Mistaken Identity (47 page)

But she couldn’t think about that now.

B
ennie stood beside the podium and addressed the young mother. “Mrs. Lambertsen, thinking back to the night of May nineteenth, you say you heard arguing, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“Did you hear male and female voices arguing, or did you just hear voices raised in argument?”

Lambertsen thought a minute. “I guess I just heard voices.”

Bennie sighed inwardly, with relief. Funny thing about the truth. It enabled a lawyer to ask a question she didn’t know the answer to, because she knew what the answer had to be. “Now, Ms. Lambertsen, there came a time when you saw Alice Connolly running down the street. Do you remember what she was wearing?”

“Uh, no.”

“Do you remember what type of shirt she had on?”

“I didn’t notice, or if I did, I don’t remember.”

“And you didn’t see what she was wearing on the bottom, jeans or shorts, did you?”

“No.”

“Was she carrying anything?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t notice that either.”

Bennie nodded. No white plastic bag? She had almost made the point and sensed not to push it. “Now, you testified you were trying to put your baby down at seven forty-five that night, isn’t that right?”

“Yes. It was always a fight then, it still is. She doesn’t want to miss anything.” Mrs. Lambertsen smiled, as did the young mother in the front row. It was a warm moment, and Bennie decided to prolong it. There was precious little warmth in the world, of late.

“Mrs. Lambertsen, how old was your baby on May nineteenth of last year?”

“About two months old. She was born on March twenty-third, so she was a newborn.”

“And what is her name, by the way?” Bennie asked, to loosen up the witness, who obviously welcomed talking about her child. Bennie’s only point of reference was her dog and she could talk golden retrievers for hours.

“Molly’s her name.”

“Okay, Molly. You were with Molly. Now, what time was it when you heard the gunshot?”

“Eight o’clock.”

“You know that how?”

“I looked at the clock. Molly hadn’t napped that afternoon and she needed to go down. On days like that, you have an eye on the clock.”

“Now, when did you look at the clock, in relation to when you heard the gunshot?”

Lambertsen thought a minute, pursing lips lipsticked a light, feminine pink. “I looked at the clock right after I heard the gunshot.”

Bennie paused. It was a crucial point. She had to prove that more time had elapsed between the sound of the gunshot and when Lambertsen saw Connolly running past her door. If Bennie’s theory was true, whoever shot Della Porta had gotten out just before Connolly arrived home. “What kind of clock do you have? Is it digital?”

“No, it’s a small, round one on the oven front. You know those?”

“Sure. So you have to read it, like the old days?”

The witness smiled. “Yes.”

“Mrs. Lambertsen, what did you do after you looked at the clock?”

“I went to the door, opened it, and looked out.”

“Did you? Let’s go back over the exact sequence of events.” Bennie walked around the front of the podium and leaned on it, wincing as her shoulder flexed. If she had to develop her defense as she went along, so be it. She’d always thought that was the worst trouble a lawyer could get into, but that was before last night. “Mrs. Lambertsen, where in your house were you when you heard the gunshot?”

“I was in the kitchen.”

“What were you doing in the kitchen?”

“Rocking the baby, trying to get her to settle down.”

Bennie nodded, wishing she had done the interview of Lambertsen herself and finagled her way into that house. “Where is your kitchen in relation to the front door?”

“The kitchen’s in the front of the house, to the left of the front door.”

“How large is the kitchen?”

“It’s long and skinny. About twenty feet long.”

“So, Mrs. Lambertsen, you walked through the kitchen, about twenty feet, to get to the front door?”

“Yes.”

“I see.” Bennie visualized the scene and imagined a mother’s instinct. “You didn’t take the baby with you to see about the gunshot, did you?”

“God, no. I put her down.”

“Where did you put Molly?”

“In her baby chair, on the counter. One of those portable chairs, with a handle. It was in the kitchen.”

“So you put Molly in her chair. Did you strap her in?”

“Yes. I always do. She’s wriggly. Wiry.”

“Did she sit in the seat willingly?”

Mrs. Lambertsen burst into light laughter. “Molly doesn’t do anything willingly. She has a mind of her own.” The jurors laughed, too, relishing the baby talk, which Bennie knew was only apparently a frolic and detour.

“Did Molly cry in the chair?”

“A little, and kicked. Fussed, you know. Molly was kind of clingy at that age. She didn’t like it when I left the room. She’d kick and cry.”

“So you had to settle Molly before you went to the door, right?”

“Yes.”

“What did you do to settle her?”

“Gave her a pacifier, then patted her. Smoothed her hair, she likes that.”

“Did she settle down then?”

“No. I think I gave her a toy, too. Her favorite toy then was Rubber Duckie. I gave her Duckie.”

Judge Guthrie smiled benevolently from the dais. “You’re a very good mother, Mrs. Lambertsen,” he said, and the witness blushed at the praise.

“I agree,” Bennie said. She suppressed thoughts of her own mother. “Let’s see, Mrs. Lambertsen, before you went to the door, you put Molly in her chair, fastened the strap, gave her a toy duck and a pacifier, and you patted her and smoothed her hair, is that your recollection?”

“Yes.”

“Where was the rubber duck, by the way?”

“It was in a plastic bin on the kitchen counter.”

“Were there other toys in the bin, Mrs. Lambertsen?”

