The Unbidden Truth (21 page)

“Did you really study his features that day in the bank?”

For the first time Kristi Kagan hesitated. “No. I could smell alcohol on him, and I didn't keep looking at him.”

“Would you recognize him now if he appeared?”

“Yes. I'm sure I would.”

Barbara turned to her table and found a photograph, showed it briefly to Mahoney, then to the judge, and handed it to Kristi Kagan. “Are you certain that's the man in the bank that day?”

Kristi studied it for a moment, then said, “Yes. That's the same man.”

Barbara took the photograph back and handed it to the clerk to be entered as an exhibit. He passed it to the jurors, and she waited until it had made the rounds before she asked, “What were the security questions you asked Mr. Wenzel?”

Kristi hesitated again, her mouth tightened, and she glanced at Judge Laughton. “I'm not supposed to reveal confidential information,” she said.

“Come now, Ms. Kagan,” Barbara said. “No one is going to try to access the closed bank account of a dead man, I'm sure. I'm not asking for the answers, only the questions you asked.”

“Objection,” Mahoney said. “Irrelevant, and she's badgering the witness.”

Barbara shrugged and the judge said, “Overruled. Ms. Kagan, just answer the question.” He looked as if he wanted to go home and have a beer or two.

Kristi looked pained when she answered, “His mother's maiden name and his birth date.”

“Thank you,” Barbara said. “Did you at any point make a note of the denomination of the bills you issued to Mr. Wenzel?”

“Yes.”

“What were they?”

“Five one-hundred-dollar bills, six fifties and ten twenties.”

“Thank you, Ms. Kagan,” Barbara said. “No more questions.”

Mahoney had her cover some of the same ground again in his redirect. Before he could call his next witness, Judge Laughton beckoned both attorneys to come forward.

“Who's up next?” he asked Mahoney.

“The bartender on duty the night of the murder.”

The judge looked at Barbara and said, “And I suppose you have a thousand questions to put to the guy.”

“I have a few,” she said.

“I bet you do. I'm going to adjourn until morning.”

 

When they walked out, Bailey was there. Silently he handed Frank another ticket and they all got in the SUV. After he started to drive, Frank chuckled. When Bailey glanced at him, he said, “She pulled a fast one. She had the witness identify Larry Wenzel as Joe.”

Bailey looked at Barbara in the rearview mirror. “The fishing camp picture?”

She nodded. “Yep.”

“They let you do that?”

Frank said, “Oh, there will be hell to pay when it comes out, but meanwhile, that's the picture they saw and heard a sworn witness identify it as Joe Wenzel.”

At the house Shelley got into her red Porsche and, with Bailey following close behind, headed for home. When Barbara, Frank and Carrie went inside, Herbert greeted them jovially. “It came,” he said to Frank.

“Let's have a look,” Frank said, and they followed Herbert into the living room where a spinet piano now stood.

Carrie caught in her breath. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

O
n Thursday morning Mickey Truelove was like a fresh breeze blowing through the courtroom. He gave Carrie a big open grin, looked over the jury with interest and gave the judge an appraising glance before turning to Mahoney with a friendly gaze.

After his preliminary questions, Mahoney asked, “Mr. Truelove, were you tending bar at the Cascadia lounge last summer during the time the defendant played the piano there?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you always take her a drink in a glass like this one when she played?” Mahoney retrieved the exhibit and showed it to Mickey.

“Yes, sir. It was water.”

“All right,” Mahoney said. “Exactly what was your routine on the nights after she finished playing?”

“I waited a few minutes, then I put a clean fishbowl on the piano, picked up the one with the tips, and the glass if it was there, and took them both back to the office. She usually was done tying up her hair and washing her hands by then, and she always gave me a five-dollar tip and put the rest in an envelope in her purse and she left. I took the glass to the kitchen, then I went back to the bar.”

“Do you recall the night of August ninth?”

“The night of the murder? Yes, sir.”

“What did you do with the glass on that night?”

“I guess I took it to the office with the fishbowl of tips.”

“Do you recall if you took it to the office that night?”

“Since that's what I usually did, I probably did that night, but I didn't make a note to remind me later.” His sincerity was apparent, also his bewilderment at these questions.

Barbara knew exactly where Mahoney was heading. Carrie's fingerprints had overlain Mickey's. She had handled the glass after he did.

