“Where is it?” Robinson asked.
“I don’t know,” Mullaly said.
“Don’t you know where it is?”
“No, sir.”
“Was it a piece of that same handle?”
“It was a piece that corresponded with that.”
“The rest of the handle?”
“It was a piece with a fresh break in it.”
“The other piece?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, where is it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you see it after that?”
“I did not.”
“Was it a handle to a hatchet?”
“It was what I call a hatchet handle.”
There was the same murmur at the back of the courtroom. One of the justices, looking annoyed, glared toward the spectators’ benches. The twelve jurors, to a man, were leaning forward, listening intently now. Lizzie searched their faces, and then turned her attention back to Robinson.
“I want to know how long it was,” he said.
“Well, I couldn’t tell you how long it was. I didn’t measure it.”
“Well, did you take it out of the box?”
“I did not.”
“Do you know where Mr. Fleet is now, this minute?”
“I do not.”
“Is he below?”
“I don’t know.”
“Have you seen him since this morning?”
“I saw him downstairs.”
“You mean before the adjournment?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I would like to have Mr. Fleet come in,” Robinson said. “I would like to have him sent for.”
She welcomed the respite.
The day, which had begun so uncomfortably hot and humid, had turned considerably milder. Aware of the spectators’ eyes upon her, she walked nonetheless to one of the open windows, the deputy sheriff at her side like a shadow, and glanced down at the grass growing on the courthouse lawn. She took in a deep breath. Giant elms arched their branches over the walk below, their leaves moving gently in the new breeze. Sparrows sang in the capitals of the great Grecian columns. The flowers in the little plots on the lawn and in the big boxes on the courthouse portico bloomed red, white and yellow. She longed to be there in the warm sunshine, free for a moment from the strain of this confined room and the tensions it contained.
There were crowds outside even now.
This morning, as she’d made her way up the path to the Court House entrance, escorted by the deputy sheriff, the crowds had jostled and shoved beyond the erected fences, and many of the women had called out taunts and jeers to her. She could not understand why her own sex had turned against her, but their enmity was so positive and manifest that even in the courtroom the female spectators looked disappointed whenever a witness said anything to her advantage. She suddenly wondered, and this was a prospect she had never before considered, what her life would be like if and when the jury found her innocent. Would she ever again be able to enjoy in peace and privacy the harmless beauty of a June morning?
Someone in the crowd below had spied her at the open window.
She turned abruptly away.
Fleet was being led back into the courtroom.
“Mr. Fleet, returning to the subject we had under discussion this morning, about what you found in that box downstairs.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Will you state again what you found there at the time you looked in?”
“I found a hatchet head, the handle broken off, together with some other tools in there and the iron that was inside there. I don’t know just what it was.”
“Was this what you found?” Robinson asked, and showed him the hatchet head.
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you find anything else? Except old tools?”
“No, sir.”
“Sure about that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Who was with you at that time?”
“Michael Mullaly.”
“Anybody else?”
“Not that I recall.”
“Did you take this out of the box yourself?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Mullaly didn’t?”
“No, I don’t think he did.”
“Now, if I understand you,” Robinson said, showing him the small section of wood, “this piece was in the eye of the hatchet.”
“Yes, sir.”
“That has been driven out since.”
“By somebody.”
“Yes, not by you. And taking those two together, that was all you found in the box, except some old tools which you did not take out at all. Is that right?”
“That is all we found in connection with that hatchet.”
“You did not find the handle? The broken piece? Not at all?”
“No, sir.”
“You didn’t see it, did you?”
“No, sir.”
“Did Mr. Mullaly take it out of the box?”
“Not that I know of.”
“It was not there?”
“Not that I know of.”
“You looked in so that you could have seen it if it was in there.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You have no doubt about that, have you at all?”
“What?”
“That you did not find the other piece of the handle that fitted on there?”
“No, sir.”
“You would have seen it if it had been, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, sir, it seems to me I should.”
“There was no hatchet handle belonging to that picked up right there?”
“No, sir.”
“Or anywhere around there?”
“No, sir.”
“Or any piece of wood — beside that — that had any fresh break in it?”
“Not that came from that hatchet.”
“Or in that box, anyway?”
“No, sir, not in the box.”
“Or round there anywhere?”
“No, sir, not that I am aware of. I did not see any of it.”
“What did you do with the hatchet head, Mr. Fleet?”
“I put it back in the box.”
My name is Philip Harrington. I’ve been on the Fall River police force ten years last March. My rank is captain. My position in August of last year was patrolman. I was at dinner, had just finished dinner when my attention was called to the trouble on Second Street. I immediately put on my coat and hat and took a horse car. I got to the house between fifteen and twenty minutes past twelve. That’s my judgment, I did not consult a timepiece. I was led to think so by the time the car arrived at City Hall. It was what was known as the “quarter-past-twelve” car.
I went in the front gate, walked along the yard front of the house to the north side, along the north side to the north door on the side. Mr. Sawyer was at the north door. I went into the house and saw Officer Devine on the ground floor. Miss Lizzie Borden was not there. I saw several ladies there, I didn’t know who they were. I asked a question or two, and I was directed to Miss Borden’s room. In that room, I saw Miss Borden and Miss Russell. Miss Lizzie Borden, I mean, of course.
I stepped into the room, and taking the door in my right hand, I passed it back. Miss Russell stood on my left, and she received the door and closed it. There was no one except Miss Russell and Miss Borden there at the time, not outside of myself. Miss Russell stood in front of a chair which was at the north side of the door which I entered. Miss Lizzie Borden stood at the foot of the bed, which ran diagonally across the room.