The River Rose (47 page)

"I'm fully cognizant of the situation, Mr. Jameson, and you may question the witness as you see fit, within the bounds of the rule of law. Mr. Norville, you will answer the questions put to you, and that is all. Another outburst like that one and I'll slap you in jail for contempt."

"Yes, sir," Vince said blandly.

"Now, Mr. Norville. You've been friends with Mr. Hardin for a long time, haven't you?" Jameson asked.

"Yes, sir."

"You know him very well, as well as anyone?"

"Yes, sir."

"And so," Jameson said heavily, "you know that he is a violent, brutal man, correct?"

"No, sir."

"He has beaten men severely. Eleven men, in fact. In the last fight he had, he almost blinded a man, did he not?"

"No, sir."

"He's a fighter, isn't he? He participates in brutal bare-knuckle fistfights, vicious knock-down free-for-all brawls, doesn't he?"

"He is an athlete in the sport of fistic competition. He is an expert pugilist."

"That's simply a sly way of saying he's a savage fighter, isn't it?"

"No, sir."

Jameson was clearly frustrated, so he moved on. "Mr. Norville, Mr. Hardin is well-known as what is called a 'ladies' man.' Has he—"

"Your Honor, I must object," Deshler said. "Mr. Jameson is stating pure gossip as fact, and his phrasing in no way poses a question to the witness."

Judge Poynter frowned. "Mr. Jameson, I will allow you some leeway with this witness, but you must submit questions to him. Objection sustained."

Jameson sighed heavily and asked, "Mr. Norville, have you ever talked with Mr. Hardin about his lady friends?"

"No, sir."

"That is not a satisfactory answer, sir. Remember, you are sworn to tell the whole truth. Have you ever, in your entire life, talked to Clint Hardin about ladies?"

"Well, why didn't you ask me that in the first place? Yes, sir."

"Mr. Hardin has talked to you about ladies of his acquaintance?"

"Yes, sir."

"Mr. Hardin has told you about his relationships with ladies of his acquaintance?"

"No, sir."

"Mr. Norville! I must insist that you tell this court the truth, and stop lying! If you and Mr. Hardin have had conversations about ladies, he must have told you of his relationships to them, isn't that correct, Mr. Norville?" Jameson almost shouted.

"No, sir. See, all Clint ever says about any ladies is compliments about them, in general," Vince said expansively. "He says this lady is nice, that one is sweet, the other one has pretty eyes, over there, she has great teeth. Things like that. He never, not one time, has ever said one single word to me about his personal relationships to any ladies at all."

Jameson looked honestly aghast. "You've been friends with Mr. Hardin since childhood, and your sworn testimony is that he has never told you about his lady friends. Are you certain that you want that recorded as your testimony, sworn to truth with your hand on the Bible, in front of this judge and this jury and these people?"

"Yes, sir," Vince said confidently.

"Very well," Jameson said darkly. "Now, Mr. Norville, did you see Clint Hardin shoot Max Bettencourt?"

"I already told you, Clint didn't shoot Bettencourt," Vince said impudently.

"Answer the question, Mr. Norville!"

"No sir, I did not see
the shooting.
But Clint couldn't have shot Bettencourt anyway."

"Since you weren't there, how can you possibly swear to that?" Jameson demanded angrily.

"Because Clint Hardin doesn't know the upside from the downside of a gun. He's never had anything to do with them. He's never carried a gun in his life, never owned one, wouldn't have one if you gave it to him."

"Mr. Norville, according to the law your assertion is meaningless, because one cannot prove a negative," Jameson said with superiority. "What do you say to that?"

Vince shrugged carelessly. "Then prove a positive, Mr. Lawyer. You prove he had a gun that night."

"Your Honor, I'm through with this witness," Jameson said with disdain.

"Mr. Deshler?" Judge Poynter asked.

"Your Honor, I don't wish to question this witness at this time. However, I would like the opportunity to recall him if necessary."

"So noted."

The next witness, who was also pointed out to be an unwilling prosecutorial witness, was Ezra Givens. He sat in the witness chair, his arms crossed, and glared at Jameson.

