The Glass House

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The Glass House Page 17

by Nancy Lynn Jarvis


  She had finally fallen asleep at about 5:10, at least that was the last time she checked her bedside clock. But at 6:00, a Dot-in-extremis who couldn’t open her dog door stood by Pat’s bed whimpering and holding her leash in her mouth, begging to go out. Dot couldn’t be ignored; Pat had to get up, even though she felt about as refreshed as if she had just disembarked from a cross-country flight.

  “Okay, Dot. I understand. We’ll do a quick walk so you can take care of necessities. I’m sorry about your door, but Tim discombobulated me—and not in a good way. I’ll explain while we walk.”

  Pat didn’t take time to shower, get dressed, or put on makeup. All she managed was to run a brush though her hair.

  “I don’t think the neighbors want to see me in my robe, do they, Dot?” She went more formal: she threw a dress-up black wool jacket on over her plaid cotton pajamas.

  “Let’s go, girl. No comments about how I look. At this hour on a Saturday morning it’s not like we’re going to see anyone we know.”

  Dot squatted in Pat’s miniscule front yard as soon as they were out the door, and then did more. “Good girl,” Pat said as she dropped her doggie policing kit on the walkway. “I’ll clean up when we come home, but now I don’t have to carry your rake and bag with me while we walk. We’ll go to the end of the block, though, as a reward for you being such a good dog after I trapped you inside all last night.”

  Pat talked to Dot nonstop as they strolled along, gesticulating wildly with her newly freed hand. She explained her Lillian theories and Tim’s reactions to them. Between her outfit and her actions, she might have been mistaken for a homeless woman walking her sidekick dog.

  They’d only passed three houses when Pat recognized an out-of-place blue Highlander parked on the other side of the street. She tugged Dot’s leash and pulled her across the road. Dot sniffed the air as they approached the SUV and her tail began wagging. By the time they reached the vehicle, Dot was pulling her mistress.

  Tim was asleep inside his Highlander, semi-upright, mouth open, scruffy more-than-five-o’clock shadow breaking through along his beard line: a perfect match for Pat’s disordered look.

  Pat rapped on his driver’s side window. Tim startled awake and zipped it down.

  “Officer, I’d like to report a disheveled man sleeping in his car in a residential neighborhood,” she laughed.

  He stretched and twisted his head to loosen the stiffness in his neck. “To be fair, I didn’t sleep much,” he replied.

  “You were keeping watch over me, weren’t you?”

  “I know you can take care of yourself. I was just…”

  Pat leaned in through the open window and kissed him.

  After pancakes and a shower, Pat put on makeup and dressed in turned-up jeans and her pink tee-shirt—good for shooting, she thought. She added a rainbow-colored scarf but skipped any jewelry because she knew it would get in the way. She refused to wear sensible shoes, however; she loved her yellow stilettos too much to skip them. While Tim showered, she filled her leopard-print briefcase with the day’s necessities so she could skip a purse.

  “I couldn’t shave—no razor—and I don’t have a change of clothes here, so I’m clean, but my clothes aren’t,” he apologized as he toweled his hair.

  Pat shrugged. “Maybe we should change that, although I like the day’s growth on your chin.”

  They arrived at the shooting range a little after 9:00. Tim took his service revolver, a small derringer, and a rifle out of his vehicle. Pat slung her briefcase over her shoulder.

  “I’m going to teach you how to use all of these weapons,” Tim explained, “just so you’re comfortable with them, but we’ll work on the derringer the most. It might be a good choice for you to have for protection.”

  Tim was all business when they reached the firing arcade. “Let’s start with the derringer. This is a nickel boron gun,” he said as he showed her the weapon. “I think once you get used to shooting, you’ll like it.”

  “Umm, I don’t think so,” Pat shook her head. She flipped open the flap on her briefcase and produced her own weapon. “I’m partial to .357 magnums and I like this weapon. It’s a Smith & Wesson 27 with a five-inch barrel. It fits nicely in my briefcase or nightstand drawer.”

  She skillfully loaded bullets into the chamber, took a feet-spread stance, and fired at the target down the range.

