They talked as they ate, and Austin had several helpings of fried chicken. Jazz brought out a chess pie and coffee after they’d finished, and both Shenandoah and Austin complained about being too full.
Checking her watch and seeing that she had ten minutes to get to the courthouse, Shenandoah shoved her chair back and said, “Austin, I’ve got to go. Can you drive me back?”
Austin glanced at Jazz and then back at Shenandoah. “Yeah, sure.”
As they left the kitchen, Shenandoah said, “Thanks for lunch, Jazz.”
In the car on the way back to the courthouse, Shenandoah turned to Austin and asked, “You got something going with Jazz?”
“No comment.”
“She looks at you like she could eat you alive.”
“She’s cool.”
“You think it’ll get serious?”
“Shenandoah, I haven’t got time for a serious relationship.”
They arrived at the courthouse with two minutes to spare. Shenandoah rushed into the courtroom and took her seat as Judge Grant’s gavel hit its mark.
With the coroner seated, Jake Watson took a notepad and walked to the witness stand. Glancing at his notes, he said, “Doctor, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“Certainly.”
“You identified the barbiturate in Lillian Johnson’s blood, didn’t you?”
“Secobarbital sodium. Seconal.”
“Seconal is what? The trade name?”
“Yes.”
“Does it come in an injectable form?”
“No.”
“And yet you say that it in your opinion, the drug was given by injection.”
“It’s water soluble. If someone wanted immediate results, it could be given intravenously.”
“The person would have to dissolve the capsules in water.”
“Yes.”
“I’d like you to repeat some of the qualities of this drug. I hate to make you do this twice, but I think it’s important.”
“It’s a short-acting barbiturate used mostly for sleep. It’s habit forming and can be obtained only with a prescription.”
“Tell us again how it works.”
“It depresses the sensory cortex. It’s dose related.”
“Try to explain that in simple terms.”
“It decreases brain activity, and that causes the individual to lose consciousness. A high enough dose will cause death.”
“The individual stops breathing?”
“Yes.”
“What is the lethal dose?”
“One to two grams orally. Administered directly into a vein, it would take less.”
“How much of this drug did you find in Lillian Johnson’s blood?”
“Two grams.”
“A lethal dose.”
“Correct.”
“Doctor, I’d like to present you with a hypothetical question.”
“Okay.”
“If a trained medical professional were to inject a dose of medication into the vein of a patient, would he or she use one that came in an injectable form, or one that required dissolving capsules in water?”
“Objection. The witness can’t be expected to second-guess what some hypothetical doctor might do,” Thelonious said.
“Sustained. Keep to the facts in this case, Mr. Watson,” Judge Grant said, then added, “The jury will disregard the statement.”
“Doctor, what else did your autopsy reveal?” Jake asked.
“The deceased suffered from multiple sclerosis and cancer of the colon.”
“Would you describe the cancer as terminal?”
“Objection. The witness doesn’t have a crystal ball. The defense is leading the witness,” Thelonious said.
“Sustained.” The judge repeated his admonishment to the jury. “Let me rephrase my question. Had the cancer spread to other parts of the body?”
“Yes.”
“Did the cancer invade the spine?”
“Yes.”
“Anywhere else?”
“Liver and abdominal cavity.”
“In your opinion as a medical doctor, would the cancer cells in the spine cause severe, unrelenting pain?”
“Yes.”
Jake smiled. Facing the jury, he said, “No further questions, Your Honor.”
Thelonious, composed now, stood and said, “The state calls Sheriff Jasper Kingman.”
It had never occurred to Shenandoah that the sheriff would be a prosecution witness, though it made sense when she thought of it. The sheriff would be called to the scene of an unexpected death.
Jasper Kingman sat in the witness chair after taking the oath. He was perspiring heavily, dark crescents under each arm and heavy beads of sweat across his forehead. His breath came quickly, as if he’d run down the stairs from his office.
Thelonious said, “State your name and occupation for the court.”
“Jasper Kingman, sheriff of Parsons County.”
