“I have nothing to hide here,” Pamela said.
Nellie was happy to hear this. The ones who had nothing to hide already had one foot on the path to life imprisonment.
“They’ve placed you under arrest,” Wilkerson said. “Answering their questions will onlyhelp…”
“My answers will be on the record, won’t they?” Pamela asked.
“Yes, but you have the right to remain silent,” Wilkerson said. “And if youchooseto remain silent…”
“I don’twantto remain silent!” Pamela said.
“I’m trying to say that your choice won’t be held against you in court. They cannot compel…”
“I’ll say it in court, too.”
“You may not wish to testify in…”
“I didn’t kill him!”
The room went silent.
“So what’ll it be?” Nellie asked. “Questions, no questions? It’s your call, Counselor.”
“I fear it’s my client’s call,” Wilkerson said.
“Mrs. Henderson?”
“Ask your questions. I didn’t kill him.”
“Counselor. That okay with you?”
Wilkerson spread his hands and sighed.
“Thank you,” Nellie said.
She took Pamela’s oath, elicited her name, address, and occupation, reaffirmed once again that she had been informed of and understood her rights, and then began questioning her.
“Mrs. Henderson, can you tell me where you were at ten-thirty on the morning of April twenty- second?”
“I was home.”
“Where was that?”
“26 Prospect Lane. In Smoke Rise. I gave you the address two minutes ago.”
The stenographer’s fingers were flying over her machine.
Q: Can you tell me what you were wearing?
A: A simple skirt and sweater.
Q: Do you remember what color they were? The skirt? The sweater?
A: It was a matching set. An olive green sweater and skirt. I have them at home. I can show them to you, if you like.
“Excuse me, Counselor, but where’s this going?” Wilkerson asked, and looked to Byrnes for sympathy and encouragement. Byrnes sat dead-panned behind his desk. “Why is my client’s wardrobe on the morning of her husband’s death of such importance to you?”
“Maybe because we have a witness who saw her wearing something entirely different that morning,” Nellie said.
“Oh, and who might…?”
“Alex, do you want me to swearyouin? Or may I continue questioning your client instead?”
“Mrs. Henderson?” he asked, turning to her.
“I have nothing to hide,” she said again.
Q: Mrs. Henderson, do you own a pair of blue jeans?
A: I do.
Q: Do you own a blue ski parka?
A: I do.
Q: Do you own white sneakers?
A: No.
Q: White running shoes then?
A: Yes.
Q: How about a black baseball cap?
A: No. I don’t own a black baseball cap.
Q: A cap with the letters SRA on it?
A: No.
Q: Weren’t you wearing such a cap on the morning of April twenty-second?
A: No. I was wearing a green sweater and skirt set.
Q: No hat.
A: No hat.
Q: Any idea what those letters might stand for?
A: The detectives have already told me what they think those letters stand for.
Q: And what’s that.
A: Smoke Rise Academy.
Q: Where your son goes to school, does he not?
A: That’s where he goes to school.
Q: Does your son own such a cap?
A: You will have to ask my son.
“Excuse me, Counselor, but what does her son’sschoolhave to do with any of this? I must again ask where you’re going. Mrs. Henderson has already told you…”
Nellie sighed heavily.
“No theatrics, please,” Wilkerson said. “We’re not in court yet.”
“Counselor, your client said she wants to answer my questions. If she’s changed her mind, fine. But if she still…”
“I just don’t know where you’re going,” Wilkerson said plaintively, and again turned to Byrnes for sympathy. Byrnes sat stone-faced.
“I don’t know where you’re going, either,” Pamela said.
“I’m going to King Memorial on the morning your husband was killed,” Nellie said. “I’m going to an alleyway on the western end of the building, where the murder weapon was recovered from a sewer there. I’m going to a man named Clarence Weaver who almost got knocked over by someone running out of that alley. The person he saw was wearing what I questioned you about a moment ago. Blue jeans, a ski parka, white sneakers…or maybe running shoes, hm?…and a black baseball cap with the initials SRA on it. I’m suggesting that the initials on that cap stand for Smoke Rise Academy, where your son goes to school, and I’m further suggesting that you were wearing your son’s hat on the morning of the murder when you ran out of that alley on St. Sebastian’s…”
“Well now,” Wilkerson said, “that is one hell of a mouthful, Nell.”
“Don’t call me Nell,” Nellie said. “I wasn’t raised in the woods with wolves.”
“Well, gee, excuse me, Mrs. District Attorney. But now that you’ve told us where you plan to go, and now that you’ve made all your wonderful suggestions, do you think you might like to frame all that rhetoric in the form of a question? Because, I must tell you, my patience is wearing a bit thin and I’m on the edge of making a suggestion of my own, which is the one I made to my client in the first place, and that is to keep silent from this moment on.”
“Mrs. Henderson,” Nellie said, “were you the person our witness saw running out of the alley at King Memorial, yes or no?”
“No.”
“Mrs. Henderson, did you almost knock a black man off his feet in your haste to get out of the hall that morning, yes or no?”
“No.”
“Mrs. Henderson, did you shoot your husband from the wings stage right…”
“No.”
“…and then make your escape by…”
“No.”
“Let me finish, please.”
