A Stranger in the Kingdom (54 page)

“So ministers do sometimes experience anger? Just the way doctors experience pain and some few lawyers are actually rumored to harbor human feelings?”

Reverend Andrews smiled. “Of course.”

“All right. Then let's move along to the evening of August fourth. Resolvèd Kinneson has testified that he discovered you and Claire LaRiviere engaged in sexual intercourse on the divan of your study—”

“Objection, your honor. That accusation was never even remotely substantiated.”

“Your honor,” Moulton said, “Mr. Barrows and I are laying a foundation, as we pointed out in our written brief, for establishing the motive for the murder of Claire LaRiviere. I will go no further into the matter than is necessary to lay that foundation. If you'll permit me to proceed, I will establish that motive quickly and clearly.”

“Proceed,” Judge Allen said after a brief pause.

Moulton stepped out from behind the prosecutor's table and walked toward the minister. “Reverend Andrews, did you engage in sex with Claire LaRiviere?”

“I did not.”

“A citizen of this county testified that he saw you in your parsonage with her on the night of August fourth. Were you there with her?”

“I was not.”

“Reverend Andrews, I'm going to ask you to think very, very carefully before answering this question. Are you saying that Mr. Resolvèd Kinneson is lying?”

“I'm saying he's wrong.”

Once again Moulton looked carefully at the jury. “Reverend Andrews, isn't it true that, fearing Claire LaRiviere's accusation that you had gotten her pregnant, and its consequent effect on your job and your standing in this community, you met her by prearrangement in the granite quarry in the Kingdom Gore on the late afternoon or early evening of August sixth just after you returned from taking your son to Montreal, and shot her there, brutally and repeatedly, with the same gun you had fired two evenings ago at Resolvèd Kinneson? Your .38 service revolver, which was subsequently found in the quarry near the site of the girl's corpse? And only then returned to the parsonage and notified the police that she was missing?”

“That is false.”

“Who did kill her then? Do you know of any other likely candidate who could have smuggled the gun out of your house and committed the murder?”

“No.”

“Do you have any witnesses who can testify that you returned to the village from Montreal at nine and not, say, seven or eight?”

“No,
sir.
”

“These questions seem to upset you.”

“Everything about you and your questions upsets my stomach, Mr. Moulton.”

“That's understandable,” Sigurd Moulton said, turning his dry smile toward the jury. “That's very understandable. Your redirect, Mr. Kinneson.”

“No redirect at this time, your honor.”

Charlie waited until Reverend Andrews had stepped down. Then my brother said quietly, “I'd like to call Nathan Andrews to the witness stand.”

“Your honor, I must protest that a minor, and moreover a member of the defendant's family, can hardly be a credible witness. The testimony of Walter Andrews' son should not be admissible to this trial.”

“There's no Vermont law to prevent a minor from giving relevant testimony, Mr. Moulton,” Judge Allen replied. “Nathan, you just speak up loudly and clearly so that all us old folks can understand, and tell the strict truth, and you'll be all right.”

“Nat,” Charlie said, approaching the witness stand, “why don't you begin by telling us your full name and your age?”

“Nathan Andrews. I just turned seventeen.”

“When did you first learn that your father intended to take a job here in Kingdom County, Nat?”

“Last spring. It would have been March, I suppose.”

“Where were you living at the time?”

“With my grandmother in Montreal.”

“Were you going to school at the time?”

“I was attending a private high school, St. Stephen's.”

“How would you describe yourself as a student, Nat?”

Nat shrugged. “I've always gotten my A's.”

“Did you like living with your grandmother and attending school in Canada?”

“Very much.”

“What was your reaction when your father told you that you and he were going to be moving to Vermont?”

“Well, I was happy to be with Dad. But I didn't really want to leave Canada. I was pretty well established there Baseball practice had just started, and I had some close friends, you know.”

“I understand, Nat Now let's talk about your first days and weeks in the Kingdom. Did you like it here?”

