The Widow's Husband

by William Coleman

  On the road her thoughts went to Allan sitting at the table in the front of the courtroom. He never said a word and she never saw his face but she had a feeling there was something different about him. She couldn’t put her finger on what it was. She considered her mind might be playing tricks on her. Yet, she couldn’t stop thinking about it.

  A man stepped into the street in front of her and she slammed on her brakes screeching to a halt only inches from hitting him. She looked at the man with anger in her eyes and what she saw staring back at her was pure fear. The man was scared to death. And it dawned on her what was different about Allan. In all the years she had known him, he had been afraid of everything. He was afraid of driving. He feared confrontation. He hated to deal with people. He had never done a book signing because he was afraid of being around people for too long. The fact he could board a plane always amazed her. The man was a wimp, afraid of his own shadow. Yet, in the courtroom he sat with his back straight. He did not shake. He did not fidget the way he always did. He was not afraid.

  She realized things could easily turn for the worst. If Allan was no longer afraid, he might be able to convince people he was indeed Allan Tuttle. If he did that, she would be in serious trouble. She had to think of some way to be sure he never got the chance to prove who he really was.

  An image of Mrs. Login flashed in her mind. The frail woman falling backward and landing on the floor. Blood flowing from the head wound. Sarah leaning forward to move the body, only when the head rolled her way it was not Mrs. Login at all. It was Allan. Sarah grinned at herself in the rearview mirror.

  Chapter 62

  (The Courthouse)

  Carl stood in the back of the courtroom during the preliminary hearing, such as it was. The expression on the prosecuting attorney’s face just after the defense announced the supposed murder victim was actually their client, almost made him laugh out loud. Carl seemed to be the only one in the courtroom who wasn’t surprised to hear the claim. Even Mrs. Tuttle was shaken up by it, although Carl suspected her surprise was not for the same reason as everyone else’s.

  After the lawyers were called into the judge’s chambers, Carl slipped out of the room before anyone noticed him. Just outside the door, he came upon the defense attorney’s investigator. Carl hadn’t seen him in court but gave no indication he was surprised to see the other.

  “Carl isn’t it?” the investigator said.

  “That’s right,” Carl said. “And you’re Monte.”

  “The one and only,” Monte smiled. “Were you in the hearing?”

  “I was,” Carl said. “Is that why you’re here?”

  “Naw,” Monte said. “I gave my report. Inconclusive. Couldn’t find a thing to help identify the man.”

  “So you’re done?” Carl said. “Your boss doesn’t want anything more?”

  “Of course he wants more,” Monte said. “But what can I do? There’s nothing to go on. Allan Tuttle has no family except his wife and she says he’s the dead guy.”

  “She was here today,” Carl said.

  “Who?”

  “The wife.”

  “Really?”

  “Sitting near the back,” Carl said.

  “That’s not really unusual,” Monte said. “I mean if her husband was murdered she’d want to be sure the guy who did it went to jail.”

  “But you know how she was while we watched her,” Carl said. “Not exactly the grieving widow. Hell, she even had dinner with some guy one night.”

  “Dinner?” Monte asked. “When? With who?”

  “It was the night I put the tap on her phone,” Carl said. “And the guy was Detective Dave Parker.”

  “From the case?” Monte asked.

  “None other,” Carl grinned.

  Monte whistled. “Makes you wonder.”

  “How about you and I get a drink,” Carl said. “We could bring our files along and compare notes. Maybe we could help each other make our clients happy.”

  “I’d have to go by the office to get my file,” Monte said.

  “Hey,” Carl smiled and spread his arms. “I don’t have anything to do. We can meet somewhere. You name the place.”

  “I could use a drink,” Monte said. He started nodding his head like he finally made up his mind. “Sure I’ll meet you. We can go to a place I know. They’ve got good food and a hell of a wine selection.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Carl said. “What’s it called?”

  “The Silver Spoon,” Monte said. “I’ll give you directions.”

  “No need,” Carl said. “I know the place. It’s where Sarah Tuttle had dinner with that cop.”

  “You’re kidding?”

  “No kidding,” Carl said. “That’ll be fine. I’ll meet you there.”

  “Okay,” Monte said. “What time?”

  “Let’s get our things together and meet in about an hour,” Carl said. “Does that give you enough time?”

  “An hour?” Monte said. “I can be there in thirty minutes. If I get there first I’ll get us a table.”

  “Okay,” Carl said. “Something private if they’ve got it. So we can talk.”

  “Sure thing,” Monte said. “I don’t think we’ll get any farther than we already have. I was pretty thorough.”

  “I was thorough too,” Carl said. “If we pool what we know, we might find we each have a part of the puzzle the other doesn’t have. If not, I can use the drink anyway.”

  They went their separate ways, Monte driving off in the direction of his home to get his file on the Tuttle case. Carl watched him drive away before returning to the courthouse again. He wanted to find out what happened in judge’s chambers.

