Ed Lacy - Breathe No More My Lady

“Sir,” Jackson projected his voice so it filled the courtroom, “I am only establishing that it is neither a criminal act nor a sign of guilt to use the Fifth Amendment This is of the utmost importance to the defense of my client.”

“Proceed with your cross-examination, Mr. Clair, but bear in mind I will not tolerate this court becoming a stage or a soap box.”

Jackson dropped his voice. “I certainly apologize, your Honor, if I have done either.”

Brown was sitting hunched up in his seat From the side his broken nose actually made him resemble an old fighter. I knew what he was thinking: If he became the object of the trial publicity he would have little chance of keeping a job— if he'd found one.

Jackson turned abruptly to Joel, who was trying to vanish into a crack in the chair. “Now, Mr. Hunter, you have stated you heard Mr. Anthony allegedly threaten his wife. Will you—”

Wagner objected to the word “allegedly,” and there was some quibbling between the lawyers as to what constituted a threat. When the judge quieted them, Clair asked, “Mr. Hunter, will you kindly repeat the exact words Mr. Anthony said to his wife?”

Joel stammered, “Well, he—he said, 'Francine, some things I'll take from you because it's a kind of game between us. But Hank Brown is one of the few real things in my life. If you ever say a single out-of-the-way word to Hank, I'll k-kill you. I mean that.' That's what Matt said... I believe.”

“Believe? Did he say it, or not?”

“Yes, sir, he said that. I meant those were the exact words, to the best of my recollection.”

“When Matt Anthony said it was a kind of game between them, did you think... I withdraw the question. Mr. Hunter, after hearing Mr. Anthony say this to his wife, what did you do?”

“Me?” Joel asked, bewildered. “I went upstairs with my wife, to our room. Talked over a book idea with her.”

“And after that?”

“We came down and went outside to sun ourselves, play with the dog.”

“Didn't you call the police, Mr. Hunter?”

“The police?” Poor Joel wiped some sweat from his upper lip with his tongue. “Why should I call the police?”

“Mr. Hunter, if you heard a person threaten to kill another, wouldn't you call the police, do something about it?”

Joel waved his hands, mixing air. “Oh, I knew it was just talk.”

Jackson looked astonished. “Then you didn't consider it a threat?”

“No, sir, I did not.”

“That will be all. Thank you, Mr. Hunter.”

As Jackson walked away, Wagner got up. “One moment, Mr. Hunter. Did you hear Mr. Anthony say to his wife, 'I'll kill you'?”

“Yes, sir,” Joel whispered.

As Joel left the stand, Matt sat tilted back in his chair, studying Joel as if he was a painting. Then he smiled and started writing. Jackson made a few notes, glancing at the jury. He whispered something to Matt, who shrugged and pointed to the pile of papers in front of him, went on writing.

May Fitzgerald was the next witness. Matt stared at her for a long time before he went back to his writing. His hand was tired and several times he dropped his pencil, seemed to shake the fatigue out of his right hand. Wagner established— again—that although May had often heard the Anthonys argue she had never heard Matt threaten to kill Francine, or even to strike her. Jackson gave her a friendly smile as he asked, “Miss Fitzgerald, as far as you know, did Mrs. Anthony ever work?”

“Do you mean did she hold a job?” May asked with her slightly clipped accent.

“Yes, did she hold down a job?”

“Not so far as I know.”

Jackson took a few strides in front of the witness stand. “Did the Anthonys entertain often? Did they often have guests for the weekends, for dinner?”

“Very often. On some weekends we had as many as 20 people out.”

“You were the only maid?”

“Yes.”

“Seems you had quite a lot of work. Did Mrs. Anthony often help you with the cooking or serving?”

“No.”

“Did you do the shopping, too?”

“I did.”

“Did you see Mr. Anthony drink much?”

“I saw him take a drink only now and then, especially when guests were drinking.”

“Miss Fitzgerald, you have stated that you often heard the Anthonys argue. Do you mean Mrs. Anthony nagged him?”

“Yes.”

“Over what?”

“Over everything. Money, his drinking and his swimming —not watching his heart. She had a sharp tongue.”

Jackson stopped his walking. “Did you say she had a sharp tongue?”

“I did.”

Wagner seemed undecided whether to object or not, let it go.

“What does a sharp tongue mean, Miss Fitzgerald?”

“Well, she was not gentle in her comments, she was a blunt woman.”

Jackson solemnly nodded, as if in agreement that this was a horror. Then he asked, “Did Mr. Anthony use his house for both a home and an office?”

“He wrote every day.”

