“Were they down in the quarry with you when you found the revolver?”
“Pine was. Zack, he couldn’t be expected at his age to be scrambling around down there.”
“Did you check it for fingerprints?”
“Yes, I did. Well, actually, I had the state police up to Memphremagog do it. But after being underwater for two, three days, there weren’t any.”
“What did you do next? I mean in your investigation?”
“Well, I dropped by the reverend’s and asked him if he knew where his gun was.”
“You suspected that it might be Reverend Andrews’ revolver?”
“Yes, sir. I’d already had occasion once before to question him about that revolver and I was pretty sure it belonged to him.”
“So you dropped by and asked him if he knew where his gun was?”
“That’s correct. He looked for it, or at least pretended to, and of course he couldn’t produce it. So then I came back to the office and made a few phone calls up to Canada and ascertained that the side arm belonged to him—or at least to the Royal Canadian Air Force, and had been issued to him. Like I said, legally it still belongs to the Air Force.”
“Then what did you do?”
“Then I met with Zack, and we went straight to Judge A with the evidence, and the next day we convened that formal inquest.”
“Now Sheriff, you’ve testified that you already had occasion to talk to Reverend Andrews about the gun. So your trip to his house to inquire whether the gun was in his possession wasn’t your first trip there?”
“No, sir, Brother Charlie.”
“Could you please explain why you went to see him about the gun the first time?”
“Well, there’d been a little mix-up over to the parsonage involving the LaRiviere girl and a . . . well, I guess you could call him a fun-loving local scamp, Resolvèd Kinneson. Resolvèd got hot, as you know, and went up to the parsonage with his shotgun, and instead of waiting for the law to arrive, the preacher began to shoot first and ask questions later.”
“Sheriff, isn’t it true that by the time you did arrive at the parsonage on that night this ‘fun-loving local scamp’ had fired two shotgun blasts into the parsonage?”
“I couldn’t attest to that, Charlie. If any such goings-on did take place, it was before I got there. When I arrived, Andrews there had his gun out and had shot off one of Resolvèd Kinneson’s fingers.”
“We have signed affidavits from three persons telling a very different tale, Sheriff. At any rate, you went to the minister’s house on the following night and questioned him about his gun?”
“I most certainly did.”
“Did you, on two separate occasions during that conversation, address Reverend Andrews as ‘boy’?”
Mason paused. “I can’t precisely recall how I addressed him. He wasn’t cooperating. He was pushing me.”
“Did you, Sheriff White, call Reverend Andrews ‘boy’ and invite him to take a swing at you?”
“He was getting up on his high horse, Charlie. Wouldn’t give me the information I’d asked for.”
“His service discharge papers, for instance?”
“Among other documents.”
“Sheriff, is it customary for you to investigate the victim of a crime more vigorously than the perpetrator?”
“Charlie, to this day I don’t really have any evidence that any crime was ever committed.”
“I have no more questions for this witness at this time, your honor.”
“Redirect, Mr. Barrows?” the judge said.
“No, your honor. Not at this time.”
“You may call your next witness, Mr. Barrows.”
“I call Dr. Perry Harrison,” Zack said. “Because of his expertise and experience in forensic medicine, your honor, Mr. Moulton will question Dr. Harrison.”
The judge nodded, and Painless Perry Harrison moseyed up to the stand, took the oath, and identified a box of slides entered as Exhibit B as those that he had taken of Claire’s corpse. Sigurd Moulton set up a screen and projector in the railed-off space below the judge’s bench while Farlow Blake, at the judge’s instructions, lowered the window shades. It was not very dark in the courtroom, but that was fine with me, this was a show I’d been dreading.
As Moulton slipped in the first slide, the projector jammed. “I never was mechanically inclined,” he quipped. “I’ll warn you ahead of time, I have an infallible gift for breaking every machine I lay my hands on.”