  “I think when we check,” she said, “we’ll find all my hits in the center circle. I’m a little out of practice, but shooting is like riding a bicycle: once you master it, you never forget how to do it.”

  Tim was speechless.

  “I’ve had a concealed-carry license since shortly after I went to work in the Law Library. All sorts of characters come in there and not all of them are lawyers. I thought I should be able to defend the staff and my patrons if need be.”

  He leaned over her and kissed her softly. “You do realize I’m falling in love with you, don’t you?” he asked.

  It wasn’t the romantic setting she had envisaged to hear those words, but she didn’t mind.

  ※※※※※※※※※※※

  As she told Lillian she would, Pat called Mark Bellows on Monday morning.

  “I know I don’t work for you, but I have some new information you need to know if you’re going to defend Joe Wentner properly.”

  “Shoot. What have you got?”

  “I need to bring you something; we can’t do this over the phone.”

  “I have court this morning in about an hour. How fast can you get here and how fast can you talk?”

  “Not that quickly and not that fast. When do you get out of court?”

  “We could meet for a late lunch.”

  A week ago, she would have been thrilled with his invitation. Situations change.

  “I’d prefer to meet in your office. Will you be back there by 3:00?”

  “Let’s make it 5:30, and we can have an after-work drink while we talk.”

  “Let’s make it 3:00,” Pat replied.

  “I’ve been busy,” Pat said as she began presenting Mark with her findings.

  “I’m going to have to pay you for your time.”

  “Consider my time as a thank-you gift. I appreciate you taking a chance on me and being the first of, I hope, many attorneys to hire me.”

  He seemed fidgety, like he was about to say something and decided against it. Finally, Pat began.

  “Let’s start with Kandi Crusher. She overheard Garryn Monteith breaking up with Lillian Wentner the night before his murder. Suzanne Cummings confirms that; she was also eavesdropping. Both said Garryn was horrible to Lillian. It gives her a motive for murder. I also have a tape of Lillian—I made a copy of it so you can listen to the whole thing—but the pertinent part is Lillian asking me for reassurance that I hadn’t told anyone about Garryn breaking it off with her.”

  “Did Lillian know she was being taped?”

  “No, but that doesn’t matter in California, does it?”

  “Not as long as you were the one making the recording.”

  “You must feel like you’re in an awkward place, Mark. You can defend your client, but your best defense is going to damn his wife.”

  Mark smiled, “Don’t worry about it, Pat. I have a plan. I always have a plan. I’d tell you about it over dinner, but since you don’t work for me anymore, our privacy clause doesn’t apply. We’ll have to wait until after the trial to have dinner together.”

  Pat smiled demurely, but didn’t respond.

  “Oh, you should know, I’ll be calling you as a witness,” he tossed the words out as an afterthought. “Will you agree to testify or do I need to subpoena you?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  Pat would have attended Joe Wentner’s trial even if she wasn’t going to be called to testify. She began watching with jury selection. The answers potential jurors gave to attorney questions, as well as where the attorneys used their peremptory challenges, gave hints about the Prosecution’s
plan of attack and Mark Bellows’s plan to defend against it.

  The Prosecution favored professional women; Mark liked blue-collar men. Based on those simple and stereotyped profiles, she thought the Prosecution was looking for women who would not be sympathetic to a cuckolded husband who killed his wife’s lover, and Mark Bellows wanted men who would be.

  If she was right, Mark won a slight edge in the jury-selection phase of the trial. The final empanelment was five women and seven men.

  ※※※※※※※※※※※

  Day two of the trial began with an early-morning call from Syda. “Are you testifying today?” she asked.

  “I don’t think so. I’m supposed to be ready to, but it looks like they won’t get to me until tomorrow. Today will just be dry testimony: the coroner, the investigating officers, stuff like that.”

  “The investigation officer?” Syda’s voice rose melodiously. “That’s Tim. Let’s go watch him.” Syda made no attempt at hiding her enthusiasm. “Oh, and Greg will be testifying, too, as one of the first officers on the scene.”

