As Time Goes By

by Mary Higgins Clark

  “What kind of material were the mortar and the base that you saw made of?”

  “Black marble.”

  With both hands the prosecutor then picked up an object that had been on a table behind where he had been sitting. He brought it up to the witness and said, “Sir, I’m showing you what’s been marked ‘State’s Exhibit 25’ for identification. Have you seen this object before?”

  “Yes, sir. I have.”

  And what is it, sir?

  “This appears to be the mortar-and-pestle set, minus the pestle. I note that the inscribed plate refers to Dr. Grant.”

  “Is this in the same condition as when you saw it that morning?”

  “Exactly the same, sir. The pestle that I noted was missing is still not there.”

  “Is it reasonable to assume that the missing pestle was made of the same material?”

  “Yes, it normally would be.”

  “And heavy enough to be used as a weapon?”

  Robert Maynard was on his feet once again. “Objection. Objection.”

  “Sustained,” the judge said quickly.

  “How much would a pestle from this type of mortar-and-pestle set generally weigh?”

  “It is a hard marble object, likely weighing about a pound.”

  “So the pestle would ordinarily be lying with the thick end down in the bowl-shaped mortar?”

  “That’s right. Again, the fact that it wasn’t there is what drew my attention.”

  “Mr. Hecker,” the prosecutor continued, “did you remove the body of Dr. Edward Grant from his bedroom to your funeral parlor?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “When did that take place?”

  “Shortly after my arrival.”

  “You stated that there was a caregiver on the scene?”

  “Yes, I was informed that the caregiver, upon arriving at the house and going into Mr. Grant’s bedroom and going over to him, realized he was not breathing. She called 9-1-1.”

  “Were you informed that the Alpine police officer on the scene had contacted Dr. Grant’s personal physician, who agreed to sign the death certificate?”

  “Yes, I was.”

  “In your mind, as of that time, was there any suggestion or any indication whatsoever of foul play?”

  “No, there was not.”

  “What happened after Dr. Grant’s body arrived at your funeral parlor?”

  “We began our usual procedures to prepare the body for viewing and burial.”

  “Did you perform these procedures yourself?”

  “Yes, with the assistance of one of my technicians.”

  “During this process did you observe anything unusual?”

  “Yes.”

  “What was it that you observed?”

  “The back of Dr. Grant’s head was very soft to the touch. It was obvious that he had sustained some type of traumatic injury to that area.”

  “At that time did you have any idea about how that type of injury could have occurred?

  “I immediately thought of the missing pestle.”

  “Given the location and the nature, would it have been possible for Dr. Grant to self-inflict the injury?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “What did you do then?”

  “I ceased working on Dr. Grant’s body and called the medical examiner. He immediately responded that he would call the police and send an ambulance to bring Dr. Grant’s body to his facility, the county morgue.”

  “What happened next?”

  “I understand that an autopsy was performed and two days later the body was returned to my establishment for burial.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Hecker. I have no further questions.”

  Delaney listened as Robert Maynard asked only one question of this witness.

  “Are you in the habit of observing the artifacts in a room when your services are engaged?”

  “It is something that I have always done automatically. It is in the nature of my work. When I am removing the deceased, I always closely observe the surrounding physical scene.”

  Knowing that he could do absolutely nothing with this witness, Maynard said, “I have no further questions, Your Honor.”

  From her seat Delaney looked at Betsy Grant, who appeared surprised that her lawyer had not asked any more questions.

  The prosecutor then called Dr. Martin Caruso, the county medical examiner. After summarizing his extensive medical training and explaining that in twenty years as the medical examiner he had conducted thousands of autopsies, he related what he had observed during the autopsy of Dr. Edward Grant. He testified that the deceased’s skull had been fractured in four places causing the brain to swell and internal brain bleeding to begin.

  “Is there any way Dr. Grant could have fallen and caused that injury to his head?”

  “I would say it is almost impossible to have sustained that kind of injury as the result of a fall.”

  “Why is that the case?” the prosecutor asked.

  “Because if he had fallen and hit his head, the impact of that trauma would have been so severe that he almost certainly would have lost consciousness. And he would not have been able to get back into bed on his own.”

  “Dr. Caruso, I represent to you that the evidence in this trial has indicated that a marble pestle, weighing approximately one pound, was missing from the bedroom where Dr. Grant had been sleeping. In your expert medical opinion, was the injury you observed consistent with the victim being struck in the back of the head with this type of object?”

  “Yes. The injury I observed could have been caused by a pestle of this size or other similar object. Let me explain. If the victim had been struck by a larger, heavier object, such as a hammer or a baseball bat, there would have been much more severe external injury and substantial bleeding. An injury from a much smaller object, such as a pestle, will cause internal injury to the brain, but often there is no external bleeding.”

  “Was there any external bleeding here?”

  “No, there was not.”

  As the questioning went on, Delaney tried to analyze the reaction of the jury to the testimony they were hearing. She noticed that the eyes of several of them shifted to look at Betsy Grant. Tears were slipping quietly down her cheeks as she absorbed the reality of the blow to her husband’s head.

