The Best Defense (25 page)

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

“So no one saw her, or heard her, and probably no one found anything she left behind. How did you know she had been on your property?”

“Rich told me.”

“And did Carrie Voight tell him?”

“Yes.”

Later: “Mrs. Dodgson, how did your husband and son learn that a woman had miscarried?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you know they were going to the Canby house to confront Mrs. Tidball, to accuse her of running an abortion clinic?”

“I knew. We all talked about it first.”

“Do you and your husband support someone in the emergency room of Sacred Heart Hospital?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you have a spy in the hospital who calls you when there’s a suspicious emergency?”

“We don’t have spies!”

“You say you help out Carrie Voight. Do you ‘help out’ someone in the emergency room of the hospital?”

“No,” she said harshly.

“We were suspicious from the start, that’s all.”

“Yet you didn’t go to Mrs. Canby this time. Why not?”

“It was just a miscarriage, that’s all.”

“How did you know that?”

“Emma Tidball told Rich.” She drew in a quick breath.

“And they threatened him and Craig, just like we always knew they would.”

“You knew that Paula Kennerman and her daughter had arrived at the ranch. How did you know she was injured

“I didn’t know that.”

“What did you say to Angela Everts that Saturday morning?”

“I said I’d like some mushrooms. That’s about all.”

“Did you mention the new woman and her child?”

“I don’t know. I might have. We wanted them to know we were keeping an eye on them, that’s all.”

“Did you ask if the new woman was well enough to go into the woods?”

“No! I didn’t. I didn’t know she was hurt.” The red spots on her cheeks had spread down her face. Angela Everts had been right; pink was not a good color for her. And the stage training that had given her poise yesterday had deserted her today.

Barbara walked to her table and leaned against it with her arms crossed.

“You said as long as they were quiet and behaved themselves, you had no objection to women using the Canby Ranch as a refuge. Is that right?”

“Yes, that’s what I said. That’s what we agreed from the start.”

“Were they quiet?”

“I don’t know. I guess so.”

“Your house is about how far from the site of the Canby house?”

“I don’t know, not very far.”

Barbara went to the pile of stuff on her table and pulled out an acetate sheet.

“This is an overlay with distances marked to scale with the aerial map.” It was accepted as an exhibit and she carefully positioned it over the other map.

“Let’s see the distances we’re talking about,” she said.

“Your house here is two thousand fifty feet from the site of the Canby house. About half a mile. Wouldn’t you say there was little chance of hearing anything from such a distance?”

“I guess so.”

“Mrs. Dodgson, when did you and your husband sell the other parcel of land? Over here, across Spring Bay Road?”

“Objection,” Fierst cried.

“Your Honor, that is irrelevant. What difference does it make to this trial?”

“It isn’t irrelevant,” Barbara said swiftly.

“If they objected to noise, it is highly relevant to ascertain to whom they sold that property, and for what purpose. I maintain that noise had nothing to do with their objections.”

She was allowed to continue. Kay Dodgson moistened her lips.

“When did you sell that piece of property?” Barbara snapped at her.

“About nine years ago.”

“And to whom?”

“Royce Gallead.”

“What is Mr. Gallead’s occupation?”

“He owns a gun shop and a firing range, I think.”

“Don’t you know he owns a firing range, Mrs.

Dodgson?”

“Yes. He does.”

“Have you ever objected to the noise from the firing range?”

“No, I haven’t. We don’t hear it much.”

Barbara returned to the map and overlay and put her finger on the Dodgson property, and then on the range.

“This shows four hundred fifty-five feet from your front door to his back door. That’s less than half a city block.

But it doesn’t bother you to hear gunfire. Is that what you’re saying?”

“I never paid much attention to it.”

“Is Mr. Gallead a friend of yours?”

“No! He’s a neighbor, that’s all.” She shot a swift glance at the courtroom and then looked down at her hands clenched before her.

Good heavens, Barbara thought. She’s terrified of him.

To give herself time to consider this new datum, she walked back to the table and took a sip of water. Later, she thought. Later. She returned to the map.

