Then the town began to hear the other stories, and old recollections were raked over for black and shining dirt. And when it was all put together, Wrightsville began to say: Now there’s something funny going on. Do you suppose Frank Lloyd was right about Carter Bradford’s being the Wrights’ friend and all? Why doesn’t he put Luigi and Dr. Poffen-berger on the stand? And Gus Olesen? And the others? Why, this all makes it plain as day that Jim Haight wanted to kill Nora! He threatened her all over town!
Chief Dakin was tackled by Luigi Marino before court opened one morning when the Chief came in for a quick shave. Joe Lupin listened from the next chair with both hairy ears.
“Say, Chefe!” said Luigi in great excitement. ”I been lookin’ all over for-a you! I just remember something hot!”
“Yeah, Luigi? Once over, and take it easy.”
“Las’ Novemb’. Jim-a Haight, he come in here one day for I should cut-a his hair. I say to Mist’ Haight, ‘Mist’ Haight, I feel-a fine. You know what? I’m-a gonna get hitched!’ Mist’ Haight he say that’s-a good, who’s-a the lucky gal? I say: ‘Francesca Botigliano. I know Francesca from the ol’ countree. She been workin’ by Saint-a Louey, but I propose-a in a lett’ an’ now Francesca she’s-a comin’ to Wrights-a-ville to be Mrs. Marino¯I send-a her the ticket an’ expense-a mon’ myself. Ain’t that something?’ You remember I get-a married, Chefe . . . ”
“Sure, Luigi. Hey, take it easy!”
“So what-a does Mist’ Haight say? He say: ‘Luigi, nev’ marry a poor gal! There ain’t-a no per-cent-age in it!’ You see? He marry that-a gal Nora Wright for her mon’! You get-a Mist’ Bradford put me on-a stand. I’ll tell-adat story!”
Chief Dakin laughed.
But Wrightsville did not. To Wrightsville it seemed logical that Luigi’s story should be part of the trial testimony. It would show that he married Nora Wright for her money. If a man would marry a woman for her money, he’d poison her for it, too . . . Those ladies of Wrightsville who were so unfortunate as to have lawyers in the family heard a few pointed remarks about “admissible” testimony.
Dr. Poffenberger had actually gone to Prosecutor Bradford before the trial and offered to testify.
“Why, Haight came to me last December, Cart, suffering from an abscessed wisdom tooth. I gave him gas, and while he was under the influence of the gas, he kept saying: ‘I’ll get rid of her! I’ll get rid of her!’And then he said: ‘I need that money for myself. I want that money for myself!’ Doesn’t that prove he was planning to kill her and why?”
“No,” said Bradford wearily. ”Unconscious utterances. Inadmissible testimony. Go way, Emil, and let me work, will you?”
Dr. Poffenberger was indignant. He repeated the story to as many of his patients as would listen, which was practically all of them.
Gus Olesen’s story reached the Prosecutor’s ears by way of Patrolman Chris Dorfman, Radio Division (one car). Patrolman Chris Dorfman had “happened” to drop into Gus Olesen’s place for a “coke” (he said), and Gus, “all het up,” had told him what Jim Haight had once said to him, Gus, on the occasion of a “spree.” And now Patrolman Chris Dorfman was all het up, for he had been wondering for weeks how he could muscle into the trial and take the stand and get into the papers.
“Just what is it Haight is supposed to have said, Chris?” asked Prosecutor Bradford.
“Well, Gus says Jim Haight a couple of times drove up to the Tavern cockeyed and wanting a drink, and Gus says he’d always turn him down. Once he even called up Mrs. Haight and asked her to come down and get her husband, he was raisin’ Cain, plastered to the ears. But the thing Gus remembers that I think you ought to get into your trial, Mr. Bradford, is when one night Haight was in there, drunk, and he kept ravin’ about wives, and marriage, and how lousy it all was, and then he said: ‘Nothin’ to do but get rid of her, Gus. I gotta get rid of her quick, or I’ll go nuts. She’s drivin’ me nuts!’ “
“Statements under the influence of liquor,” groaned Cart. ”Highly questionable. Do you want me to lose this case on reversible error? Go back to your radio car!”
Mr. Anderson’s story was simplicity itself. With dignity he told the New York reporter: “Sir, Mr. Haight an’ I have quaffed the purple flagon on many an occasion together. Kindred spirits, you understand. We would meet in the Square an’ embrace. Well do I recall that eventful evening in ‘dark December,’ when ‘in this our pinching cave,’ we discoursed ‘the freezing hours away’! Cymbeline, sir; a much-neglected masterwork . . . ”
“We wander,” said the reporter. ”What happened?”
“Well, sir, Mr. Haight put his arms about me and he said, Quote: ‘I’m going to kill her, Andy. See ‘f I don’t! I’m going to kill her dead!’ “
“Wow,” said the reporter, and left Mr. Anderson to go back to sleep on the pedestal of the Low Village World War Memorial.
But this luscious morsel, too, Prosecutor Bradford refused; and Wrightsville muttered that there was “something phony,” and buzzed and buzzed and buzzed.
The rumors reached Judge Lysander Newbold’s ears. From that day on, at the end of each court session, he sternly admonished the jury not to discuss the case with anyone, not even among themselves.
It was thought that Eli Martin had something to do with calling the rumors to Judge Newbold’s attention. For Judge Martin was beginning to look harried, particularly in the mornings, after breakfast with his wife. Clarice, who served in her own peculiar way, was his barometer for readings of the temper of Wrightsville. So a fury began to creep into the courtroom, and it mounted and flew back and forth between the old lawyer and Carter Bradford until the press began to nudge one another with wise looks and say “the old boy is cracking.”
* * *
Thomas Winship, head cashier of the Wrightsville National Bank, testified that James Haight had always used a thin red crayon in his work at the bank, and produced numerous documents from the files of the bank, signed by Haight in red crayon.
The last exhibit placed in evidence by Bradford¯a shrewd piece of timing¯was the volume Edgcomb’s Toxicology, with its telltale section marked in red crayon . . . the section dealing with arsenic.
This exhibit passed from hand to hand in the jury box, while Judge Martin looked “confident” and James Haight, by the old lawyer’s side at the defense table, grew very pale and was seen to glance about quickly, as if seeking escape. But the moment passed, and thenceforward he behaved as before¯silent, limp in his chair, his gray face almost bored.
* * *
At the close of Friday’s session, March the twenty-eighth, Prosecutor Bradford indicated that he “might be close to finished,” but that he would know better when court convened the following Monday morning. He thought it likely the People would rest on Monday.
There was an interminable conversation before the Bench, and then Judge Newbold called a recess until Monday morning, March the thirty-first.
The prisoner was taken back to his cell on the top floor of the Courthouse, the courtroom emptied, and the Wrights simply went home. There was nothing to do but wait for Monday . . . and try to cheer Nora up.
Nora lay on the chaise longue in her pretty bedroom, plucking the roses of her chintz window drapes. Hermy had refused to let her attend the trial; and after two days of tears, Nora had stopped fighting, exhausted.