I suppose he wanted to alleviate the tension, since everyone in the room, with the possible exception of the old ghouls of the Folding Chair Club, must have been nervous about what we were going to view. Farlow Blake came gliding to the rescue, all but apologetic as he flipped a lever and fixed the projector. Moulton focused in on an enlarged image of Claire’s body lying on the quarry ledge.
If it was not quite as bad as I’d imagined, the only reason was that nothing could be. The mutilated body looked frail and doll-like. Her torn, bloodstained dress of many colors was hiked up around her waist and she was slumped on her side on the ledge, exactly as I had discovered her. All that was missing was a raven! Thankfully, her face was largely obscured by her hair.
“Dr. Harrison, can you identify this body?”
Moulton spoke in clipped, almost bored accents, as though he’d asked similar questions hundreds of times before. The jury members, who’d seemed somewhat confused by Zack’s ramblings earlier, looked attentively from him to Doc Harrison.
“Yes, sir,” the doctor drawled. “The young woman’s name is—was—Claire LaRiviere.”
“Did you take this slide of her?”
“I had that inestimable privilege.”
“Did you perform an autopsy on this body?”
“On what was left of it.”
“What do you mean when you say ‘what was left of it’? What who left of it?”
“The crows. They arrived first and did their own autopsy. They picked her face clean down to the bone.”
Moulton cut off the gasps from the audience after the briefest pause. “Were you able to ascertain the cause of the young woman’s death?”
“Multiple gunshot wounds.”
“By multiple, Doctor, could you please be specific?”
“The girl was shot six times. Including twice in the chest and once in the head.”
“Could you tell us, Doctor, which of the wounds were responsible for her death?”
“Look at slides number four, five, and six,” Dr. Harrison said. “Any one of them could have been fatal.”
With the occupational irony for which he was famous, Painless Perry added, “Once she was dead, I don’t suppose she could be killed again.”
A couple of the jurors smiled sickly. Two or three of them looked as though they might actually be ill.
In the successive slides, the body was lying on an examining table, partially covered by two white sheets As Moulton clicked them through the projector one after another, Doc Harrison quickly described the nature of each wound. “Gunshot wound to the lower left abdomen, gunshot wound to the right lung, gunshot wound passing through the left temple into the cranium and penetrating the cerebrum . . .”
Once Judge Allen asked for a layman’s equivalent of a medical term, this was the only interruption.
“Dr. Harrison,” Moulton said, “were you able to form an opinion of the nature of the murder weapon?”
“Yes.”
“Would you share your opinion with us, please?”
“It isn’t an opinion, it’s a fact. The murder weapon was a .38 caliber revolver. Three .38 bullets were found in the girl’s body.”
Without fanfare, Moulton entered the bullets as evidence. Then he said, “Doctor, you mentioned six shots. So far we’ve viewed five different wounds. You’ve testified that any one of three of these could have been fatal. I would now like to show you another slide.”
Moulton clicked his final slide onto the screen. “Can you please identi
fy this wound, doctor?”
“That slide depicts a wound to the victim’s vagina, slanting upward into the uterus. It was fired at point-blank range and caused massive internal damage to the genitals and uterus. But not massive enough.”
“Not massive enough, Doctor?” Moulton asked in the stunned silence of the courtroom. “What exactly do you mean by that?”
“Not massive enough,” Doc Harrison said, “to conceal the fact that the girl was at least one month pregnant.”
When the uproar in the room subsided, the prosecutor said, “Could we have light again, please?”
Everyone in the room was grateful to Farlow Blake for pulling up the shades. I blinked, still not quite able to believe what I had seen and heard.
“Just two or three more questions, Doctor. How long have you been the chief county medical examiner?”
“Thirty-four glorious years.”
“In your personal opinion, judging by your nearly three and a half decades of experience, how brutal was this murder?”
Doc Harrison yawned. “The most brutal I’ve ever seen.”
“And finally, would the nature of these wounds lead you to conclude that the murderer was a trained killer?”