"Mr. Givens, you live on the riverboat
Helena Rose
, with Mrs. Jeanne Bettencourt, Mr. Clinton Hardin, Mr. Vince Norville, Marvel Bettencourt, and Roberty, is that correct?" he asked.

"Yes, sir."

Jameson obviously didn't want to get into a quagmire as he did with Vince Norville, so he asked Ezra blunt, pointed questions. "You saw Mr. Clint Hardin and Mrs. Jeanne Bettencourt kissing, didn't you?"

Ezra's eyes narrowed. "Yes, sir," he bit off.

"In fact, you saw them in a passionate embrace, didn't you?"

"No, sir."

"But they were kissing, and had their arms around each other, and so it was an embrace, was it not?"

"I don't got no idear where their arms was. I only saw 'em for a second, and I tuck off 'cause it weren't none of my bidness," he said sourly.

"But you have seen them, many times, show physical affection?"

"Thet there question don't make no sense, and I ain't a-gonna answer it."

"Oh, come now, Mr. Givens. You're a grown man, you know perfectly well what I mean. I insist that you answer the question."

"I ruffle up Roberty's hair sometimes, 'cause I care about the boy. Is that what you mean? No, I ain't never seed Clint nor Miss Jeanne mess up one 'nother's hair."

Giggles and titters sounded throughout the courtroom, but it only took a stern look from Judge Poynter to stifle it quickly.

"Just—never mind, let the record show that the witness has seen Mr. Hardin and Mrs. Bettencourt kiss. Now, with Your Honor's indulgence, I'm going to bring out a diagram and ask Mr. Givens to explain it to us."

A bailiff brought out a three-legged easel and set a large square white board on it. It was the floor plan of the Texas deck of the
Helena Rose
. He set it up so that the jury, and the entire courtroom, could see it.

"Now, Mr. Givens, will you please go to the drawing, and point out each room, and tell us what each room is, what it is used for, and who inhabits each room?"

Ezra turned to look up at Judge Poynter. "Why do I have to do all that silly fol-de-rol, Judge? Any idiot can look at that there pitcher, and read what it says."

"Mr. Givens, you live on the boat, so you are considered an expert in this matter. Please just do as Mr. Jameson asks."

Ezra rose and went to the easel. As if he were speaking to a roomful of non-English speakers, he enunciated slowly, "This here is the cargo area on the Texas deck. That's where the cargo inhabits.

"This here is the galley, even though some fool printed 'kitchen' on it. At differin' and sundry times, me and Roberty and Mr. Vince Norville and Marvel Bettencourt and Captain Jeanne Bettencourt and Mr. Clint Hardin inhabits this here galley.

"Now over here is the crew quarters. This nice little pitcher here is my bunk. This nice little square here is Mr. Vince Norville's bunk. This nice little square here is Roberty's bunk. This nice little square here is nobody's bunk.

"This here is Captain Jeanne's cabin. Her and Marvel inhabits it.

"And this here is Clint Hardin's cabin. He inhabits here. Now here—" he stabbed a gnarled forefinger—"and here—and here—and here—is where Leo inhabits from time to time."

"Who's Leo?" Judge Poynter blurted out.

"He's our dog. He's been knowed to inhabit lotsa places on that boat. I jist figgered since all you folks is so nosy 'bout where we all place our bodies all the time, you'd best know about Leo too."

This time even Judge Poynter cracked a wintry smile. "Very well, Mr. Givens. Thank you for your expert information."

Ezra resumed his seat. Jameson, whose mouth had twitched also, regained his severe countenance. "Mr. Givens, the reason I wanted to make the arrangements on the
Helena Rose
is so that I can ask you this question: Mrs. Bettencourt's and Mr. Hardin's cabins are very close to each other, aren't they?"

"They's acrost a six-foot, three-inch-wide hall from each other."

"It would be very easy for either Mrs. Bettencourt or Mr. Hardin to slip into the other's cabin for romantic reasons, wouldn't it?"

"Me 'n you is closer than them cabins, so it would be very easy fer me to punch your face, Lawyer Jameeson," Ezra snarled.

Judge Poynter said, "Mr. Givens, you know very well that is unacceptable. Please answer the question."

