by Martin Clark
“Didn’t Mr. Wheeling and an Officer H. T. Moran take you from the motel and drive you to Climax, North Carolina, and abandon you there?” White sat down beside Evers.
“No. That’s crazy. What do you mean? When?”
“Judge Wheeling and a policeman found you in bed at the Iron Duke Motel with Mr. Falstaf and soon after, because he was so angry, drove you to Climax and left you on the side of the road.”
“That’s just not true. Any of it.” Jo Miller paused. “My lawyer has an affidavit from Mr. Falstaf, too. Do you want to see it?”
“No ma’am, I don’t. Why don’t you let me ask the questions?” White forced a smile.
Evers began to have the same foggy, prickly feeling he’d experienced before stumbling into Pauletta’s office. His mind began to coast and skip. White was wearing a double-breasted suit and Jo Miller was talking to him and Evers was sweating and for some reason he just had to laugh and he did, heard his own laugh and saw Wolf look at him, and then Jo Miller, and then the judge and his lawyer. Evers closed and opened his eyes and rubbed his forehead; he focused on his wife, on Jo Miller, and her face—very suddenly—changed, came on like an electric fan on a hot day: circles started to catch speed and spin faster and faster, blurring into swirling wisps and whirs inside the edges of her head, leaving a small, framed cyclone where her countenance had been. The storm in Jo Miller’s face went on for several seconds, and then, out of the middle of the maelstrom, Evers saw two sharp eyes and pallid skin appear, just spots in the confusion at first and finally growing and pushing full-size into his wife’s skull. The spiked eyes looked right at him, and Evers hunched forward and stared back, leaned across the table on his elbows and clenched his fists.
The circling mess balanced on his wife’s neck didn’t leave until White kicked Evers under the table and pinched his biceps. “Stop staring at her, Evers. You look menacing or crazed or something, like you’re trying to frighten her. Sit back.” White pulled on Evers’ arm.
“She was … she wasn’t …” Evers looked at White, then back at Jo Miller. His wife had reappeared, and she seemed startled, a little scared. Wolf stood and asked the judge to prohibit Evers from “visually threatening Mrs. Wheeling.”
“Judge, he was simply upset by some of the testimony that is perjured and inaccurate. It was just a reflex, a reaction, one of shock and disbelief at what he was hearing, not anything malicious,” White said in Evers’ defense. “Judge Wheeling is stunned by what is going on here today. Quite frankly, so am I.”
“I can’t help how Mr. Wheeling looks at his wife, Lawyers. Let’s try not to squabble and get on with more substantive matters, shall we?” Rollins looked at Wolf, then at White. Evers cleared his throat and slid back in his seat.
When White finished his questioning, Wolf smiled at Jo Miller and leaned back in his chair until the front legs raised off the ground. “Just one more follow-up question, ma’am. Am I to understand that Mr. White is accusing you of having an affair with this man he suggests is a poorly educated, simple farmer? You have a college degree, correct?”
White objected, and Rollins agreed that the question was not a good one. “Although the same thing went through my mind,” the judge added. Despite his loathing, Evers had to concede that Jo Miller was bright, clever and poised. He had trouble believing that his wife had settled on Hobart Falstaf as well.
Jo Miller’s next witness was Ellen Wyatt. She confirmed Jo Miller’s story but did have to admit they were very close friends. She produced all sorts of papers and contracts and receipts to document the women’s ongoing interest in the Iron Duke and two other motels. Everything was so complete and genuine that Evers began to believe that perhaps the women had, at one time, considered buying the motel.
Finally, Wolf called Dr. Brockman, who spent ten minutes listing his credentials, then went on to rave and wax passionate about what a fine and admirable person Jo Miller was and how she had “bonded” with her environment and job and something about a “psycho-structure” and this and that and some more about self-esteem and on and on and on and on and Jo Miller’s “personality shield” showed a jagged line and a chimney with no smoke and all this meant something.
“Ask him why he doesn’t have a job,” Evers whispered to White.
“Keep your temper.”