Using the schematic of the motel, Mahoney said, “There are two doors, one to the hall with doors to the kitchen and the dressing room and passage to the front desk. This other door goes out to the lobby. Which way did she leave?”

“Through the lobby door.”

“Did you always watch her leave?”

Mickey shook his head. “Usually I did. Sometimes, when we got real busy, I didn't stay that long.”

“Do you recall if you watched her the night of August ninth?”

“I probably did.”

“Were you busy on Saturday nights through the summer?”

“After she started playing we were.”

“Your witness,” Mahoney said to Barbara and sat down.

“Good morning, Mr. Truelove,” she said. He grinned and said good morning.

“Mr. Truelove, where did you put the glass of water when you took it to Ms. Frederick?”

“On a little table by the side of the piano bench.”

“On her left hand as she was sitting there, or her right?”

He thought a moment, then said, “Left, so a customer wouldn't knock it over passing by.”

“Did you take her more than one glass of water each night she played?”

“Yes, ma'am. After she took a break and came back I took her a clean glass and took the other one back to the bar.”

“Did she have more than one break on the nights she played?”

“Yes, ma'am, usually two, sometimes three.”

“And you took her a clean glass of water each time?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Was it always there for you to take back to the bar?”

“No. Sometimes one of the waitresses got to it first.”

“Was that table with the glass on it always in your sight?”

He shook his head. “No. I mean, if customers were at the bar, or just standing around I couldn't even see it.”

“After she finished playing, you said she washed her hands and tied up her hair. How do you know she washed her hands?”

“When she came out of the dressing room, she sometimes was still rubbing lotion on her hands. She said the soap in there was hard on the skin. And I could smell the lotion.”

“Did you always take plain water to her?”

He told about the customer who ordered a drink for her. “She said she couldn't drink hard liquor because it made her sick.”

“Did she keep her hair down when she played?”

“Yes, ma'am. She tied it like it is now before she left.”

“Did she ever count her tips in your presence?”

“No, ma'am.”

“Were you able to see what kinds of bills were in the fishbowl?”

“Mostly fives and tens, some twenties, and sometimes a few singles. I think once there was a fifty.”

“You said she put the tips in an envelope, then in her purse. Do you recall what kind of purse she carried?”

“A big shoulder bag, sort of a print.”

“Did you ever see her take her water glass with her when she left?”

He shook his head. “It would have been pretty warm by then and, besides, there's water and paper cups back in the dressing room. If she was thirsty, she could have had a drink back there. I never saw her leave with a glass.”

“You said you put the glass on the table to her left in order to keep it out of the way when customers passed by. Did customers brush against her in passing?”

“No, ma'am, not the usual customers.”

“Do you mean others might have brushed her in passing?”

“Objection,” Mahoney said. “He already answered.”

“He qualified his answer. I want to clarify it,” she said.

Judge Laughton said “Overruled” and gave Mahoney a sharp look as if in rebuke. “You may answer the question,” he said to Mickey.

“Well, Mr. Wenzel seemed to make a point of getting too close to her sometimes,” Mickey said.

“Were you aware that she had complained to Mr. Ormsby about Mr. Wenzel?”

“Yes, ma'am. I told her to.”

“Did she complain to you about it?”

“No, ma'am. I could see what was happening and I brought it up, that if he was bothering her to tell Ormsby.”

“Did his behavior change after her complaint?”

“Not that I could see.”

“Did Mr. Wenzel wear a coat when he was in the lounge?”

“Objection,” Mahoney said. “Irrelevant.”

“It isn't,” Barbara said. “The detective found hairs on the coat. I would like to know if the coat was a usual garment when he brushed by her.”

“Overruled.”

“When he first started hanging out in the lounge he wore a coat a few times, but no one else did and he stopped.”

“Did you ever see him wearing a wrist brace?”

He shook his head. “No, ma'am.”

Barbara thanked him and nodded to Mahoney. “No further questions.”

Mahoney's next witness was Staci Adelman, who spelled her name very clearly to make certain the court stenographer got it right.

