The Trial of Dr. Kate (33 page)

“Thank you. No further questions, Your Honor.”

Dr. Kate looked directly at Thelonious as he stood and approached the witness chair. There was defiance in her eyes.

Thelonious stopped a few feet short of the railing and stood with his arms over his chest. He didn’t say anything for a few seconds, just stared at Dr. Kate the entire time. She never took her eyes off his.

“Dr. Marlow,” the prosecutor said finally, “do you consider yourself an amateur sleuth, or a character out of an Agatha Christie novel?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“This ridiculous theory that you’ve set forth is nothing but fiction. There’s no basis for it. All the facts in this case point to your adulterous affair with Army Johnson and the murder of his wife. How did you feel, Dr. Marlow, as the plunger of that syringe rammed home? How did you feel as Lillian Johnson took her last breath?”

Dr. Kate half rose from the witness chair as if she was going to leap at the prosecutor. Her fists were clenched. Her eyes were full of fire.

“Objection! The prosecutor is badgering the witness,” Jake yelled. A second passed, and Dr. Kate sat back down.

“Sustained. Tone down your rhetoric, Mr. Flatt,” Judge Grant said.

For his part, Thelonious seemed unmoved. He turned his back to Dr. Kate and directed his gaze toward the jury. “Dr. Marlow, I think, deserves an Academy Award for her performance here today. Because that’s what it is, my friends, a performance—nothing more, nothing less.”

Turning back to Dr. Kate, he said, “I believe you were the last person to see Lillian Johnson alive. Yet by your own admission, you were under the influence of alcohol that day and can’t remember where you were. Am I correct?”

“I could have been.”

“You were. Dr. Christopher saw your car parked at the curb in front of Lillian Johnson’s house. Moreover, you would have us believe that she was despondent—depressed. Yet Trudy Underwood, who should know her sister’s mood better than anyone, has stated under oath that her sister was not depressed. That she was nervous about confronting you, but that she was not depressed.”

“That’s not true. She was terribly depressed—had been for months.”

“Was it a mercy killing, Dr. Marlow?”

“Objection! The prosecutor is badgering and leading the witness,” Jake said.

“Sustained. The jury will disregard the question,” the judge said.

All the color drained from Dr. Kate’s face, and her eyes widened. She started to say something but didn’t. Jake glared at Thelonious, and Shenandoah wondered if he was having second thoughts about putting Dr. Kate on the witness stand.

Thelonious said, “Let me rephrase the question. In your blacked out state, could you have helped Lillian Johnson put the Seconal in her veins and not remembered that you had done it?”

Dr. Kate threw her shoulders back and looked past Thelonious directly at the jury. “I did not kill my best friend, Lillie Johnson.”

“Another great performance, Dr. Marlow. I’m impressed. But your denials have a hollow ring.”

“Mr. Flatt, I know Trudy Underwood, and you don’t. Unfortunately, you believe her lies. There’s nothing I can do about that. I believe the people of this county know I’m telling the truth when I say that I did not kill my friend Lillie Johnson.”

Thelonious stared at Dr. Kate. It was obvious he was furious. For the first time, Shenandoah got the distinct impression that Austin was correct; Mr. Flatt didn’t like Katherine Marlow. What’s more, he’d let his personal feelings affect his prosecution.

“You can’t even remember where you were that day, Dr. Marlow. How can you be so sure?”

Kate stared at the prosecutor but said nothing.

Thelonious looked up at the judge and said, “No further questions.”

Jake stood. “The defense rests, Your Honor.”

D
r. Kate followed Deputy Masterson back to her cell, and Jake waved Shenandoah over to where Rebecca and he were discussing the day’s events. Jake asked, “Well, Shenandoah, what do you think?”

“I’m a little surprised you put Kate on the stand. What were you thinking?”

“There’s no defense better than the truth.”

Rebecca gathered notes and placed them in a leather briefcase. She came around the table and asked Shenandoah, “How’s your article coming?”

“I’m a little behind schedule right now. I’ll get caught up tonight.” Turning to Jake, Shenandoah asked, “What happened to the alternates?”

“Let’s go over to Dorothy’s and I’ll buy you a cup of coffee. Judge Grant had to excuse them both. Unusual, but those things do happen.”

“What was the problem?”

“The salesman’s wife’s in Vanderbilt Hospital with an acute gall-bladder attack, and the dockhand came down with a terrible case of the flu.”

