“No,
Ralph always found it difficult to sleep after appearing on television.” She
turned to face the jury again. “He told me that the adrenalin would go on
pumping for several hours, and in any case, he wanted to put some finishing
touches to his acceptance speech, so I went to bed while he settled down to
work in his study.” Fletcher added a further note to his script.
“And
what time was that?”
“Just before midnight.”
“And
after you had fallen asleep, what was the next thing you remember?”
“Being woken by a shot, and not being certain if it
was real or just part of a dream.
I turned on
the light and checked the time by the clock on my bedside table.
It
was just after two o’clock, and I remember being surprised that Ralph still
hadn’t come to bed. Then I thought I heard voices, so I walked over to the door
and opened it slightly. That was when I first heard someone shouting at Ralph.
I was horrified when I realized it was Nat Cartwright. He was screaming at the
top of his voice, and once again threatening to kill my husband. I crept out of
the bedroom to the top of the stairs and that was when I heard the second shot.
A moment later Mr. Cartwright came running out of the study, continued on down
the corridor, opened the front door and disappeared into the night.”
“Did
you chase after him?”
“No,
I was terrified.”
Fletcher
scribbled yet another note as Rebecca continued. “I ran
downstairs,
and straight into Ralph’s study, fearing the worst. The first thing I saw was
my husband on the far side of the room slumped in the corner, blood trickling
from his mouth, so I immediately picked up the phone on his desk and called
Chief Culver at home.”
Fletcher
turned yet another page and continued writing furiously. “I’m afraid I woke
him, but the chief said he would come over as quickly as possible and that I
was to touch nothing.”
“What
did you do next?”
“I
suddenly felt cold and sick to my stomach, and I thought I was going to faint.
I staggered back out into the corridor and collapsed on the floor. The next
thing I remember was a police siren in the distance and a few moments later
someone came running through the front door. The policeman knelt down by my
side and introduced himself as Detective
Petrowski
.
One of his officers made me a cup of coffee and then he asked me to describe
what had happened. I told him all I could remember, but I’m afraid I wasn’t
very coherent. I recall pointing to Ralph’s study.”
“Can
you remember what happened next?”
“Yes,
a few minutes later I heard another siren, and then the chief walked in. Mr.
Culver spent a long time with Detective
Petrowski
in
my husband’s study, and then returned and asked me to go over my story once
again. He didn’t stay for very long after that, but I did see him in deep
conversation with the detective before he left. It wasn’t until the following
morning that I discovered that Mr. Cartwright had been arrested and charged
with the murder of my husband.” Rebecca burst into tears.
“Right
on cue,” said Fletcher as the chief prosecutor removed a handkerchief from his
top pocket and handed it over to Mrs. Elliot. “I wonder how long they took
rehearsing that?” he added as he turned his attention to the jury and noticed
that a woman in the second row was also quietly crying.
“I’m
sorry to have put you through such an ordeal, Mrs. Elliot.”
Ebden
paused. “Perhaps you would like me to ask the court for an adjournment so you
have a little time to compose yourself?”
Fletcher
would have objected, but he already knew what her answer would be, because they
were so obviously sticking to a well-worn script.
“No,
I’ll be fine,” said Rebecca, “and in any case I’d rather get it over with.”
“Yes,
of course, Mrs. Elliot,”
Ebden
looked up toward the judge, “I have no more questions for this witness, your
honor.”
“Thank
you, Mr.
Ebden
,” said the judge.
“Your witness, Mr. Davenport.”
“Thank
you, your honor.” Fletcher removed a stopwatch from his pocket and placed it on
the table in front of him. He then slowly rose from his place.
He
could feel the eyes of everyone in the courtroom boring into the back of his
head. How could he even consider questioning this helpless, saintly woman? He
walked over to the stand and didn’t speak for some time.
“I
will try not to detain you for longer than is necessary, Mrs. Elliot,
remembering the ordeal you have already been put through.” Fletcher spoke
softly. “But I must ask you one or two questions, as it is my client who is
facing the death penalty, based almost solely on your testimony.”
“Yes,
of course,” Rebecca replied, trying to sound brave as she wiped away the last
tear.
“You
told the court, Mrs. Elliot, that you had a very fulfilling relationship with
your husband.”
“Yes,
we were devoted to each other.”
“Were
you?” Fletcher paused again. “And the only reason you did not attend the
television debate that evening was because Mr. Elliot had asked you to remain
at home and make some notes on his performance, so that you could discuss them
later that evening?”
“Yes,
that is correct,” she said.
“I
can appreciate that,” said Fletcher, “but I’m puzzled as to why you did not
accompany your husband to a single public function during the previous month?”
He paused.
“Night or day.”
“I
did, I feel sure I did,” she said.
“But
in any case you must remember that my main task was to run the home, and make
life as easy as possible for Ralph, after the long hours he spent on the road
campaigning.”
“Did
you keep those notes?”
She
hesitated, “No, once I’d gone over them with him, I gave them to Ralph.”
“And
on this particular occasion you told the court that you felt very strongly
about certain issues?”
“Yes,
I did.”
“May
I ask which issues in particular, Mrs. Elliot?”
Rebecca
hesitated again. “I can’t remember exactly.” She paused. “It was several months
ago.”
“But
it was the only public function you took an interest in during his entire
campaign, Mrs. Elliot, so one would have thought you might just have remembered
one or two of the issues you felt so strongly about. After all, your husband
was running for governor and you, so to speak, for first lady.”
