Veil of Doubt, page 28
“Well, hello, little lady,” said the man from the shadows. “I heard that I might find you here.”
She stared as lamplight from the wall lantern fell over his face. Her eyes widened before she squeezed them shut.
Chapter 31
Friday, October 25, 1872
“Powell,” said JW, his hair wet and windblown as he knelt between the two Harrisons sitting at the defense table. “I was just talking to the reporter from the New York Herald.”
“I thought we agreed to refrain from speaking to the press,” Powell said with a scowl.
“Did Mrs. Lloyd make that same agreement?” JW said. “She’s the one who spoke with him.”
“She did what?” Matt’s unruly eyebrows raised in tangled knots.
“She informed him that after all this is over, she’s leaving Leesburg with her beau. That he’s asked her to marry him and that once she’s acquitted, the two of them will be on the train to Chicago to take their nuptials.”
“A beau? She’s gone mad!” Matt exclaimed. He looked around before leaning closer to whisper. “Did the damned doctors get this wrong? The arsenic purchases and now this?”
“We’ve always known that she’s eccentric,” Powell said calmly. “There’s nothing new in that fact. And don’t forget the evidence that we have. Let’s not let Mrs. Lloyd’s oddities distract us from what we know.”
Matt shook his head resignedly and sat back.
“Trust me, Matthew,” Powell said as JW stood from where he knelt, and took his seat.
The townspeople in the gallery quieted when Emily, dressed in a gray traveling suit that hugged her waist tightly, entered the courtroom on the arm of the sheriff.
“Sweet Jesus,” Matt said under his breath as Emily approached the dock. He pointed his index finger first at Powell and then JW at the table’s end. “I don’t care how you do it, but you two need to get that loon under control.”
“I’ll talk to her,” Powell said, watching her take her seat in the close-fitting, floor-length dress.
“The commonwealth recalls Dr. Randolph Moore,” Kilgour announced after the judge arrived and the court was called to order.
“Why recall Moore at this stage of his case?” JW whispered, glancing at the six men sitting on the bench behind Kilgour. “Why not put the rest of his experts on the stand to finish corroborating yesterday’s testimony?”
Powell pursed his lips as the sick feeling returned and sank into the pit of his stomach. “He’s saving them to rebut our chemists.”
With a quick glance at Powell, Matt leaned forward and looked at JW. “They spent the last three days establishing method and means. Mort’s moving on to motive.”
JW threw his shoulders back in the chair. Powell stiffened his posture, bracing himself for what was to come.
After Moore took the stand, Kilgour stood from the prosecution’s table. “Dr. Moore, you testified earlier that your store keeps a register of every transaction involving a sale of a poison. Is that correct?”
“Yes, I do.”
“On Wednesday, Mrs. Greene told the court that Mrs. Lloyd bought arsenic from your store in July 1871, but had lost it before she returned home. Oddly, upon review of your poison register, I could find no such transaction. Can you explain?”
Moore assumed a bewildered expression and shrugged his shoulders. “I can only speculate that she was confused. Mrs. Lloyd does suffer from occasional memory lapses. Perhaps that is the explanation. But I can assure you that she never purchased arsenic from my store.”
“How can you be so certain?”
“My practices are rigorous in regard to the handling of poisons and the documentation of their sale. Either myself or one of my clerks would have recorded the transaction in the log.”
Kilgour picked up a clothbound book from the table and walked with it to the witness stand. “Do you recognize this?”
“Yes,” Moore said. “It is the poison register from my store.”
Kilgour opened the book and thumbed to a page. “Can you tell me why there is a page missing for the period between November 1868 and March 1869?”
“From my recollection, one of my clerks removed it to satisfy an audit by the state.”
“A state audit,” Kilgour said to the jury. “Dr. Moore, were you the physician attending Charles Lloyd at his death?”
“Objection,” Powell said. “Relevance.”
“Overruled,” Keith said.
Kilgour turned to Moore. “Doctor?”