  Delaney listened as Robert Maynard asked just a few questions of the medical examiner. It was clear to her that the witness had undoubtedly established that Edward Grant had died from a blow to his head, not the result under any circumstances of an accident.

  When questioning of the witness ended, it was nearly one o’clock. Judge Roth turned to the jury and told them that it was time for the lunch recess. “Ladies and gentlemen, we will resume at two fifteen. During this break do not discuss the testimony among yourselves or with anyone else. Have a very pleasant lunch.”

  • • •

  When the proceedings resumed, the prosecutor called Frank Bruno, the lawyer handling Dr. Grant’s estate. Approximately sixty years old, with a reserved and serious demeanor, he explained that after the death of Dr. Grant’s first wife, their son Alan Grant had been the sole heir to his father’s estate. Dr. Grant had revised his will after he married Betsy Ryan, then designating both as equal co-heirs except that the home and its contents would solely remain with Betsy. He had also provided that if he ever became incapacitated, Betsy Grant would have power of attorney to make legal, financial and medical decisions for him.

  Under further questioning by the prosecutor, he testified that the current value of the estate, apart from the home and contents, was about fifteen million dollars. He further stated that two non-family members, Angela Watts and Carmen Sanchez, had received bequests in the will. Each was left twenty-five thousand dollars. Bruno did not know if either was aware of her bequest before Dr. Grant died.

  Robert Maynard then began cross-examination.

  “Mr. Bruno, how old is Alan Grant now?”

  “He is thirty-fiv
e years old.”

  “And would it be fair to say that for various reasons he has had over the last many years severe financial pressures?”

  “I would say that that is accurate.”

  “And is it fair to say that his father gave him a great deal of financial assistance?”

  “Yes, he did.”

  “Is it also fair to say that a little over a decade ago his father had become very impatient with his lifestyle?”

  “Yes, he had. His only employment was as a commercial photographer, and it was not very steady.”

  “Do you know if Betsy Grant expressed an opinion on this scenario?”

  “Yes, she did. She felt strongly that his annual gift or allowance should be limited to one hundred thousand dollars a year, which was less than half of what he was used to receiving.”

  “Did the doctor make that change?”

  “Yes, he did.”

  “If you know, what was Alan Grant’s reaction?”

  “He was furious and barely spoke to his father for months after that.”

  “What were his feelings toward Betsy?”

  “He blamed her for his father’s decision and immensely resented her.”

  “Mr. Bruno, you are an expert in estate law. Is that correct?”

  “I would certainly hope so after thirty-five years in this practice.”

  “If a person is convicted of the intentional killing of another person, can that person inherit from the victim?”

  “No, that person may not profit from homicide.”

  “So, Mr. Bruno, if Betsy Grant is convicted of murder, Alan Grant becomes the sole heir, is that correct?”

  “That is correct.”

  Robert Maynard then looked at the jury and half-smiled. “Mr. Bruno, would you just remind us again what Alan Grant would get if Betsy is convicted.”

  “He would receive the entire estate, which apart from the home is valued at fifteen million dollars. He would also receive his father’s half share in the Alpine home, which is now worth approximately three million dollars. Finally, he would receive all of his father’s personal possessions, such as jewelry and clothing.”

  “Thank you very much, sir,” Maynard said.

  Prosecutor Elliot Holmes stood up. “You Honor, it is now after three o’clock. I know there will be a mid-afternoon break. I request that the state be permitted to call our next witness tomorrow morning.”

  “That’s fine,” Judge Roth replied. After again cautioning the jurors not to discuss the case and not to read or listen to any newspaper or media coverage, the proceedings ended for the day.

  12

  Robert Maynard had ordered a car to take Betsy home. “I’ll pick you up at eight o’clock tomorrow morning,” he said, “but I thought you’d want a little quiet time on the way home this evening.”

  “Yes, I would. Thank you,” Betsy said softly. As the door closed, she was aware of cameras taking pictures of her, and they continued as she was driven away. She leaned back and closed her eyes. The day in court seemed unreal to her. How could anyone really believe she would harm Ted? She realized that her mind was always crowded with memories of the early days with him. The day they met when she was his patient after she broke her leg ice-skating. It was a nasty break, and in the emergency room of Hackensack Hospital they had sent for him to set it.

  She remembered how he had seemed to fill the room with his presence. He was holding the X-rays of her leg in front of him. “Well, you really did a job on yourself, Betsy,” he said cheerfully. “But we’ll fix you up as good as new.”

  She had been twenty-five then and a history teacher at Pascack Valley High School in Hillsdale and living a few miles away in Hackensack. She soon learned that Ted was a widower living in Ridgewood, also a few miles away. Their attraction to each other had been mutual and strong. They were married a year later.

  Alan was in his freshman year at Cornell and had welcomed her with open arms. As much as he missed his own mother, he knew that I was making his father happy again, Betsy thought bitterly. But ever since I persuaded Ted to cut back on the money he was giving him, the truth is he has hated me. He knows perfectly well that I would never hurt his father.

