Veil of Doubt, page 29
“I do not.”
“No further questions.”
• • •
“You continue to lie to us, Mrs. Lloyd,” Powell said as he and JW entered the room at the back of the courthouse where Emily was eating dinner.
“Lie about what?” she said matter-of-factly, looking up from her bowl.
“You told me specifically that your relationship with Randy Moore was one of friendship and nothing more. Yet in court today, Randy Moore all but admitted that you and he were having an affair.”
“I never had any such conversation with you. And Dr. Moore never admitted a thing,” she said flippantly and took a spoonful of soup into her mouth.
“His refusal to answer the question is tantamount to an admission,” Powell said, taken aback by her smugness. “Now, did you or did you not have an intimate relationship with Dr. Moore?”
“My relationship with Randy Moore is none of your damned business, Mr. Harrison.” Powell was stunned.
JW, by the look on his face, was flabbergasted, too. “So it’s true?” he sputtered. “You and Dr. Moore?”
“I’ve got the same thing to say to you that Randy had to say to that other lawyer. Not a goddamned thing.”
“What about Mrs. Jones?” JW continued, his eyes bulging. “And your neighbors? They seemed to have a lot to say.”
“Meddling busybodies,” she sneered. “They haven’t a clue as to what they think they have seen or what they think they heard.”
“Do you understand that this goes to motive, Emily?” Powell said, confounded by her dismissiveness. “Mr. Kilgour is going to suggest to the jury that you and Dr. Moore conspired to kill your husband. And while you are not yet on trial for your husband’s murder, Kilgour will suggest to the jury that if you killed once, you are certainly capable of killing again.”
“Mr. Kilgour can suggest all he likes. He can’t prove what isn’t true.”
“Which part, Emily?” Powell asked. “That you didn’t have an affair with Dr. Moore? Or that the two of you didn’t conspire to kill your family? Because the latter is what we are trying to defend you against.”
“I’m through with answering your questions. Freddie!” she shouted. “Please show these gentlemen out. I want to enjoy my soup in peace.”
• • •
With his chest puffed like a peacock’s, Kilgour announced his next witness. “The state calls Mr. Samuel Orrison.”
Orrison rose from the gallery, took his seat on the witness stand, and swore his oath. Powell glanced at JW, who acknowledged him with a nod.
“You are the executor of the estate of Charles Lloyd and were the guardian of his children, including Maud. Correct?” Kilgour asked.
“I am,” Orrison confirmed.
“Would you tell the court how much money Mrs. Lloyd stood to gain from the death of her daughter Maud?”
“Of the initial nine hundred dollars Maud inherited from her father’s estate, eight hundred and sixty dollars remained, and that went to Mrs. Lloyd at the child’s death.”
“And how much did Mrs. Lloyd inherit at Charles Lloyd’s death?”
“Charlie’s estate was valued at over six thousand dollars,” Orrison explained. “Each child received nine hundred dollars, and Mrs. Lloyd, the balance. All told, after the death of her last child, Mrs. Lloyd received in excess of four thousand dollars.”
Muted whispers whirred through the crowd.
“Did Charles Lloyd’s estate include the house where Mrs. Lloyd resides?” Kilgour asked.
“It did not,” Orrison replied with a shake of his head. “That house was owned by Mrs. Elizabeth Hammerly. When she died, she left the house to her niece, Mrs. Emily Lloyd.”
“I’m confused,” Kilgour said, his brow furrowed. “Any property that a wife inherits belongs to her husband. Why wasn’t the house part of Charles Lloyd’s estate as well?”
“Because Charles Lloyd died before Mrs. Hammerly. Mrs. Lloyd got the entire house all for herself.”
“So, had Mrs. Hammerly died first, and the house had become part of Mr. Lloyd’s estate, how would that have been handled at his death?”
“Mrs. Lloyd would have had to share the value of the house equally with her children. Instead of inheriting one hundred percent of the house, she would have only inherited a fifth of it. Of course, she would have ended up with it all anyway since she killed the children.”
“Objection!” Powell screamed as Kilgour said, “Nothing further,” and retired to his seat.
“The jury shall ignore the last statement made by the witness,” the judge instructed.
Powell sat in his chair, firing a knowing glance at JW. JW rose to his feet.
