Evidence of Blood

by Thomas H. Cook

  HALGRAVE: Good as any.

  WARFIELD: Would you say that good friends often try to help each other, Mr. Halgrave?

  HALGRAVE: I guess.

  WARFIELD: That if a friend were in trouble, they might try to get them out of it?

  HALGRAVE: I guess so.

  WARFIELD: Would you say that a person who was on trial for his life, would you say that that person was in trouble?

  HALGRAVE: ’Course they are.

  WARFIELD: I’d like to go on to something else, if I may, Mr. Halgrave. You testified that Charlie Overton was not a violent man, isn’t that right?

  HALGRAVE: That’s right.

  WARFIELD: And that he was very sick on the morning of July 2?

  HALGRAVE: He was throwing up by his truck.

  WARFIELD: Yes, I heard your testimony. I believe you also stated that Charlie Overton …here it is in my notes …that Overton looked “white as a ghost.” Were those your words?

  HALGRAVE: That’s how he looked, yes, sir.

  WARFIELD: Mr. Halgrave, would you say that a man who was not normally a violent man, but who was planning on murdering a little girl in just a few hours, would you say that such a man might look a bit shaken?

  TALBOTT: Objection, Your Honor.

  WARFIELD: That he might look sick, that he might be …

  TALBOTT: Objection!

  WARFIELD: “White as a ghost”?

  COURT: Sustained.

  WARFIELD: No further questions, Your Honor.

  Nor any need for them, Kinley thought, considering how effectively Warfield had dismantled the already frail vessel of Halgrave’s testimony, turning positives into negatives in a case where there had been few positives to begin with.

  Kinley flipped back to the beginning of the volume and let his eyes sweep down the witness list to make sure he’d read it correctly the first time, that Talbott had called only three witnesses on Overton’s behalf. A quick glance confirmed his original conclusion. Only three witnesses to save Charles Overton’s life.

  He returned his attention to the transcripts and began reading at the Court’s instruction to Talbott: Call your next witness, sir.

  THIRTEEN

  Her name was Betty Gaines, and almost from the moment he began reading her testimony, Kinley realized that she’d been a reluctant witness. Her answers came haltingly and with a strange, vaporous insubstantiality, as if she were testifying to the contents of a dream. It was the kind of testimony Kinley had become familiar with, and in his experience it had always signalled either that the witnesses were afraid of the testimony, or had some doubts about its veracity.

  TALBOTT: You’re acquainted with Charlie Overton, aren’t you, Miss Gaines?

  (WITNESS DOES NOT RESPOND)

  TALBOTT: Miss Gaines?

  GAINES: Yes, sir.

  TALBOTT: Did you hear the question, Miss Gaines?

  GAINES: Would you repeat it, please?

  TALBOTT: I asked if you knew Charlie Overton.

  GAINES: He works at Thompson’s, like I do.

  TALBOTT: And did you see him on the morning of July 2 at the courthouse construction site?

  GAINES: It was a pretty day, I think. It was sunny.

  TALBOTT: Why were you at the site that morning, Miss Gaines?

  GAINES: I came down with the orders. Deliveries. Things come down there. Things are delivered.

  TALBOTT: And the workers at the site, they have to be ready to unload these things, isn’t that right?

  GAINES: You got to be ready when things come around.

  TALBOTT: And so you went down to the site to let the foreman know what deliveries he could expect on that day?

  GAINES: I let Luther know.

  TALBOTT: You spoke to Luther Snow, is that right?

  GAINES: I gave him the orders, you know, what was coming.

  TALBOTT: And while you were there, did you see Charlie Overton?

  GAINES: Yes.

  TALBOTT: Where did you see him?

  GAINES: At the hole where the flagpole was going to be. The ground was still mushy-like, and he was complaining about it, ’cause it was going to be a week before it was dried out.

  TALBOTT: So he was in front of the courthouse with the construction crew, that day?

  GAINES: Yes, sir. They was lots of people there that morning, ’cause a lot was being done for the Independence Day thing.

  TALBOTT: The celebration.

  GAINES: Yes, sir.

  TALBOTT: Charlie Overton was working at the courthouse that morning, wasn’t he?

  GAINES: Yes, he was.

  TALBOTT: And Charlie came up to you, didn’t he?

  GAINES: Yes, he did.

  TALBOTT: What did he tell you, Miss Gaines?

  GAINES: He said, “I’m sick, ma’am. I think I got to go home.”

  TALBOTT: Did he look sick?

  GAINES: Yeah, he looked sick.

  TALBOTT: What happened then?

  GAINES: I said “Well, you picked a good day for it, ‘cause Luther says it’s too wet to put the pole up anyway, so you better go on home and get some rest.”

  TALBOTT: And did he do that?

  GAINES: Do what?

  TALBOTT: Did you see him get in his truck and leave for home?

  GAINES: Yes, sir. And the courthouse clock struck twelve-thirty.

  TALBOTT: And did he look ill at that time?

