“You recognized the insignia on the buckboard?” Beaudoin asked.
“Yes. It was the mark of the Wa-po-nah ranch.”
Cross-examining the campesino was difficult, since the man was so frightened he could hardly speak at times. But Kilgore managed to ram home to the court and to the jury the point that the insignia on the buckboard, though it indicated Wa-po-nah if the campesino’s eyesight in the dark were to be trusted, still did not provide any necessary connection to Harry McCandless. Beaudoin made no concession. But Kilgore began to feel that he was making headway.
Joe Valdez and Sam Dodge now testified, supporting the stories of Duer and Charlie Bear. Kilgore’s objections were few and largely procedural; he was overruled more often than he was sustained, but he regarded that as of no moment. The case was moving along. It was nearly four in the afternoon. Beaudoin would be saving his heavy artillery for the next day, when everyone would be fresh.
“The Territory now calls Dade Rawlins.”
Rawlins took the stand. With much vagueness of recall, he traced his relationship with the dead girl up to the night of her disappearance, stressing the point that he had never slept with her but simply offered her the use of his shack as a residence.
“How long had she been living with you?” Beaudoin asked.
“Oh, about three-four months. Maybe five. Since the warm weather, anyway.”
“Where did she live before then?”
“With her mother, in Santa Fe.”
“Will you tell us when you last saw the deceased alive, Mr. Rawlins?”
“That week, you know, I guess the end of November. She told me she was going up to Wa-po-nah to spend the night. Buckboard come down to get her.”
“Did you see the buckboard?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did it have the Wa-po-nah insignia on it?”
“Uh-huh, it did.”
“And did you see who was driving it?”
Rawlins shook his head. “I couldn’t see him. Honey went outside without me and got in and they drove away.”
“Would you say it could have been Eli Weingarten driving the buckboard?”
“Objection,” Kilgore said. “It could have been Weingarten or it could have been the Queen of England. Witness has no way of offering anything but a speculation.”
“Sustained,” Hazledine said.
Beaudoin was unruffled. He asked half a dozen more questions relating to Honey’s disappearance, then yielded to Kilgore.
Kilgore was in no mood to be gentle with the old drifter. He glowered ferociously at the witness and said, “Rawlins, you said Honey told you she was going to Wa-po-nah to spend the night.”
“That’s right.”
“Did you understand this to mean that she was going there for the purpose of having sexual relations with someone?”
“Why, yes. I figgered if she was going to be there overnight she’d be sleeping with somebody.”
“I’m trying to establish, Rawlins, that you were aware of the immoral purpose of the visit.”
“Your Honor, this is really too much,” Beaudoin expostulated. “To defame a dead person—”
“Honey Morgan’s character or lack of it is material!” Kilgore replied, catching a glimpse of Laurie’s hate-filled face in front of him.
“Overruled. You may continue, Mr. Kilgore.”
“I thank the court humbly. Mr. Rawlins, were you aware that Honey Morgan engaged in sexual acts with a number of men in San Carlos?”
“Well, yes. I guess I knew that.”
“In fact, she was a prostitute, wasn’t she? She accepted money and gifts in return for her body?”
“I wouldn’t call the child a prostitute!” Rawlins said, fidgeting. “She was a sweet girl and real religious. She—”
“Just answer the questions, please. When she did not return from Wa-po-nah the next day, were you worried?”
“A little.”
“But you didn’t notify the police?”
“Didn’t see any reason to. She’d been away overnight before.”
“At Wa-po-nah?”
“I didn’t know where. But she’d been. Only never two nights. So when she didn’t come back the second night, and Mrs. Morgan stopped in town the day after, I told her, and Mrs. Morgan went to report that the girl was missing.”
“How long had you known Honey Morgan?”
“Since she was a baby, I guess.”
“And when did you become aware that she engaged in acts of sexual intercourse with men?”
Rawlins shrugged. “Gosh, I don’t know. I guess she did practically as soon as she filled out.”
