“Mr. Dodgson, what is the substance you wrote about in this editorial, RUIt’s an abortion agent.”
“It isn’t used in this country, you say here, and yet you have a long editorial about the dangers it presents.
Why is that?”
“There is intense pressure to have it approved here.
It’s a very dangerous drug used to murder babies, and one that has killed countless women in Europe.”
“I see. It is used in Prance, England, and Sweden, approved by their governments. Are they aware of its dangers?”
“Objection!” Fierst called out. She withdrew the question.
“In the past two years you have published one hundred thirteen issues of your newspaper, one a week. Of that number, eighty percent have dealt with birth control, pregnancy, illegitimate births, single mothers, teenaged mothers, feminism, or abortion. Ninety editorials.
You have railed against every form of birth control available to women except abstinence. Many of your articles and editorials are duplicated throughout the state.
Mr. Dodgson, are you part of a national network to propagandize against the use of birth control for women?”
“I write the truth as I see it.”
Barbara read: “The sperm is the sacred bearer of life.
With its penetration of the ovum, the ovum itself becomes sacred, and the body that carries it to birth is sacred.”
She put down the paper.
“Until the ovum is penetrated it is not sacred. Is that what you mean?”
“You read it. You know what it means,” he said.
“Alone the ovum is nothing.”
“Is the body that produces the sacred sperm also sacred?”
He stared hard at her and nodded.
“It is.”
“And the body that produces the ovum, is it nothing until there is fertilization?”
“Woman was created to carry the seed of life to birth.
If she shirks that God-given blessing, she is nothing.”
He enunciated the words carefully.
“And you believed the women at the Canby Ranch were shirking their duty?”
“They ran away from their husbands,” he said.
“Were they shirking their duty?”
“Yes. They were.”
“So in your eyes they were nothing. Is that right?”
“If they were counseling abortions, performing abortions, they were less than nothing. They were murderers and accessories to murder.”
“You didn’t know that,” she said.
“All you knew was that they were seeking refuge from situations that had become intolerable. Were they nothing?”
“In my opinion, women who run away from their husbands are nothing,” he said flatly.
“Is there never a sufficient cause for a woman to leave a husband, then?”
“Objection,” Pierst said.
“This line of questioning is nothing but an undergraduate debate. Mr. Dodgson’s philosophy is irrelevant.” The objection was sustained.
“Mr. Dodgson, your wife came to court beautifully dressed every day. You buy her clothes, you run the household, you oversee the domestic help. She lives in a doll’s house, doesn’t she, Mr. Dodgson? Is that your duty to her? To maintain her like a beautiful possession to show off to the world? And if she gets out of line, is it your sacred duty to chastise her? To beat her? Do you beat your wife, Mr. Dodgson?”
“Objection!”
It was sustained and the jury was told to disregard her remarks, and then it was time for a recess.
“Disregard them, hah!” she muttered to Prank as Judge Paltz left the courtroom.
“Mr. Dodgson, is this your editorial? Did you write it?”
She read: “All over the country so-called Safe Houses are springing up…. What can you do? Be alert!… Visit the house, demonstrate against this assault on every family value you hold dear. Write a letter to the editor, talk to your neighbors. Don’t let them get away with it!” She read the entire editorial, and he said yes, he had written it.
“This exact editorial appeared in six different newspapers within the state within a month’s period, Mr.
Dodgson. I ask you again, are those your words, is that your original editorial?”
“Many people have access to the same national news—” “Mr. Dodgson, please. A simple yes or no. Did you write those words as if they were your original thoughts?”
“Yes!”
“Do you make a distinction between your editorials and the articles that pass as news?”
“Of course.”
“Do you check the sources of news information for accuracy?”
“If possible. I trust my sources and don’t—” “Do you check them for accuracy?”
“Sometimes, if there—” “Mr. Dodgson, just a simple yes or no, that’s all that is required. Do you check for accuracy? Yes, you do, or no, you don’t.”
