“Yes, I do.”
“Good. Let’s get started then.”
Mrs. Hoover rearranged the five bottles and then dabbed a small amount on the first sample. Mr. Douglas took it, waved it in the air, rounded the screen and handed it to Miss Means. She smelled the card and shook her head. The cycle continued with negative results until they came to number four.
“This is the one.”
“Are you positive, Miss Means? There is another sample.”
She waved the card. “No doubts. This is it.”
He returned to Mrs. Hoover. “Would you please tell the court the name of the fragrance?”
She picked up the bottle, read the name and giggled. “I don’t think I can pronounce it, but it is from France.”
“I realize it’s hard to pronounce.” He raised his voice. “Anyone in here speak French?”
Birdie glanced around the room. When no one raised his or her hand, she raised hers. “I speak a little.”
“Excellent!” Mr. Douglas walked back to where Birdie sat with Tad and offered his hand.
“Please stand and give us your name please, ma’am.”
She rose and took the bottle. “Mrs. Birdie Lockhart. The fragrance is Fougere Royal 1882 by Houbigant.”
Douglas took the bottle. “Thank you, ma’am.” He approached the bench. “Your honor, the prosecution rests.”
“Mr. Johnson, do you have any questions for Miss Means?” He watched as John Samuelson wrote something on his notepad and shoved it over for Johnson to read.
“No sir. No questions for Miss Means, but I do have a question for the prosecution.”
“Go ahead.”
“Mr. Douglas, why hasn’t the other officer who searched Mr. Samuelson’s home been called to the witness stand?” He glanced down at the pad. “Let’s see. His name is Detective Jenkins.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Birdie sat rigid with apprehension. Of course, she could dress up as Detective Jenkins again and testify, but it would be hard to control her voice. She cast a quick glance at Tad. His stiff shoulders and mutinous expression said no way would she be testifying. Detective Haney glanced back at her. She dipped her head. If necessary, she’d get up there. Tad would be furious but she figured it’d be one time in many to come in their marriage.
Mr. Douglas stood. “My understanding is that Detective Jenkins was on loan from a city back east. He signed all the necessary documents pertaining to his part in the investigation and returned home.”
Johnson, hands stuffed in his pants pockets, rocked back on his heels. “Isn’t that rather unusual? Shouldn’t he have stayed or at least returned for the trial?”
“No, as a matter of fact, it’s pretty standard procedure. He worked under the direct supervision of Detective Ethan the entire time.”
The counselor snorted. “I disagree. Your honor, I move we postpone the remainder of the trial until Detective Jenkins can be present to testify.”
Birdie held her breath while Judge Tyler flipped through a folder. He slapped it closed. “Is Detective Ethan in the courtroom?”
Ethan stood. “Here, your honor.”
Judge Tyler steepled his hands and peered over his glasses. “How long would it take to get Detective Jenkins back to Waco, Detective?”
“Actually, sir, his train isn’t due to leave until tomorrow. He’s spent the last few months helping us with other matters.”
Birdie glanced over to see the Chief of Police lower his forehead to his hand. He wasn’t a happy man, and Ethan would probably get a sever tongue lashing—if he didn’t get fired.
“Can you have him here in a couple of hours?”
“Yes, you honor.”
“We’ll adjourn for lunch and reconvene at two o’clock. Mr. Johnson, after questioning Detective Jenkins, be ready to state your case for Mr. Samuelson.”
He tapped the sound box. “Court adjourned.”
Oh, boy. I may be in a heck of a mess. “I know, I know, don’t say it,” she murmured to her husband, “but I have to testify. We can’t let Samuelson get away.”
Hand at her elbow, Tad helped her rise. “I could throttle you, Birdie. What if your disguise fails, someone recognizes you? It’ll not only further taint your reputation, but it could cause the DA to lose the case. I hope to goodness Detective Jenkins isn’t going to haunt us for years.” He narrowed his eyes. “He is retiring, isn’t he?”
“I don’t know. We’ll see.”
He growled, “Birrr-dee.”