“He probably fucked Jo Miller, too,” Evers said. “Look at this corduroy charlatan. Elbow patches. Half glasses. Full beard. Those who can, do. Those who can’t, teach.”
White did a better job questioning Brockman than he had with anyone else so far. His first question surprised Evers, and surprised Brockman, too. “Isn’t it true, Mr. Brockman, that you have had sexual relations with Mrs. Wheeling?”
Brockman was so shocked by this stark allegation that he paused and stumbled and fussed before mouthing a feeble, “Why, no.” His surprise caused him to look guilty and duplicitous. “No,” he said after another awkward silence. Brockman had gone from top-drawer pontificator and intellectual master to a simple longhaired professor with base intentions. The judge wrote something on his yellow pad. Evers could tell that Rollins thought Brockman was a guy who got all summer off and spent most of his time chasing after students and assistants. The judge wasn’t certain whether or not Brockman had actually had sex with Jo Miller, but the professor was embarrassed enough by the question to show that he had certainly considered the possibility. Everything he had said before seemed silly. Everything he was going to say would seem hypocritical.
White finished with Brockman, sat down beside Evers and whispered, “Anything else I need to ask?” Evers wrote two questions on a piece of paper and handed it to his lawyer.
“Uh, Mr. Brockman, just a couple more things. Did you and Mrs. Wheeling ever use illegal drugs together?”
“No, we didn’t.”
“You’re sure of that?”
“Yes.” Brockman turned and looked at Jo Miller and Wolf. He touched the side of his neck with his hand.
“Did you and Mrs. Wheeling ever invite another woman to engage in sex with the two of you?”
“No. Another woman? Certainly not.”
White hesitated. Smiled. “So it was just you two, correct?”
Wolf objected. “That’s completely unfair and—”
“Sustained. That’s not a good question, Mr. White.”
“Are you married or single?”
“Single,” answered Brockman.
“Divorced, perhaps, Mr. Brockman?”
“Objection,” Wolf said firmly. “Not relevant.”
“I agree this time,” the judge said. But by now Brockman was damaged goods, spiraling toward the earth with black smoke rolling out from beneath his wings.
“Nothing further, sir.” White looked at Evers, bent toward him. “How did you know that stuff? How come you’re just now telling me?”
Evers smiled. “I didn’t say it was true. I just said ask him.”
Before he finished his case, Wolf offered Falstaf’s affidavit and then told the judge that the contents would support Mrs. Wheeling’s story, denying any adultery.
White objected. “Mr. Wolf knows the affidavit is not admissible, and it borders on unethical practice to offer it and then tell you what it says. It’s hearsay, and if they want to get it into evidence, they can bring Mr. Falstaf in here and put him under oath and let him be questioned. Of course, I’m sure they have their reasons for not having him here in person.”
“You could have called him as a witness, Mr. White,” Wolf answered. “Or taken his deposition.”
“They’re not trying to get evidence in with an out-of-court statement, Mr. Wolf. Watch yourself. The objection is sustained.” Judge Rollins seemed impatient.
Evers’ first witness was Pascal. White asked questions about Evers’ relationship with his wife, about his efforts to make the marriage successful, about Evers’ devotion to his work and Jo Miller’s well-being, and about Evers’ change of mood and depression over the last several weeks after catchi
ng on to the adultery and catting around—as White colorfully put it—taking place at the Iron Duke. Pascal was very convincing and well-spoken, Evers thought. When White finished with his questions, Wolf sat in his chair and stared at Pascal for several moments before speaking. Pascal seemed unshaken, looking straight at the judge, then at Wolf, then at Jo Miller.
Wolf hunched forward in his seat. “Mr. Wheeling, you’ve not married, is that correct?”
“That’s right.”
“Have no experience in a marital relationship?”
“I have never been married.” Pascal was composed.
“You’re unemployed?”
“I don’t have a job, that’s true.”
“And you use drugs and drink to excess?”
White objected. “That’s not pertinent, sir, this man’s personal habits.”
“Sir, this man has testified that Mr. Wheeling is a fit and good spouse, an outstanding husband. I think we need to explore the basis for that, see what ‘outstanding husband’ means as Mr. Pascal Wheeling defines it.”