“I was his physician,” Moore affirmed.
“When did he die?”
“Mr. Lloyd died in December 1868, I believe.”
“How do you explain the overlap of that date with the dates of your register’s missing page?”
Moore shrugged his shoulders again. “An inconvenient coincidence.”
“Or perhaps Charles Lloyd was the inconvenience,” Kilgour said.
“Objection!” Powell shouted.
Kilgour opened his hands and raised them in a gesture of surrender. “Withdrawn, Your Honor.” Placing his hands on the rail, he leaned toward Moore. “Could it be that Mrs. Lloyd removed the page?”
“No. As I told you, my clerk removed it.”
“The name of the clerk?” Kilgour asked, eyes narrowed.
“I don’t recall who was working for me at the time.”
Kilgour frowned with an exaggerated nod of his head. “Another inconvenience?”
“Excuse me?” Moore said, shifting in his chair as Powell objected.
“Withdrawn, Your Honor,” Kilgour said before the judge admonished him. He lifted his frame from the rail. “Isn’t it true that Emily Lloyd wanted her husband dead because he was abusive toward her?”
“Objection,” Powell interjected. “Calls for speculation. And the prosecution has absolutely no foundation.”
“I’ll rephrase,” Kilgour offered. “Do you have knowledge of any abusive conduct toward Mrs. Lloyd by her husband?”
“I never witnessed Mr. Lloyd abuse his wife and certainly know Emily well enough to know that she would never wish death on anyone, let alone her husband.”
“Doctor, I didn’t ask if you witnessed any abuse, rather whether you were aware of any abuse. As her physician, did you ever treat Mrs. Lloyd for injuries consistent with abuse?”
“Not that I recall.”
Kilgour shifted his position and leaned an elbow against the rail, facing the jury. “As her physician, would you say that Mrs. Lloyd was in good health or in poor health?”
“Overall, she’s in good health.”
“Then why so many house calls?”
Powell felt his mouth go dry.
“Pardon?” Moore said, looking confused.
“If Mrs. Lloyd is in good health overall, then why is it that you are seen visiting her house on a regular basis?”
“Her children were sickly, and I was called frequently by the housekeeper to attend to them.”
“And were you also attending Mrs. Lloyd on these calls?” Kilgour asked, still facing the jury.
“Sometimes. She suffers anxiety from time to time and has difficulty sleeping.”
“What about social calls?”
Moore looked confused again. “Pardon?”
“Did you see Mrs. Lloyd socially when you made these house calls to attend her children?”
“Occasionally I would have tea with her.”
“Is that all you had?”
“Pardon?”
At the defense table, JW leaned forward in his chair and whispered, “Where is Kilgour going with this?”
“Nowhere good,” Powell whispered back with a cutting glance at Matt.
Kilgour turned to face Moore. “Do you have feelings for Mrs. Lloyd, Dr. Moore?”
“Of course I do, as any physician would have for the well-being of his patients.”
“What about romantic feelings?”
The color drained from Moore’s face. “I’m a married man.”
“So you are saying that you have never shared Mrs. Lloyd’s bed?”
“Your Honor!” Powell protested, jumping to his feet. “Foundation?”
“I deny it absolutely,” Moore declared before the judge ruled.
“I’ll withdraw,” Kilgour said. “For the moment.” He gave Moore a long, scrutinizing look before he turned and walked over to the prosecution table. Orr handed him a document.
As Powell sat down, Matt leaned to him. “I don’t like this.”
“Me either,” Powell whispered through clenched teeth.
Taking his reading glasses from his pocket, Kilgour put them on and examined the papers in his hand. After a tense moment, he looked over the rims at Moore. “Charles Lloyd died December 28, 1868. Is that correct?”
“I believe so,” Moore said.
“And the victim in this case, Maud Lloyd, was born in March the following year, correct?”
“As I recall, yes.”
“So when Charles Lloyd died, Mrs. Lloyd was with child?”
