The tears of the witness and those of the gallery had ebbed; the emotional tenor had finally evened out. It was a good stopping place, and Darrow dismissed the witness.
“Your Honor,” Darrow said, “may I suggest we recess for the day, and not subject this witness to cross- examination at this time?”
Kelley was already approaching the witness stand. “Your Honor, I just have a few questions.”
“We’ll proceed,” the judge said.
Thalia shifted in her seat as Kelley moved in; her body seemed to stiffen, and her face took on a defiant cast, her mouth taking on a faint, defensive smirk. Darrow, taking his seat at the defense table, smiled at her, nodding his support, but I knew the old boy was worried: I could see the tightness around his eyes.
“Mrs. Massie, do you remember Captain Mclntosh and some other police coming to your house?”
“Yes.” Her tone was snippy.
“Did a telephone call come in that was answered by Jones?”
“No.” The smirk turned into a sneer.
Before our very eyes, the noble wronged wife was transmuting herself into an angry, bitchy child.
“Are you quite sure, Mrs. Massie?” Kelley stayed coldly polite.
She shifted stiffly in the chair. “Yes.”
“Well, perhaps you answered it and Jones asked who was calling.”
“No.”
“Who is Leo Pace?”
“Lt. Pace is commander of the
“Your husband’s submarine commander.”
“Yes.”
“Do you remember Jones going to the telephone and saying, ‘Leo—you’ve got to help Massie cover this up. Help us all cover this up.’ Words to that effect.”
“No! Jones would never address an officer by his first name.”
“Didn’t Jones refer to your husband as ‘Massie’ in front of the police?”
“He didn’t dare do it in
I looked down at Darrow; his eyes were closed. This was as bad as Tommie’s similar remark about resenting familiarity from the enlisted man who helped him pull a kidnapping.
“Mrs. Massie, didn’t you instruct your maid, Beatrice Nakamura, to tell the police that Jones came over to your house not at ten, but at eight?”
“No.”
“Really. I can call Miss Nakamura to the stand, if you wish, Mrs. Massie.”
“That’s not what I told her.”
“What did you tell her?”
“I told her to say that he arrived a little after she came to work.”
“And when is that?”
“Eight-thirty.”
Thalia was displaying her remarkable ability to shift time; this was, after all, the same girl who had left the Ala Wai Inn at, variously, midnight, twelve-thirty, one o’clock, and (finally, at the cops’ request to fit the needs of their case) eleven-thirty-five.
“What became of the gun Jones handed you?”
“I don’t know.”
“It’s missing? Someone stole it from your house, do you think?”
“I don’t know what became of it.”
Kelley gave the jury a knowing smile, then turned back to the witness.
“You have testified, Mrs. Massie, that your husband was always kind and considerate to you—that you never quarreled.”
“That is so.”
“As a married man myself, I must compliment you. Marriages without conflict are rare. You’re to be congratulated.”
As he said this, Kelley was walking to the prosecution table, where his assistant handed him a document; Kelley perused the paper, smiled to himself, then ambled back to the witness stand.
“Did you ever have a psychopathic examination at the University of Hawaii, Mrs. Massie?”
“I did,” she said, eyes tightening.
“Is this your handwriting?” Kelley handed her the sheet of paper, casually.