“In the house?”

“Yes.”

“Did he have any other office, any other place where he worked?”

“Not that I know of. Every day he went to his den and worked.”

“Would you say Mrs. Anthony nagged him every day, every other day, or every week?”

“Oh, I'd say every day.”

Jackson said that would be all. Wagner stood up and asked, “Miss Fitzgerald, did Mr. Anthony nag his wife every day, too?”

“Well... it takes two to tango,” May said to faint laughter in the courtroom.

When May stepped out of the witness box the judge announced the court was recessed for lunch. I waited for the others to come out. I shook hands with Brown and asked how things were. He said, “I have a good job as a mathematician with a manufacturer out West—non-defense production. At least I had it before the trial started.”

“Have lunch with me,” I said, keeping an eye out for the Hunters.

“No, I think it best I duck reporters and people.”

“Where are you staying?”

“I haven't been able to locate a room yet. Most places are filled.

“I'm at the motel up on the hill. Twin beds in the room if you want one.”

“Young man, I keep telling you it's risky to be seen with me if—”

“Nonsense, Hank.”

“Thank you for the kind offer. I may take it. I'll see you later, Norman.”

Joel came out with May and Wilma. Joel said, “Come with as, I need a drink something awful.”

I nodded at the women and we headed for a restaurant across the street. A photographer begged us—or rather Joel and May—to pose for a picture but Joel refused, practically ran across the street and into the restaurant. Wilma squeezed my arm, asked, “I thought you were going to call us?”

“I did one Saturday afternoon, but no answer,” I lied. “We've been busy—fixing up a house in the country. Soon as it's presentable, I intend to ask you and Joel up.”

“Careful, you know what happened the last time we were house guests.”

We found a corner table and several people stared at us. We ordered cocktails and lunch. Joel said bitterly, “Oh, that Wagner, that cool sonofabitch, why did he have to make me the star witness?”

“Well, you should have stood up to him instead of acting so mealy-mouthed,” Wilma said.

“Oh, that would have been dandy, get me reams of publicity, all lousy! 'Joel Hunter, writer of juveniles, balks D.A.' The libraries would love that! Oh my God, what will my editor say when she sees me on the front pages tonight.”

Wilma reached across the table and patted his hand, a motherly gesture. “Honey, you did fine. Say, isn't that Clair an odd one? What a homely face, and so attractive.”

“Norm, you know about these things, will this hurt my sales?”

“I hardly think so. You know the old saw: nothing as old as yesterday's headlines.”

“You were only a witness, not involved,” May said.

The waiter brought the drinks and Joel took his down in a gulp, ordered a second. “Well, it's almost over. They'll probably be done with Wilma this afternoon. I wish it was Wednesday already and we're on the plane.”

“Going away?” I asked, like a polite idiot.

“Barbados. I got a break and—” Joel turned to May. “You know anybody on that island? We want a cheap room, way from all the usual tourist slop.”

“No, I don't. But if you look around, after a few days you'll find something.”

“They're using the characters in one of his Joe and Eddie, the Bunny Boys books for a kid TV series,” Wilma said. “I tried to egg Joel into asking for the scripting job, too, but he was so blinded by the few bucks, his tongue got tied.”

Joel winked happily at me. “I want to get away fast. Even the option money should keep us down there for a few months. A hell of a fine break, and so unexpected.”

Wilma said, “I liked the simplicity of your ads, and of course the items in the columns. Is the book selling well?”

“About better than we expected.”

The food came and we all ate in silence. Then I asked May about the house and she said as far as she knew it was still unsold. A neighbor was taking care of the poodle. May had received most of her back wages and was now going to NYU, working in a phone answering service nights.

Wilma lit a cigarette, said, “Who else can the State call except me, Brown, and that horrible detective? I don't see how Wagner has a case for murder. Did you dig that hick suit he's sporting?”

“He frightens me,” May said. “He's so sure of himself, so cool.”

“Matt doesn't seem concerned,” Joel said. “I almost think he's enjoying the circus. I hope he understands I did my best for him.”

“Is it true he's writing a book while in court?” Wilma asked me.

“Yes. I haven't read the first few chapters, but I understand they're in the house. Novel idea, the suspect's view of his own trial. Matt insists the last chapter will be sensational. What that means, I don't know.”

“Damn, you have to hand it to the big boy,” Joel said happily, “He's a true pro.”

“I bet he'd never pass up a TV scripting job,” Wilma put in.

“Oh, stop it I don't know a damn thing about it, never tried TV. After all, they didn't even ask for me and I hate begging. You're greedy, Wilma.”