“Mr. Orrison, you testified that Mrs. Lloyd inherited the entire house. I believe those were your words,” JW said in his slow Southern drawl. “Now, you do realize that the house is a twin, is it not?”
“Yeah. So?” Orrison replied, a smug look on his face.
“So your testimony isn’t entirely accurate, is it? Mrs. Lloyd inherited only half of the house.”
“Objection, Your Honor,” Kilgour shouted. “Argumentative! Mr. Foster is splitting hairs.”
“I’m simply making certain the jurors understand what Mrs. Lloyd inherited and what she did not.”
“Overruled,” Keith said.
JW turned back to Orrison. “Isn’t it true that Mrs. Hammerly left Mrs. Lloyd one side of the only house that Mrs. Lloyd has ever known?”
“That ain’t exactly right either, Counsellor,” Orrison said. “Mrs. Lloyd knew that house over in Clark that she burned her father up in.”
A rumble of loud whispers resounded over the courtroom. Judge Keith pounded the gavel. “Let’s settle down, folks.”
As the crowd quieted, JW responded, “Mrs. Lloyd was not yet four years of age and a victim herself of a horrific event that left her an orphan.” He turned to the jury, incredulous. “I’d say it’s a little more than unfair to accuse her of perpetrating a tragedy that happened when she herself was just a child.” He turned back to Orrison. “Let’s get back to your testimony from earlier, shall we? You stated that Charles Lloyd’s estate was valued at six thousand dollars. How much of that value included Mr. Lloyd’s tavern?”
“Twenty-one hundred dollars.”
“That’s the amount you paid for the tavern after Mr. Lloyd’s death, correct?”
“That’s correct.”
“But that’s not what you initially paid, is it?”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Orrison replied with a scowl.
JW smiled. “Isn’t it true that you initially paid Mr. Lloyd’s estate eleven hundred dollars for the tavern, and when Mrs. Lloyd questioned the transaction and threatened to sue you, you agreed to increase that amount to twenty-one hundred?”
“We negotiated and agreed to a price,” Orrison said matter-of-factly.
“Were you angry at Mrs. Lloyd at the time?” JW asked.
“I wasn’t real happy, but we settled the matter.”
“How so?” JW asked, leaning on the rail.
“She got what she wanted, and I got what I wanted.”
“So you paid the estate twenty-one hundred dollars, the estate that you still manage, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Seems you still got yourself quite a deal,” JW said, casting another look at the jury.
“As I said, I paid a fair price,” Orrison replied.
“A fair price for you, Mr. Orrison, but not such a fair price for Mr. Lloyd’s heirs,” JW said, walking over to the defense table. He picked up a sheet of paper and carried it to the witness stand. “I have here an accounting of the tax paid on the property located on Royal Street. Have you ever shared this assessment with Mrs. Lloyd?”
“Why would I?” Orrison said with a smirk. “I’m the executor. The woman has no right to that information any more than you do.”
JW smiled again before looking at the paper in his hand. “According to the records, that property is taxed at an assessed value of three thousand four hundred dollars.” JW showed the document to Orrison and pointed to the figure.
“So?” Orrison said.
“So it seems that Mrs. Lloyd was not the only individual who benefitted from Charles Lloyd’s death, wouldn’t you say? Could one say, Mr. Orrison, that Charles Lloyd’s death improved your situation?”
Orrison offered JW a contemptuous look. “You may say what you want, Counsellor, but it ain’t the truth. The only person that benefitted from Charlie’s death was Mrs. Lloyd.”
JW smiled at Orrison one last time before turning to the jury. “Nothing further.”
Glaring at JW, Sam Orrison rose from his seat. As he walked by the defense table, he threw a threatening look at Powell, who responded with a chilly smile.
Kilgour rose to his feet. “The state calls Mr. Patrick Gill.”
Emily dropped her hands and the newspaper in them to her lap and straightened her posture. Powell caught her glance before she looked away. She seemed rattled. He followed her gaze. A man in an ill-fitting suit walked past him and took the witness stand.
Turning to his brother and JW, Powell silently mouthed the question “Who is he?” Matt shrugged. JW shook his head.
Powell sat back in the chair and looked at the man swearing his oath. Tall and wiry, with dark hair parted in the center and greased to a shine. His face, long and gaunt. A thin dark mustache ran across his upper lip.
