The waiter brought the drinks and Joel took his down in a gulp, ordered a second. “Well, it's almost over. They'll probably be done with Wilma this afternoon. I wish it was Wednesday already and we're on the plane.”
“Going away?” I asked, like a polite idiot.
“Barbados. I got a break and—” Joel turned to May. “You know anybody on that island? We want a cheap room, way from all the usual tourist slop.”
“No, I don't. But if you look around, after a few days you'll find something.”
“They're using the characters in one of his Joe and Eddie, the Bunny Boys books for a kid TV series,” Wilma said. “I tried to egg Joel into asking for the scripting job, too, but he was so blinded by the few bucks, his tongue got tied.”
Joel winked happily at me. “I want to get away fast. Even the option money should keep us down there for a few months. A hell of a fine break, and so unexpected.”
Wilma said, “I liked the simplicity of your ads, and of course the items in the columns. Is the book selling well?”
“About better than we expected.”
The food came and we all ate in silence. Then I asked May about the house and she said as far as she knew it was still unsold. A neighbor was taking care of the poodle. May had received most of her back wages and was now going to NYU, working in a phone answering service nights.
Wilma lit a cigarette, said, “Who else can the State call except me, Brown, and that horrible detective? I don't see how Wagner has a case for murder. Did you dig that hick suit he's sporting?”
“He frightens me,” May said. “He's so sure of himself, so cool.”
“Matt doesn't seem concerned,” Joel said. “I almost think he's enjoying the circus. I hope he understands I did my best for him.”
“Is it true he's writing a book while in court?” Wilma asked me.
“Yes. I haven't read the first few chapters, but I understand they're in the house. Novel idea, the suspect's view of his own trial. Matt insists the last chapter will be sensational. What that means, I don't know.”
“Damn, you have to hand it to the big boy,” Joel said happily, “He's a true pro.”
“I bet he'd never pass up a TV scripting job,” Wilma put in.
“Oh, stop it I don't know a damn thing about it, never tried TV. After all, they didn't even ask for me and I hate begging. You're greedy, Wilma.”
“Greedy is being a pro, dear. Let me go to the John, I don't want to wet up the witness chair. Coming, May?”
I insisted upon paying the check, told Joel it would go on my expense account. When we reached the courtroom it was pretty well filled up. I suppose most people hadn't left their seats to eat Joel and Wilma found seats down front, while May and I found singles on opposite sides of the room. Brown was in the second row, reading a book.
It was nearly an hour later before the judge returned and I had a rough time keeping awake in the stuffy courtroom. To my surprise, Wilma was the next witness. Somehow I had expected Wagner to call Brown. Matt still had the tiny smile on his big face, as if enjoying a private joke. He was writing rapidly once more but he seemed to be suffering from indigestion, patting his stomach now and then, throwing pills into his mouth.
Wagner quickly placed Wilma at the Anthony house. Wilma's answers were abrupt, her pop eyes staring boldly at Wagner as he concentrated on the threat. She repeated exactly what Joel had said. The prosecutor asked, “Now, Mrs. Hunter, when Mr. Anthony shouted, 'I'll kill you!' was there anger in his voice?”
“They were both shouting angrily
“Mrs. Hunter, please answer the question. Was Matt Anthony shouting in anger?”
“He was shouting. I can't say if he was angry or not.”
“Mrs. Hunter, a second ago you said they were both shouting angrily. I ask you again: When Matt Anthony shouted at his wife, 'I'll kill you!' was there anger in his voice?”
“All I know is he was shouting!” Wilma snapped.
“Mrs. Hunter, have you ever heard people shout at a baseball game?”
“I think so.”
“Was Mr. Anthony's shouting of the same tone and intent as that of a person shouting at a ball game?”
“I am not an expert on shouting!”
Wagner stared at her for a moment, then smiled coolly, said, “No further questions.”
Jackson strode up to the witness stand, left hand hooked onto his beaded belt. “Mrs. Hunter, you are a redhead and there is a saying redheaded women have a big temper. Perhaps Mr. Wagner will agree with that. [Jackson actually paused, waiting for the inane giggles from the audience.] Mrs. Hunter, have you a temper?”
“Yes.”
“In the heat of an argument have you ever said, 'I'll kill you!' to anybody?”
“Probably.”
“I'm afraid I have to have a yes or no answer, Mrs. Hunter,” Jackson said, his voice almost a caress.
“Yes.”