There was laughter in the courtroom, and the hammer of a gavel from the bench. Kilgore turned slowly, a figure of sorrow and compassion, and when the laughter had subsided he returned to the bench.
“May the court please,” he said solemnly, “I find no cause for merriment in the tragic death of the young woman whose physical loveliness is known to us all. This young woman met her death—for what cause we know not! through whose agency we dare not guess! but if through some criminal agency, surely it was not to be laid at the doorstep of our client. In pursuing this painful line of questioning, conscious as we are of the presence of the bereaved mother, whose grief is not greater than ours, we are moved only by our solemn duty to serve the cause of justice—a cause that transcends grief, that leaps over the pain in the heart of fathers and mothers. It would be regrettable and unseemly not to remain aware that there is grief in more than one heart—in the mother of my client, the former Isabella Lucero”—he glanced at Martinez, the foreman, and noted the effect of dropping the beloved name—“and his father. The sole purpose, the only purpose, as God judges our hearts and motives, is merely to show the jury that the unfortunate sexual weakness of this deceased young woman was such as to make her a prey to any one of several thousand unknown assailants. We forgive her promiscuity. She was what God made her. But what God made her was common prey to all men. This is the unfortunate truth that hovers over this inquiry—that the young woman was alone on the road on that icy night and anyone—anyone at all might have been her assailant, and might have disposed of her body. If indeed her death was caused by a criminal agency—for which we have only the worthless testimony of a discredited abortionist who has taken refuge in our midst.
“I rebuke this unseemly laughter!” Kilgore added handsomely, turning an expression of disdain to the silent, abashed spectators. “I call on the court to remind us all that we stand in the face of tragedy. I call on the court to proceed to justice.”
Glancing briefly at the array of newspapermen in the first bench, Kilgore sank back into his chair and began to comb his hair. It was, he felt with satisfaction, an admirable note of pity and compassion and could only help the defense. At his side, he could hear the breath whistle in the compressed nostrils of his client.
“Court’s adjourned! We’ll resume tomorrow at nine.”
Judge Hazledine’s face was a study of respect mixed with irritation as he strode off the bench and into chambers.
“Call Eli Weingarten!”
Kilgore advanced to the cross-examination toward noon and noted with satisfaction that the witness’s eye wavered and sank to the pine flooring. Like Harry McCandless, the youth had spent time in Eastern colleges, and like Harry, he had been expelled and now lived off his wealthy father’s substance in San Carlos.
Kilgore began, “You have seen the blanket in which the dead girl was wrapped, and you have testified that you had seen the same blanket in Harry McCandless’ room at Wa-po-nah.”
“Yes, Mr. Kilgore. Harry had several blankets.”
“Suppose you describe the one we have here, without looking at the exhibit table.”
“Well—uh—it’s kind of red, and green, and it’s got some brown in it, and the design is sort of bars and zigzags and curlicues—”
“Isn’t there a predominant area of white, too?”
“Yes, come to think
of it.”
“And four large triangles in the corner?”
“Yes, that too.”
“So your description was none too accurate. How about describing in detail the other blankets you’ve seen at Wa-po-nah, then?”
Eli squirmed uncomfortably. “Well, I guess I couldn’t do that in detail. What I mean to say is, they all look pretty much alike.”
“Try, Mr. Weingarten.”
Eli tried. But from his fumbling attempts, it was evident that he had no clear visualization of the blankets he had seen.
Kilgore nodded to Clem Erskine who left the courtroom and returned with a package wrapped in heavy paper. It was, Kilgore announced, a blanket brought that day from Harry McCandless’ room at Wa-po-nah.
“Will the attorney general concede that I hold here a Navajo blanket which is the subject of the testimony given by the witness?”
Beaudoin arose warily. “I’m afraid I’d like to have some foundation laid for the introduction of this exhibit. Unless Mr. Kilgore wants to testify to that blanket from personal knowledge?”
Kilgore turned to the court and asked that the blanket be marked for identification. “Mr. Witness! Do you recognize this blanket marked ‘Defendant’s Exhibit for Identification A’?”