“Mrs. Dodg son, the Canby house was screened by evergreens and rhododendrons, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.” She looked up from her hands and then put them in her lap.

“So your spy that is, your helpful neighbor couldn’t really see what was going on once a car got near the house. Is that right?”

“Objection,” Fierst said.

“She can’t testify as to what someone else could see.”

Barbara nodded and didn’t demur when the objection was sustained. She was playing for time now; she didn’t want to get into that Saturday and then break for lunch.

She said, “If you were on the private road, you couldn’t see the house, could you?”

“No.”

“Your vision was obscured by the shrubbery around the house and then by the trees on the side of the drive way. Is that right?”

“Well, when I got near enough I could see more.”

“Even if you were up here, near the end of the road, you still couldn’t see through the dense forest, could you?”

The map showed the forest to be almost solid. Kay Dodgson looked at it for a second or two, and then said, “I could see someone if someone was there.”

“But I didn’t ask you that, now did I?” Barbara said in a kindly voice.

“Do you have exceptional vision, Mrs. Dodgson? X-ray vision, perhaps? The ability to see through a tree?”

“Objection!” Fierst yelled.

“Counsel knows she can’t harangue the witness in such a manner.”

“Ms. Holloway, that is quite enough of that,” Judge Paltz said.

“Sustained. Since it is almost noon, we will recess until two.”

When she turned to look out over the courtroom, they were there staring at her with hatred. Standing against the back wall was Bill Spassero. He nodded, and left.

“Well, sometimes you have to put your paw in the door before someone will close it,” Frank said with a grin as he examined his sandwich in the little room that made Barbara feel like a caged animal.

She looked out the window. They were patrolling the crosswalk. They were in the cafeteria, she knew. She had the second floor of the building to pace in; at least they were not allowed here.

“I’ve been thinking about disguises,” Frank said thoughtfully.

“A beard for me, maybe a red wig for you, funny clothes …”

She snarled at him and went out to pace the second floor.

“mrs. dodgson,” barbara started that afternoon, “as bookkeeper and general manager of Dodgson Publishing, do you handle the employee records? Deductions for taxes, health insurance, that sort of thing?”

“Yes, of course,” Kay Dodgson said. The break had been good for her; she was in her very cool mode, gazing past Barbara as if bored.

“How many employees do you have?”

“Seven at the company, four full-time, three part-time.”

“And you keep all their records?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have a grounds maintenance person?”

“Of course. He’s part-time.”

“Does he also work at your residence?”

“Yes.”

“So you work with numbers a great deal. Do you keep separate accounts for what he does at the company and what he does at your home?”

“No. Yes, I mean.”

“Is your son Craig a paid employee?”

“Yes. He’s learning the business.”

“And your other son, Alex? Is he a paid employee?”

Kay Dodgson stiffened, then shrugged.

“He’s an in tern in the office of Senator Bulmar in Seattle. He doesn’t work for us.”

“Is he a paid intern?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, do you give him an allowance?”

“Yes.”

“So you’re tracking seven employees, three family members here, and the allowance of another son. Does your husband handle any of the financial affairs of the company?”

“No. I told you, he does the editorial end; I do the business.”

“Yes, so you did. But he handles the donations, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“Does he draw from company funds to do that?”

“No. That’s his personal account.” She had become more and more wary as this line of questioning continued Now her gaze flicked from Barbara to the jury, back to Barbara.

“Does Mr. Dodgson draw a monthly salary?”

“No, not really. He just has some personal money that he can use any way he wants.”

“Is that in a separate checking account?”

“No. It’s just his money. I don’t question what he does with it.”

“But you balance the account monthly? You process the checks?”

“Yes,” she almost cried.

“I keep the books. I told you that.”

“Do you write the checks for the taxes on your property?”

“Yes.”

“And for insurance, on the company property and your personal property?”

“Yes. That’s all part of doing business,” she said with a more pronounced edge in her voice.

“Do you publish material other than the newspaper?”

“Yes.”

“What kind of material do you print?”

“Objection,” Fierst said.