  Unconsciously she shook her head. Her mouth went suddenly dry and she reached for and opened the bottle of water in the holder beside her. She again was thinking of the day Ted took her over to see the house in Alpine. When Ted made his cash offer, the realtor said the owner would be willing to close in two weeks. On a beautiful spring morning only twelve days later, it became their new home.

  For eight years we were so happy there, she thought. And then it began. The little signs. They started around the time Ted was fifty-one.

  The early signs were his forgetfulness. Suddenly Ted became easily upset over trifles. A patient rearranging a scheduled visit irritated him terribly. He began to forget dates they had made socially. He was complaining he had too much on his mind, and it was obvious he was becoming depressed. But it was when he was driving and could not remember the way home, even when they were only in the next town, that she knew something was terribly wrong.

  The car had cut over to the Palisades Parkway and they were now approaching Alpine. Betsy knew that Carmen would be preparing dinner. She thought she was looking forward to being without company, but when she arrived, three of her former fellow teachers from Pascack Valley were waiting for her. As each in turn hugged her, Jeanne Cohen, who was now principal, said fervently, “Betsy, this is going to be ancient history. It’s awful that you have to go through it. Everyone who knows you saw the way you took care of Ted.”

  “I hope so,” Betsy said quietly. “I was beginning to sound like a monster in court.”

  They had been waiting for her in the living room. She thought of all the good times they had had together here. Outside the shadows were lengthening. It felt as though they were gathering over her. She glanced at the club chair that had been Ted’s favorite place to sit. The last time he was in it was the last night of his life. But when they had gathered here before dinner, he had gotten up, come over to her and reached for her hand. He had pleaded, “Betsy, help me find it.”

  An hour later he had become violently upset. But in that single moment of clarity, it had seemed to her that he was trying to tell her something.

  13

  With rapt attention Alvirah and Willy watched and listened to Delaney’s report on the events at the Betsy Grant trial. When it was over, they looked at each other. Willy spoke first. “It looks like today did not go very well for Betsy Grant.”

  “It’s only the first day,” Alvirah said hopefully. “That prosecutor really knows how to lay it on thick.”

  “Are you still sorry you’re not covering the trial?” Willy asked.

  “Oh, I’ll start going just as a spectator when the defense part of it starts. But Willy, there’s something else I really want to focus on. Delaney has such a terrible need to find her birth mother. And now that her adoptive parents have moved away, she really thinks it’s her opportunity to do it without feeling as though she is hurting them.”

  “That doesn’t make much sense,” Willy said.

  “Yes, it does,” Alvirah said. “When she was back and forth to the house, Delaney knew that Jennifer Wright considered it a personal rejection if Delaney brought up the adoption. They obviously lied on the birth certificate when they put their names in as the parents. So let’s see what I can find out. You know I’m a pretty good detective.”

  Alvirah still could not get used to using a computer. She had a gift for making mistakes as she tried to do research online. But she was determined to see for herself the wording on Delaney’s birth certificate. With some help from Willy, she finally got the information she wanted; only it wasn’t nearly enough. It simply said that twenty-six years ago at 4:06 P.M. on March 16th a female named Delaney Nora Wright had been born. The place of birth was listed as 22 Oak Street in Philadelphia. The mother and father’s names and address were listed as
James Charles Wright, 50, and Jennifer Olsen Wright, 49, living in Oyster Bay, Long Island.

  “Willy, the only information the Wrights could give Delaney was the name of the midwife, Cora Banks, and where the birth took place, at 22 Oak Street. Delaney told me there were four listings for Cora Banks in the Philadelphia area. She said she called each one of them, but they were all much younger than midwife Cora Banks would be today, and they all claimed that they had no knowledge of her.”

  Willy printed out the information on the birth certificate. Alvirah reviewed it and stared at it, her expression gloomy. “This is not as helpful as I thought it would be.”

  Willy said, “I think I can look up that address online and see what’s there.”

  The aerial shot showed an industrial building situated among smaller houses on Oak Street.

  “Looks like the house that was 22 Oak Street was torn down,” Willy said.

  Alvirah sighed aloud her disappointment. “Well, that just makes my job harder. But look at it this way, Willy, I’ve always said that before I die, I want to see Philadelphia again. Let’s drive there in the next few days.”

  14

  At nine thirty the following morning the trial resumed.

  “Your, Honor,” said Elliot Holmes, “the state calls Alan Grant.”

  The entrance door to the courtroom opened, and the jury and spectators watched closely as the murdered doctor’s son walked slowly toward the witness stand. Handsome, wearing an obviously expensive navy-blue sports jacket and gray slacks, with an open-collar shirt, he was sworn in and took the witness stand.

  The prosecutor asked a number of questions about Grant’s background. He had graduated from Cornell University, was a professional photographer, was divorced from the mother of his two children and also had a ten-year-old son from a previous relationship.