Eli Weingarten said feebly, “All those blankets look alike. I couldn’t say whether it is or isn’t.”
“You can’t exclude it?”
“No.”
“You can’t include it?”
“No.”
“Let me now show you the Territory’s Exhibit in Evidence Seventeen. It’s the twin of Exhibit A, ain’t it?”
“It is.”
Kilgore turned to the bench. “If the blankets are twins, and the witness can’t identify one twin, I submit that he can’t identify the other. I move that the exhibit be stricken from evidence and that the jury be instructed to disregard all testimony taken in that connection.”
“I only said it looked like one of Harry’s blankets—” Eli Weingarten muttered.
Judge Hazledine finally restored order and waited as Sam Dodge left the room for the telegraph office to get the latest development on the wire for Santa Fe.
“Motion granted!” he said grimly. “The jury is instructed to disregard any testimony regarding the Territory’s exhibit. It’s just a blanket in which the deceased girl’s body was found.”
Kilgore balanced his thick body lightly on the balls of his feet. So far, so good. The rest of Eli’s testimony, the details of the final night, would need no refutation, since Harry’s own story would serve to cancel it out.
“I have no further questions,” Kilgore announced.
Beaudoin looked displeased with the course of events, though nothing he could have done would have saved Eli from Kilgore’s trap. Scowling blackly, he said, “Call Mrs. Morgan.”
16.
BEAUDOIN said, Mrs. Morgan, how was the deceased related to you?”
Kilgore broke in, “Just a minute. Is it Mrs. Morgan or Miss Morgan?”
Laurie said stolidly. “Miss Morgan. I’m not married.”
Kilgore said, “Missus is a courtesy title?”
“Yes.”
Kilgore bowed. “I am enlightened!”
Beaudoin repeated his question, and the answer was given with a dry stare. “Honey was my daughter. Her true name is Mary Margaret but we all called her Honey.”
“And she lived with you until when?”
“June. We had a little quarrel then, and she moved out of my place in Santa Fe and came here to San Carlos.”
“Did you know where she was staying?”
“Yes. With Dade Rawlins. He could be trusted to look after her some.”
“And did you hear from your daughter at all after she left your household, Miss Morgan?”
“Oh, yes,” Laurie said. “She wrote to me practically every week. Mostly about how she was spending time with Harry McCandless. In November she wrote me that Harry McCandless had asked her to marry him.”
Hubbub in the courtroom. Gasps of disbelief and surprise. At the defense table, Kilgore grasped Clem’s arm and squeezed it tight, as though trying to squeeze off the words Laurie was about to speak.
“A promise of marriage?” Beaudoin said, savoring the words. “Was there anything but a verbal promise?”
“Yes, there was,” Laurie said, her voice loud and clear. “Honey told me that Harry had given her a diamond ring worth two thousand dollars. Then, she said, Harry wrote his sister in New York, and his sister advised him to get the ring back from Honey, and so Harry took it back—”
Kilgore was instantly on his feet in the midst of the general murmur that went about the room. But as he gathered his breath, Beaudoin shouted, “A promise of marriage? Was there anything more than a verbal promise?”
Everyone then seemed to be shouting at once, and Clem Erskine, to his own amazement, found himself protesting and forward in the well of the court with a scuffle of lawyers at the bench. Judge Hazledine was banging for order. Kilgore’s voice arose like the bugling of an elk in rutting time.
“Objection! Objection! Objection!” Kilgore howled. “The Territory knows this is hearsay thrice confounded! The Territory knows this is not admissible! How can I cross-examine a letter from a dead girl? Objection! I move for a mistrial! I ask the withdrawal of a juror! I ask for a directed verdict!”
“Order! Order!”
And Laurie Morgan was shouting from the witness chair directly at the defense lawyer. “The girl told me in that letter that Harry McCandless had given her a diamond ring worth two thousand dollars. He told her he wrote his sister in New York, that stuck-up bitch, Carlotta McCandless, about the ring, and Carlotta advised him to get the ring back one way or another. He grabbed that ring and I was going to sue—”
And so on and on the enraged woman shouted the damning facts across the well of the court.