“A trained killer?”
“Yes, trained in mortal combat with small weapons. Such as a serviceman is.”
“Objection, your honor,” Charlie said. “He’s leading the witness.”
“Sustained.”
Moulton fixed his mild gaze on the jury for a moment, as though inviting them to consider the implications of his stricken question.
“Thank you, Doctor. Your witness, Mr. Kinneson.”
Charlie stood up. “Just one quick question at this time, Dr. Harrison. You referred to the crime as the most brutal you’ve ever seen. Would you call it the work of a deranged person?”
Moulton was on his feet. “Objection, your honor! Dr. Harrison is a general practitioner, and a very capable one, but no psychiatrist.”
“I’m not asking for a clinical assessment. I’m merely interested in Dr. Harrison’s personal opinion, based on his three and a half decades of experience and his common sense. I hope we aren’t going to rale common sense out of the courtroom, too.”
“You may answer the question, Doctor.”
“Well, as Mr. Moulton pointed out, I’m not a psychiatrist. But yes, I’d be very tempted to call this murder the work of a deranged individual, or at least of someone who temporarily turned into one. In my admittedly limited experience, rational people, even coldblooded murderers, don’t shoot their female victims in the vagina after killing them.”
“Thank you, Doctor. I don’t have any more questions at this time, but I’d like to request that you remain within hailing distance, since I may well want to recall you a bit later.”
Moulton stood up. “Your honor, Dr. Harrison is an extremely busy man with a full schedule. If my young colleague for the defense has any additional questions, he should ask them now.”
Judge Allen asked Dr. Harrison if he had appointments that afternoon, and the doctor looked thoughtful.
“Yes,” he said, “but I’ll postpone them. I’m willing to stay.”
Which, I supposed, was a small victory for Charlie.
The judge looked up at the clock. “It’s almost noon,” he said “We’ll break for lunch and reconvene at one-thirty sharp.”
“All rise,” said Farlow as the judge left. As soon as the judge departed, Charlie and Reverend Andrews sat down again and began to hold a whispered, intense conversation. Charlie seemed to be reassuring him about something, but Reverend Andrews just smiled that ironical smile and shook his head.
Across the aisle Moulton gathered his papers together like a bookkeeper putting his desk in order before going home for the night. As far as he and Zack Barrows were concerned, the case already seemed to be won.
17
I was restless from having to sit still all morning, but Mom made me eat a sandwich with her and Dad over at the Monitor. Then I wandered around on the common for a while. I ran into Justin LaBounty and Al Quinn by the baseball backstop and we made a quick tour of the Harvest Figures around the green, casting a critical eye over the straw shopkeepers in front of the brick shopping block, the lone red-coated straw sentty, dozing with his back against an elm, with a placard around his neck that said SLEEPING ON DUTY, while nearby the statue of Ethan Allen prepared to take Fort Ticonderoga unmolested, and, our favorite, the straw ball player standing at home plate in pinstripes and knickers and a little round pinstriped cap, with a red devil’s tail and horns and a placard announcing, ANOTHER PENNANT FOR THE DAMN YANKEES. Yet like the resplendent hills above the village, the farmers’ displays and Harvest Figures seemed only to accentuate by contrast the grimness of the business inside the courthouse.
“What do you think, Jim?” Justin said. “Does it look as though the jury’s going to find the reverend guilty?”
“Charlie says you never know how a jury’s going to vote until they vote, Justin.”
“Weren’t those slides sickening?” Al said. “I don’t think Reverend Andrews could do anything like that in a million years.”
“Me neither,” Justin said loyally. “But if he didn’t, who in hang did?”
“That’s the question—right, Jim?” Al said.
“That’s the question, all right,” I said. “That’s still the big question Charlie’s got to find the answer to.”
“Well, I’m glad I don’t,” Justin said. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”
“Me neither,” Al said. “There’s your folks, Jim. Your old man’s waving to you. Must be the trial’s about to start.”
