On 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 Lorine’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.”
“Did you see a shoulder bag?”
“No.”
“Did she turn so that you could see her face?”
“No.”
Lorine had been watching Barbara and only incidentally the courtroom behind her. Something attracted her attention, and she appeared to focus on the back of the courtroom. Her eyes widened and she drew in a breath. Barbara turned to look. A figure with long black hair, wearing a black skirt and white blouse, stood at the door of the courtroom in the kind of pose that Lorine had just described.
“Does that look like the person you saw?” Barbara asked.
Lorine nodded and said yes at the same time that Mahoney yelled, “Objection!”
“Sustained. Counselors, come up here,” Judge Laughton snapped.
The person at the door turned and pulled off the wig to reveal a young man of seventeen or eighteen. He grinned and slipped from the courtroom.
Judge Laughton’s face was red with fury, his lips tight, when Barbara and Mahoney stood before him. He turned off his microphone and leaned forward. “Ms. Holloway, I warned you at the start that I won’t tolerate any of your stunts. When I instruct the jury, I’ll tell them they can’t consider that charade. And if you cross that line again, I’ll hold you in contempt of court. That little melodrama will cost you a hundred dollars. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
He motioned them away angrily, and as Barbara turned she caught a glimpse of Frank. She could tell from his posture and the fixed expression on his face that he was laughing on the inside. She kept her own expression grave when she addressed the witness once more.
“Mrs. Purdom, will you describe the person you saw at the motel door?”
Lorine moistened her lips. She glanced at Carrie, away. “I saw the back of someone with long black hair, a white blouse and a black skirt.”
“Can you positively identify that person?”
“No.”
“No more questions,” Barbara said and took her seat.
Mahoney hammered at Lorine but she stuck to her description: a person with long black hair, wearing a white blouse and a black skirt. She refused to say it had been Carrie at the door.
Terry Purdom was thirty-four, his hair was in a ponytail, and he had a small gold stud in one ear. He gave his occupation as a sound engineer. He seemed to weigh each question with deliberation before he answered.
After a few preliminary questions, he said in answer, “I heard her laugh, but I didn’t look until my wife touched my arm and indicated that I should. I saw someone standing at the door, which was open a few inches, remain there for a minute, then enter and close the door.”
“Who did you see at the door and then enter the room?” Mahoney asked brusquely.
“I don’t know. I didn’t see a face.”
“In your original statement you said you saw the defendant at that door. Is that correct?”
“It is, but I was hasty and jumped to conclusions.”
“Describe the woman you saw, if you will.”
Barbara objected. “It has not been established that that person was a woman,” she said.
The judge sustained the objection and Mahoney rephrased the question with heavy sarcasm. “Just describe the person you saw that night.”
“I saw the back of someone with long black hair in a white blouse and a black skirt.”
Mahoney frowned and leaned against his table as if preparing for a long ordeal. “Did you watch the defendant play the piano for over an hour in the lounge?” Purdom said he did. “Did you see her leave, walk away from the piano and go behind the bar and through a door?”
“Yes. I watched her leave.”
“Will you describe how she looked walking away?”
“She was wearing a white blouse and a black skirt, and her hair was loose on her back.”
“Is that the description of the person you saw at the motel door?”
“Yes.”
“Would any reasonable person conclude that the person at the door was the same as the woman who played the piano?”
“I don’t know,” Purdom said. “I don’t know what a reasonable person might conclude.”
Mahoney kept at it, but Terry Purdom obviously had drawn a line that he was determined not to cross. He refused to identify the figure at the door as Carrie.
When Barbara stood up for her cross-examination, she asked, “Did you see the hands of the person at the motel door?”
“Not the left hand. The right hand was on the door frame.”
“Did you see any gloves on that person?”
“No. I didn’t notice any, but if there had been a flesh-colored glove, or a surgical glove, something of that sort, I wouldn’t have been able to see it from that distance.”
Barbara could have kissed him for his answer. Instead, she thanked him and said no more questions.
The judge called for the luncheon recess then, and when Barbara and her team went out, Bailey was there with his ticket and a sour expression. “I’ve been warned,” he said. “I’m not supposed to stop there again.”
Frank nodded. “We’ll go through the tunnel. Meet us in the lot across the street from now on.”
In the back seat Carrie huddled, drawing her jacket close. “Did you see the jury, the way they were looking at me? They think I went in the room. They think you’re just playing tricks and that was me going in that room. I swear I never went in there, Barbara.”
“I know you didn’t,” Barbara said. But she had seen the expressions on the faces of some of the jurors, and Carrie’s assessment was accurate.