Beaudoin finally managed to be heard. “Mrs. Morgan,” he said in tones of soft reproof, “you really shouldn’t volunteer testimony. When a lawyer objects, you really should wait for the ruling of the court. Mrs. Morgan!” he said helplessly, “Mrs. Morgan! Please—”
“He killed her for that ring!” Laurie Morgan screamed. “He told her he’d kill her unless she gave back that ring—”
“Order! Order!”
Order was finally restored, and Beaudoin’s head hung meekly in shame. “The Territory apologizes to the court,” he said humbly. “The Territory had no idea the witness would develop this line of testimony. The Territory consents to strike her testimony.”
“Counsel will step to the bench.”
Judge Hazledine stared at the circle of lawyers. “Mr. Kilgore, it’s your move,” he said grimly. “I’ll grant a motion to strike the woman’s testimony. Is that satisfactory?”
Kilgore shook his head. “That was a fast one that Pete pulled,” he said grimly. “I don’t mind hard blows, but this was right to the groin. He knew damn well Laurie was set to make that outburst. There’s complicity here!”
Beaudoin looked pained. “Jake, I swear I don’t know where you got these ideas. I put her on in good faith. She’s ignorant, and she’s a mother, and she got out of control. I’ll join in your motion.”
“The hell you will!” Kilgore said. “The cat’s out of the bag. The jury heard all that prejudicial and illegal testimony. I’ll make that motion to strike, but without your help.”
Hazledine turned to the attorney general. “Mr. Beaudoin, if this happens once more, I’ll cite you to the governor to institute removal proceedings. If you get a conviction, I don’t want any reversal because you can’t keep a straight record. Get back to your places!”
Judge Hazledine said, “Miss Morgan, can you produce those letters from your daughter?”
“No. No, I didn’t keep the letters.”
“Mr. Beaudoin,” Hazledine went on, “is it your intention to produce a witness who can testify that the diamond ring was actually in the deceased’s possession?”
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Beaudoin looked distressed. “Not at the moment, Your Honor. It seems the girl kept the ring hidden away and showed it to nobody during the few weeks it was in her possession, for fear it would be stolen.”
Judge Hazledine turned to Kilgore and said, “It would seem, Mr. Kilgore, that your point about hearsay is a telling one. Since the prosecution is not prepared to prove that the ring ever was in the deceased’s possession, I’m inclined to sustain your objection and order the entire matter of the ring stricken from the record.”
“Thank you, Your Honor,” Kilgore said.
“However,” Hazledine went on grimly, “the witness claimed that the defendant wrote to his sister informing her of his gift of the ring, and that he took the gift back upon her advice. Mr. Beaudoin is at liberty to adduce testimony from the sister on the matter of this letter. If no letter existed, then I’ll sustain your objection. On the other hand, if she confirms the claim of the present witness, I’m afraid I’ll have to allow all statements to stand, but subject to connection. Letters by the defendant himself are of course admissible evidence to show motive. Mr. Beaudoin, Mr. Kilgore—either of you is at liberty to call Miss McCandless as a witness.”
Kilgore winced. He had hoped no one would bring Carlotta into this. The important ring testimony had been on the verge of going into the discard, but now all was altered. He returned to his seat. Clem whispered, “Carlotta will never perjure herself! She’ll admit that she received the letter!”
Kilgore nodded. “We’re in trouble. Harry denies giving the ring—but I’m afraid Carlotta will back up Laurie’s story, I’m sure. Beaudoin will make us sweat over this!” He pounded his fist into his palm. “I was too slow objecting. I should have cut Laurie off before she dragged Harry’s letter to Carlotta into this! But I didn’t even know she had heard about the letter!”
Kilgore shook a little as he confronted Laurie for the cross-examination. He said, “You’re a resident of Santa Fe, are you not?”
“Correct.”
“May I ask your profession?”
“I’m a sporting-house proprietor.”
“Might I ask you to be more specific about the nature of such a house?”
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