  “I went yesterday and am planning to go every day, Syda.”

  “Oh goodie. Let’s go together today. I can watch my handsome husband and take notes for my book—I think there will be a trial in it somewhere—and you can get a nice long look at Tim. He has such attractive blue eyes, you know.”

  “I hadn’t noticed,” Pat replied, glad that they were on the phone and Syda couldn’t see her smile as she thought about how Tim’s blue eyes had a hint of green in them.

  “I want to get a look at your lawyer, too. If he’s good-looking enough, I may want you to give him another chance.” Syda laughed heartily. “I’ll see you in court.”

  Syda got to court first. She sat next to Greg in the second row behind the Prosecution table and twisted in her seat so she could look over her shoulder. When she saw Pat, she waved and motioned her forward.

  Pat walked down the outside aisle and slid down next to Syda. Judge Blaine entered right away, everyone obeyed the call to rise, and the judge hammered the courtroom to order.

  The prosecuting attorney was called to address the jury. Pat recognized the assistant district attorney assigned to the trial, but she only had a nodding acquaintance with him. She couldn’t remember if Robert Smith went by Bob, Rob, or Robert when he wasn’t in a courtroom. She decided he looked like a Bob.

  “The evidence against Joe Wentner is overwhelming,” the assistant DA stated matter-of-factly when he was asked to present his opening argument. “Joe Wentner premeditated and carried out the murder of Garryn Monteith because he was jealous of the murder victim’s relationship with his wife.” The assistant DA, a pudgy, middle-aged-workman sort of lawyer, didn’t add anything more. He didn’t need to; with infidelity and murder at its center, the case was already juicy.

  What the assistant district attorney lacked in charisma, Mark Bellows made up for in spades. He was dressed and coiffed impeccably but still managed to relate to the jury like he was an old best friend from high school. He spoke to the jurors personally, making sure to include eye contact with each of them during his short summation.

  “Joe Wentner is an innocent man,” Mark began. “The Prosecution is either going to say Joe knew his wife was being unfaithful and couldn’t take it any longer, or that he just found out about her infidelity and flipped out. It doesn’t matter which of those scenarios they say caused Joe to murder Garryn Monteith, because both are wrong. Joe Wentner didn’t kill anyone. Now, it may look like Joe had a motive for murder,” Mark went folksy, “but so did a lot of other people, including the real murderer. Who really killed Garryn Monteith? That’s what we’re here to find out.”

  Greg, as one of the first officers on the scene, was the first witness called to testify. Syda may have hung on his every word, but Pat was distracted once she noticed Tim, a late arrival, seated across the aisle from her. They over-acted and ignored one another too much. If Syda had been paying attention, they were so obvious she would have noticed.

  Greg’s testimony was detailed and boring, but didn’t take long. The most interesting thing Greg had to say was that he discovered a number of tubes of Super Glue on the premises.

  Mark rose for cross-examination. “Officer Gonzales, did you search the belongings of the class members?”

  “I did,” Greg responded tersely.

  “Did any of the students have Super Glue in their possession?”

  “All of the students were in possession of tubes of Super Glue.”

  “Thank you, Officer Gonzales. No further questions.”

  Greg returned to his seat, leaned down to collect his hat, and discreetly give Syda a quick peck on the check before he left the courtroom.

  Tim was called next. Pat may have zoned out as Greg was asked questions, but she didn’t as Tim spoke. He was good at delivering narrative without putting the jury to sleep. When the Prosecution concluded and Mark approached Tim, she couldn’t help but compare the two men.

  Mark was urbane. His tailored white shirt cuffs were exactly the length beyond his suit jacket that GQ proscribed. His hair, with its smattering of gray, had been cut by a good professional. His shoes were expensive Italian classics. He oozed sophistication and intelligence.

  Tim was the boy next door. He was nice-looking and had ridiculously broad shoulders and strong hands, but if the two were cast for a Hollywood movie, Tim would have been the best friend, the one who didn’t get the girl.

  Syda brought Pat out of her reverie with a jab to the ribs. She whispered in her ear, “Ooh, you know how I feel about Tim, but your attorney is gorgeous.” She shook her hand in front of her like a fan.