  GAINES: He looked the same that he looked when he talked to me.

  TALBOTT: Thank you, Miss Gaines. Nothing more, Your Honor.

  COURT: Any cross, Mr. Warfield?

  WARFIELD: No, Your Honor. I have no need for it.

  Kinley smiled. It had been a very shrewd move on Warfield’s part. By telling the Court he had “no need” to cross-examine Betty Gaines, he had reduced her already weak testimony to complete insubstantiality in the jury’s mind.

  Talbott’s last witness was Overton’s wife, Sarah Ann Overton, and her testimony was brief and to the point. Under Talbott’s questioning, she told the jury that she’d spent all of July 2 at home. She’d been in the last weeks of her pregnancy, and the terrible heat of mid-summer had made things very difficult for her. She’d found it necessary to restrict her movements drastically, and from the middle of June onward, she’d remained virtually a prisoner within her house. “Charlie just brought me what I needed,” she told the court. “Food and things. But me, I just stayed home and sat out on the porch.”

  TALBOTT: And were you doing that on the afternoon of July 2, 1954, at around three in the afternoon?

  OVERTON: Yes, sir.

  TALBOTT: Did your husband come home at that time?

  OVERTON: Yes, sir.

  TALBOTT: What was he wearing, Mrs. Overton?

  OVERTON: His work clothes.

  TALBOTT: The same that he’d worn to work that morning?

  OVERTON: Yes, sir.

  TALBOTT: How did they look when he returned home at three that afternoon?

  OVERTON: They looked a little dirty.

  TALBOTT: Dirty how, Mrs. Overton?

  OVERTON: They had some grease on them.

  TALBOTT: Where was this grease, Mrs. Overton?

  OVERTON: On the front of his shirt.

  TALBOTT: Like he’d been lying under a …

  WARFIELD: Objection, calling for a conclusion.

  TALBOTT: Is that all that was on his shirt?

  OVERTON: Grit, dirt. I noticed that.

  TALBOTT: Where was this?

  OVERTON: On the back of his pants and his shirt.

  TALBOTT: As if he’d been lying on his back?

  WARFIELD: Same objection, Your Honor.

  TALBOTT: Where did your husband say he got this grit and grease?

  OVERTON: From working on the truck. He said the oil pan had started leaking, and that he’d had to crawl under the truck to try to fix it.

  TALBOTT: Had he fixed it?

  OVERTON: No, sir. He left it on the road.

  TALBOTT: When did he go back to fix it?

&nb
sp; OVERTON: Just a little while after he got home.

  TALBOTT: Now, Mrs. Overton. On the day the truck broke down, and your husband walked home, did you see any blood on your husband’s clothes?

  OVERTON: No, sir.

  TALBOTT: Mrs. Overton, are you a Christian?

  OVERTON: Yes, sir.

  TALBOTT: Mrs. Overton, would you lie to Jesus Christ?

  OVERTON: No, sir, I would not.

  TALBOTT: Now, people, they’ll say, “Well, sure, she’s lying to save her husband.” But that oath you took before your testimony, that was to God, wasn’t it, and to his son, Jesus. That’s the way you see the oath, isn’t that right, Mrs. Overton?

  OVERTON: Yes, sir.

  TALBOTT: Now, I ask you again: Would you lie after taking that oath?

  OVERTON: No, sir, I wouldn’t.

  TALBOTT: Mrs. Overton, I want to ask you again, was there any blood on your husband’s clothes when he came home on the afternoon of July 2, 1954?

  OVERTON: No, sir, there was not.

  TALBOTT: No further questions, Your Honor.

  This time Warfield had chosen to cross-examine the witness, but it was a decidedly gentle cross-examination, a style Kinley had seen before, and recognized as being affordable only to an attorney who had already won his case and did not want to risk it by alienating the jury with a cruel examination.

  WARFIELD: You were very much in what we call a family way on July 2, weren’t you, Mrs. Overton?

  OVERTON: Yes, sir.

  WARFIELD: And since that time, you’ve actually had that child, isn’t that true?

  OVERTON: Yes, sir. I had it two days after my husband was arrested.

  WARFIELD: A little girl, I believe?

  OVERTON: Yes, sir.

  WARFIELD: Named Dora, I understand.

  OVERTON: Yes, sir.

  WARFIELD: Of course, in your position, with a newborn baby, I guess you have your hands full, isn’t that right?

  OVERTON: Yes, sir, I do.

  WARFIELD: Is this your first child?

  OVERTON: Yes.

  WARFIELD: And being a good mother, you would want to be able to provide for that, wouldn’t you?

  OVERTON: Yes, sir.

  WARFIELD: That’s something a Christian is supposed to do, isn’t it? Provide for the children. I mean, the Bible teaches that.

  OVERTON: Yes, it does.

  WARFIELD: And that would be very difficult without your husband, wouldn’t it, Mrs. Overton?

  OVERTON: Yes, sir, it would.