“This line of questioning is leading into matters that are entirely irrelevant to the case at hand.”

“I agree,” Judge Paltz said.

“Sustained.” The gaze he turned on Barbara was not angry, or even cold, simply formal and distant.

Barbara nodded, and said to Kay Dodgson, “The kind of work you do takes a concentrated focus, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, very much so.”

“And are you accustomed to estimating the cost of a job? So many work hours, plus material, plus overhead, and so on? Is that part of what you do?”

“Yes, I make the estimates.”

“So you are used to dealing with numbers. You notice details. Would you say that’s correct?”

“Absolutely.”

“According to the overlay on the aerial map, the total distance from your house to the private road, up to the woods, down to the juncture with Farleigh Road, and back to your house is a mile and a half.” Barbara traced the route with her finger as she described it.

“Would you say that’s about right?”

“I don’t know. I never tried to measure it.”

“How often do you take that walk?”

“Several times a week usually, unless it’s raining.”

“That’s your exercise program, to walk a mile and a half?”

“I like to take a walk and that seems a good distance.”

“Do you wear your regular clothes, the clothes you wear to the office, for instance?”

“No. The driveway is gravel. It would ruin my shoes.

I dress for the walk.”

“In what, Mrs. Dodgson? Running shoes, sweat pants?”

She hesitated briefly.

“I wear walking shoes, Nikes, and an appropriate outfit.”

“Blue jeans?”

“Of course not. Walking outfits, I suppose you could call them sweatpants.”

“Do you always walk in the morning?”

“Yes. Right after breakfast.”

“All right. Do you make it a real workout? Walk briskly?”

“Not always,” she said cautiously.

“Sometimes.”

“How long does it usually take you to walk a mile and a half?”

“I don’t know,” Kay Dodgson said almost triumphantly.

Barbara permitted herself a small smile and shook her head.

“You mean, you never noticed what time you left and what time you returned? Never?”

“No, I didn’t.” She raised her chin slightly and glared at Barbara.

“I don’t have to be bound by the clock, and I’m not.”

“That’s very fortunate,” Barbara murmured.

“What time do you usually arrive at the office?”

“At ten o’clock. Weekdays, that is. Saturday we go in at one or two to get the paper out for Monday morning.”

“So, ten o’clock. And you said earlier that you get up at eight or eight-thirty. Is that correct?”

Barbara could almost see her doing the numbers in her head.

“Closer to eight,” Kay Dodgson said.

“You mis spoke when you said eight or eight-thirty?”

“It’s closer to eight, that’s what I meant before.”

“All right. Do you make breakfast?”

“No. Just coffee.”

“Do you read the paper, chat with your family?”

“No. I just make coffee and get dressed and go for a walk.”

“So if you were out of the house by eight-thirty at the latest, you would allow yourself an hour and a half for the walk, for a shower, and then to get dressed in time to get to the office by ten. Is that about what your schedule would be?”

“I don’t know. Something like that. It only takes five minutes to get to the office.” She appeared to have forgotten there was a jury and a courtroom full of spectators.

She kept a narrow-eyed gaze on Barbara, as if waiting for the trap she suspected was there and had not yet identified.

“Do you go to the office approximately dressed and made up the way you are now, Mrs. Dodgson?” Barbara looked her over appraisingly.

Kay Dodgson flushed slightly.

“Yes, I do.”

“So it must take you at least half an hour to shower and dress and put on makeup, make yourself presentable?”

“I don’t know.”

Barbara nodded and glanced at the jury. One of the women was nodding slightly also. She knew, Barbara thought. She went to the defense table and picked up a slim volume, which she introduced.

“This is a standard exercise manual published by the United States Department of Health for adult fitness,” she said after it was labeled.

“According to the manual, a city block is approximately one-fifth of a mile. The mile and a half we are talking about here would be like starting outside at the corner of Seventh Street and walking south to the middle of the block between Twelfth and Thirteenth Streets. Mrs. Dodgson, I ask you, would it take you an hour to walk from here to Thirteenth Street?”