“There are toys everywhere in my house. Fisher-Price is our decorator,” she answered, and the jurors laughed again.

“So you had to root through the toy bin to find the rubber duck, is that right?”

“Right.”

“How long would you say it took for you to do all those things that good mothers do—that is, put Molly in her chair, fasten the strap, find her a toy duck, give it to her with a pacifier, and pat her and smooth her hair?”

“How much time? Uh, maybe five minutes, maybe more.”

Bennie guessed the witness was underestimating, albeit unintentionally. “How much more? As much as ten minutes?”

“Maybe, but more like seven.”

Bennie had made progress. Seven to ten minutes was almost enough time for a killer to escape and Connolly to arrive, but close. “And that was before you went to the door?”

“Uh, yes.” Mrs. Lambertsen glanced regretfully at Hilliard, taking notes at counsel table.

“Mrs. Lambertsen, after you got Molly the duck, did you walk or run the twenty feet to the door?”

“Walked.”

Bennie reconsidered the scenario. It was hard to think, with her jaw aching. She should have taken more Advil. “Wait a minute. You said Molly’s chair was on the counter in the kitchen. Can you see the baby from the front door?”

“No.”

“So you had to leave Molly out of sight, on the counter, while you went to the door?”

“Yes.”

“And she was kicking and crying, in one of those baby chairs?”

“Yes.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Bennie saw the young mother in the front row frown just the slightest bit. It gave Bennie her cue and she walked stiffly from the podium to the witness stand, instinctively closing in on a point even she didn’t understand yet. “Mrs. Lambertsen, when you left Molly on the counter to go to the door, kicking and fussing, weren’t you worried she would fall off the counter?”

“Objection!” Hilliard shouted, his voice booming from the prosecution table. The sound had the intended effect of interrupting the good vibes Bennie was nurturing. “What could be the possible relevance of these details?”

Bennie faced the judge. “This is an entirely proper exploration of the events of the night in question, Your Honor.”

Judge Guthrie leaned back in his chair, touching his teeth with the stem of his reading glasses. “Overruled.”

Bennie turned to the witness. “Mrs. Lambertsen, weren’t you worried about Molly when you left her on the counter to go to the door?”

“Yes, I was. I should have put the chair on the floor, but I didn’t. I was so distracted by the gunshot and all. It was like two things happening at once.” The witness paused, thinking. “Now that I think of it, I ran back to check when I was halfway there.”

Bennie nodded. It was a break. “Considering that, how long do you think it took you to get to the door? Maybe three to five minutes?”

“Yes, probably.”

“So would it be fair to add three to five minutes to the time you saw Alice Connolly run by?”

“Yes.”

“Would that bring us to a total of ten to twelve minutes between the time you heard the gunshot and the time you reached the door and saw Alice Connolly?”

“Well, yes.”

Bennie paused, pleased, then thought back through Lambertsen’s testimony. It always surprised her that information witnesses volunteered during their testimony assumed significance in context. “Mrs. Lambertsen, you mentioned earlier that Molly needed a nap. When was the last time that day that she had slept?”

“Objection, Your Honor.” Hilliard half rose from his chair. “This line of questioning is totally irrelevant and calls for the witness to speculate.”

“Your Honor,” Bennie said firmly, “the relevancy of the questions will become clear, and I don’t think Mrs. Lambertsen is speculating. She’s obviously very attentive to her child, as you yourself noted.”

Judge Guthrie frowned. “Mrs. Lambertsen, please don’t speculate or guess at your answers. Feel free to say so if you don’t remember.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Mrs. Lambertsen said. “I know Molly’s schedule. Even then, she kept to a schedule.”

Hilliard sat down heavily as Bennie sent up a prayer of thanks. “Mrs. Lambertsen, the question was, when was the last time that day that Molly had slept?”

“She had been awake since her morning nap. She woke up at about six in the morning, then went right back to sleep. She woke up at about ten-thirty, in those days. She didn’t even take an afternoon nap, or if she did it lasted like an hour.”

“So on May nineteenth, she was up from about ten-thirty in the morning until when she eventually went to sleep, is that right?”

“Right.”

“Take us back a bit, to the day before May nineteenth. You said Molly was two months old at the time. If you can recall, what was her schedule then?”

Hilliard sighed audibly, but refrained from making an objection. His cranky growl got him the interruption he wanted anyway.

“Oh, God. It was hell, sheer hell,” Mrs. Lambertsen said, rolling her eyes. “She would start fussing late in the day, when she was really too tired to stay awake. She would fall asleep at about nine o’clock, then wake up at about midnight. We’d watch Jay Leno together.”

“If you remember, did Molly go right back to sleep after the Jay Leno show on the night of May eighteenth?”

“She never went right back to sleep,” Mrs. Lambertsen shot back, so flatly that the jurors laughed. “She always wanted to play after she’d nursed. She was happy, well fed, and had my attention.”

“When was the next time Molly did go back to sleep, the night of May eighteenth?”

“She didn’t go back down at all. We were both up all night.”

Bennie couldn’t imagine it. She thought of her mother’s devotion, with a pang of fresh grief. She paused a minute and hoped the jurors attributed it to her next question. “Mrs. Lambertsen, had you napped that day, on May nineteenth?”