“Is it going to cause a problem?”

“All we need are twelve jurors. I don’t anticipate a problem.”

As the two friends walked across the courthouse yard, the whittlers were sitting in their usual spot, huge piles of cedar shavings covering the ground.

One yelled, “Going to get her off?”

Jake waved. “Hope so. We’ll know tomorrow. Keep your fingers crossed.”

Shenandoah held the door open for Jake, and they walked to the back of the café where they found an empty table. Mabel, smiling for a change, brought them mugs of steaming, freshly brewed coffee.

“Do you remember me telling you about that Dodge pickup?” Shenandoah asked.

“Yes. Something else happened?”

“I found out who it was. Lisbeth Crouch from Celina. She blamed me for her brother’s death. He killed himself. We worked it out. I just felt so sorry for her.”

“I’m glad that’s settled. I was worried there for a while.”

“Are you actually feeling good about your defense?” Shenandoah asked.

“I plan to make a special plea during my summary remarks.”

“Think that it’ll be over by tomorrow afternoon?”

“I’m hoping the jury won’t take more than an hour or so to make a decision. When will your article be finished?”

“It should be ready by Saturday morning.”

“Will you go back to Memphis? You seem awfully attached to Bobby Johnson.”

Shenandoah shrugged. “My relationship with Bobby is a little shaky at this point. I’ve tried to keep my feelings at bay, but I seem to have fallen for the fellow. Probably pretty stupid of me.”

Jake laughed. “To quote the Bard, ‘the course of true love never did run smooth.’”

“Closest place for me to get a job would be Nashville.”

“I’ve grown accustomed to having you around.”

“At least I could drive up on weekends. That’s if Bobby wanted me to.”

They finished their coffee, and Jake slipped a quarter under his saucer. Then they got up and walked over to the cash register. As Jake paid their bill, he said, “See you in the morning, Shenandoah.”

“Thanks for the coffee, Jake.”

Shenandoah swung by the garage, but the big door remained closed. She had thirty minutes before she had to be at Hattie Mae’s, so she went to Bobby’s house and found Mrs. Johnson and Wally walking out the front door. Wally ran to the car and banged on the passenger door with his fist. “Miss Shena! Miss Shena! Wally get ice cream!”

Mrs. Johnson, still walking with the aid of a cane, grabbed the child’s arm with her free hand. “Want to come?”

“I’ve got to get back to Hattie Mae’s for supper, or I’d come with you. I’m looking for Bobby.”

“Just missed him. He left for Nashville not two minutes ago.”

Shenandoah slammed her fist against the steering wheel, the chrome horn ring reverberating like a church bell, and said, “I’ve been trying to catch him all day.”

Mrs. Johnson smiled, and Shenandoah saw Bobby’s dimples forming in his mother’s wrinkled cheeks. “You two have a falling out?”

Shenandoah looked at her, trying to see a sign that she knew something of how Bobby felt. “He’s upset with me.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it, Shenandoah. You might have noticed he can be a little bit uppity at times.”

Shenandoah sighed. “I’ve noticed that.”

“If I were you, I’d come around in the morning before you go to the courthouse. He gets up about seven when he’s been on a run. You get here by eight. He’ll be going strong.”

* * *

Shenandoah arrived at Hattie Mae’s at twenty minutes after five with just enough time to wash her hands before supper. Hattie Mae and Mr. Applebee were in the kitchen when she found them.

“Supper’s almost ready, honey. Thought we’d have cold meat loaf and potato salad. Just can’t get no appetite for hot food. I’ve been having a terrible headache all day. I swear, Shenandoah, this heat’s going to kill me.”

“I’ve been sweating all day,” Shenandoah said.

Hattie Mae gave a gurgling laugh and said, “Southern ladies don’t sweat, honey. They glisten.”

After eating, Shenandoah retired to her room and sat at the small desk in her bra and panties, the old fan blowing hot air over her sweaty body. The paper she slipped into her typewriter had damp splotches all over it.

The article came together nicely. The days Shenandoah had spent in Round Rock before the trial allowed her to sprinkle the copy with anecdotes about Dr. Kate, and she thought both Ned Baker and the publisher would approve of it.

At ten o’clock, she could barely keep her eyes open, so she turned off the light and drifted into a restless sleep.

She awoke to a loud pounding on her door and turned on the bedside lamp. The clock radio showed 11:15 p.m.