  “Please tell us, Officer Lindsey,” Mark crooned, “when you decided Joe Wentner was guilty and stopped considering other suspects?”

  “It’s not my job to decide guilt or innocence, Mr. Bellows, so I never do. I follow all leads and leave the determination of guilt or innocence to the jury.”

  Mark was smooth. Tim was his match. Pat was impressed. Central casting would have been, as well.

  When his testimony had been given, like Greg, Tim returned to his seat for his hat. He tucked it under his arm and marched, eyes straight ahead, past Syda and Pat without any sign of recognition.

  The afternoon testimony was devoted to the county coroner’s findings. He probably would have figured it out himself, but Pat was thrilled that she was the first to figure out how enough cyanide gas got into Garryn Monteith to kill him. She felt clever for having come up with the idea, even if the Coroner didn’t give her credit for it.

  If Garryn Monteith had ingested a lethal dose of cyanide, it would have been impossible to argue anyone except Joe had given it to him. But inhaled cyanide as the cause of death helped Joe’s defense.

  Mark concluded his cross-examination by asking the coroner a pertinent question. “Coroner Bates, if Super Glue tubes were the method used to introduce inhaled cyanide into Garryn Monteith’s system, and all the participants in the Glass House class had them with them as part of their work kits, couldn’t any one of them have poisoned the murder victim?”

  “That’s a reasonable assumption,” the coroner answered.

  On redirect, the Prosecution limited the list of potential killers by asking who among the class members would have had the knowledge about placement of the tubes within the kiln, timing for opening the kiln to place the tubes, and access to the kiln during that limited time window. The coroner acknowledged not all would have, but by the time the coroner had finished testifying, Mark had succeeded in planting his first tiny seed of doubt that Joe was the only one capable of killing Garryn Monteith.

  On redirect, Mark threw in one other question for the jury to think about overnight.

  “Coroner Bates, is it correct that a lethal amount of cyanide would only be delivered to the first person who opened the kiln?”

  “Yes, it is. The remaining cyanide would dissipate before other people in the room would be harmed by it.”r />
  “So if Joe Wentner killed Garryn Monteith because he was jealous of him, as the Prosecution suggests, we all must agree that Joe Wentner didn’t want to harm his wife. If that’s true, how could he take the chance that she wouldn’t be the first one to open the kiln and inhale a lethal dose of cyanide?”

  Pat knew the answer to that question because Lillian had told her: Garryn Monteith always insisted on opening the kiln on the last day of class. She knew, but the jury didn’t. And she wondered if the Prosecution did, either, or if that bit of incriminating testimony was only in her head.

  The Prosecution objected, saying the question called for speculation on the coroner’s part; but Mark had done his job well, Pat acknowledged, and the best parts of the trial hadn’t even started yet.

  ※※※※※※※※※※※

  Pat and Syda slipped into court the next day as Judge Blaine was rapping the courtroom to silence and sat near the back of the room, this time on the Defense side. Lillian Wentner was seated in the front row behind her husband, the unofficial site of all loyal wives. Pat noticed Suzanne Cummings and Kandi Crusher near the front of the room together with another woman she recognized from class: Roberta Grumm. She knew all three had damaging things to say about Joe Wentner.

  The Prosecution called Suzanne Cummings to the stand.

  “Have you attended several classes at the Glass House over a period of years?”

  “Yes.”

  “Were you aware that the defendant’s wife, Lillian Wentner, and the murder victim, Garryn Monteith…”

  Mark Bellows was on his feet interrupting the assistant district attorney before he finished his question.

  “Your honor, the Defense stipulates to the fact that Lillian Wentner and Garryn Monteith had a long-term, occasional intimate relationship.”

  Pat heard a muted inhalation of breath in the courtroom.

  Mark’s question had not only startled the courtroom; it threw Robert Smith off his rhythm. The assistant district attorney fumbled through a few more questions that didn’t add to his argument and then turned Suzanne Cummings over to Mark Bellows.

 

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