Nat paused. “School was all right, except that I was ahead of my class, especially in math. The other kids at school were friendly enough, most of them. They wanted me to play ball, and so forth. I don't know. It wasn't so bad here, but I missed my friends up home and Gram. She and I sort of looked after one another, you know. And I missed the city.”

“You mentioned that you'd played baseball in Canada. Did you join the Academy baseball team?”

Nat shook his head.

“Please answer yes or no, Nathan,” Judge Allen said.

“No, I didn't play baseball here in Vermont.”

“Did anyone else besides your classmates urge you to play?”

“My father did. He was helping out with the Academy team, after Coach Whitcomb got sick. Dad wanted me to play. He'd been a standout player in secondary school and at university, himself.”

“Nat, putting aside all modesty for a moment, how good a baseball player are you?”

“Well, I pitched for my Canadian school's ‘A' team in my freshman and sophomore years.”

“Why didn't you play ball for the Academy? You obviously love the game, you're an outstanding player, your dad coached, your school friends begged you to play.”

Nat looked down at his hands. “I don't know,” he said quietly. “There were times, are times, when I don't feel like playing or doing much of anything else. This was one of those times, I guess. About the time I moved here and baseball began.”

“Was there anyone you could talk to about those times?”

“Well, Jim Kinneson was my best friend here. He and I talked quite a bit. I talked to Dad some, but he's pretty much of the philosophy that you grit your teeth and bear things, you know.”

Nat paused again, looked at his hands, started to say something, then stopped.

“Go ahead, Nat. What else were you going to tell us?”

“There was another person I liked talking to.”

“Who was that?”

“Claire LaRiviere.”

“How did things go for you after Claire came?”

“Better.”

“How much better?”

“A lot, at first. She was an outsider too, and she'd lost a parent herself. Her father. They were very close; he was some sort of street performer. He was teaching her how to perform, too.”

“How much time did you spend with Claire, Nat?”

“Well, I guess you could say I spent a whole lot of bloody time with her.”

“I'm sorry. Would you please repeat what you just said?”

“I said we spent a great deal of time together.”

“What, exactly, did you just say, Nat?”

Nat shrugged. “I said a lot of time. We spent a lot of time together.”

“Julia,” Charlie said, turning to the stenographer, “would you please read Nathan Andrews' first answer to my question, ‘How much time did you spend with Claire?'”

Julia flipped back a page. “‘How much time did you spend with Claire, Nat?' ‘Well, I guess you could say I spent a whole lot of bloody time with her.'”

“Thank you, Julia. Now Nat, I'm going to ask you some questions about what happened on Old Home Day. These questions aren't in any way meant to embarrass you or put you on the spot. Just answer them as truthfully and as completely as you can. Do you recall where you were that evening?”

“Yes. I was home. At the parsonage.”

“Were you alone?”

“No.”

“Who was with you?”

“Well, that was the night that old Pliny Templeton's ghost, his skeleton, was supposed to walk. Jim Kinneson and I had planned to sit up and wait and see if it came to the parsonage. Anyway, Jim had come in about nine and gone upstairs to my room and fallen asleep.”

“Were you and Jim Kinneson alone in the house at the time?”

“No. Claire was there, too.”

“Around eleven o'clock, Nat, precisely where were you in the parsonage?”

The courtroom was deadly still.

“We—I mean Claire and I—were in my father's study. Jim was still asleep upstairs in my room.”

“What were you and Claire doing in the study?”

Nat paused and looked at his hands. Then he said softly, “We were necking on the couch. It wasn't her idea as much as mine. I mean, she never forced herself on me or anything like that, no matter what people might think about her coming to town with that show. It wasn't like that at all. We were friends. Anyway, we left the window open so we could hear when the shindig on the common ended.”

A murmur passed through the room, and Judge Allen's gavel rose; but immediately it was quiet again.

“What happened next, Nat?”