  He looked for Bolder's lawyer as well as the district attorney. Wanting to slip in close to one of the attorneys and try to eavesdrop, he searched the halls unsuccessfully for them. No one he asked knew where they could be found. He waited around for nearly the full half hour before giving up. Checking his watch, he decided he should probably start for the restaurant. He didn’t really think he would learn anything new from the local investigator. He was stalled out on the case and was willing to try anything. Besides, he could really use a drink.

  He walked out of the courthouse and down the steps to the sidewalk that ran to the parking lot where his car was. He wondered if the lawyer would have parked in the same lot. Reaching the rental he slid in behind the driver’s seat and started the engine.

  He backed out of his space bumping the car in the space directly behind him. He considered only for an instant getting out to make sure there was no damage. Concluded he wasn’t going fast enough to do any real damage and not wanting to waste the time, in true big city fashion Carl drove away without a glance in his rearview mirror. Because he did not look back he did not notice the large black car that pulled out just after him, following at a safe distance.

  Carl turned in the direction of the restaurant and started rehearsing in his head how he was going to get the information he needed from Monte, if the man had it, without letting the other investigator know too much of his own detail. Sharing information was fine. Carl was just a little competitive and liked to keep the upper hand whenever he could. He wasn’t about to let some local private dick get to the truth before he did.

  Reaching the main road, Carl merged into traffic and adjusted his speed to match the other cars. It amazed him that the main drag in this town was only two lanes. Where he grew up the alleys were wider. He was sure to go crazy if he stayed too long. So, he was eager to put the case behind him. Ironically, Gary Rivers considered it finished. Carl just couldn’t walk away without knowing everything.

  With his mind preoccupied, Carl never noticed the black car from the courthouse as it pulled into traffic just three cars behind him.

  Chapter 63

  (Judge’s Chambers)

  “What is going on here, gentlemen?” Joyce asked once the three of them settled into seats. She was not a judge to be played with and both men knew it. She had a re
putation for not tolerating what she called ‘useless motions’. In essence, if she felt the lawyer was trying to file a motion in order to stall proceedings, her anger was reflected in the decisions she made throughout the trial. Both men knew this. James had a slight grin on his lips as he waited for Ben’s explanation.

  “My client believes he is Allan Tuttle,” Ben said. “If he is, he cannot be tried for murdering Allan Tuttle. If he isn’t, I believe it would be appropriate to have his mental state evaluated.”

  “Ben, you can’t believe the man is Tuttle,” James said. “Tuttle’s dead.”

  “Says who?” Ben asked.

  “Says the coroner,” James said.

  “The man in his cooler is dead,” Ben said. “But he has no way to identify the body. He had no identification. His fingerprints are not on file. He’s a John Doe.”

  “He had a wallet, a credit card in his name,” James argued.

  “A wallet found at the scene,” Ben said, “not in the man’s pocket.”

  “The man’s wife identified the body, Ben,” Joyce said.

  “And as I said,” Ben turned to the judge, “We believe she is lying.”

  “Which brings us to the information you have that can’t be used in court,” Joyce said. “What kind of information is it and why can’t you use it?”

  “The problem is,” Ben said, “I can’t use the information because of client privilege.”

  “The man is your client,” Joyce said. “Just ask his permission to use it.”

  “He isn’t the client I'm talking about,” Ben said.

  “Then what client?”

  “Sarah Tuttle,” Ben said.

  “Are you serious?” James came forward. “You took Sarah Tuttle as a client? Your other client killed her husband. Why would she come to you? Why would you accept?”

  “My partner looked over a contract for her,” Ben said. “He did not know my client and I did not know he was going to see Mrs. Tuttle. But now that he has, I have come into the information I mentioned in court.”

  “Ben, I’ve known you for over a decade,” Joyce said. “In all those years I’ve come to understand why you became a lawyer.”

  “Why is that?” Ben said.

  “Because you love hearing yourself talk,” Joyce said. “Get to the point. What information do you have?”

  “The contract Mrs. Tuttle was having reviewed is for a book deal,” Ben said.

  “She’s selling book rights to her husband’s death?” Joyce asked.

  “That’s what I thought at first,” Ben said. “But it’s for a fiction work. A mystery. Like Jack Bolder writes.”

  “Oh, really?” Joyce said, leaning forward.

  “And there’s more,” Ben said.

  “More?”

  “Yes,” Ben nodded. “As it turns out the agent isn’t sure the book is really Sarah’s. They made her sign documents saying she is the author and that if it turns out she isn’t, the publisher is not responsible for damages claimed against her.”

  “That’s interesting,” Joyce said looking at James. “What do you think?”

  “I think it’s a bunch of crap,” James said. “He's trying to get the trial postponed.”

  “Is that what you’re doing, Ben?”

  “No, Your Honor,” Ben said. “But . . . “

  “Here it comes,” James said.

  “Ben, I will give you twenty-four hours to come up with proof you can actually use to prove your argument,” Joyce said. “After that we pretend we know nothing about this contract.”

  “Twenty-four hours?” Ben said. “But Your Honor, I can’t get much in twenty-four hours.”

  “Then you better get moving,” Joyce suggested. She turned to James. “You have a problem with any of this?”

  “All of it,” James said.

  “Good,” Joyce smiled. “As long as we agree. Until tomorrow, gentlemen.”