“You didn’t try to call us over at the Monitor, did you, Jimmy?” Mom asked me, when I caught up with her and Dad on the courthouse steps.
“Call you? You mean on the phone?”
“Yes. Twice after you left the phone rang, and both times when your father picked it up the line went dead.”
I shook my head. “I was on the common the whole time. Why would I want to call you?”
“Well, somebody did,” Dad said. “Probably some prankster with a warped sense of humor. If I find out who, by God, I’ll muckle—”
“—onto them and throw ’em into the biggest snowbank south of Labrador,” I said.
Dad never cracked a smile. With each passing hour, it seemed he was becoming less optimistic that, as resourceful and determined as Charlie was, he would be able to prove the minister’s innocence.
For once in his career, it seemed that Zack Barrows had all the evidence, and all the help, even he would need to get a conviction.
When the trial resumed, Zack called Julia Hefner as his next witness. Prof Chadburn’s secretary from the Academy, a woman named Vida Potts, temporarily took over Julia’s post at the stenographer’s table.
Zack began by asking Julia if she could recall where she was on the morning of July twenty-eighth, a few days before Old Home Day. Julia said yes, that was the morning she went to the parsonage on a mission.
“What was this mission, Mrs. Hefner?”
“Well, some of the ladies of the church had talked to me and asked me to persuade Reverend Andrews to find more appropriate living arrangements for that LaRiviere girl. Frankly, they didn’t think it looked right. Knowing her background and all.”
“Was that the only purpose of your visit?”
Julia replied by saying that she had also reiterated her plea to Reverend Andrews to look for a housekeeper, partly because if he wouldn’t get rid of the girl, at least it would look better if he had another woman in the house.
“How did the minister reply to your request that he find alternative living arrangements for the LaRiviere girl?”
“Well, he got uppity. He said, very sarcastic, you know, ‘Would you take her, Julia?’ I had the impression, Mr. Barrows, that he had . . . well, private reasons for wanting to keep the girl at his place.”
“Do you recall anything else that
was out of line about the minister’s behavior during your visit?”
“Objection, your honor. Nothing that Mrs. Hefner has told us so far indicates that Reverend Andrews was in any way ‘out of line’ during her visit.”
“Strike the question,” Zack said. “Mrs. Hefner, did you notice anything else that struck you about the minister’s behavior during your visit?”
“Yes, to tell you the truth, I did. I was sitting on the couch, and he was sitting at his desk chair, which was swung around facing me, and all the while we were visiting, I had the feeling that I was being looked at, if you know what I mean. He was looking at me and smiling in a way that made me uncomfortable—just the way he did once before when I asked him and his son to eat dinner with my son and myself. So as soon as I saw I wasn’t going to get anywhere with him about the girl, I high-tailed it out of there as fast as I could!”
I was astonished by this outright lie.
Charlie, however, who knew the whole story was smiling broadly.
’Thank you very much, Mrs. Hefner. That’s all,” Zack said. “Your witness, Charles.”
Still smiling, Charlie got up and walked over to the witness table.
“Julia, you’ve testified that Reverend Andrews sarcastically asked you if you’d take in Claire LaRiviere.”
Julia tossed her head. “Yes, that’s so.”
“He wasn’t serious, then?”
“Oh, he may have been serious and sarcastic at the same time. I think he knew very well that I wasn’t about to take in a stray who had come to town with that filthy fair show. I had the strongest impression that he was determined to keep her right there at the parsonage, no matter what.”
“Why did you decline to have her stay with you, if you were so concerned about Reverend Andrews’ reputation?”
“Well, Charlie Kinneson! I’ve got a teenage son I wouldn’t have exposed to the likes of her for anything in this world. Unlike certain others I could name.”
“Julia, you testified that during your conversation in the parsonage study the minister smiled at you in a certain way that made you uncomfortable, and that he’d done this once before. Exactly what way is that?”
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