“No,” he snapped.
“There’s no need with the people I deal with.”
“Where did these figures come from, Mr. Dodgson?
I quote, “Sixty percent of women who have abortions have severe psychological problems that must be treated by qualified medical specialists’?”
He shrugged.
“I read it in a medical article.”
“Where? What was the article?”
“I don’t remember. I read a lot of articles.”
“Was it in the print media? A magazine?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Was it, perhaps, an item you downloaded on your computer?”
Fierst objected. The witness had said he didn’t re member; he couldn’t be forced to remember.
“Are you aware of national networks that issue regular lists of books to be banned by religious or political organizations?”
“Yes, I know about them.”
“Do you subscribe to them?”
“Yes. As a publisher I need to know what ” “You subscribe, yes; isn’t that your answer?”
“Yes,” he snapped.
Through the same process she forced him to admit that he subscribed to other networks that issued facts and figures about abortion, birth-control methods, mo ming-after pills, iUDs…. Finally she demanded: “So, when you write these editorials in which you make claims about the dangers of the birth-control pill, you are simply relying on your network. Those words we -not yours; yea did not write them; you did not check the sources; you accepted the networks you subscribe to for your information. Isn’t that correct?”
“There’s no need to crosscheck—” “You accepted without question whatever information came through the network, isn’t that correct?”
“I’m trying to explain—” “I don’t want any explanation,” she snapped.
“Did you simply accept whatever they told you? It’s a simple question.”
“Objection,” Fierst said.
“This is not proper examination of a witness. Counsel is trying to browbeat the witness into making unwarranted statements.”
Judge Paltz looked at him thoughtfully and then said, “Overruled. I think the witness can answer the question directly.” He turned to Dodgson.
“Sir, do you recall the question?”
Dodgson’s expression was murderous.
“I recall it,” he said.
“I accepted what my sources told me.”
“Did you ever inform your readers that many of your editorials and articles were not your original thoughts, that you were simply repeating what distant and unknown masters were dictating?”
Fierst objected violently this time and was sustained.
“Mr. Dodgson, do you agree with your son that there is never any acceptable reason to resort to abortion?”
“Yes. Absolutely.”
“Did you believe the Canby Ranch was being used for abortion counseling, possibly for abortions?”
He hesitated.
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you write an editorial, a series of articles denouncing it?”
“A reasonable man doesn’t act without proof of some kind,” he said.
“I was waiting for proof.”
“Did you ever demand proof for any of the information you accepted from your computer network affiliations?”
He hesitated, as if expecting Fierst to intercede; when Fierst didn’t, he said, “No. I knew those people.”
“Did Mrs. Canby warn you that if you published any unwarranted accusation about her property and its use as a refuge for battered women, she would have you and your family investigated from the day of your birth?”
“No! She did not!”
“Did you know the Canby Ranch property was being used as a refuge for battered women? Didn’t Mrs.
Canby inform you of that?”
“Yes, we talked about it.”
“You printed a number of articles and editorials denouncing the use of safe houses, denouncing the principle of providing a haven for women fleeing their husbands, did you not?”
“Yes. I believe such action ” “The answer is yes,” Barbara said.
“You printed articles advising neighbors to spy on neighbors, to inform, to demonstrate, and yet you tolerated such a house on the property next to yours without a murmur. Why?”
“I suspected there was more to it than merely providing a haven,” he said.
“I was gathering information.”
“For over two years?”
“Yes.”
“You were being cautious, is that what you mean?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Did you personally write this article and this editorial, calling Paula Kennerman a baby killer, the fire an arson fire, an attempt to hide the murder?” She read the opening of the article.
“Yes, I did.”
“This newspaper is dated April twenty-first, the Mon day following the death of Lori Kennerman and the arson fire at the Canby Ranch. That was ten days before the police released a statement that there had been a murder and arson. Who gave you that information, Mr.
Dodgson?”
He shrugged.