“Greedy is being a pro, dear. Let me go to the John, I don't want to wet up the witness chair. Coming, May?”

I insisted upon paying the check, told Joel it would go on my expense account. When we reached the courtroom it was pretty well filled up. I suppose most people hadn't left their seats to eat Joel and Wilma found seats down front, while May and I found singles on opposite sides of the room. Brown was in the second row, reading a book.

It was nearly an hour later before the judge returned and I had a rough time keeping awake in the stuffy courtroom. To my surprise, Wilma was the next witness. Somehow I had expected Wagner to call Brown. Matt still had the tiny smile on his big face, as if enjoying a private joke. He was writing rapidly once more but he seemed to be suffering from indigestion, patting his stomach now and then, throwing pills into his mouth.

Wagner quickly placed Wilma at the Anthony house. Wilma's answers were abrupt, her pop eyes staring boldly at Wagner as he concentrated on the threat. She repeated exactly what Joel had said. The prosecutor asked, “Now, Mrs. Hunter, when Mr. Anthony shouted, 'I'll kill you!' was there anger in his voice?”

“They were both shouting angrily.”

“Mrs. Hunter, please answer the question. Was Matt Anthony shouting in anger?”

“He was shouting. I can't say if he was angry or not.”

“Mrs. Hunter, a second ago you said they were both shouting angrily. I ask you again: When Matt Anthony shouted at his wife, 'I'll kill you!' was there anger in his voice?”

“All I know is he was shouting!” Wilma snapped.

“Mrs. Hunter, have you ever heard people shout at a baseball game?”

“I think so.”

“Was Mr. Anthony's shouting of the same tone and intent as that of a person shouting at a ball game?”

“I am not an expert on shouting!”

Wagner stared at her for a moment, then smiled coolly, said, “No further questions.”

Jackson strode up to the witness stand, left hand hooked onto his beaded belt. “Mrs. Hunter, you are a redhead and there is a saying redheaded women have a big temper. Perhaps Mr. Wagner will agree with that. [Jackson actually paused, waiting for the inane giggles from the audience.] Mrs. Hunter, have you a temper?”

“Yes.”

“In the heat of an argument have you ever said, 'I'll kill you!' to anybody?”

“Probably.”

“I'm afraid I have to have a yes or no answer, Mrs. Hunter,” Jackson said, his voice almost a caress.

“Yes.”

“Have you ever wanted to actually kill anybody?”

“No.”

“Mrs. Hunter, according to your husband's testimony, and your statements to the police, after you heard Mr. Anthony threaten his wife, you went upstairs to do some work. Later you were on the lawn, sunning yourself. In view of the threat, didn't you think of calling the police, or at least being with Mrs. Anthony to protect her?”

“No. I didn't think of it as a threat, but rather as just talk.”

“That will be all, Mrs. Hunter.”

Wagner stood up, asked, “Mrs. Hunter, on the afternoon of July 25th, did you hear Mr. Anthony tell the deceased, 'I'll kill you!' Answer yes or no.”

“Yes.”

Wagner called Detective Kolcicki, who looked comical in a new suit far too tight for his pudgy frame. The collar of his white shirt seemed to be cutting the bull neck in half. He went through the routine of establishing his official title and duties, said he became suspicious of the 'accident' report when he came across the threat. Matt didn't even glance at Kolcicki, kept writing away and when he stopped, he merely stared down at the table.

In a self-important, clear voice, Kolcicki went on to say he decided to 'interrogate' Matt, had told him flatly he didn't believe it was an accident. That at first Matt insisted it was an accident and at this point Kolcicki had said, “'Mr. Anthony, as a mystery writer, would you expect any of your readers to believe this bunch of lies you're handing me, if one of your characters said it?” Mr. Anthony sat there for awhile, then he said, 'You're right, it does sound bad. It is a lie. I hit her in the boat and then she was dead. I tried to make it look like an accident. I confess it.' He had this typewriter on his desk and I typed while he dictated the confession. Then he read it and signed it. Whole thing took less than an hour.”

The confession was put into evidence and read aloud to the jury. Kolcicki volunteered: “Soon as I knew he was lying, I knew he'd done it An innocent man don't have to lie. That's been my experience in investigations.”

Jackson started his cross-examination with, “Detective Kolcicki, have you ever lied?”

“No, sir.”

“Are you telling this court that you have never once in your life told a lie?”

“Not that I know of.”

“You're not lying now, under oath?”

“No, sir.”

“Did you ever tell your wife a lie?”

“I'm not married.”