“Well, then, ask him what he means by that term. Don’t ask him about what he does, Mr. Wolf.” The judge was sharp with Wolf.
“Yes sir. Mr. Wheeling, do you think a good spouse uses illegal drugs?”
“I don’t think it really matters, to tell you the truth.”
Wolf leaned back in his chair, raised his eyebrows. “Doesn’t matter, you say?” He cut his eyes at Judge Rollins.
“Let me give you an example. I’ve seen Jo Miller, after she smoked dope, become absolutely affectionate with Evers. When he was in law school and she was stoned, she would just hold him and talk to him and rock him. Wouldn’t let him go. Treated him like a prize. She was so … so—I don’t know—warm and devoted.”
Evers looked at White and smiled just a bit. Pascal was bright. He knew what he was doing.
“How about your brother’s drug usage?”
“What drugs, when? What do you mean?”
“Well, have you ever seen your brother use illegal drugs?”
“When he and Jo Miller were in Durham, I think they did occasionally. But I’ve never seen Evers and Jo Miller use drugs since Evers left law school.”
Evers breathed very slowly, bit his lip. Pascal’s answer was true but misleading. Pascal hadn’t seen Jo Miller and Evers use drugs since Evers left Durham. Evers hoped the semantics would escape Wolf.
“Never.”
“No. Never.”
“There could have been times when you weren’t around and they did, though.”
“Sure.”
“Or your brother did?”
“Sure.” Pascal paused. “And I’ll be candid with you—I’ve smoked marijuana occasionally. I’ve done a number of stupid things. I’m not perfect. Evers is the better of the two of us, without question.”
“Did you call Mrs. Wheeling several weeks ago and tell her that your brother Evers was in West Virginia, having sex with a woman in a motel?”
“Why would I do that?”
“Did you, Mr. Wheeling?”
“No. That would be crazy. Did Jo Miller say that? Did I understand your question?”
“My question was: Did you call Jo Miller Wheeling and tell her that your brother was in West Virginia having sex with another woman, in a motel?”
“No.” Pascal sounded bewildered.
Evers glanced at Pascal. His brother had lied for him. Pascal looked believable. He was handsome and controlled. The question was so strange it made Jo Miller seem less trustworthy for having suggested it to her lawyer.
“You wouldn’t mind if we subpoenaed your phone records then?”
“It’s fine with me, if it’s agreeable with everyone else.” Pascal sat up straighter in the chair. “Whatever.”
“Do you dislike Mrs. Wheeling?” Wolf’s tone was very neutral, hiding something, full of pits and bear traps.
“Jo Miller and I have always treated each other fairly well.”
“In fact you dislike her, don’t you?”
“No.”
“You dislike her because you’ve made advances toward her in the past, and she rejected them?”
“I’ve made advances toward her? In a sense, yes.” Pascal turned toward Evers. Pascal’s face was empty, smooth and impenetrable. “That’s true, Mr. Wolf.”
“And because she stopped—”
“She didn’t stop me. I slept with—”
“That’s a damn lie, Pascal.” Jo Miller stood and shouted and started crying. “That’s a lie.” She was gasping, and her shoulders were jerking and falling.
“But my brother didn’t know. Until now. I’m sorry; it’s a terrible thing to have to say.”
Wolf was flustered and confused. Rollins looked at Pascal, then at Evers. He pushed back one of the sleeves of his robe. “Let’s all take a few minutes’ recess.”
Evers, Pascal and White went into a witness room, and White shut the door. All three men stood, even though there were several chairs and a table. The room was dark, despite a window and a light.
“What do you think?” Evers asked his lawyer.
“Pascal helped. Rollins believes him. Wolf’s in trouble.”
“I don’t know,” Evers said, then turned to Pascal. “I knew you’d fucked Jo Miller. Thanks, Cain.” He was cross and numb and enervated.
“Who said I fucked your wife? I figured I still had a lot of credibility left after being so honest about the dope. I rolled the dice. Maybe he’ll believe it. I thought I carried it off well.”
