“So
we’ll be spending our holiday in court number three, will we?” asked Annie with
a grin.
“It
could even be court number four,” said Fletcher, putting an arm around his
wife.
“Have
you thought of asking Professor Abrahams’s advice on how she should plead?”
Jimmy
and Fletcher stared at her in disbelief.
“He
advises presidents and heads of state,” said Fletcher.
“And
possibly the occasional governor,” added Jimmy.
“Then
perhaps the time has come for him to start advising a second-year law student.
After all, that’s what he’s paid for.”
“I
wouldn’t know where to start,” said Fletcher.
“How
about picking up the phone and asking if he’ll see you,” said
Annie.
“My bet is that he’d be flattered.”
Nat
arrived at Mario’s fifteen minutes early. He’d chosen the restaurant because it
was unpretentious-tables with red-and-white checked cloths, a small arrangement
of flowers, with black-and-white photos of Florence decorating the walls. Tom
had also told him the pasta was homemade, cooked by the patron’s wife, and this
had brought back memories of their trip to Rome.
He’d
taken Tom’s advice and selected a casual blue shirt, gray slacks and a navy
sweater, no tie and no jacket-Tom had approved.
Nat
introduced himself to Mario, who suggested a quiet table in the corner. After
Nat had read the menu several times, he looked at his watch again, becoming
ever more nervous. He must have checked a dozen times to be sure he had enough
cash on him in case they didn’t accept credit cards. Perhaps it would have been
more sensible if he had walked around the block a couple of times.
The
moment he saw her, he realized he’d blown it. Su Ling was wearing a smart,
well-cut blue suit, cream blouse and navy shoes. Nat rose from his place and
waved. She smiled-a smile he hadn’t experienced until then, which made her look
even more captivating. She walked over to join him.
“I
apologize,” he said, rising from his place as he waited for her to be seated.
“What
for?” she asked, looking puzzled.
“My clothes.
I
confess I spent a lot of time thinking about what I should wear, and still got
it wrong.”
“Me
too,” said Su Ling. “I expected you to turn up in a uniform covered in medals,”
she added as she slipped off her jacket and placed it over the back of her chair.
Nat
burst out laughing, and they didn’t seem to stop laughing for the next two
hours, until Nat asked if she’d like some coffee. “Yes, black please,” said Su
Ling.
“I’ve
told you about my family, now tell me about yours,” Nat said. “Are you, like me,
an only child?”
“Yes,
my father was a master sergeant in Korea when he met my mother. They were only
married for a few months before he was killed at the battle of
Yudamni
.”
Nat
wanted to lean across and take her hand.
“I’m
sorry,” he said.
“Thank
you,” she said simply. “Mom decided to
emigrate
to
America so that we could meet up with my grandparents. But we were never able
to trace them.”
This
time he did take her hand. “I was too young to know what was going on, but my
mother doesn’t give up that easily. She took a job in Storrs Laundry, near the
bookstore, and the owner allowed us to live above the shop.”
“I
know that laundry,” said Nat. “My father has his shirts done there-it’s very
efficient and...”
“
dis
. And has been ever since my mother took it over, but
she’s had to sacrifice everything to ensure that I had a good education.”
“Your
mother sounds just like mine,” said Nat as Mario appeared by their side.
“Everything to your satisfaction, Mr. Cartwright?”
“An
excellent meal, thank you, Mario,” said Nat. “All I need now is the check.”
“Certainly,
Mr. Cartwright, and
may
I say what an honor it has
been to have you in the restaurant.”
“Thank
you,” said Nat, trying to hide his embarrassment.
“How
much did you tip him to say that?” asked Su Ling once Mario had slipped
away.
“Ten
dollars,
and he’s word-perfect every time.”
“But
does it always
pay
off?” asked Su Ling.
“Oh
yes, most of my dates start taking off their clothes even before we get back to
the car.”
“So
do you always bring them here?”
“No.
If I think it’s likely to be a one-night stand, I take them to McDonald’s,
followed by a motel-if it’s serious,
we
go to the
Altnaveigh
Inn.”
“So
which
group are
chosen for Mario’s?” asked Su Ling.
“I
can’t answer that,” said Nat, “because I’ve never taken anyone to Mario’s
before.”
“I’m
flattered,” said Su Ling as he helped her on with her jacket. As they walked
out of the restaurant, Su Ling took his hand. “You’re really cute shy, aren’t
you?”
“Yes,
I suppose I am,” said Nat, as they continued walking toward the campus
.,
“Not
at all like your arch rival, Ralph Elliot.” Nat didn’t comment “He asked me for
a date within minutes of meeting me. “To be fair was said Nat, “I would have
too, but you walked away.
“I
thought I was running at the time,” she said. He turned and smiled “And even
more interesting is how much action you actually saw in Vietnam to turn you
into such a hero.” Nat was about to protest when she added, “Answer, about half
an hour. “How do you know that?” asked Nat.
“Because
I did some research on you, Captain Cartwright, and to quote Steinbeck, you’re
sailing under false colors.” I learned that quote today,” she said, “just in
case you might think I
well read
When
you jumped on the helicopter, you weren’t even carrying a gun. You were a
warrant officer who shouldn’t have been on that aircraft in the first place.
In
fact, it was bad enough that you jumped on the helicopter without permission,
but you also jumped off it without permission. Mind you, if you hadn’t you
might well have been court-martialed.”
“True,”
said Nat, “but don’t tell anyone else, because it will stop me having my usual
three girls a night.”
