“We went in the side gate.”
“You say ‘we’. Who?”
“Me and Brownie.”
“Well, tell us what you did now.”
“We went up to Mr. Sawyer, he was on the back steps, and asked him to let us go in the house, and he wouldn’t let us in, so we went in the barn and went right up to the hay loft.”
Lizzie understood exactly what Knowlton was attempting.
She had been warned by her attorneys that the testimony she’d given at the inquest in Fall River could — in the hands of the skillful Government team — be turned against her if the transcript was admitted in evidence. Part of that testimony detailed what she had told Knowlton about her visit to the barn. She’d said she had gone there shortly after her father returned to the house. She’d said she had remained upstairs in the barn loft for twenty minutes.
She did not need her attorneys to tell her now that Knowlton’s interest was exceedingly keen as concerned who — if anyone — had visited that barn loft before and after the murders. He had spent a great deal of time on the barn when he’d repeatedly battered her with questions last August. He seemed prepared to use the same tactics now — on a twelve-year-old boy.
She listened intently.
“How did you go into the barn?”
“Through the door.”
“Did you open the door?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Was it locked?”
“It was... kind of a thing. Pin like.”
“Was it fastened?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What made you go into the barn?”
“Why, to see if anybody was in there.”
“Did you go anywhere else except up into the barn loft?”
“No, sir.”
“Did you look around downstairs in the barn?”
“No, sir.”
“The place you went up to was up in the barn loft.”
“Yes, sir, on the south side of the house. I went over to the front window on the west side and looked out the window. Then we went and looked in under the hay.”
“How was the heat up in the barn compared with it out in the sun?”
“It was cooler up in the barn than it was outdoors.”
“What do you suppose made that so much cooler than the rest of the country?”
“I couldn’t say. It’s always warmer in the house, I should say, than outdoors.”
“And you should think the barn loft was cooler than any place you found that day?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You mean that, do you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Has anybody told you to say that?”
“No, sir.”
“And you went up there to see if you could see a man up there?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Walked around up there?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Because it was cool?”
“No. We went up to see if anybody was in there.”
“Did you look for anybody after you got there?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Thought perhaps the man might be hidden in the hay?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Weren’t afraid of him?”
“No, sir.”
“Was there any officer there at the side gate when you went in?”
“No, sir.”
“Any on the walk?”
“No, sir.”
“Any on the steps?”
“No, sir.”
“Do you know Officer Medley?”
“No, sir.”
Officer Medley, she thought.
Whose testimony — when it came, and if it were believed by the jury — would make what she’d said at the inquest seem untruthful. Her mind circled back to the inquest testimony. Her attorneys were fearful of its admission and were proceeding under the assumption that it might be admitted. In which case they were carefully preparing the ground for all she’d said about her visit to the barn. The ground Officer Medley could overturn as if with a shovel — if he were believed by the jury.
When Medley took the stand and when either Knowlton or Moody put him through his carefully rehearsed paces, would it matter who had seen what at the barn or who had gone into the loft before Medley? Whether it had been she alone, or half a hundred men, would it matter? If the jury believed him, would any of this matter to the hangman adjusting her noose?
Nervously, she waited.
My name is Walter P. Stevens. I was a reporter for the Daily News at Fall River at the time of the Borden murder. I arrived there with Officer Mullaly. There were several people in front of the house. I didn’t see Officer Medley when I arrived. I went around the front of the house and yard between the Kelly yard and Borden house. Looked out through the grass and along the fence. Then I went to the rear fence and looked over it into the Chagnon yard, along the length of the fence, following it to the corner. I didn’t spend very much time in the yard before I entered the house. I was standing in the side entryway when Mr. Medley passed me. Going in. Very shortly after he came in, I went out to the back of the house again, and went back as far as the fence. I think I looked over the fence again. Then I went into the barn.
When I went into the barn there was nobody downstairs. While I was in there, I heard somebody go upstairs. I think I heard at least three people going upstairs. I heard them going upstairs, and they had disappeared when I turned.
This couldn’t have been many minutes after I saw Mr. Medley in the house.
“Your name is William H. Medley?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You are at present doing special work on the Fall River police force?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Under the title of what is called inspector?”
“Inspector.”
“And last year you were a patrolman?”
“Patrolman.”
“Did you act in any special capacity last year?”
“From the fourth day of August afterwards. I’ve not returned to patrol duty since.”
“Upon the fourth day of August, did you obtain any knowledge of a homicide at the Borden house?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where were you when you obtained it?”
“Near the North Police Station — or rather in the North Police Station.”
“From whom did you obtain the information?”
“The city marshal. By telephone.”
“What time was it at that time?”
“About twenty-five minutes after eleven o’clock.”
I stopped a team that was going by the police station and rode in the team to the city marshal’s office. A sort of grocery-order wagon with a cover on it. I couldn’t say as to the gait of the horse, but it was quite fast, as fast as I could get the man to urge the horse. It took six or seven minutes to get to the city marshal’s office. I delayed there long enough to get a message from Marshal Hilliard, and then I walked to 92 Second Street, arriving there at about twenty or nineteen minutes to twelve.
The first person I saw when I got to the Borden house was Mr. Sawyer, a man at the door. I inquired for Mr. Fleet, but he did not get there until a minute or two later. After Mr. Fleet came, I went round the house, and walked round part of the way to the back door, and tried a cellar door. The cellar door was fast. I went in the rear of the house and saw Mr. Fleet again, and Mr. Mullaly, and Miss Russell, and Mrs. Churchill, and one or two doctors, and Miss Lizzie Borden. I asked her if she had any idea as to who committed the crimes, and she didn’t have the remotest idea. I asked her where Bridget had been, and she told me that Bridget had been upstairs in her room.
“Where were you?” I asked.
“Upstairs in the barn,” she said. Or “up in the barn.” I’m not positive as to the “stairs” part. She said she was up in the barn. I talked with her only that one time. She was upstairs in her room, at the head of the front hallway stairs.