“Army’s here, Shenandoah!” Hattie Mae yelled through the door. “He’s on the front porch!”

Shenandoah couldn’t imagine why Army was on the porch, but she quickly pulled on her slacks and blouse and ran barefoot past Hattie Mae, who was standing in her nightgown with Mr. Applebee at her feet, his tongue hanging to one side of his mouth.

When she swung open the front door, Shenandoah saw Army pacing back and forth across the porch with a cigarette dangling from his mouth. “Bobby’s rolled the hot rod. He’s in Vanderbilt Hospital. I thought you might want to come along.”

Shenandoah’s mouth went dry, and she could feel her hands begin to shake. She finally got out a whisper. “He okay?”

“Don’t know. Some nurse called his mom’s house about fifteen minutes ago. Said Bobby was just coming out of the operating room.”

Shenandoah ran back to her room and finished dressing. As she tucked in her blouse, Hattie Mae and Mr. Applebee walked in. Neither seemed concerned about invading her privacy. “What happened?” Hattie Mae asked, deep lines etched in her weathered face.

“Bobby’s been in a wreck. He’s in Vanderbilt Hospital. Army and I are going down there now to check on him.”

“Oh, Lord, I hope he’s all right! Me and Mr. Applebee will pray for him. You be careful now. Don’t let Army drive too fast.”

* * *

The pickup couldn’t go fast enough for Shenandoah. Although the truck didn’t have the power of the hot rod sedan, Army kept the speedometer needle pegged at eighty on the straight stretches.

They pulled up to the hospital entrance on Garland Avenue at one o’clock in the morning. No one was at the information desk, so they charged down the hall until they found a nurses’ station. A young woman in a starched white uniform and cap sat making notes in a chart. She looked up as they approached.

“May I help you?”

“We’re looking for Bobby Johnson,” Army said. “I’m his cousin. He was in a car wreck—had some type of surgery tonight.”

Shenandoah stood to one side and let Army do all the talking.

The nurse picked up the phone and dialed a number. “Did you admit a Bobby Johnson tonight? In a room yet? Thanks.” She hung up the phone and turned to Army and Shenandoah. “Mr. Johnson has a broken leg and some facial injuries. He’s on the orthopedic floor, D-3, room 312. Visiting hours are over, but I think you can see him for a few minutes.”

They asked for directions and took the elevator to the third floor. With the help of an orderly, they located Bobby’s room. A curtain separated it into two sections. An older man was snoring softly in the first bed.

The overhead light on Bobby’s side of the room cast long shadows along the walls. Shenandoah’s heart skipped a beat when he saw Bobby. A large metal rod protruded from the skin just above his left knee. A rope was attached to the rod and ran through a series of pulleys to a weight at the foot of his bed. His chin, encased in a large white bandage, highlighted his black and swollen right eye. His hair lay matted around his skull. When he heard their footfalls, he opened his good eye.

“I’m sorry, Army. I don’t know what happened. I don’t remember anything.”

Army placed his hand on Bobby’s arm. “I’m not worried about that damn car. Look, Shenandoah’s here.”

Bobby turned his head, pain making him gasp for air. “Well, Shenandoah, how do I look?”

Shenandoah leaned over and kissed his forehead. Then she took his hand in hers, the one that didn’t have the IV line. “You look as handsome to me as you did the first day I saw you on the side of the road.”

“Thanks. That helps.”

“Are you in much pain?”

He managed a weak smile. “What do you think?”

“Of course you are. It was a stupid question. Anything we can get you?”

“Ask the nurse if I could have some ice chips. My mouth feels like it’s full of cotton.”

“I’ll do it. Stay here, Shenandoah,” Army said.

After he left, Bobby closed his eye and let out a sigh. “I feel so dumb. It’s driving me crazy that I can’t remember what happened.”

“Amnesia is a part of trauma. You may never remember.”

Army returned with a small kidney-shaped stainless steel bowl full of ice chips. He handed it to Shenandoah, who held a few to Bobby’s lips. He opened his mouth, grimaced, and took the ice with his tongue.

“Thanks.”

Army pulled up a chair, but Shenandoah continued to stand beside the bed and fed Bobby ice chips. Minutes slipped by like seconds, until at last a matronly nurse came into the room, carrying a clipboard. “It’s time to take your temp and blood pressure, honey.” Turning to Army and Shenandoah, she said, “You folks come back tomorrow. This fellow needs some rest.”