“I…can’t be sure. Harvey handled all our financial matters.”
Forty thousand dollars, by his account. Twenty-five by Faloon’s. A hint of cozenage. Arthur will ask if he had theft insurance-he may have hoped to cover a hefty deductible. One who is dishonest in small matters may be unscrupulously venal when larger issues are at risk. Falsus in uno, falsus in omnibus.
In cross, Arthur hones in on the amount lost: “I expect your husband will say he was out of pocket by forty thousand U.S. dollars. Does that sound right?”
“That’s what he said.”
“Do you doubt it?”
“I don’t know.”
She doesn’t always trust his word. “Some twenty-five thousand remained in his moneybelt the next morning?”
“Yes, he counted it out.”
“So altogether he was carrying sixty-five thousand. Where in this tiny village could anyone expect to spend that much?”
“I think he just closed a deal on a condo unit.”
“A down payment in cash?”
“He never bothered me with the money aspects of business.”
“One assumes he keeps a bank account.”
“I don’t know much about it, I’m sorry.”
Arthur shares the suspicion that shows on many jurors’ faces. The conclusion seems unavoidable that Coolidge treats the IRS with jaunty disregard.
“At dinner, your husband was seated to the right of Dr. Winters?”
“Yes.”
“He talked with her?”
“Oh, he always has a lot to say.”
“Witty and engaging fellow, is he?”
“Well, he…likes to entertain. Tell jokes.”
“He’s about sixty?”
“Sixty-one.”
“Big rangy fellow?”
“He’s a big man. He keeps in shape.”
“If you are an example, madam, he obviously has an eye for a good-looking woman.”
She seems flustered. “Well, I suppose, I don’t know.”
“And he was giving Eve Winters quite the once-over, wasn’t he?”
Kroop tires of waiting for Buddy to object. “Mr. Beauchamp, I would suggest that you take care not to overstep the bounds of decency.”
“Thank you, milord. I’ll reword that. He was ogling her all through dinner, wasn’t he?”
“Don’t answer that question,” Kroop says, his dentures clicking.
Arthur ploughs ahead. “And later, in bed, he was restless, sleep wasn’t coming.”
“I guess so.”
“He often has difficulty sleeping?”
“When he overdoes it.”
“Occasionally takes a sleeping pill?”
“Yes, but…I don’t know if he brought them.”
Fine. Arthur will let the matter rest there. “And he went out for his walk?”
“Yes.”
“In the rain.”
“I’m not sure if it was still raining.”
“And he disappeared into the small hours of the night?”
“I…suppose.”
“Did he shower before returning to bed?”
“I don’t…” A hesitation. “Yes, he must have.”
Because he’d been rooting in the Nitinat’s garbage for a discarded safe? Arthur will shelve that farfetched possibility, Coolidge is not his real target.
Kroop sighs impatiently. “These questions are much better asked of her husband, Mr. Beauchamp.”
Buddy, who has been stirring restlessly, winces. “On that matter, milord, there’s a slight problem. Mr. Coolidge suddenly had to return home to attend to some financial matters.”
Arthur exclaims, “He what?” This is the glitch the Crown has been trying to conceal.
“He’s coming back in a few days, after he straightens out his problem.”
“A problem?” says Arthur. “What problem?”
“Some tax matter,” Buddy says.
Arthur cocks his ear. “Taskmaster?”
“A tax problem.”
“We can only hope Internal Revenue will allow this ogling undertaxed Topekan to come back. And I’ll bet he had a far graver reason to flee the jurisdiction.” Full and roundly said. Nobody has thought to send away the jury. They’re smiling, enjoying him-he’s on a roll today.
As he sits, Kroop looks at him like he would at a dog who’d fouled the rug. Buddy rises to re-examine: “You told Mr. Beauchamp your husband took sleeping pills-do you know what brand?”
“I don’t, I’m sorry.”
The one question too many.
“Okay, but were they legally prescribed?”
“Well, I assume…I honestly can’t say.”
Two questions too many. Kroop snaps his daybook shut with such force that Ears breaks the pencil he was chewing. “We will adjourn until tomorrow, ten o’clock.”
Arthur has ended the day on an encouraging note. In truth, he will be happy if the joke-telling developer never returns. Better to have him run off like a fugitive than swear on oath he left the Breakers for twenty minutes to walk off his burps and farts. In making a late break for the border he has helped direct a fat red herring to Arthur’s hook.
26
In court this morning, among the young lawyers here to watch and learn, is Brian Pomeroy-curiosity has got the best of him. The prisoner’s dock remains starkly empty, a glassed-in vault without a body. Buddy looks grumpy-the Crown’s case is being forced onto detours. Despite a rocky start, Arthur has piqued the jury’s interest in other culprits. Doctor Eve’s hiking companions comprise today’s list, and he has a few questions for Ruth Delvechio, her ex-lover.
First up is the anaesthetist, Glynis Bloom-early forties, a prematurely greying soldier’s haircut. Her manner is poised, her answers flavoured with a breezy turn of phrase, as she describes six days of tramping on sand and sandstone, up muddy trails, over waterways, their packs heavy with tents, clothes, and “enough granola to feed a herd of cattle.” In the evenings, they would explore the beach for shells, write letters and postcards by candlelight, play cards, read.
“Okay, and you finished this hike?”
“Yes, we actually did.”
That generates the fabled titter that runs through courtrooms, stilled by Kroop’s searching spotlights. Buddy might not have pulled this boner if Flynn hadn’t been tugging at his sleeve, reminding him of some overlooked morsel of evidence.
“I meant…Let me go back. When the four of you started off on March 21, you signed in at the trailhead?”
“Yes.”
“And then you signed out at Pachena Bay?”
“Yes.”
She identifies their signatures on a register for March 26. Beside hers, Doctor Eve wrote, Magic.
“And what did you do after that?”
“We persuaded our sore feet to carry us the last mile to Bamfield.”
All four bunked in Cotters’ Cottage that night. Dr. Bloom and her partner, Wilma Quong, had to leave the next day, but Eve Winters had another week of holiday. “She was knocked out by the place.”
“Knocked out?” A small, pursed smile from Kroop. “I regret, madam, that my ear is not trained in the nuances of modern speech.”
“What a jerk.” The scornful whisper of Brian Pomeroy. Kroop could not have heard, though his ears picked up something, causing him to lose the stub of his smile.
“I meant she was captivated by the ambience of the village, the lovely little beach, everything. ‘I’m never leaving this place,’ she said.” Dr. Bloom bites her lip-as if she only now appreciates the irony.
Buddy spoils the soft moment with rude bluntness. “Well, she was sure right about that.” An embarrassed silence has him shuffling through papers, seeking some better note on which to conclude. Again Flynn tugs at him, and they confer, then Buddy asks if Winters suffered any injuries on the trail.
“Just the usual bumps and thumps.”
“Any injury to her teeth?”
“No, nothing like that.”
Buddy sits. “Your witness.”
On rising, Arthur expresses condolences for her loss of a friend.
“Thank you, she was special.”
“A fascinating woman, by all accounts.”
“Intuitive. She could see through your skin.”
“I would often come upon her column. There was help there for even a used-up old fellow like me.” The Man Who Thinks He’s a Masochist.