“Yes,
no, yes-health care, I think.”
“Then
you’ll have to think again, Mrs. Elliot,” said Fletcher as he returned to the
table and picked up one of his yellow notepads.
was
also watched that debate with more than a passing interest, and was somewhat
surprised that the subject of health care was not raised. Perhaps you’d like to
reconsider your last answer, as I did keep detailed notes on every issue that
was debated that night.”
“Objection, your honor.
Defense counsel is not here to act as a witness.”
“Sustained.
Keep
to your brief, counselor.”
“But
there was one thing you felt strongly about, wasn’t there, Mrs. Elliot?”
continued Fletcher.
“The vicious attack on your husband when Mr.
Cartwright said on television, “I will still kill you.”“
“Yes,
that was a terrible thing to say with the whole world watching.”
“But
the whole world wasn’t watching, Mrs. Elliot, otherwise I would have seen it.
It wasn’t said until after the program had ended.”
“Then
my husband must have told me about it over supper.”
“I
don’t think so, Mrs. Elliot. I suspect that you didn’t even see that program,
just as you never attended any of his meetings.”
“Yes,
I did.”
“Then
perhaps you can tell the jury the location of any meeting you attended during
your husband’s lengthy campaign, Mrs. Elliot?”
“How
could I be expected to remember every one of them, when Ralph’s campaign
started over a year ago?”
“I’ll
settle for just one,” said Fletcher, turning to face the jury.
Rebecca
started crying again, but on this occasion the timing was not quite as
effective, and there was no one on hand to offer her a handkerchief.
“Now
let us consider those words, will still kill you,” spoken off air the evening
before an election.”
Fletcher
remained facing the jury. “Mr. Cartwright didn’t say ‘I will kill you,” which
would have indeed been damning; what he actually said was will kill you,” and
everyone present assumed he was referring to the election that was taking place
the following day.”
“He
killed my husband,” shouted Mrs. Elliot, her voice rising for the first time.
“There
are still a few more questions that need to be answered before I come to who
killed your husband, Mrs. Elliot. But first allow me to return to the events of
that evening. Having watched a television program you can’t remember, and had
supper with your husband to discuss in detail issues that you don’t recall, you
went to bed while your husband returned to his study to work on his acceptance
speech.”
“Yes,
that is exactly what happened,” said Rebecca, staring defiantly at Fletcher.”
But as he was significantly behind in the opinion polls, why waste time working
on an acceptance speech he could never need hope to deliver?”
“He
was still convinced he would win, especially following Mr. Cartwright’s
outburst and ...8I
“And?”
repeated Fletcher, but Rebecca remained silent. “Then perhaps you both knew
something the rest of us didn’t,” said Fletcher, “but I’ll come to that in a
moment. You say you went to bed around midnight88I
“Yes,
I did,” said Rebecca, sounding even more defiant.
“And
when you were woken by a gunshot, you checked the time by looking at the clock
on your side of the bed?”“
“Yes,
it was just after two.”
“So
you don’t wear a wristwatch in bed?”
“No,
I lock away all my jewelry in a little safe Ralph had installed in the bedroom.
There have been so many burglaries in the area recently.”
“How wise of him.
And you still think it was the first shot that woke you?”
“Yes,
I’m sure it was.”
“How
long was it between the first and second shot, Mrs. Elliot?” Rebecca didn’t
answer immediately. “Do take your time, Mrs. Elliot, because I wouldn’t want
you to make a mistake that, be like so much of your evidence, needs correcting
later.”
“Objection,
your honor, my client is not
..”
“Yes,
yes, Mr.
Ebden
,
sustained. That last comment will be struck from the
record,” and turning to Fletcher, the judge repeated, “
stick
to your brief, Mr. Davenport.”
“I
will try to, your honor,” said Fletcher, but his eyes never left the jury to
make sure it wasn’t struck from their minds. “Have you had enough time to
consider your reply, Mrs. Elliot?” He waited once again before repeating, “How
long was it between the first and second shots?”
“Three,
possibly four minutes,” she said.
Fletcher
smiled at the chief prosecutor, walked back to his table and picked up the
stopwatch, which he placed in his pocket. “When you heard the first shot, Mrs.
Elliot, why didn’t you phone the police immediately, why wait for three or four
minutes until you heard the second shot?”
“Because to begin with I wasn’t absolutely sure that
I had heard it.
Don’t forget, I’d been asleep
for some time.”
“But
you opened your bedroom door and were horrified to hear Mr. Cartwright shouting
at your husband and threatening to kill him, so you must have believed that
Ralph was in some considerable danger, so why not lock your door, and
immediately phone the police from the bedroom?” Rebecca looked across at
Richard
Ebden
. “No, Mrs. Elliot, Mr.
Ebden
can’t help you this time, because he didn’t
anticipate the question, which, to be fair,” said Fletcher, “wasn’t entirely
his fault, because you’ve only told him half the story.”
“Objection,”
said
Ebden
, jumping to his feet.
“Sustained,”
said the judge. “Mr. Davenport, stick to questioning Mrs. Elliot, not giving
opinions. This is a court of law, not the Senate Chamber.”
“I
apologize, your honor, but on this occasion I do know the answer. You see the
reason Mrs. Elliot didn’t call the police was because she feared that it was
her husband who had fired the first shot.”
“Objection,”
shouted
Ebden
, leaping to his feet as several members
of the public began talking at once. It was some time before the judge could gavel
the court back to order.