“Mr. Gill, where is your place of residence?” Kilgour asked, walking to the front of the courtroom.
“My name is Paddy. Paddy Gill. And I lives in the great city of Chicago, Illinois,” he said, flashing a yellow-toothed smile.
“And what is your occupation, Mr. Gill?”
“I’m a huckster with the Great Northwest Company. As I said, sir, the name’s Paddy.”
Powell glanced at JW.
“And how do you know the defendant?” Kilgour continued.
“Met her at Orrison’s tavern, where I rent a room when I visit your lovely town. First time I saw her, she was chatting up a fella at the counter, and, well, I just couldn’t take my eyes off her. I bought her a drink, I did, and we went to my room, where she and I could become better acquainted.”
Emily abruptly stood from her chair, catching the attention of the men on the jury and everyone else in the courtroom. Her face was flushed and her bottom lip quivered. She placed both hands on the rail, steadying her stance.
“Am I to assume that you and Mrs. Lloyd have an intimate relationship?” Kilgour asked with a quick glance in Emily’s direction.
“I don’t know no Mrs. Lloyd, but if you’re referring to the lovely Miss Samson in the chair over there, then you can assume what you’d like. Paddy Gill is not the fellow to kiss and tell.”
“I am not Miss Samson, and this man is a liar!” Emily shouted from the dock.
Judge Keith pounded his gavel on the bench. “Mrs. Lloyd, you need to sit down and remain silent, or I will have the sheriff remove you from this courtroom!”
Collecting herself, Emily sat back down in her chair. Powell looked at the jurymen to assess their reaction. Your outburst may have helped us, he thought, reading empathy on their faces.
“When is the last time you met with Mrs. Lloyd?” Kilgour asked as the townspeople quieted.
“Like I said, I don’t know her as Mrs. Lloyd. Never knew she were married, let alone that she had youngsters until youse fellas told me. But then again, I never asked, and she never mentioned—”
“Mr. Gill,” Kilgour interrupted. “When did you see her last?”
“You mean before last evening?”
“You saw her last night?”
“I did indeed. You and the sheriff told me yesterday that she was in jail, and, well, I just had to see her. So I went to the jail to give her a gift that I had been carrying around since summer. I thought it would be nice for her to have something new, you know. I must say, it sure is nice to see her wearing it today.” He moved his gaze to Emily, smiling lustily. A look of horror and disgust consumed her face.
Blotchy red spots erupted over Kilgour’s face. “Your visit with her last night is not relevant to my question.” He was losing control of the interrogation and his temper. “Before last evening, when did you last see the defendant?”
“Last time I saw her was in February,” Gill said, bringing his gaze back to Kilgour.
“Would you tell the jury what the two of you were planning?”
“She was coming to Chicago with me. She told me that she had a cousin who had lived there, and she’d seen picture cards of the city and thought it looked real nice and all. I told her that I’d be glad to have her accompany me there if she wanted. She said she couldn’t go right away, that she needed a little time to get her affairs in order, but she’d be ready to join me on my return.”
“I see,” Kilgour said. “And when would that have been?”
“I told her I’d be back for her in July. But when I came to call, she was nowhere to be found. Now I know why.”
“Thank you, Mr. Gill,” Kilgour said, relief on his face as he walked back to the prosecution’s table.
“Your witness, Mr. Harrison,” Judge Keith said.
Matt put his hand on Powell’s sleeve.
“Just a moment, Your Honor,” Matt said. He turned to Powell and whispered, “The man’s a loose cannon. Without knowing what will come out of his mouth, we are taking great risk cross-examining him.”
“Messrs. Harrison?” Judge Keith called, his voice booming throughout the room. “Any day now.”
“Don’t, Powell,” Matt implored. “It will only make matters worse.”
The voice in Powell’s head was blaring: Is there no truth from this woman? I need the truth! As if hearing Powell’s thoughts, Matt shook his head, his eyes warning.
Powell sat back in his seat. Who’s the truth for, Poe? Mrs. Lloyd or you? He straightened his shoulders. “No questions at this time, Your Honor.”
The judge blanched. “Are you certain, Mr. Harrison?”
“No questions,” Powell repeated.