“I don’t remember. Maybe I figured it out myself.”
“I see. Days before there was an autopsy, before the fire marshal made his report, you just figured it out yourself, that a murder had been done. And you printed your opinion as if it were factual. Is that what you are saying?”
“I was right, wasn’t I?”
She turned to Judge Paltz.
“I ask that the witness’s comment be stricken and that he be ordered to answer the question directly.” When this was done, she repeated: “Did you print your opinion as if it were factual
“Yes, I did. It was.” ‘ “The words following “Yes, I did,” will be stricken,” Judge Paltz said.
“Mr. Dodgson, you are required to answer the questions without further comment. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Did you send, or arrange to have sent, copies of your paper to Jack Kennerman?”
“No.”
“Did you arrange a cash payment to him of three thousand dollars?”
“Of course not. I don’t even know him.”
She asked that his comment be stricken. He was staring at her through narrowed, glinting eyes as cold as death.
“Were you aware that four other newspapers through the state ran your original article and editorial verbatim in the weeks of early May?”
He shook his head.
“Sorry, the answer is still no.”
“On Saturday, April nineteenth, where were you all morning?”
“Cutting the grass with the tractor mower.”
She led him through the morning. He had seen Angela driving in and had started to go in when Craig came waving him down. He returned to his house at about twenty minutes past eleven, just about when the fire engines arrived.
“Then what did you do?”
“Nothing. There was nothing any of us could do. We stayed home, out of the way.”
“Did Mrs. Dodgson tell you she had called Mr.
Gallead?”
“No.”
“Did she mention seeing, or possibly seeing, a figure crossing the private road?”
“No.”.
“It has been stated that you usually went to the office on Saturday afternoon to prepare the paper for Monday morning distribution. Why didn’t you do that on that Saturday?”
“My wife was not feeling well. She was upset by the death of the child.”
“So you stayed home the rest of the day?”
“Yes,” he snapped. He looked at his watch and then checked it against die clock on the rear wall.
“And you remained home all day Sunday?”
“What difference does that make?” he demanded.
“Yes. So what? I was rethinking my front page and my editorial.”
Again she asked that his comments be stricken from the record.
“Had Mrs. Melrose left yet when you returned to the house?”
“I don’t know.”
“So if she was still there she might have overheard something you or your wife or son said. Is that true?”
“Objection,” Fierst said.
“That’s a hypothetical question.”
It was sustained.
“Why did you fire Tier, Mr. Dodgson?”
“She was incompetent.”
“She was with you for fourteen months. Was she incompetent all that time?”
“She was.”
“But you waited until you had proof of her incompetence?
Was that it?”
“I fired her when I got tired of her messing things up,” he said.
“Fouling the swimming pool was the last straw.”
“When did you first discover the empty floor stripper container in the pool?”
“Sometime on Monday. I left it there to show her why I was firing her.”
“And it floated around from Saturday until Tuesday,” Barbara murmured.
“Did you find that strange?”
“Objection,” Fierst said.
“Isn’t all this rather irrelevant?”
“It is not irrelevant,” Barbara said.
“Mr. Dodgson possibly has manufactured an excuse to fire his house keeper who might have overheard something he did not want repeated.”
“You’re crazy,” Dodgson said in a soft voice that sounded menacing.
“There are many ways to get rid of someone; you don’t have to go to the expense of cleaning out a damn swimming pool.”
Judge Paltz rapped his gavel and admonished Rich Dodgson once more. He sustained the objection.
“Or maybe,” Barbara said, going to her table to pick up a piece of paper, “Mr. Dodgson fired his house keeper as an excuse to clean out his pool.”
Fierst objected and was upheld.
During this brief period, she watched Rich Dodgson, who had become very still, the way a predatory cat is still just before it leaps, she thought.
“Mr. Dodgson, is this the invoice from the Sweet Waters Pool Mainte nance Company?” She placed the paper in front of him.
His eyes were like pale ice.