“I thought I heard a noise on the porch. But then I didn't hear anything else, until all of a sudden the desk light went on. I thought, oh, no, my father had somehow come into the room. Then I saw this man's head in the window.”

“Did you recognize the man?”

“Yes. It was Resolvèd Kinneson. He said, ‘Excuse me!' in this very sarcastic voice.”

“Did either you or Claire say anything?”

“I said, ‘Shut that bloody light off.'”

“And?”

“And he did.”

“What did you do next?”

“Well, I was going to tell my father, but I couldn't figure out what to say to him, without . . . you know, admitting what we were doing on the couch. So I just went up and woke up Jim, and pretty soon after that Resolvèd showed up with his shotgun.”

“Nat, you said you were necking on the couch. What do you mean by that?”

Looking at his hands, Nat said, “We were. . . . making love. Going, you know, all the way.”

“Was this the first time you and Claire had ‘gone all the way'?”

Very softly, Nat said no.

“When was the first time?”

Nat sighed. “The second night she stayed with us.”

“During the five weeks that Claire stayed with you, how many times would you guess that you and she made love?”

“A great many. As often as we could arrange.”

“Nat, did Claire ever tell you that she was pregnant?”

Nat looked at his hands. “Yes, she did. She told me on the night after Old Home Day. At first I didn't know what to tell her. I asked if she was sure, and she said yes. I asked if—if she thought I was the father. She said yes. She said I was the only
possible
father. I suppose in a way that made me feel good—I mean, that she hadn't been with anyone else—but I didn't know what she should do, until it occurred to me that she ought to tell my father. That's what I told her to do.”

“Thank you, Nat. That's all for the time being.”

 

To my surprise, Zack Barrows rather than Moulton stood up to cross-examine Nathan. He walked threateningly toward the witness stand and stopped not more than a foot away from my friend.

“Young Andrews,” he said, “I'll remind you that you are sworn to tell the truth. Do you know the term for lying in a court of law?”

Nat just looked at him.

“That term, young man, is perjury. Perjury is not a nice term. The punishment for perjury is not nice. The punishment for perjury is severe. Now, young Andrews, do you know your Vermont geography? I assume you do, since you seem so quick to tell us about your high marks in school. Very well. Do you know where Vergennes is? Vergennes is some miles south of Burlington. Vergennes has two distinctions. It is the smallest incorporated city in the United States of America. And it is the home of Vermont's reform school for boys who are ungovernable and commit perjury in a court of law. This school is not noted for being a nice place, either. Over the years I have sent many boys—”

“Objection!” Charlie said.

“Sustained! That's quite enough, Zachariah, and I do mean enough. If you want to question the witness, go ahead. But I won't have you terrorizing him.”

“I just want him to be certain in his own mind what will happen if he commits perjury, your honor. I want him to know about that reform school, that's all. Now Nathan Andrews, you've testified that you felt you didn't fit in here, that you felt like an outsider, that you couldn't cope with adjusting to a normal boyhood in this village. You couldn't cope with playing baseball like any other boy. Is that what you're telling me?”

“At times.”

“Well, Nathan Andrews, you've had some rough sledding, all right. Going to a good school, being asked to play a game you yourself have told us you excel at, ‘necking' every night with a pretty little girl who didn't know any better. Let's go to the night she disappeared, the night of August sixth. Did you neck with her that night?”

“No, I didn't. How could I? She was gone and so was I. I was in Montreal.”

“Just before you left you didn't slip up to the quarry with her? And maybe take along your father's gun—”

“Your honor, this is sheer idiotic speculation. Nat Andrews isn't on trial here. The prosecutor seems to be badly confused. He's grasping at straws to try to prove that somebody named Andrews was involved in this murder.”

“Sustained,” Judge Allen was saying. “Mr. Barrows, I am telling you right now to stop this impertinent line of leading questions. Nathan Andrews is certainly not on trial here today. You're undercutting your own case, sir.”