“Yes, she was in her third trimester at the time.”
“And that child was Maud?”
“Yes, as you just said.”
“But Charles Lloyd wasn’t the father, was he?”
Moore’s brow etched with confusion. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Wasn’t the child fathered by you?”
The courtroom exploded.
“Objection!” Powell jumped to his feet again. “What evidence does the prosecution have to support such a preposterous claim? And how is any of this testimony relevant?”
“Your Honor,” Kilgour said, “the state asks for a bit of leeway as my question goes to motive.”
“I’ll allow it, but take care, Mr. Kilgour,” the judge cautioned.
Kilgour turned to Moore. “Isn’t that why you cut the page from the poison register? To protect your lover? To protect the mother of your daughter?” Kilgour pressed.
“Objection!” Powell said again. “Is Mr. Kilgour testifying or the witness? And is he planning to provide any proof of these wild statements?”
“Mr. Kilgour?” the judge said, his eyebrows raised in question.
“Yes, we can support our argument, but first I’d like to provide the doctor the opportunity to set the record straight.”
“Get to it in short order, Mr. Kilgour,” the judge warned.
Kilgour turned his attention back to Moore. “Dr. Moore, were you the father of Maud Lloyd?”
“This is preposterous!” Moore said, clearly rattled. Kilgour stared at him, waiting. “No.”
“Have you engaged in amorous congress with Emily Lloyd?”
“As I told you before, no!”
Kilgour held his stare. “I have five witnesses waiting outside this courtroom who will testify to your numerous evening visits to the Lloyd home, your overnight stays, and other incriminating observations over the last several years.” Kilgour, lowering his voice, leaned on the rail again, his eyes sympathetic as Moore dropped his gaze to his lap. “The last thing I wish to do is embarrass you and your family, Dr. Moore. I know this is difficult, as it would be for any man to admit his transgressions in public, but this is a murder trial, and you are under oath. If you admit to the allegations, I will have no need to call the witnesses. However, I must advise you that, should you deny the affair, you leave me no choice.” He lifted his chin and raised his voice. “Dr. Moore, at any time in the past five years, have you had intimate relations with Mrs. Emily Lloyd?”
Except for the patter of rain on the windows and the fire crackling in the stove, the courtroom was silent, waiting for Moore’s answer. Moore cradled his head in the fingertips of both hands, and his eyes remained downcast. Drawing a long sigh, he closed his eyes. After a moment, he moved his hands to his lap and brought his gaze back to Kilgour.
“I will not disgrace my family.” Moore shook his head and turned to the judge. “I cannot be compelled to bear witness against myself. I will not answer.”
“Your Honor, if it please the court,” Powell said, rising to his feet. “As this is a criminal proceeding, answering such a question could very well implicate the doctor. Under Amendment Five of the constitution, Dr. Moore is well within his rights to refuse to answer Mr. Kilgour.”
“The prosecution withdraws the question, Your Honor,” Kilgour said. “I think the jury heard the doctor’s answer loud and clear.” He looked at Moore with pity in his eyes. “Nothing further.”
“Mr. Harrison, do you wish to examine the witness?” Keith asked.
“We will hold any further questions for Dr. Moore until we present our defense,” Powell answered.
All eyes in the court watched in silence as Moore left the witness box and took his seat in the second row behind the prosecution. Kilgour announced his next witness.
“The state calls Mr. Pendleton Slack.”
One after another, Kilgour called Emily’s neighbors: Mr. Slack; his wife, Catherine; Mollie Ryan; and Colonel Nixon. Each recounted the numerous occasions on which they witnessed Dr. Moore or his carriage at the Lloyd house. Pendleton Slack’s testimony went further, not only detailing Dr. Moore’s visits to the Lloyd house but also recounting the mysterious death of his chickens on Palm Sunday—the Sunday that Maud Lloyd died. The gallery exploded at the testimony, the women aghast and the men shaking their heads. Through it all, Randy Moore sat stone-faced in the second row. Emily, on the other hand, seemed to be paying little attention today to the goings-on in court. In her traveling dress, she reclined in the chair, nonchalant and reading from a newspaper. She turned the pages noisily, and the distracting sound resonated throughout the courtroom. With each turn of the paper, Powell tightened his mouth and shot her a look of disapproval. And each time, Emily paid no mind. Until the testimony of the fifth witness.
