“Thank you, Your Honor, nice to be here.”
“Would you like to call another witness, or do you have any more errands to run?”
“If it pleases the court, the defense would like to call Victor Markham.”
Victor does not seem surprised to hear his name called, nor does he seem in any way worried. He's quite willing to take the time from his busy schedule to help further the cause of justice. The bigger they are, the nicer they are.
I approach Victor with a nonthreatening smile on my face, and speak softly. “Mr. Markham,” I begin, “did I have occasion to question you under oath in the office of your attorney a couple of weeks ago?”
“You did.”
“Would you like to have a transcript of that interview so that you can refer to it?”
“That won't be necessary. I just told you the truth about what I know. That hasn't changed any.”
“Do you remember my asking if you knew what story Denise McGregor was working on in the days just before her death?”
“Yes.”
“And what did you say?”
“I told you I had no idea.”
“But you did know her?” I ask.
“I really only knew her casually. She seemed very nice. The important thing to me was that my son liked her. And he certainly did.”
“And she liked him?”
“She seemed to.” He answers quickly, so that Wallace gets to his feet but does not have time to object that Victor could not possibly know what Denise's feelings were.
Hatchet instructs Victor to wait a beat before answering, to give Wallace time to object if he chooses to do so.
“Is it possible that she didn't like him at all, but went out with him for the purpose of finding out information?”
“I can't imagine why she would do that.”
“Perhaps that information would be of help to her in the story she was working on?”
“I'm certainly not aware of any such thing. I don't believe Edward would have had any information that would be useful to a reporter. You might have asked him that when you had him on the stand.”
Victor is good; he must be worried about where this is going, but he doesn't display any sign of it.
I nod. “Maybe I'll be able to help you with that. When your son called you that night, to tell you that Denise McGregor had been murdered and that he had discovered the body, did he seem upset?”
“Obviously.”
“And you shared his distress? You were upset at the news as well?”
He shakes his head slightly, conveying to the jury his frustration with such obvious questions. “Of course I was. A young woman had been murdered.”
“What were you doing at the time?”
“I was in the lobby of my club, chatting with some friends.”
“Which friends?”
A frown. “I'm afraid I really don't remember. This all took place a number of years ago, Mr. Carpenter, and I'm sure the conversations were casual. Besides, I am blessed with a great many friends. We were relaxing at our club on a Friday night.”
I smile my understanding. “But might the conversations have been about golf, the weather, that kind of thing?”
He returns the smile; we're getting to be good buddies. “Most likely about golf.”
“So you're in the lobby, probably talking about golf, and this call comes in. Who called you to the phone?”
“I don't remember. I assume the concierge.”
“Your club has a concierge? Wow.”
“Objection. Relevance.”
“Sustained. Mr. Carpenter, move this along.”
“Yes, Your Honor. So you got the call, Edward tells you he found his girlfriend's body in an alley, and boy, were you upset. Did you rush to your car?”
“Yes. Immediately.”
“By the way, where do people keep cars at fancy clubs like that?”
“What do you mean?” he asks.
“Are they parked out in front? Do you park far away and take a tram to the main building?”
“There is valet parking.”
“Of course, valet parking.” I slap myself in the head, as if to say, “How could I be such a stupid peasant.” The jury laughs.
“So you get this news and you rush out, and you say, ‘Valet parking person, get me my car, and pronto.’ ”
I pause a moment. “Do rich people say ‘pronto'?”
Wallace objects again, effectively getting on my nerves. “Your Honor,” he says, “I fail to see the relevance of this.”
“Your Honor,” I respond with some anger, “I have a certain momentum going here, which is being interrupted by Mr. Wallace's constantly claiming that he doesn't see the relevance in what I am saying. Therefore, I would request two things. One, that the court instruct Mr. Wallace to stop interrupting; and two, that you force him to take a night course in relevance detection techniques.”
Wallace is angry. “Your Honor, that is the most-”
Hatchet's gavel cuts him off. “That's enough, both of you. Mr. Wallace, I'm going to overrule your objection. Mr. Carpenter, I'm also having trouble figuring out where you are going with this, and I have no intention of going to night school. So get to it.”
I promise that I will and turn back to Victor. His attitude has become more hostile, sensing that the jury will agree I am wasting all of their collective time.
“So after you got your car, did you head for the bar where the murder took place?”
“Yes.”
“Is it a bar you frequented yourself, that you were familiar with, or did Edward tell you where it was?”
“He told me. It was not hard to find.”
“Did you drive quickly?”
He nods. “Very. I was quite upset.”
“I know. You've told us that. How far would you say it is from your club to the bar?”
He shrugs. “I don't know. Maybe twenty miles.”
“Actually, it is twenty-nine point seven miles. I drove it. I made it in forty-seven minutes, but I wasn't rushing because I wasn't as terribly upset as you were. How long would you say that it took you?”
“I don't know, but I'm sure it was faster than that.”
“How fast?” I press him.
“I don't know; I had no reason to time the trip. But I was driving quickly.”
“Because you were so upset.”
“Yes.”
“Do you think you could have made it in forty minutes?”
“Maybe … I can't be sure.”
I walk toward him, firing questions almost before he finishes his answers.
“Thirty-five? Thirty?”
He is getting flustered. “I told you, I can't-”
“Twenty-five? Twenty? Fifteen? Do you think you could have made it in fifteen minutes?”
“Of course not,” he says.
“Because according to the police records and tape recordings, the police were at the scene fourteen minutes