“In the course of your duties as sheriff of Parsons County, were you called to the home of Lillian Johnson on March 23, 1952?”
“Yes, at one o’clock in the afternoon.”
“And what did you find at the scene of the crime?”
Jake leaned forward and said, “Objection. Your Honor, we are here today to decide whether a crime has occurred. At that point in time or even today, the sheriff could not know whether the house in question was a crime scene.”
“Sustained. Continue, Mr. Flatt.”
Thelonious glared at Jake. It was the first time Shenandoah had seen him display any emotion. Jake simply smiled.
“When you entered the room, what did you observe?”
“I found the deceased slumped in her wheelchair with her head rolled to one side, her eyes open. I felt for a pulse in her neck, and when I couldn’t detect one, I realized she was dead.”
“You looked around the room, I’m sure. Did you see or find anything out of the ordinary?”
“I found an empty glass syringe next to the wheelchair.”
“Like one a doctor would use to give a shot.”
“Yes.”
“What did you do next?”
“I pushed it into a paper bag with the blade of my pocketknife.”
“So you wouldn’t disturb fingerprints?”
“Correct.”
Thelonious walked to the prosecutor’s table and picked up a small object. Shenandoah couldn’t see what it was. The prosecutor handed it to the court reporter and asked her to mark it Exhibit A for the prosecution. Then he gave it to the sheriff and asked, “Is this the syringe you found?”
Taking it, the sheriff said, “It looks the same. They all look alike to me.”
“Does it look similar to the one you found in terms of size and shape?”
“Yes.”
“Like the one you sent to Nashville?”
“Yes.”
“What did you do next?”
“Called Army, her husband, and then the funeral home in Cookeville. Walton’s.”
“No further questions, Your Honor.”
Jake got up from his chair slowly, as if he had arthritic joints, and walked to where the sheriff sat. “I’ll make my questions short and to the point. When you found Lillian Johnson in her wheelchair, did you see any sign of a struggle?”
“No, she looked real peaceful.”
“Her hair wasn’t messed up, her clothes pulled sideways? Nothing like that?”
“No.”
“How were you summoned? Who called you?”
“Lillian’s younger sister, Trudy Underwood.”
“When she phoned you, what did she say?”
“She was hysterical—you know, sobbing. Said her sister was dead.”
“Thank you, Sheriff. That’s all.”
Thelonious stood and said, “The state calls Jack Key.”
He waited for the witness to take the oath and then said, “State your name and occupation for the court.”
“Jack Key. I work
in the Nashville field office of the TBCI.”
“What do those initials stand for? And tell us something about your duties.”
“TBCI stands for Tennessee Bureau of Criminal Identification. I collect evidence from crime scenes, dust for fingerprints, and send them to the national data bank, things like that.”
“In the course of your duties as a fingerprint specialist, did you have an occasion to examine a glass syringe recovered from the home of one Lillian Johnson here in Round Rock, Tennessee?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Would you explain your findings to the jury?”
“I found two distinct sets of prints. One belonged to the deceased, and the other to the defendant, Dr. Katherine Marlow. But there was no print on the plunger, as one might suspect.”
“No other prints were present?”
“No.”
“Thank you, Mr. Key. No further questions.”
Jake walked to the witness stand and stood facing the TBCI man. He stroked his chin as if in deep thought. “Mr. Key, do you not find it interesting that the deceased’s prints were on the syringe? I mean, if it was Dr. Kate’s syringe, one would expect Dr. Kate’s prints to be there, but not those of the deceased’s. And why would there be no print on the plunger?”
“Maybe Mrs. Johnson picked it up for some reason. I don’t know. All I can tell you is that there were two sets of prints, and they were very distinct. I have no idea why there wasn’t a print on the plunger.”
Jake shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. “It seems strange to me. Thank you, Mr. Key. That’s all.”
Judge Grant looked at Thelonious and asked, “Do you have another witness?”
“Yes, Your Honor, I have three: Maxwell Christopher, Trudy Underwood, and Army Johnson.”