“Whenever they need my detective training, I am going to work, Tad. The money will help build Birdie’s Nest.”
“You can’t give up on building your house, even though you have a home now at the ranch?” Startled, she glanced up at his face to see that he was serious.
“No. I cannot. Aunt Patty wouldn’t exist, or at least not as I knew her.” How dare he even suggest giving up her goal? “I can’t believe you’d suggest giving up, Tad.”
They were outside on the lawn of the courthouse. Thank goodness it wasn’t Monday, market day, and the square wasn’t filled with people selling their wares. Birdie struggled to hide her disappointment, more like her hurt, at Tad’s suggestion she give up Birdie’s Nest. She shook off his hand and quickened her step to reach the buggy.
“Birdie, slow down.” He caught her arm. “Look, sweetheart, I’m sorry. I had to ask, to be sure how important it was to you.” He hugged her close and rubbed her back. “We’ll get Birdie’s Nest built in time and it will be our home. I promise.”
Birdie tried to believe him, but why had he brought it up? Was it because he didn’t want her working with Detective Ethan? Or did he want her to give up teaching self-defense? She supposed because she was pregnant he expected her to sit around and do nothing. He’d soon learn otherwise.
They grabbed a quick lunch at a small café on the square and rushed to the police station for Birdie’s disguise.
She was dressed and putting up her hair when Ethan knocked and entered the room with a wig. “Birdie, you better wear this as you can’t wear a hat in the courtroom.”
Birdie took the ratty looking hairpiece. Tiny pieces of lint were stuck in amongst the strands of dark. “Goodness, it’s in terrible shape. Folks will think I have head lice. I need a comb.” When it was lint free, she plopped it on her head. Ethan adjusted it to fit just right. She looked at Tad, but he merely shook his head and pursed his lips. Her mustache was glued on. She shrugged into the long coat and, with her hat in hand, she and Ethan left the room. Tad would follow along later as he couldn’t be seen entering the courtroom with them, especially since she wouldn’t be sitting by his side.
People turned and stared as she followed Detective Ethan into the courtroom. Amid the inquisitive murmurs, she put as much masculinity in her walk as she knew how. A few giggled and guffaws told her she wasn’t doing that great a job. She must look ridiculous.
Judge Tyler entered the courtroom. After sitting down he lifted the gavel and hit the sound box sharply. “Court is now in session. Mr. Johnson, you may call your first witness.”
Mr. Johnson rose and strutted back and forth in front of the witness box like a banty rooster, his thumbs in the pockets of his vest, as he called his first witness. “The defense calls Detective Jenkins.”
Birdie rose and made her way to the witness box. Tension left her body stiff and robotic in her movements and she tripped but caught herself against the rail. The defense attorney watched her approach, doing his best to keep from chuckling at her stumble. The bailiff swore her in and Johnson approached.
“State your name for us, sir.”
She cleared her throat. “Detective Jonathon Jenkins of Chicago, sir.” She hacked for a minute and her speech came out in a croak. “Beg pardon ’bout my…my speech and walk. Had a di…disease in childhood. Affected both.”
Most of the people in the courtroom glanced at their hands. Even Johnson looked contrite for his earlier laugh. “No pardon needed, Detective.”
/> Birdie glanced at Ethan to see him holding his head. Tad’s grin stretched across his face. Sweating in the wool uniform, she struggled to keep from laughing.
“Now, I understand you were called in specifically from Chicago to help with this case.”
“Yes…that is correc…t.”
He turned to the jury and waved a hand. “Can you explain to us why the Waco Police Department would need outside help? Are they unskilled, inept?”
Birdie’s neck burned. No doubt her ears were red too. She resisted the impulse to cover them with her hands to cool them. “No, sir. They are…are a top-notch force. In Chi…cago we’ve developed some new pro…procedures and I’m on loan to introduce them to the officers here.”
“Like what?”