“Very well,” Keith said. “Mr. Gill, you are free to go.” Gill stood from the witness box. On his way from the courtroom and in plain view of the jury, Gill threw Emily another admiring smile. The look of disgust on a number of jurors’ faces caused Powell’s stomach to lurch.
Kilgour stood from the table. “Your Honor, the state rests.”
Chapter 32
“Jesus Christ, Powell!” Matt said as Powell joined him and JW at their offices. “How could Kilgour know about a lover, and we didn’t?”
“Sam Orrison has been holding out on us,” JW said from the chair that fronted Matt’s desk. “And Mrs. Lloyd has been playing us for fools.”
“Something’s not right,” Powell said, his brow furrowed.
“That’s an understatement,” Matt retorted.
JW scoffed. “What’s not right is Mrs. Lloyd.”
“While I believe Mrs. Lloyd misled us about Moore, something’s amiss in her reaction to the huckster’s testimony. I’m not convinced he was telling the truth.”
“If he’s lying, how do you explain the dress she’s wearing?” JW asked. “And what she told the Herald reporter?”
“I don’t know,” Powell said, tenacity in his voice, “but I’m about to find out.”
• • •
When Freddie opened the cell door, Emily was heaped in a chair, crying. She looked up at Powell, her eyes glassy and wet with tears. “Why would a stranger say such horrible things?”
“Who, Mrs. Lloyd?” Powell’s patience was wearing thin.
“That man from Chicago with the awful teeth!” she cried, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief.
“Are you saying that you have never met Mr. Gill?”
“I know of him, yes,” she said between sniffles. “He’s the one who calls on that woman next door. But I certainly haven’t met with him at a tavern or in his room!” Her eyes clouded with a mix of tears and anger.
Powell studied her closely. The hateful attitude from earlier had been replaced by the vulnerability he had come to expect from her.
“Are you certain that Mr. Gill is the man who visits your neighbor?”
“Yes. I’ve see him, his cart and mule in front of my house.”
“When he called on you.”
She jerked her head, her eyes knifing. “When he called on Lilith!”
“And he called on you here last evening,” Powell followed.
“He most certainly did not!”
“His name is on the visitors log, Emily. And I checked with the guard. Mr. Gill was here last evening, visiting with you.”
Emily searched Powell’s face, her brow stitched in confusion. After a moment, she dropped her gaze to the floor, her eyes darting. “That can’t be. I don’t remember any other visitor last evening.”
“He brought you the dress. The one you are wearing.”
Emily held her gaze to the floor, her eyes searching for answers.
“Mrs. Lloyd, I am trying to help you, but you have to start telling me the truth.”
She stood from the chair and glared at him. “I am telling you the truth!” Turning away, she wrapped her arms around herself and began to pace. “I don’t understand why this happens,” she said, wild eyes scanning the floor and walls as she walked. “Why can’t I remember?”
“You’ve had these spells before? Of not being able to remember?”
She nodded, pacing and tightening her embrace on her midriff.
“And you told Dr. Berkley about them, yes?”
She nodded again.
“Tell me, what do you remember about last night and today?”
She clenched her hands into fists, talking more to herself than Powell. “After supper last evening, a neighbor stopped by for a quick visit when Freddie came into the corridor and told me that someone else was here for me, a gentleman, he said. She and I said our goodbyes, and Freddie escorted the caller into the block. I looked through the bars, over Freddie’s shoulder and down the dark hallway. I saw a figure in the shadows and it was a gentleman, but when he came under the lamplight—well, I don’t remember. I couldn’t see his face, and then—I don’t know what happened. Then this morning, when I awoke, I was changed into my nightgown. And the traveling dress was lying on the chest. I thought you and Mr. Foster had it delivered to me.” She glanced at Powell before moving her eyes to the floor again, staring as she spoke. “When I was dressing this morning, I wondered where I might be going today since my attorneys brought me traveling clothes. Then Freddie came to the corridor to take me to court. And I remember him saying something . . . What was it he said? A reporter?” Her voice faded as she narrowed her eyes, struggling to recall the memory. Her eyes moved back to Powell. “Then I was in the courtroom, listening to that awful man saying horrible things about me, implying that I had been alone in his room with him.” Tears welled in her eyes once more. “I couldn’t listen to his lies. I couldn’t sit there and say nothing!”
