Woodbridge stepped down from the stand, wiping his face with a handkerchief. He confronted Donnelly at the lectern.
“You son of a bitch.”
“Sorry,” Donnelly said. “But I didn’t cause your illness, I merely brought it to the attention of the jury in the defense of my client.”
“How far will you go to defend a client?”
“Any distance the law allows.”
“Well, before you ride that white horse of yours too far,” Woodbridge said, “make sure it’s a Thoroughbred.”
He walked away, and Donnelly watched him. He didn’t know exactly what Woodbridge meant by the white horse, but he didn’t care. He had made his point.
In the minds of some of the jurors, perhaps all of them, there would be a reasonable doubt. “Beyond a reasonable doubt” and “to a moral certainty” were the most important words in the instructions the judge would give the jury before it began deliberations.
The moral certainty part would be more difficult. What it basically amounted to was a gut feeling whether a defendant was innocent or guilty.
Gut feelings were hard to reach and alter. They were composed of bits of the past and pieces of the present, sights and sounds and smells processed into a mass in the middle of the gut. This mass could be benign or malignant; it could not be digested.
He saw Woodbridge walk from the courtroom, very slowly, as if his illness, once out of the closet, had gained weight and gravity. Donnelly felt a certain pity that he’d had to kill a part of Woodbridge in the interests of justice. Cully’s life or death wasn’t the real issue. Donnelly himself had died a hundred times so far that year and would die a hundred more.
Life and death didn’t matter. It was the judicial system itself that mattered, the system of justice for all. If that’s the white horse he was riding, it was a Thoroughbred.
As always at the end of a day the courtroom emptied quickly. Within five minutes the only people left were Cully and the bailiff and Eva and the woman artist who was still sitting in the front row putting the finishing touches on a sketch. The woman looked up as Eva approached. “Am I overparked?”
“No. I just wanted to ask you if Mr. King could see the sketch you’ve done of him. Would you mind?”
“Not at all. Here it is.”
“You show it to him.”
“Don’t you even want to see it?”
“No,” Eva said. “I don’t want to see it.”
V
The Witnesses
During the night a marine layer unfurled over the city, draping the clock tower of the courthouse and smothering its chimes. The hours, unseen and unheard, ceased to exist until the sun burned a hole in the fog. Then the prodigal parrot, the main occupant of the tower, woke up and began to groom its feathers, using the oil from its preen gland. While it prepared itself for the day, it kept a sharp eye on the sheriff’s van, which was unloading its prisoners for the morning’s trials. The bird swooped down on the men, its free flight mocking their shackles.
The hours came back to life. Eight. Nine. Ten o’clock.
In courtroom 5 the man who stepped up into the witness box gave his name as Tyler Winslow Pherson. He lived at 300 Garden Grove Avenue, Bakersfield, and was the executive vice-president of the Valley Oil Corporation. In response to the district attorney’s question, he said that the deceased woman had been his wife, Madeline.
“We were married for eighteen years,” Pherson said. “Madeline was a wonderful woman, devoted to the service of others, children, the elderly, the handicapped. She raised large sums of money for many charities. She spent months learning braille so she could translate books for the blind, and in her work at Hospice she counseled families of the terminally ill. She was a woman who loved God and was loved by Him. I don’t understand how He could have let this terrible thing happen to her.”
“We all sympathize with your plight, Mr. Pherson. But in order to proceed with the trial, I must ask you to confine yourself to answering my questions.”
“How could He have let it happen to a woman like Madeline? Why?” He looked down at Cully. “Why? Why did you kill her?”
Donnelly jumped up to object and the judge began pounding his gavel, but Pherson did not see or hear.
“How many others have you killed? How many others will you kill if they let you go?”
“You will be found in contempt, Mr. Pherson,” the judge said, “if you continue in this vein.”
“I have a right to know. I have a right.”
“The defendant also has a right to a fair trial conducted under the rules of—”
“Rules. The rules are all in favor of that murderer. Aren’t there any rules to protect the memory of my dead wife?”
“If you cannot contain yourself, Mr. Pherson, I must ask you to step down and return at a later time.”
Owen was careful not to show it, but Pherson’s outburst suited his purpose. His remarks might be stricken from the record, but the jury wasn’t likely to forget them or his anguished face when he made them.
Owen said, “Do you feel capable of continuing your testimony, Mr. Pherson?”
“Yes. Yes, I’m all right.”
“I’d like to establish some facts about the family background. For instance, do you have any children?”
“No. We were never blessed.”
“Are there any close family ties?”
“Madeline had a very deep relationship with her mother.”
“Does her mother live in Bakersfield?”
“No. She died in March. She and Madeline had been planning a trip to Hawaii when her mother became ill. Madeline took it very hard. That was the reason I wanted her to go on a vacation. I thought a change of scene would be good for her, cheer her up. The irony of that haunts me day and night, the irony that I should be responsible for her death while trying to help her. She didn’t really want to go anywhere. It was my decision. I’m used to making decisions; I’m used to being right.” He shook his head. “This time I wasn’t right. God help me in my terrible wrongness.”
“Will you please just answer my questions, Mr. Pherson?”
“Yes. Yes, all right.”
“Did Mrs. Pherson inherit anything from her mother?”
“A small amount of real estate, an insurance policy, some treasury notes and the heirloom jewelry which for generations had been passed on to the oldest daughter. The insurance on them was outdated, and Madeline intended to have them reappraised and reinsured. I don’t know their current value.”
“Do you think they were worth a considerable amount of money?”
“Yes.”
“In what way did Mrs. Pherson obtain these jewels?”
“Her mother’s lawyer handed them over at his office.”
“In a container?”
“Yes.”
“Were you present?”
“Yes.”
“Can you describe the container?”
“It was about the size of a makeup case, covered with embossed green leather with a large old-fashioned lock. I carried it out to the car for her, and she sat with it on her lap all the way home. She didn’t cry or make a fuss, but it was not a happy time. During her mother’s illness she remained cheerful and supportive. Now it was all over. Perhaps she was thinking, as she sat with the case on her lap, that she would be the last owner of the jewelry since there was no eldest daughter to pass it on to, no daughter at all. It was the end of the line.”
“So you persuaded her to take a vacation, get a change of scene?”
“Yes. She chose the San Diego area. My secretary made the necessary travel and hotel arrangements, and I drove her to the airport. She called me when she arrived. She sounded quite cheerful. It was the last time I heard her voice.”