“State your name and residence for the court,” Kilgour asked.
“My name is Georgia Jones, and I live on the east end of Church Street.” Emily abruptly lifted her head from the paper and turned to the witness. Narrowing her focus, she glared at the woman in the witness box.
“And how do you know the defendant?”
“I was Mrs. Lloyd’s midwife for the birth of her daughters.”
“Can you tell the court about the day Maud was born?”
“Mrs. Lloyd had sent her girl for me that morning. When I arrived, Mrs. Lloyd’s labor was rather advanced, and she was in much discomfort. She told her girl—Delphi, I believe was her name—to fetch Dr. Moore. I told her that would be unnecessary, that the baby would arrive in short order. But Mrs. Lloyd was insistent.”
“And how long did it take for Dr. Moore to arrive?”
“Not long at all,” Mrs. Jones replied. “He was very worried about her condition. He asked me a few questions and pushed me aside. Said my services were no longer needed, but I stayed anyway. It was Dr. Moore who delivered the child. After the baby came, I swaddled it and handed the child to the mother. Dr. Moore joined Mrs. Lloyd on the bed, admiring the baby. At first, I found his doting odd, but I had heard that Dr. Moore was a caring man, so I dismissed it. A few minutes later, when I prepared myself to leave, Mrs. Lloyd said something that gave me pause.”
“And what did Mrs. Lloyd say?” Kilgour asked and turned to face the jury.
A feeling of dread rushed over Powell as a satisfied look washed over the face of Mrs. Jones.
“Mrs. Lloyd said, ‘I do believe she has your eyes.’” Loud whispers flooded the gallery of the court. Emily turned her attention back to her reading, opening the newspaper with a loud jerk.
“Do you recall the color of the child’s eyes?” Kilgour asked.
Mrs. Jones looked across the courtroom to where Moore was sitting. “Her eyes were the same sky-blue color as Dr. Moore’s.”
Kilgour turned to Powell, a smug grin on his face. “Your witness, Counsellor.”
Powell returned Kilgour’s smirk with a wry smile before looking at JW. “Do you have our notes on Charles Lloyd?” he whispered. JW nodded and riffled through a few documents before handing Powell a number of pages. Powell scanned the papers and stood.
“Mrs. Jones,” he said as he approached the witness. “You said that you attended Mrs. Lloyd at the birth of both of her daughters. Do you happen to remember the color of Annie Lloyd’s eyes?”
“I believe they were blue.”
“And what about the color of her sons’ eyes?”
Mrs. Jones thought for a moment. “I don’t recall the older boy’s, but the younger one’s were the same eerie color as his mother’s.”
“And what about Mr. Lloyd? Do you recall his eye color?”
“I do not,” she said.
“Let me see if this might refresh your memory.” Powell handed her a paper from his notes. “Would you read for the jury the notation from Mr. Lloyd’s militia service record?”
Mrs. Jones lifted her chin and, looking over her nose, brought her gaze to the paper that Powell was holding. He pointed to the specific passage.
“Height five foot eight. Complexion dark. Hair brown. Eyes blue,” she read aloud.
Powell took the paper away and thanked her. “Now, at any time, did Mrs. Lloyd tell you that Dr. Moore was the father of her child?”
“No.”
“Did Dr. Moore tell you that the child was his daughter?”
“No, he didn’t.”
“Do you have definitive proof that anyone but Charles Lloyd was the father of Maud Lloyd, other than an offhand comment from Mrs. Lloyd after hours of arduous labor?”
