Desperate Measures (42 page)

Frank walked to the door with him, then returned, but he remained standing near the door. “Graham, I'll leave you and Barbara to get at it, but a question first. Is Alex coping with his mother's good intentions?”

Dr. Minick took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “I think so,” he said. “Years ago they wanted him institutionalized; that's when we made our plan to come to Oregon. He knew what they wanted, and it filled him with rage and with fear. We haven't had a chance yet to talk about what happened today. He used to assume the persona of Xander and fly away when things got to be too much. And sometimes when nothing else worked, he became Alexander. Now? Maybe after all these years he can handle the rage, and reject the fear.”

Barbara wondered how many people who believed in Alex's innocence it would take to outweigh one mother who didn't.

The next morning Novak called Dr. Isaac Wrigley. Wrigley was dressed in a good gray summer-weight suit, blue tie, polished black shoes; he looked a little closer to his age now, less like a graduate student and more like an investment broker, but still a far cry from a college professor and researcher.

His credentials—personal, academic, professional—were all impeccable, his voice low-key but forceful in the way of some teachers who command and receive respect. Novak asked if he had children, and he smiled and said yes.

“How old are they, Dr. Wrigley?”

“Five and a half, two and a half, and six weeks,” he said, his smile broadening. He looked as if with the slightest encouragement he would start passing around snapshots.

Novak quickly established that Wrigley had known none of the principals in the case. Then he asked, “But you did know Hilde Franz. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“From testimony we know that Hilde Franz was on Old Opal Creek Road at about the time Gus Marchand was killed. Did Ms. Franz talk to you about that?”

“Yes, she did.”

“When did she talk to you about that?”

“Two or three days before she died.”

“Dr. Wrigley, what was your relationship with Hilde Franz?” Novak asked then. His round face was grave, his voice low and mournful, as if this were painful to him personally.

“Objection,” Barbara said. “This line of questioning appears to be immaterial to the trial at hand. And it is hearsay.”

“It's material in that it explains why this witness's testimony is pertinent and why it cannot be discounted by the hearsay rule.”

“May I approach?” Barbara asked. Judge Mac beckoned to both attorneys and turned off his microphone.

“Your Honor, the prosecution is going to introduce hearsay evidence, which, of course, I will object to, and he is simply trying to muddy the waters by showing that this witness has nothing at stake here, no personal agenda. That's debatable and, in any event, beside the point.”

“It's necessary that the record show that this witness indeed has nothing at stake,” Novak said, “and has appeared reluctantly. He is the innocent bystander who has something of importance to tell the court.”

“I'll let you continue to a point,” Judge Mac said, “but with the admonition that if I find it inadmissable, it will be stricken.”

Novak bowed slightly, and Judge Mac waved them both away. “Overruled,” he said. “The witness may answer the question.”

“She was an acquaintance,” Wrigley said. “We served on the same hospital committee, and she volunteered for a study my clinic was doing for a diabetes medication. I turned her down; she did not qualify as a participant since her own diabetes was well controlled. But she had a delusional idea that there was a possibility of a romantic relationship between us, and she became aggressive in pursuing that notion.”

“Aggressive how?”

“She turned up in the audience on two or three occasions when I was on a panel, or giving a paper. I thought it was a coincidence at first, but it became obvious that it was by design. She sent me notes, and little gifts.”

“Was she stalking you, Dr. Wrigley?”

He looked troubled, hesitated a moment, then nodded. “My wife said it was stalking behavior. I hadn't thought of it that way, but I came to agree with her. At first, she wanted me to report it to the police; I was reluctant to do that.”

“Why?”

“Several reasons,” he said. “It would have destroyed Hilde Franz professionally, of course. But also, it would have looked bad for me, I thought. I was afraid someone might think I had done or said something to encourage her. And I believed it was harmless, that she would get over her romantic obsession.”

“Had you encouraged her, Dr. Wrigley?”

“Never!”

“All right. You stated that she spoke to you about the murder of Gus Marchand. Will you tell the court how that conversation came about?”

“I was working at the clinic one night and she called me there. She said she had to talk to someone, that she was going mad with worry.”

“Objection,” Barbara said. “Since Ms. Franz is deceased and can't be cross-examined, anything she is alleged to have said is hearsay.”

Very smoothly Novak said, “The witness can testify as to what Ms. Franz said to him directly. He is not testifying about the truthfulness of any of her statements, only that she uttered them.”

“Overruled. Proceed, Mr. Novak.”

“Dr. Wrigley, after she said she was going mad with worry, what did she say?”

“Well, I interrupted her and said I couldn't talk to her, that I was working, and she had to stop calling me. I was a little brusque, I believe.” He turned his hungry eyes toward the judge, as if apologizing.

“Did she continue in spite of that?”

“Yes. She said she knew who killed Gus Marchand and she had to tell someone. I told her to go to the police, and she said she didn't want to do that. Then I said she should talk to her lawyer and take his advice, and she said she couldn't do that.”

“Did she say why she couldn't do that?” Novak asked in his silkiest voice.

“Yes. She said her lawyer was Mr. Holloway and his daughter represented Alexander Feldman, and she believed that Mr. Holloway repeated whatever she told him to Ms. Holloway. She was afraid that if either of them knew she had information harmful to Ms. Holloway's client, they might make a concerted effort to discredit her, to destroy her.”

“I see,” Novak said. He turned toward Barbara with a reproachful look.

“What else did she say?” he asked Wrigley.

“She was crying,” he said. “It was hard to understand her. She begged me to listen and advise her; she said she didn't know who' else to turn to.” He took a sip of water. “I told her I was going to hang up, that I didn't want to hear anything else, and I said if she called again, I would hang up on her as soon as I heard her voice. Then she blurted out, ‘I saw Alexander Feldman going to the Marchand house when I was leaving. Now you know!' And she said that if anything happened to her, it would be on my shoulders to tell the police.”