Su
Ling placed a hand in front of her mouth and laughed. But I did read on, and
your action after the helicopter crashed in the jungle was that of an extremely
brave man. To have dragged that poor soldier on a stretcher with half your leg
blown away must have taken immense courage, and then to discover he had later
died can only have left an irremediable scar.” Nat didn’t reply.
“I’m
sorry,” she said as they reached south campus, “that last remark was
inconsiderate of me.”
“It
was kind of you to search for the truth,” he said, looking down into her dark
brown eyes. “Not many have bothered to do that.”
“
members
of the jury, in most murder trials it is the
responsibility of the state, and rightly so, to prove that the defendant is
guilty of homicide. That has not proved necessary in this case.
Why?
Because Mrs. Kirsten signed a confession within an hour of her husband’s brutal
killing. And even now, eight months later, you will have noted that her legal
representative has not at any time during this trial suggested that his client
didn’t commit the crime, or even challenged how she went about it.
“So
let us turn to the facts in this case, because this was not what could be
described as a crime of passion where a woman seeks to defend herself with the
nearest weapon at hand. No, Mrs. Kirsten was not interested in the nearest
weapon at hand, because she spent several weeks planning this cold-blooded
murder, well aware that her victim would have no chance of defending himself.
“How
did Mrs. Kirsten set about her task?
Over
a period of nearly three months, she collected several vials of curare from
different drug dealers who reside in the shadows of Hartford.
The
defense tried to suggest that none of the dealers” evidence could be relied
upon, which might have influenced you had Mrs. Kirsten herself not confirmed
from the witness stand that they were all telling the truth.
“Having
collected the vials over several weeks, what does Mrs. Kirsten do next? She
waits until a Saturday night, when she knows her husband goes out drinking with
his friends, and covertly pours the drug into six bottles of beer, and even
replaces the tops. She then puts these bottles on the kitchen table, leaves the
light on and goes to bed. She even places a bottle opener and a glass next to
them. She does everything except pour out the drink herself.
“Ladies
and gentlemen of the jury, this was a well-planned and cleverly executed
murder.
However,
if you can believe it possible, there was even worse to follow.
“When
her husband arrives home that night, he does indeed fall into her trap. First
he goes to the kitchen, probably to turn off the light, and, seeing the bottles
on the table, Alex Kirsten is tempted into having a beer before going to bed.
Even before he has put the second bottle to his lips, the drug has begun to
take effect.
When
he calls for help his wife leaves the bedroom and walks slowly down to the
hall, where she hears her husband crying out in pain. Does she phone for an
ambulance? No, she does not. Does she even go to his assistance? No, she does
not.
She
sits on the staircase and waits patiently until his agonized cries have stopped
and she can be certain he’s dead. And then, and only then, does she raise the
alarm.
“How
can we be so sure this is what actually took
place
?
Not just because the neighbors were woken by her husband’s haunting screams for
help, but because when one of those neighbors came to the door to see if they
could assist, in her panic Mrs. Kirsten forgot to dispose of the contents of
the other four bottles.” He paused for several seconds.
“When
analyzed, they contained enough curare to kill a football team.
“Members
of the jury, the only defense Mr. Davenport has suggested for this crime is
that Mrs. Kirsten’s husband regularly beat her.
If
this was the case, why didn’t she inform the police? If this was true, why
didn’t she go and live with her mother, who resides on the other side of the
city? If we are to believe her story, why didn’t she leave him? I’ll tell you
why. Because once her husband was out of the way, she would own the house they
lived in and collect his pension from the company he worked for, making it
possible for her to live in relative comfort for the rest of her life.
“In
normal circumstances, the state would not hesitate to call for the death
penalty for such a horrendous crime, but we do not feel it is appropriate on
this occasion. It is, nevertheless, your duty to send a clear message to any
person who believes they can get I. away with murder. Such a crime may be
lightly regarded in some other states, but we don’t need one of those to be
Connecticut. Do we want to be known as the state that condones murder?”
The
attorney general lowered his voice almost to a whisper, and looked straight at
the jury.
“When
you indulge yourself in a moment of sympathy for Mrs. Kirsten, and indeed you
should, if only because you are caring human beings, place that on one side of
the scales called justice. On the other side, place the facts- the cold-blooded
murder of a forty-two-year-old man who would still be alive today if it were
not for the premeditated crime cunningly executed by that evil woman.” He
turned and pointed directly at the defendant. “The state has no hesitation in
asking you to find Mrs. Kirsten guilty, and sentence her according to the law.”
Mr.
Stamp returned to his place, the suggestion of a smile on his face.
“Mr.
Davenport,” said the judge, “I intend to break for lunch. When we return, you may
begin your summing up.”
“You
look very pleased with yourself,” said Tom as they settled down for breakfast
in the kitchen.
“It
was an unforgettable evening.”
“From
that I assume consummation took place?”
“No,
you cannot assume anything of the sort,” said Nat. “But I can tell you that I
held her hand.”
“You
did what?”
“I
held her hand,” Nat repeated.
“That
won’t do your reputation any good.”
“I’m
rather hoping it will ruin my reputation,” said Nat as he poured some milk over
his Wheaties.
“And
how about you?” he asked.
“If
you are referring to my sex life, it is currently nonexistent, though not
through lack of my persistent. But I’m just not interested.” Nat stared across
at his friend and raised an eyebrow. “Rebecca Thornton has made it all too
obvious that she’s available.”