“Evidence collection…and skills like fiber com…comparison.” Her mustache tickled and she placed her fingers over her mouth to make sure it hadn’t come loose. It flipped out some on the side facing the jury. Dang, the glue must be getting old and too thick. She applied pressure hoping it would stick and stay. “Why…in the near future, sir, crimes will be solved using fin…ger prints.”
“Harrumph. Pure speculation, I’m sure.” He turned his back and walked back to his table. “No further questions, your honor.”
“Mr. Douglas, would you like to question Detective Jenkins?”
“No, your honor. I believe Mr. Johnson has covered all of my concerns.” He smiled and nodded at Birdie. “Detective, I’d like to be on the list to receive additional information on the finger printing procedures as it’s developed.”
Birdie grinned, loosening her mustache again. She sobered and pressed her fist against her mouth and coughed. “It will be my…my pleasure to keep you informed.”
Mr. Johnson stood. “Your honor, this chit-chat is uncalled for. May we proceed?”
“I find it most interesting, counselor. It is wise to stay informed on the latest in criminal investigation.” Judge Tyler nodded to Detective Jenkins. “Thank you for coming in and when you send Mr. Douglas information, please include me.”
“Be honored, judge.”
“You may step down.”
Birdie rose and deliberately eased herself down from the witness box. She stood a moment as if gaining her balance and returned to her seat by Ethan. Every eye in the courtroom followed her as she made her way.
“Now then, Mr. Johnson, are you ready to proceed?”
“Yes, sir, your honor. My next witness is Mrs. John Samuelson.”
All eyes were on the attractive middle-aged woman as she entered the courtroom and marched up the aisle. The fabric of her high-necked navy blue dress swished with each step she took. Her only adornment, a large cameo brooch at her throat, emphasized the white strands highlighting her dark hair. Mr. Johnson took her arm and led her to the witness stand as if she were royalty. The bailiff swore her in. After the “so help me God” she glared at the prosecutor and bit out, “I do.”
“Now then, Mrs. Samuelson,” He walked to stand behind John. “Is this your husband?”
“Yes, sir, it is.”
“And how many years have you been married?”
“It will be thirty-five years in September.”
He nodded. “So, I assume you know Mr. Samuelson pretty well by now.”
“Indeed I do.” She let her gaze pan the jurors before looking out at the audience. “My husband would never do the atrocious things he’s accused of.” She shook her finger at Mr. Douglas. “You’ve got the wrong man, sir.”
“Ma’am, do you remember your husband going out on February 5th and February 17th of this years?”
“No, sir, I do not. Those were both nights we had church socials. We attended together and were home by nine o’clock that evening. We retired at ten o’clock as is our usual habit.”
“I understand you and Mr. Samuelson have been members of the same church for many years. Please tell us what roles your husband fills in the church.”
Mrs. Samuelson sat up straighter, lifted her chin and smiled. “He’s been a deacon, on the financial committee, the building committee, and on occasions when the church was without a pastor, he gave the Sunday sermon.” Her bosom swelled with pride as she took a deep breath. “And he did very well. Several members commented that he might have missed his calling.”
“Would you describe your husband’s character, Mrs. Samuelson?”
The woman spent a good fifteen minutes extolling her husband’s virtues and ended with, “My husband couldn’t have possibly committed this crime.” No doubt she believed every word she’d said. In her mind, John Samuelson was a saint. Birdie supposed that’s how it should be in a marriage. Evidently her husband had been good to her and she thought he could do no wrong.
“Thank you, Mrs. Samuelson. I have no further questions.”
Judge Tyler arched a bushy eyebrow at the prosecutor. “Cross-examination Mr. Douglas?”
The prosecutor rose. “Yes, your honor.” He glanced at his notes before walking to the witness box. “Mrs. Samuelson, I think Mr. Johnson covered just about everything but I have just a few more questions for you.”
Chin in the air, she nodded.
Mr. Douglas smiled and stepped to the table holding all the evidence. He lifted the bottle of cologne for the jury and Mrs. Samuelson to see. “Is this the cologne your husband wears, ma’am?”
“Yes.”