  She dismissed the two men with a wave of her hand and picked up the phone as they left together. She would have to reschedule the cases she missed. She hated having her time wasted.

  In the hall the two lawyers did not speak to one another making a point to avoid getting to the next doorway at the same time. Ben pushed ahead making his way toward the holding rooms where he hoped to find his client still waiting to be transferred back to his cell. James saw Dave Parker and Philip Smalls leaning against a pillar talking in hushed voices. He made his way to them. Seeing the prosecuting attorney approach they stopped their conversation and straightened.

  “What’s going on?” Dave asked before James could say anything.

  “She gave them twenty-four hours,” James said.

  “For what?” Dave asked.

  “To find proof the wife lied,” James said. “I don’t know.”

  “Lied about what?”

  “The corpse,” James said. “They say she lied about the body being her husband.”

  “That’s crazy,” Dave said. “I was there. She wasn’t lying.”

  “Then we don’t have a problem do we?” James said. “You just need to be sure. I want you to go talk to her. If they find out she lied, we all look bad.”

  A man in a light brown suit that appeared to be handmade for him, walked up and stood next to the three men. He greeted them with a slight nod of his head. “James, there’s some guy out front asking about you.”

  “Thanks, judge.”

  “No problem,” the man said. With another nod he excused himself and continued down the hall in the direction of the judge’s chambers.

  “Now there goes a good judge,” Dave said indicating the man as he reached the far end of the hall. “He would never put up with this kind of stunt.”

  “You’re talking about Joyce,” Philip said.

  “I know who she is,” Dave said. “I’m not saying she’s a bad judge. You do have to admit Judge Shute would have stopped the defense in his tracks.”

  “Maybe so,” James said. “But Judge Werner didn’t. She gave them time. Not as much as they wanted, but time. We just have to be sure they don’t try anything else.”

  “I’ll go talk to Mrs. Tuttle right now,” Dave said. “I'll ask her again why she thinks this guy is claiming to be her husband in the first place.”

  The three men went their separate ways. James made his way to the lobby but couldn’t find anyone who was looking for him. After waiting a couple of minutes, he went straight to his office and checked through his mail. There was nothing of interest so he set it aside and sat at his desk. He stared at the photo of his wife where it sat in its place of honor on his desk. He wondered how many people knew her. Her family. Her friends. The neighbors and any number of people she ran into on a regular basis. If he was unable to tell anyone who she was countless numbers of other people could step up to do it. His eyes fell to the file on his desk with the name Allan Tuttle typed on the tab. Aside from his wife, Allan Tuttle was a man no one knew.

  Chapter 64

  (Holding)

  Allan sat in the corner of the holding cell surrounded by the other prisoners he had seen in the courtroom. Some were removed almost immediately after they were placed there. A few others were taken out after a yelling match came near to blows. The rest sat quietly waiting their turns to return to their respective jail cells. The guard came to the door and called Jack Bolder’s name. Allan stood and walked to the door wondering why the others who were transported with him were not called as well.

  “Come with me,” the guard said as soon as the door locked behind them.

  Allan walked with the man who stayed a step back and to the side giving him directions as they went. They came to a door with a small window and Allan could see Ben sitting in the room beyond the glass. The guard unlocked the door and half pushed Allan through the opening. Inside, he could hear the door lock behind him.

  “How are you holding up?” Ben asked. It was a question he asked every time they met. Allan wondered if the lawyer even listened to the answer or if it was just automatic f
or him to ask.

  “I guess I’m all right,” Allan said. “What’s going on?”

  “The judge granted us twenty-four hours to come up with proof you are Allan Tuttle,” Ben said.

  “That’s good,” Allan said, hopefully.

  “I’ve got to be honest,” Ben said. “I’ve had my investigator out there trying to find something to prove who you are. He’s come up empty. Another twenty-four hours probably won’t make any difference.”

  “But . . .”

  “And this also gives them another twenty-four hours to prove you are not Allan Tuttle,” Ben said. “And they have Sarah’s word against yours. Things are not looking good.”

  “But . . .”

  “But what?”

  “But,” Allan said. “I am Allan Tuttle.”

  Ben patted him on the shoulder. The lawyer did not hold out much hope for the man. For one thing, he wasn’t sure he believed his client was Allan Tuttle. Monte could not find anything to prove his identity. He was leaning toward the idea that the man sitting across from him was a con man, trying to con his way out of being convicted of murder. If it wasn’t for Henry, he would have never taken the case. The old rancher believed in the man. And Ben believed in Henry.

  “Okay,” Ben said. “Is there anyone else you know of who could honestly say you are who you say you are?”

  “Well, there’s Sarah,” Allan said.

  “Who says you are not her husband,” Ben said. “I need someone who would say you are Allan Tuttle. Is there anyone? An old friend? A business associate? Anyone who could look at you and say you’re Allan Tuttle?”

  “There are a lot of people who know me,” Allan said.

  “Name some,” Ben said. “Give me names so I can get them in here to tell the judge who you are.”

  “There’s John Waller, my old English professor,” Allan said. “Of course, he was in his sixties when I was in college. And that was twenty years ago.”