Her testimony was straightforward and simple. “We left the lounge a few minutes after she stopped playing. Outside on the sidewalk, I happened to glance toward the far end of the parking lot and I saw her and a man. I told Bernie, my friend, and he looked, too. I said I thought the man was harassing her. He seemed to be a little behind her, then he caught up and put his hand on her arm, and she pulled away and walked faster. We were talking about it, Bernie and I, whether he should go down that way and make sure everything was all right. They reached the end
of the building, and we couldn't see them any longer. Then Bernie said I should get in the car and lock the door and he'd just walk down that way and make sure the man hadn't forced his way into her car or anything. Before I got inside the car, the man appeared again, coming back our way alone, and we left.”

Mahoney had a question or two, but nothing to alter her statement. She couldn't see the man's face, only a white shirt and dark pants, and he appeared to be heavy and had gray hair.

Then Barbara stood up and asked, “Was Ms. Frederick carrying anything?”

“She had her right hand on her shoulder bag. I couldn't see her other hand.”

“When she pulled away from the man, did you get a look at her other hand?”

“No. The man was on that side of her.”

“Was her hair up in a ponytail?”

“Yes.”

Her companion of the night corroborated her story without adding anything to it. Then Mahoney called Mrs. Lorine Purdom, and she appeared to be five or six months pregnant and tired, with dark hollows beneath her eyes.

“We left a little before twelve-thirty. I had told the baby-sitter we'd be back by twelve-thirty, and I was keeping an eye on the time. Our car was across the lot, and about halfway to it, I heard a woman laugh and turned to look, and I saw Ms. Frederick standing by the door of the motel. She seemed to be talking to someone inside. Terry, my husband, turned to look, and we both paused a minute, then she pushed the door open wider and went inside and closed the door.”

Mahoney walked closer to the jury box as if to draw Lo
rine's attention to them, perhaps to address them as she answered his questions. “Could you see the person she was talking to?”

“No. The door was open a few inches only.”

“Was there a light in the room?”

“It was dim, as if a light was coming from the back of it or even from a different room, not that one.”

“Did you hear anything besides the laughter you mentioned?”

“No. It wasn't like laughing at a joke. It was more like you might say ‘Ha, ha.' Like you didn't believe what you just heard or something.”

Mahoney looked at the jury, looked at Carrie, shook his head, then nodded to Barbara. “Your witness.”

She smiled at Lorine Purdom. “I'll try not to keep you long, Mrs. Purdom,” she said. “When you noticed the time were you still inside the lounge?”

“Yes. Terry was looking over the tab and getting money out to pay it. We left a minute later, probably.”

“So it was a minute or two later than twelve-twenty-five when you actually were in the parking lot. Is that right?”

“Yes.”

“Were many people leaving at that time?”

“A few. Some people were in the lobby talking, and we were behind another couple going out. They turned toward the front of the building, and we started across the lot.”

“Was there much noise at that time of night?”

“There was some. I mean, there was traffic on Gateway.”

“At which door did you see that person?” She pointed to the motel schematic. “Do you recall?”

“Yes. It was the first door.”

“Was there a car parked in front of that door?”

“No. There was a black car in the next parking space, but not in the first one.”

“When you first walked out, did you happen to glance that way, toward the rear of the building?”

“No. As I said, another couple was leaving ahead of us, and I watched them turn to the right.”

“Was there any reason for you to pay particular attention to them?”

“Not really.” She smiled slightly, then said almost apologetically, “The woman had on a very tight short skirt and spike heels. I thought it might be interesting to see how she managed to get in a car.”

Someone in the sparse audience tittered and turned it into a cough, and several of the jurors smiled. Barbara smiled also and nodded. Then, pointing again to the schematic, she said, “And you were parked over here? Tell me when to stop.”

She moved her hand along the row of parking spaces until Lorine said, “That's about where.”

“That would be about fifty feet from that door, wouldn't it? And you were halfway there when you heard the laugh?” She moved her finger until Lorine said that was about it. “So you had a clear sight line to the door. No car blocking your vision, and you were twenty-five or thirty feet from it. Is that about right?”

“I think that's about how far.”

“Were the drapes closed over the window near the first door?”

“Yes.”

“So there was only the dim light from inside the room and the outside lighting along the walkway. Is that correct?”

She said yes, then added that the outside lighting was good.

“When you looked at the person at the door, could you see either hand?”

“One of them. I thought she might be holding the doorknob with one hand that was out of sight, and the other one, the one I could see, was on the door frame about shoulder high.”

“Was that person wearing gloves?”

“I didn't see any gloves.”

“Was her hair down, or up in a ponytail?”

“It was loose, down her back.”