“Did you lie, Mr. Wheeling?” White asked. “I can’t allow that.”
“No, it’s all true. Believe it.” Pascal winked.
“Don’t play games with me, Pascal.” White was annoyed.
“Don’t fuck up my brother’s case, okay? They’ve defined the rules—whatever we can sell, not what’s true or false, that’s what can be said. Whatever the judge believes is going to be the truth; and if Jo Miller’s lying, then we can, too.”
“I don’t need a half-assed civics lesson, Pascal. I want to know if—”
“Let’s not fight about this,” Evers interrupted. “Pascal has testified. Let’s get on with it. My brother has told you he’s not lying, Ike. That’s good enough for right now.”
“Thank you, Evers,” Pascal said.
“I’m sure we can trust you, Pascal, given that you obviously hold the truth in such high regard.” Evers shot him a sour look.
White wanted H. T. Moran to appear before Evers, but H. T. still hadn’t arrived when Pascal finished his testimony. White looked at Evers and nodded. Evers stood up from his seat, took several steps across the still room, sat down in the witness chair and looked around the courtroom. He was nervous. He noticed the court reporter; the lady was watching him. She had long, red fingernails, like ten iguana tongues, Evers thought, and was wearing several necklaces. Her husband probably worked in sales, Evers decided. He remembered one of the docket clerks in Norton saying that it was not wise to dance with a man who jerks you on the dance floor. Evers was sweating underneath his clothes. He thought of bowling balls again.
White began questioning him, and Evers settled down. He told the judge about his marriage, about his life and about Jo Miller. He told the judge about discovering her in bed with Falstaf. And, finally, he told the judge that because he was angry he drove his wife in H. T.’s El Camino to Climax, North Carolina, and left her naked and tied to a sign beside the highway. “I was angry,” he said again at the end of the story.
White had been standing near Evers, and he rested his hand on Evers’ shoulder for a moment before he walked back to his chair and sat down. “Nothing else for this witness.”
“Mr. Wheeling, after several years of marriage, is it your position that you simply want to leave your wife destitute? Pay her nothing?” This was Wolf’s first question. He asked it quickly, as soon as White had finished.
“I think that’s fair, given the circumstances,” Evers answered. “She is abl
e to work, and perhaps her boyfriend could contribute to her well-being. In addition, when our property is divided, I’m sure that she will receive a fairly significant share. I just don’t think that it is ‘fair’—to use your word—that I should have to subsidize her treachery and infidelity on a monthly basis.”
“Don’t you pay Mrs. Wheeling’s power bill, her heat bills, send her spending money, buy her clothes, provide her insurance, help her with the upkeep of the farm in Durham and generally take care of her economically?”
“Is that one question or six, Mr. Wolf?” Evers snapped. He wanted very much to hit Wolf in the face.
“Mr. Wolf, ask one question at a time.” Judge Rollins still sounded perturbed.
“Mr. Wheeling, you make over two hundred and thirty thousand dollars a year, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And you have very few expenses. You live in an apartment and have no debts, correct?”
“Right. Exactly. I live in a small apartment and work every day, and my wife lives in a restored farmhouse on thirty acres and I pay for it.”
“That’s my point, Mr. Wheeling. Your wife is completely dependent on you financially.”
Evers’ hands were clasped together, pushing down into his lap. His fingers were wrapped around one another so tightly that the skin underneath his nails was blood red. “Jo Miller has a college degree. She’s drifted and dithered and basically refused to work. How can she claim that I’ve kept her from advancing? There are hundreds of great jobs in the Raleigh-Durham area. Of course, to get one, you’d have to get up before ten and give up the two-hour lunches.”
“Mr. Wheeling, now that you’ve had the chance to criticize your wife, could you just answer my question?”
“What is your question?”
“Your wife, and her standard of living during the marriage, are completely dependent on your income?”
“I guess that’s true, as long as she elects not to really work, to do no more than she’s doing now with her friend Dr. Brockman. Perhaps that job has a lot of noneconomic benefits, though.”