For just a minute, Douglas stood thinking, his gaze moving between the two Samuelsons. “Ma’am, we’ve heard about your husband’s standing in the church and community, all very commendable, I might add. But, you didn’t mention children. Do you have children, ma’am.”
The smile on Mrs. Samuelson’s face wilted. “No, sir. Unfortunately we were not blessed with children.”
Mr. Douglas’s head bobbed with sympathy. He cleared his throat. “I’d like to review a few things Mr. Johnson went over with you. First, you testified that on both afore-mentioned dates, you and Mr. Samuelson attended a church social, returned home by nine o’clock and went to bed at ten o’clock. Is that correct?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Thank you, ma’am. You’ve been very cooperative. That’s all, your honor.”
She stood to rise. Mr. Douglas whirled. “One more question, ma’am.” She returned to her seat. “Do you and Mr. Samuelson share a bedroom?”
A collective gasp rippled through the room. Mr. Johnson lunged to his feet and yelled, “I object, your honor. That question is highly improper.”
Mr. Samuelson appeared ready to commit murder. He tried to shove past his lawyer and get to the prosecutor. A bailiff caught him by the collar of his coat and jerked him down into his chair. Judge Tyler struck the sounding block repeatedly until the room quieted. “Mr. Samuelson, you’ll remain seated or I’ll have you tied to your chair.”
He turned to Mrs. Samuelson. “You will answer the question, ma’am, and I remind you, you are under oath.”
Mrs. Samuelson’s gaze darted from Mr. Douglas to her husband. Red faced, John glared at his wife. His rage made Birdie wonder if the man was abusive. The courtroom waited, silent, as if holding its breath.
“I will repeat the question, ma’am. Do you—”
Her brow furrowed. “No, sir. We do not.” The woman’s gaze never left her husband’s. She exhibited no fear. Perhaps for the first time she considered the possibility he might be guilty.
“Is his room next to yours or down the hall?”
Voice clear, it resounded in the room. “Down the hall.”
“Then how could you possibly know if your husband left his room in the middle of the night?” Mr. Douglas waved a hand. “Never mind, ma’am. No further questions, your honor.”
Mr. Johnson called several character witnesses who sang Samuelson’s praises, each saying pretty much what the other said. Birdie wondered if the jury considered the repetition monotonous. The last gentleman had to be urged several times to speak up.
“Would you like to cross-examine the witness, Mr. D
ouglas?” asked Judge Tyler.
As he had answered concerning each of the other character witnesses, he said, “No, your honor.”
“Mr. Johnson. Do you plan to call anyone else?”
“No, your honor. The defense rests.”
“We’ll break for ten minutes and hear closing arguments.”
Few people left though some stood and stretched. Birdie joined them. The wooden pews weren’t the most comfortable of seats.
Judge Tyler returned to the bench. Those in the hallway rushed back in before the bailiff closed the doors.
“Mr. Douglas, are you ready for closing arguments?”
“Yes, your honor.” He strode to stand several feet from the jury box. Voice clear and controlled, he reviewed the evidence and how each piece was tied to the items found in John Samuelson’s home. He again described the wounds each woman suffered and emphasized their religious connotation. “Gentlemen of the jury, with the evidence presented and the horrific crime perpetrated against these two women, you must find Mr. Samuelson guilty of aggravated assault.”
Mr. Johnson’s closing arguments revolved around Mr. Samuelson’s reputation. He waved toward the table where John sat. “Gentlemen, look at this pillar of Waco society. Does he resemble a religious zealot, someone who would commit the crime of which he’s accused?” He pounded the rail of the jury box. “No, he does not. I beg you, do not convict this innocent man.”
Judge Tyler removed his pocket watch to check the time. He peered over his glasses at the jury. “Folks, it’s about supper time but I don’t want to release you to discuss the case. So, I want a verdict before you go home tonight. We’ll bring supper in for you.”
The bailiff ushered the jurors into a side room for deliberation.
The judge stood and addressed the audience. “You folks go get something to eat and if you want to hear the verdict, check back.”
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