"No, it wouldn't be easy a-tall for either Cap'n Jeanne nor Clint to slip around shameful," he said sturdily. "There's yer answer."

Jameson demanded, "Have you ever seen Mrs. Bettencourt either entering, or leaving, or inside Mr. Hardin's cabin?"

"No, siree!"

"Have you ever seen Mr. Hardin entering, or leaving, or inside Mrs. Bettencourt's cabin?"

"On the night of September 2, I saw Mr. Hardin inside it, then leave it, then enter it and be inside it, and then leave it," he answered precisely.

"Did you see Mr. Hardin shoot Mr. Bettencourt?"

"No, sir. I didn't git there in time, or I woulda shot Mr. Lyin' Maxwell Bettencourt my own self. But Mr. Clint Hardin didn't shoot that fool, he done shot his own dumb self with his own gun, and that there is my swore-on-the-Bible-truth testimony, Mr. Lawyer Jameeson!"

"Judge Poynter—" Jameson pleaded.

"Yes, yes, Mr. Jameson. Strike Mr. Given's last sentence from the record, Mr. Evans," he told one of the busily writing clerks. "Do you have any further questions for this witness, Mr. Jameson?"

"I certainly do not, Your Honor."

"Mr. Deshler?"

"No questions at this time, with option to recall, Your Honor."

Judge Poynter said, "It's almost noon. I'm going to adjourn this court for two hours. All concerned parties will report back here at two o'clock." He struck his gavel and left.

Jeanne was thinking that perhaps some good had been done by Vince's and Ezra's stout testimonies. Uneasily, she told herself that it seemed that the men of the jury were all paying strict attention to everyone and everything, and surely they would see Max as the evil liar that he was.

But as the bailiffs escorted her and Vince, Ezra and Roberty out of the courtroom first, she saw that the looks directed her way were just as dark and hostile as when she had first entered the court. The court of public opinion may have been amused by Vince and Ezra, but Jeanne and Clint were still in deep trouble.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-
T
HREE

"Oyez, oyez, oyez! All rise for the Honorable Judge Eugene Poynter, presiding over the Phillips County Criminal Court, State of Tennessee!"

Nathaniel Deshler called his first defense witness, Mrs. Herman Wiedemann. Immediately Cyrus Jameson rose to his feet. "Judge Poynter, I wish to enter a formal protest against the first four defense witnesses that my esteemed colleague has called. They were not present when Mr. Bettencourt was shot, they have no knowledge of the events of that night, they can offer no relevant expert testimonials of any matter with a bearing on this case."

Deshler responded, "Judge Poynter, the prosecution has defamed my client's character, and the character of Mrs. Jeanne Bettencourt. They have offered no proof, no corroborating testimony whatsoever, of the grave moral offenses attributed to them. However, I am able, through these witnesses, to offer testimony that disputes Mr. Bettencourt's charges regarding their moral fiber and, therefore, their motives for this alleged crime."

Judge Poynter nodded. "I'll allow these witnesses' testimony. Proceed."

Mrs. Wiedemann sternly affirmed that Jeanne was an honest, hardworking, conscientious Christian lady of high moral standing. She was such an austere, rigid woman that no one in the courtroom could doubt that if she knew of any failing of Jeanne's, either as an employee or as a woman, she would not hesitate to denounce her. Jameson didn't even attempt to cross-examine her.

Mrs. O'Dwyer was a cheerful, thin woman with a lined, weary, but kind face. Having lived in the same house with Jeanne for four years, she stoutly asserted that Jeanne had never, not once, been seen in the company of any man in their home. She stressed Jeanne's and even Marvel's charity, as they shared wood, household goods, food, and even money, with the O'Dwyers.

She said proudly, "Once my husband, who's a deckhand on the
William Crawford
, got his foot almost broke in two. That Old Mock's cart broke down whilst they was unloading his pitiful sticks of wood, I swear he'd bring his logs down to the docks in paper bags if he thought it'd cost him a penny less. Anyways, there's Mr. O'Dwyer home, with two of his toes broke and his foot swelt up like a fat ham, and he missed a whole twelve-day turnaround 'cause of it. We lacked two dollars for the rent that month, and what did Jeanne do? She loaned us the money to help us pay!
Two whole dollars!"