The Wrong Gun

the right thing? He took a deep breath, plunged ahead.

“Ms. Dreisson?” he began, remembering Steve Winslow’s admonition.

It was not his day.

Veronica held up her hand. “One moment, young man. Dreisson is my married name. Not my maiden name. My late husband, Arnold, was a Dreisson. I do not think that he would like to see his name become a Ms. I am Mrs. Dreisson, if you please.”

Vaulding took a breath, and seemed to roll his eyes heavenward for a split second before smiling and saying, “I stand corrected, Mrs. Dreisson.”

The newspaper reporters, frustrated at having called in instructions to hold the front page for a plea-bargain that had not materialized, scribbled gleefully. It was clear this little old lady would make a feisty witness.

“Tell me, Mrs. Dreisson,” Vaulding said, “what do you do?”

Veronica smiled. “I don’t do anything. I retired more than twenty years ago.”

“Yes, but you seem a quite active woman. Aside from any business or profession, is there any hobby or special interest that occupies your time?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And what would that be.”

“Guns.”

“I beg your pardon? Did you say guns?”

“Yes, I did, young man,” Veronica said. She added, “Do you have trouble hearing?”

That produced a laugh in the courtroom.

Vaulding never cracked a smile. “No, I do not,” he said. “But I wanted to be sure the jurors heard you. Your hobby is guns?”

“That’s right.”

“You collect guns?”

“Oh, yes.”

“You are still actively involved in doing this?”

“Yes, of course.”

“How many guns do you own?”

“Between two and three hundred.”

That produced a reaction in the courtroom. Judge Hendrick banged the gavel.

“Between two and three hundred? Of different makes and models?”

“Well, I should think so,” Veronica said. “It would certainly be silly to have two hundred of the same gun.”

“Then you are familiar with different types of firearms?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Do you consider yourself an expert?”

Veronica smiled. “I consider myself knowledgeable on the subject. In the past I’ve been employed as an expert.”

“In the past?”

“Yes.” Veronica squinted at him. “Let me see. Would that be before you were born?”

That question produced a roar of laughter. The reporters were eating Veronica Dreisson up. They couldn’t have asked for better copy.

Vaulding just stood and took it. “But you are knowledgeable on the subject of guns?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Tell me, have you ever had occasion to examine the guns of the defendant, Russ Timberlaine?”

“Yes, I have. Just last night.”

“Last night?”

“Yes, of course,” Veronica said. She cocked her head. “Isn’t that why I’m here?”

“Yes, it is, Mrs. Dreisson, but it is necessary that we get these things in the record. Had you ever seen Mr. Timberlaine’s guns before last night?”

“As to that, I can’t recall.”

“Well, had you ever met Mr. Timberlaine?”

Veronica smiled. “That’s why I can’t recall. I must admit I have a better memory for guns than for faces.” She looked over at the defense table. “I sit here looking at him and the face is indeed familiar. And now he’s wearing a suit and has his hair pulled back off his face. I seem to recall a young man with long hair and a cowboy outfit. That is probably him. But I couldn’t swear to it.” She gestured to the witness stand. “And here I can only say what I can swear to, is that right?”

“Yes, it is.”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Well, there you are.”

The remark got another laugh.

Vaulding took a breath, forged ahead. “You don’t know if you’ve seen the guns before, but you did see them last night?”

“That’s right.”

“How did that happen?”

“I went out to his mansion and looked at them.”

“Who took you there?”

“Mr. Taylor.”

“Would that be Mark Taylor of the Taylor Detective Agency?”

“That’s right.”

“He took you out there?”

“Yes, he did.”

“And who let you in?”

“A nice young man. I don’t recall his name, but he opened the door and went and got Miss Timberlaine.”

“That would be Carrie Timberlaine, Russ Timberlaine’s daughter?”

“That’s right.”

“She showed you Russ Timberlaine’s guns?”

“She tried to, but they were locked up.”

“Did she have a key?”

“No, she did not.”

“So you couldn’t see the guns?”

“No. She went and found the nice young man, and he came and unlocked the cases.”

“He had a key?”

“Yes, he did.”

“He showed you the guns?”

“That’s right.”

“Who was present when you examined the guns?”

“Mr. Taylor, Miss Timberlaine and the young man with the key.”

“That would be Martin Kessington?”

“If you say so. I don’t know his name.”

“At any rate, you examined the guns.”

“Yes, I did.”

“How many did you examine?’”

“I don’t know. Forty or fifty.”

“Was that all of them?”

“No, it was not.”

“Why did you stop?”

“The police arrived and made me stop.”

“I see. And did they ask you what you were doing?”