“Will it be a lengthy presentation? Over two hours?”
“Yes, I think it will.”
“Very well. Court is adjourned until nine in the morning.”
Thelonious and Baxter Hargrove left quickly as they always did, but Jake and the two women stayed at the defense table, talking. Rebecca soon got up and walked up the aisle, but Jake continued to sit at the table, writing on a notepad. As he did every day, Deputy Masterson escorted Kate back to jail. Shenandoah walked to the front so she could say something to Jake, who was stuffing papers into his briefcase.
“Jake, I’ve been meaning to ask you why you’re having so much trouble getting up and down. I’ve never noticed that you had arthritis.”
Jake smiled. “Just a ploy, my dear—trying to wring a little sympathy out of the jury. But don’t put that in your article.”
Chapter 13
As Shenandoah left the courthouse, she realized she had time to catch Bobby at the garage. She wanted to apologize for doing such a poor job as a baby-sitter, particularly since she hadn’t known what to do with the soiled diaper, pants, and rug.
When she entered the garage, the radio was playing “It Wasn’t God Who Made Honky-Tonk Angels” by Kitty Wells. She didn’t see Bobby anywhere. A ‘46 Ford convertible sat in the middle of the floor, but no one was on the creeper.
Army’s office was also empty, so Shenandoah wandered out to the backyard where she found Bobby sitting on a concrete block, his face smeared with grease and a pan of engine parts on the ground in front of him. He was washing them with gasoline. As usual, he looked a handsome mess.
“I’ve been looking all over for you. What in the world are you doing?”
“Cleaning a carburetor. What’s up?”
“Is that all you listen to, that country music?”
“It’s all the station in Cookeville plays, and the only other one we get is WSM out of Nashville.”
Shenandoah bent down to give him a kiss and finally put her lips on his neck, the only grease-free spot she could find.
“Prosecutor’s going to put Army on the stand tomorrow. Have you talked to him?” Shenandoah asked.
Bobby picked up a small screw for the carburetor, dried it with a shop towel, then placed it on the grass next to him. A wisp of hair slapped against his face by a sudden gust of wind.
“He’s pissed off about it, but he doesn’t have a choice—he was subpoenaed. He’s got another problem too. Some asshole in Celina is trying to cut in on our business. Army’s mad as a wet hen. He went to Nashville yesterday to talk to his suppliers, and I’ve got to make an unscheduled run tomorrow night.”
“I wish you wouldn’t. I worry myself sick that you’re going to get killed in that hot rod.”
Bobby laughed, a snorting sound, and extended his hand so Shenandoah could pull him to his feet. He moved into Shenandoah’s arms and rubbed his cheek against hers, smearing her with grease. Then he looked at her over the tip of his nose. “Don’t worry about me. I know what I’m doing. I can outdrive every cop and sheriff in this state.”
Shenandoah held Bobby at arm’s length and stared into his blue eyes. Her heart pounded, and she felt a remarkable sensation between her legs.
A sly grin passed over Bobby’s face, and he said, “You beginning to like me, girl?”
“Damn it, Bobby, yes. Against my better judgment.”
“Bless your heart. That’s music to my ears, girl. Makes me happier than a hog in mud. Here, help me get the gasoline back in the can.”
Shenandoah held the red gasoline can and a funnel while Bobby poured the dirty liquid. He carried the carburetor into the garage, and she followed him. After placing the parts on the workbench, he turned off the radio. Shenandoah stood and watched as Bobby began to degrease his hands.
“You clean up real good, boy. I don’t know how you manage to look so damn handsome with all that grease smeared on your face. You amaze me.”
“It’s my nature. What can I say? There’s a movie I’d like to see in Cookeville. Want to come?”
“Tonight?”
“Yeah.”
“I’d love to, but Jake and Dr. Kate are having a conference tonight, and they’ve asked me to sit in.”
Shenandoah wasn’t prepared for the reaction that followed.
As he scowled, Bobby’s face turned beet red, and he said, “Forget it. I’ll go by myself.”
