.

  “Yeah, then Lizzie came in.”

  “The defendant, Elizabeth Shepherd?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And what did she do?”

  “She sees the two of them in the corner and marches right over. She’s madder than hell. Finger pointing. Arms waving.” Potter pointed his finger like he was poking out someone’s eye, then waved his arms like a windmill. Cullen grimaced. Burr was sure this was an ad-lib.

  “Then what happened?”

  Potter grinned. “She slapped him.”

  “Who?”

  “Lizzie,” Potter said. “Quinn left. The two chicks kind of got into it. So I go over then and throw both of ’em out.”

  “Did anything further happen?”

  Burr thought Cullen knew the story was over and was clearly expecting a “no,” but Potter said, “Yeah.”

  There was nothing Cullen could do but ask, but he surely didn’t want to. “What was it?”

  Potter gripped the rail in front of him with both hands. “I didn’t get paid for any of them drinks.”

  “Oh,” Cullen said, relieved. “No further questions.”

  Burr approached Potter. “Mr. Potter, did you hear what Mr. Shepherd and this, this mystery woman were talking about?”

  “Nope,” Potter said.

  Just what Cullen told you to say.

  “Did you hear what Mr. Shepherd, Mrs. Shepherd and the mystery woman said to each other?”

  “Nope.” Potter stroked his beard. “I had a band there, so it was loud. Plus, I’m a little hard of hearing.” He flashed a yellow-toothed smile through his beard.

  Burr thought that if he had teeth like that, he’d grow a beard over them, too. “So, Mr. Potter, you don’t know what they were saying?”

  “Nope.”

  “Is it possible Mrs. Shepherd slapped Mr. Shepherd about something completely unrelated to this mystery woman, whoever she might be?”

  “Nope.”

  “And the two women might have been arguing about something that had nothing to do with Mr. Shepherd.”

  “Nope.”

  “If you didn’t hear what they said, you don’t know.” Burr paused. “Do you?”

  “I know what I saw.”

  Burr turned to the jury. “Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Potter is reciting what he believes he saw in a loud, dark bar. Mr. Potter admits that he didn’t hear a word that was said at the bar that night.” He turned to Skinner. “I have no further questions, Your Honor.”

  “The State calls Virginia Walker,” Cullen said.

  Burr looked at the witness list. He leaned behind Lizzie and tapped Jacob on the shoulder. “Who is Virginia Walker?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Perfect. She was on Cullen’s witness list, but he had no idea who she was. He watched a fortyish woman walk up the aisle. She had on a little too much makeup, and she was well-rounded. The young bailiff couldn’t take his eyes off her breasts. She sat down and crossed her legs.

  “Who in the world is that?” Burr said.

  “That’s her,” Lizzie said.

  “Who?”

  “The woman at the Two Track.”

  “Damn it all,” Burr said. He leaned back and to his left again. “Jacob, why didn’t you find her?” Jacob shook his head.

  “Where do you live, Ms. Walker?” Cullen said.

  “I live in Mount Pleasant.” She uncrossed her legs.

  “I didn’t look in Mount Pleasant,” Jacob said.

  “That’s just ducky.”

  “Counsel,” Skinner said, “kindly be quiet while Mr. Cullen is examining the witness.”

  “And what is your marital status?” Cullen said.

  “Single,” she said, re-crossing her legs. “Divorced, actually.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Walker.” Cullen did his best not to smile. “Did you meet Mr. Shepherd at the Two Track on the night of June 21st?”

  “I did.”

  “Why did you meet that night?”

  “He said he was going to leave his wife. He wanted to talk about it.”

  Lizzie shook her head. “That’s not true.”

  “Mrs. Shepherd, please no outbursts,” Skinner said.

  “Perhaps I should take a step back,” Cullen said, glowing. “What was the nature of your relationship with Mr. Shepherd?”

  “We were lovers.”

  “Lovers?”

  “Yes, for two years.”

  Burr thought he might well find himself tried for murder after he strangled Jacob.

  Cullen glowed. “And did Mrs. Shepherd say anything to you or to Mr. Shepherd that night? Did she make any threats?”

  “She said if she ever saw Quinn with me again, she’d kill him. And me, too.”

  “No further questions.”

  This is another fine mess. How could we miss this? He walked up to Virginia Walker. Burr thought she was attractive, but not like Lizzie, and she was at least ten years older. What exactly had Quinn been thinking? If any of this was true, he obviously hadn’t been thinking. Burr knew he’d have to be careful. “Ms. Walker, had you ever met Mrs. Shepherd before that night?”

  “No.”

  “I see,” Burr said. “And the two of you were having a clandestine affair for two years?”

  “What?”

  “A secret affair.”

  “I guess so.”

  “So you were sneaking around?”