“Did the conversation end there?”

“No. I told her again to go to the police and tell them. She said she felt sorry for Alexander Feldman; he had been goaded and prodded by Gus Marchand past endurance, and desperate people sometimes took desperate measures to end their torment, desperate measures sometimes were the only way out of hell. Then she said she would never bother me again, and she hung up.”

“Did you ever speak to her again?”

“No.”

“Dr. Wrigley, that was an extraordinary conversation, an extraordinary accusation on her part. Did you do anything about it?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I thought it was her duty to report what she knew to the proper authorities.”

“And after her death, did you then reconsider?”

“Gradually I did.”

“Tell the court what you were considering after her death.”

“I kept thinking of her words, that it was on my shoulders to tell if anything happened to her. I began to think of it like a deathbed charge, an obligation I had not wanted but one that had been imposed on me. But I continued to hesitate.”

“Why was that?”

“I knew that if I told any of it, I would have to tell it all, and I didn't want to besmirch her reputation if there was no necessity. Also, I didn't think secondhand information would be of any interest to the investigators.”

“What finally changed your mind, Dr. Wrigley?”

“When they reopened the investigation into Hilde Franz's death, I realized what she had meant by her last statements to me. I had thought her death to be accidental, as it was reported in the news, but reopening the investigation made me understand that she really was giving me a deathbed charge, that she had already decided to end her life.”

“You think Hilde Franz was a suicide?”

“Yes; now I do.”

Novak had a few more questions, but basically he was finished with Wrigley. When he thanked him and turned toward his own table, Judge Mac tapped his gavel and said there would be a recess of fifteen minutes.

After Judge Mac left through a rear door, the courtroom erupted into a buzz of conversation. As Wrigley walked away from the stand, Barbara felt as if she should salute him, pay homage to a superior performance, but she resisted. He did not look exactly sated, but well satisfied, and that was enough, she decided. Selfsatisfaction was reward enough.

36

Ignoring the venomous
looks Dolly was sending her, Barbara said to Frank, “Dad, see you a second? I have to stretch my legs.”

Dr. Minick left to get Alex and Shelley something to drink; Alex never left the defense table until the lunch break and again at the end of the day. Barbara and Frank walked out into the corridor.

“How much does Novak know about the investigation of Hilde Franz's death? That's the question,” Barbara said. “I began to suspect he doesn't know diddly.”

“Me, too,” Frank said. “I'll try to find out. Anything else?”

“Nope. The boy really covered the bases, didn't he?”

“Every single one, some more than once. He made it sound very good. Judge Mac was scribbling notes like a madman.”

“I think he's in favor of the family scene.”

Frank grinned. “See you back in court.”

They parted and she went to the restroom, then walked the corridor until a reporter caught up with her, at which time she reentered the courtroom and took her place at the defense table. Shelley and Alex were talking in low voices; Mr. and Mrs. Feldman were not back, nor was Will. Barbara did not envy him the job of placating Dolly.

And then, with all the pieces back in place on the board, she stood up to cross-examine Isaac Wrigley.

“Dr. Wrigley,” she began, “how long have you been married?”

“Objection,” Novak said instantly. “That's irrelevant.”

“You brought up his family; I'm just trying to get a clear picture of it,” she said.

“Overruled.”

“Seven years,” Wrigley said.

“Were two of your children adopted?”

Novak objected again and was overruled again. Barbara suspected that he would be on his feet a lot during her cross-examination.

“Yes. I never think of them that way; they are simply my children.”

“Did you and Mrs. Wrigley use the services of a fertility clinic?”

“Objection!” Novak called angrily. “That's irrelevant.”

“Sustained. Move on, Ms. Holloway.”

“When did you move to Eugene, Dr. Wrigley?”

“Nearly three years ago.”

“And when did you become a member of the hospital committee?”

“A few months later. I don't know the exact date.”

“Was that when you met Ms. Franz?”

“Yes. She was already a member.”

“How many members are there on that committee?”

“I don't know exactly,” he said. “About fifteen or sixteen. They don't all attend every meeting.”

“Did you attend every meeting?”

“No.”

“Did Hilde Franz attend every meeting?”

“I don't know,” he said. “I didn't keep track of her attendance.”

“Are you a medical doctor?”

“No.”

“So you engage doctors to conduct the clinical trials, do the medical evaluations, examine and treat the volunteers. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“When did Ms. Franz volunteer to be a subject for your diabetes trials?”

“Two years ago, a little before. As I said, I don't keep track of dates.”

“Would it be on your records, when the diabetes medication trials began, who volunteered, the professionals who did the actual evaluations and examinations?”

“Yes. We keep records of all that.” He was sounding wary now.

“So it would be a matter of looking through the file to find out when Ms. Franz volunteered. Is that right?”

He shook his head. “She never made it official. She talked to me about it, and I dissuaded her. Her diabetes was too well controlled for her to start a new regimen.”

“Were you seeing her outside of the committee meetings?”

“No, of course not.”

“If she volunteered for your trial at a committee meeting, and you evaluated her there, perhaps others overheard and can verify when this took place. Can you tell us who might have heard?”

A faint flush appeared on his cheeks. “It was after a meeting. I walked to her car with her, and she brought it up.”

“After being in a group with more than a dozen other people discussing hospital affairs, she suddenly began to talk about herself and her diabetes. Was that a topic on the committee agenda that night?”

“No.”

“So you must have told her previously about your upcoming study, the trials. When did you tell her, Dr. Wrigley?”

“Your Honor, I object,” Novak said, more angrily than before. “Counsel is harassing this witness for no purpose.”