  WARFIELD: You would like for Charlie to come home so he can help provide for this new child, wouldn’t you?

  (WITNESS DOES NOT RESPOND)

  COURT: Answer the question, please, Mrs. Overton.

  OVERTON: Well, of course, I would.

  WARFIELD: Thank you, ma’am. No further questions.

  With that final, understated civility, Warfield had ended the testimonial phase of the trial. The only things that remained were the summations, but as he glanced at the clock, then down at the substantial number of pages in Warfield’s and Talbott’s closing statements, Kinley decided to wait until the next day before beginning.

  On the way out, he dropped by William Warfield’s office once again.

  “Your father did a very good job,” Kinley said as he peeped briefly through the open door.

  Warfield could hardly be seen behind an enormous stack of papers. “That doesn’t surprise me,” he said.

  “Did you ever see him work?”

  “Lots of times,” Warfield said. “He was the best pure trial lawyer Sequoyah ever produced.” He smiled. “Of course, I’m a little prejudiced, I guess.”

  “I don’t suppose you ever discussed the Overton case with him?” Kinley said.

  “Not much about it, anyway.”

  “He never voiced any doubts?”

  “About what?”

  “Overton’s guilt.”

  Warfield laughed softly. “Are you kidding? You’ve been reading the transcript. Do you have any doubts?”

  Kinley shrugged. “In a murder case, I feel better when there’s a body.”

  “Well, sure,” Warfield said. “I’m sure my father would have felt better about that, too. But they had that bloody dress, of course, and there was no doubt that it was Ellie Dinker’s.”

  “Did your father ever mention what he thought might have been done with the body?”

  “You mean what Overton did with it?”

  “Yes.”

  Warfield thought a moment. “Under water,” he said finally. “My father pretty much felt that that was the only way Overton could have gotten rid of it. He thought he must have thrown it into the river.”

  “What river?”

  “Rocky River,” Warfield said, “the one that flows through the canyon. You know, out there where Ray Tindall died.”

  FOURTEEN

  Lois arrived at the house on Beaumont Street only a few minutes after Kinley returned from the courthouse. She was wearing a gray suit, and looked more like a woman who’d just rushed up the streets of Manhattan than someone who’d lived in Sequoyah for almost thirty years. She had never lost her midwestern accent, and because of that, Kinley found her voice refreshing, a sudden reminder that other places existed beyond those he’d been reading about all day—narrow, tree-lined streets and forest paths, woods, canyons, a green churning river.

  “I wasn’t sure I’d catch you here,” she said.

  She was standing on the small front porch, still separated from him by the screen door, her face webbed by its slender metal squares, and for a moment she reminded him of Dora Overton, the same dark eyes and determined face, the same resilience and firmness that Ray had no doubt found attractive in both women.

  “Since you’ve gotten so into whatever it is Serena’s worried about, I wanted to show you what I took from Ray’s file cabinet,” she added matter-of-factly. She lifted a large manila envelope toward him. “This should do a little to get her off that particular kick.”

  Kinley opened the screen door and took the envelope from her hand. “Thanks, Lois,” he said as he drew the door closed again. “I’ll read it tonight.”

  Lois did not move. “Well, I don’t want to be pushy,” she said, “but would you mind if I came in?” It was not a request.

  “Of course,” Kinley said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d come by for a visit.”

  “I’m not mad at you, Jack,” Lois explained. “I just want things laid to rest.”

  “I understand,” Kinley told her as he stepped back to let her pass.

  Lois walked directly into the living room and sat down on the sofa by the window.

  “Want something to drink?” Kinley asked as he joined her there. “Not that I know where Ray kept his liquor.”

  “Over the kitchen sink,” Lois said. “But, no thanks.”

  Kinley sat down in the small chair across from the sofa. “So, how are you doing?” he asked idly.

  Lois drew in a quick, faintly irritated breath. “I won’t be long, Jack,” she said. “I just wanted to give you those files and tell you again that I don’t want Serena to spend her life wondering what happened to her father. At least, as far as his death is concerned. As far as this other matter, I …”

  “She won’t hear about that from me,” Kinley assured her. “I know how to keep things off the record. I’m sure Dora would want it that way, too.”

  Lois’s eyes narrowed intently. “You talked to Dora Overton?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did she say?”

  “Nothing unusual,” Kinley said.

  “About her and Ray? The affair, you mean?”

  Kinley nodded. “Yes,” he said, then shifted awkwardly in his seat. “I don’t know whether it matters to you or not, Lois,” he told her. “But I think she cared a great deal for Ray, and he probably felt the same way about her.”

  Lois stared at him icily.

  “Whatever it was between them,” Kinley added. “It
had to do with love.”

  “And that makes it okay?”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  “It’s me. I’m the problem. Is that what you think, Jack?”

  “About what?”

  “About Ray and Dora,” Lois said.

  “I don’t know about these things, Lois,” Kinley said, “but I do think there was something between Ray and Dora that was …well, that wasn’t just a …”