“Bobby, for God’s sake, what’s the matter?”
“You hurt my feelings. What can I say? I can’t help it. You just drive me crazy.”
“See. This is what I was afraid of. We’re getting too attached. Both of us. It’s better that we slow this down.”
A tear slid down Bobby’s grease-smeared cheek, making a white trail.
Shenandoah felt her heart speed up and she wanted to hold him in her arms, but she knew that wasn’t a good idea. Instead, she said, “I’m sorry, Bobby. I really do care for you. I just think our relationship is doomed before it can get started.”
Bobby sniffed and, looking at her with the saddest eyes Shenandoah had ever seen, said, “I reckon you ought to go now, Shenandoah. I’ve bitten off more than I can chew.”
“I’m sorry, Bobby, I really am. We just need to stay friends.”
“Please go, Shenandoah.”
She turned without another word and headed for the door. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Bobby wipe his nose with the back of his hand, his face twisted in agony.
* * *
Confused and disheartened, Shenandoah headed back to the boarding house. A terrible emptiness gripped the pit of her stomach, an acid-laced emptiness that a ton of Tums wouldn’t help.
She’d just turned onto Main Street when she felt a terrific jolt hit her car from behind. Glancing in the rearview mirror, she saw the Dodge pickup. It was pushing her down the street at a frightening speed. The speedometer read sixty and climbing. It was all she could do to keep the Bel Air in the center of the street. Then the pickup slowed and rammed her again, this time with so much force that she lost control. Her car jumped the curb, crossed the sidewalk, and just missed a huge maple tree. She was finally able to slam on the brakes and bring the car to a stop. The pickup sat in the middle of Main
Street, its exhaust rumbling as the big V8 idled. Seconds later it sped off.
Shenandoah felt herself hyperventilating and held her breath. When her heart rate slowed, she carefully drove over someone’s lawn and headed back toward the street. She drove to Hattie Mae’s house with one eye on the road and one on the rearview mirror.
Hattie Mae and Mr. Applebee were sitting on the front porch. She had her Walton’s Funeral Home paper fan in her hand, and her hair, nicely combed that morning, now stuck out in every direction.
“I declare, Shenandoah, honey, it’s just too hot to cook. I made us some sandwiches, and we’ll eat ‘em out here on the porch. That okay?” She frowned. “Something wrong, honey? You’re white as a sheet.”
“Someone in a Dodge pickup has it in for me. He just ran me off the road.”
“Reckon it’s the same fellow who slashed your tires?”
“Yes. No doubt about it.”
“Lord, child. That makes me a nervous wreck, too. You need to be careful.”
“If I could just find out who it is, I’d take a pound of flesh, believe me.”
Mr. Applebee snorted and rolled over on his back, all four legs aimed at the sky. He looked dead except for the heaving of his chest. Hattie Mae stroked his chin. “Poor dear,” she said. “This heat’s going to kill us both.”
Shenandoah started toward the screen door, and Hattie Mae said, “The sandwiches’re made. Want to eat at the regular time?”
“Let me freshen up. I’ve got some work to do. Call me around 5:20 or so, and I’ll help you bring everything out.”
Shenandoah went to her room, took a cold shower, and put on a clean blouse. (She’d found a small laundry and cleaners on the square behind the courthouse after the incident with Wally’s diaper.) Shenandoah spent an hour going over her notes, and when Hattie Mae called her, she joined the older woman in the kitchen. Hattie Mae loaded a platter with egg salad sandwiches, potato chips, pickles, and olives and handed it to Shenandoah. Two glasses of iced tea sat on the cabinet.
They settled into the porch swing and balanced the plates on their knees. Mr. Applebee paced back and forth in front of them. Hattie Mae tore off a piece of her sandwich and hurled it at him. He caught it deftly and gulped it down. After they finished eating, Shenandoah helped Hattie Mae carry the dishes to the kitchen, and then she drove to the courthouse.
The Trial of Dr. Kate Page 22