  “We weren’t sneaking.” Virginia Walker’s lip quivered.

  “If this went on for two years, and Mrs. Shepherd didn’t know anything about it, wouldn’t you call that sneaking?”

  “I didn’t say she didn’t know. I said I hadn’t met her.” Virginia Walker had regained her composure.

  “Did she know?”

  “At the end, I guess she must have.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Walker,” Burr said. “You testified that Mrs. Shepherd said that the next time she saw you with her husband, she’d kill him.”

  “Th
at’s right.”

  “In light of what occurred, is it possible that Mrs. Shepherd might have just lost her temper?”

  “It looked to me that she meant it. I was scared.” Her lip quivered again.

  A nice touch.

  “Did you see Mrs. Shepherd follow her husband out of the Two Track?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mr. Potter testified that Mr. Shepherd left, and Mrs. Shepherd stayed in the bar with you.”

  “Yes.”

  “So you didn’t see Mrs. Shepherd follow Mr. Shepherd out of the bar?”

  “I guess not.”

  “No further questions.”

  Skinner adjourned them after this little bombshell. The snow had largely melted. Burr put the Jeep back in two-wheel drive and drove himself to the Keg O’ Nails and ordered a Labatt. How could he let this happen? Surprised by a witness he knew nothing about. Lizzie said she hadn’t ever seen her until that night, and Jacob couldn’t find her. How did Cullen find her?

  Burr stewed and ordered another Labatt. Then another and another. And what if he had talked to her before the trial? Would it have made a difference? She’d still say what she said. Burr drained his beer and waved at the waitress. “It might as well be a six-pack,” he said.

  “You got a ride home?”

  “I have a Jeep.”

  “Be careful,” she said. “The prosecutor likes to get after drunk drivers. He smiles too much, but he’s smart.”

  * * *

  Burr tap-tap-tapped his pencil on the defense table, keeping time with the pounding in his head. Lizzie sat to his left, but Jacob wasn’t next to her. Burr had convinced him to try and find something out about the mysterious Virginia Walker. Lizzie swore she had never seen her before, and she was sure Quinn hadn’t been having an affair with her. Burr didn’t know who to believe, but he hoped Jacob could find something. Please, Jacob. It’s what you’re good at.

  The bailiff announced the arrival of Judge Skinner.

  Cullen addressed the jury, “Ladies and gentlemen. First, we established that the canoe paddle was the murder weapon. Yesterday we showed the motivation for the murder, that Elizabeth Shepherd was jealous. Today we will show that Elizabeth Shepherd was at the scene of the crime.” Cullen paused. “With the murder weapon.”

  “Damn it all,” Burr said under his breath.

  Cullen looked out at the gallery. “The State calls Heidi Grettenberger.”

  This was the other name on the witness list. Why did Cullen save her for the trial?

  Burr watched a sixty-five-ish woman waddle up to the witness stand. She had a puffy face, glasses that pinched her nose, and short, henna-colored hair. She wore a brown pantsuit about the size of a parachute that clashed with her hair.

  After the bailiff swore her in, Cullen said, “Mrs. Grettenberger, would you please tell us where you live?”

  “595 Spruce Street, Roscommon.” She smiled, displaying a smear of lipstick on her front teeth.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Grettenberger. And would you please tell us where you were on the night of June 21st, 1989?”

  “I was in Grayling.”

  “And what were you doing?”

  “There was a midsummer’s night bingo party at St. Mary’s. I won seventy-eight dollars.”

  “Well done, Mrs. Grettenberger. And can you tell us what route you took on the way home and what you saw?”

  “Sure thing.”

  Cullen waited for an answer. Heidi Grettenberger looked at him, but didn’t say anything.

  He took a deep breath. “Well then, please tell us.”

  “Sure thing,” she said again. “I was going south on Chase Bridge Road. I was past 72, but I hadn’t got to Chase Bridge, yet. I see this car come barreling down the middle of the road right at me. Lickety-split. I thought it was going to crash right into me, so I pulled off on the shoulder, and it zoomed by.” She stopped again.

  Cullen tapped his foot. “And then what happened?”

  “Well, it goes a ways, but not too far. The brakes slam on. The car skids, then cuts into one of the them two-tracks.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I almost peed my pants.” Mrs. Grettenberger said this with such force that her glasses slipped down her nose. Someone in the gallery laughed.

  Skinner banged his gavel. “Quiet,” he said. “Mrs. Grettenberger, while we are certainly interested in what occurred, and how you felt, please skip over the intimate details.”

  Heidi Grettenberger looked over at Skinner and pushed her glasses up her nose and looked at Skinner again. “Hmm,” she said.

  “About what time would you say this was, Mrs. Grettenberger?”

  “One, maybe two.”

  “Two in the morning?”

  “It was nighttime, don’tcha know?”

  Cullen tapped his foot again. Finally, “And then what did you do?”

  “I was kinda scared and kinda curious. At the same time. So I took a deep breath and turned around. When I got to the two-track, I stopped and looked down there. I just couldn’t see why anyone in their right mind would go down there at that time of night.”

  “Did you see anyone?”

  “Yeah, I did.” She stopped again.

  Burr didn’t think she was following the script.

  Cullen was irritated with his witness. Mrs. Grettenberger thought she was doing just fine. More foot tapping. “And?”

  “Why do you keep tapping your foot like that?” she said.

  Cullen didn’t say anything.

  “Are you nervous or something?”

  Cullen stopped tapping. “Mrs. Grettenberger, please continue.”

  “Like I said, I was mad as hops. I wanted to see what was going on, so I turn around and park my car by the two-track. I get out and peek down there.”

  “And what did you see?”

  “I seen the door open, and she got out.” Heidi Grettenberger pointed a stubby finger at Lizzie.

  “Let the record show that Mrs. Grettenberger is pointing at the defendant, Elizabeth Shepherd. And did you see her do anything?”

  “She stands there a minute, then she starts walking down the two-track, toward the river.”

  “And was she carrying anything?”

  “She sure was.”

  “Could it have been a canoe paddle?”

  “Yep.”

  “Could it have been this canoe paddle?” Cullen walked to the evidence table and picked up the infamous paddle and showed it to Grettenberger. “Could it have been this one?”

  “Sure, could have . . .”

  “Damn it all.” Burr said. He jumped to his feet. “Objection, Your Honor. The witness said it could have been a canoe paddle, and now the prosecutor would have us believe that it was this canoe paddle, and that this canoe paddle is the murder weapon. One does not necessarily follow the other.”

  “Your Honor, I asked her if it could have been this canoe paddle. Not if it was.”

  “Overruled.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor,” Cullen said. “Your witness.”

  Burr turned to Lizzie. “What else haven’t you told me?”

  “There’s nothing else.”

  “How can I possibly defend you if you won’t tell me what really happened.”

  “There’s nothing else. I swear there isn’t.”

  “Counsel, if you would prefer to interrogate your client rather than the witness, I will excuse her.”

  Burr walked up to the large woman. “Mrs. Grettenberger, on the night in question, you were playing bingo in Grayling. Is that right?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “Yes, that is what you said.” Burr paused, then, “But you live in Roscommon.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And the quickest way for you to get
here would be on I-75. Isn’t that right?”

  “I like to take the back roads.”

  “And why is that?”

  “I like the scenery better.”

  “Isn’t it a bit difficult to see the sights in the dark?”

  The witness took a deep breath and her ample bosom rose and then fell.

  “Mrs. Grettenberger, were you drinking at bingo night?”

  “Pink lemonade.” She sneered at Burr.

  “Pink lemonade,” Burr said. “Pink lemonade,” he said again. “By pink lemonade, do you mean white zinfandel?”

  Another up and down of her massive bosom.

  “Mrs. Grettenberger?”

  “I might.”

  “You might mean that pink lemonade means white zinfandel, and that is what you were drinking?”

  “I suppose so.” Heidi Grettenberger glared at Burr. He was relieved that looks couldn’t kill.

  “Mrs. Grettenberger, isn’t the real reason you took Chase Bridge Road home because you had been drinking white zinfandel and didn’t want to risk getting stopped by the police on I-75?”

  “I can hold my liquor.”

  “I’m sure you can, but isn’t it possible that you ran over the centerline of Chase Bridge Road and the oncoming car had to swerve to avoid you?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “No. I mean yes.”

  “And it was dark. Isn’t that right?”

  “For mercy’s sake, it was nighttime. Of course, it was dark.”

  “If it was dark, how could you possibly see anything?”

  “There was a moon.”

  “Of course, there was a moon, Mrs. Grettenberger, but that area is heavily wooded. I don’t see how you could possibly see anything in the dark.”

  “I saw what I saw.” More huffing and puffing.

  “You had been drinking wine. You took the back roads home to avoid the police. You ran off the road, and saw Mrs. Shepherd in the dark with a canoe paddle.” Burr looked her in the eye. “Is that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Could the canoe paddle have been a stick?”

  “Nope.”

  “Is it possible that Mrs. Shepherd wasn’t holding anything at all?”

  “I saw what I saw.”

  Burr turned to the jury. “Ladies and gentlemen, I have grave doubts that Mrs. Grettenberger saw Mrs. Shepherd holding anything at all. In fact, I have grave doubts that Mrs. Grettenberger even saw Mrs. Shepherd.” He paused and put his hands in his pockets, then turned back to the witness. “Mrs. Grettenberger, how long did you practice with Mr. Cullen to get your story straight?”