“You also sent Robert away after his father’s death, is that right?”
“Yes.”
“How did his father die, Mrs. Osborne?”
“I’ve already told you.”
“Tell me again.”
“He fell off a tractor and fractured his skull. He was in a coma for days.”
“And after his death Robert was enrolled in a school in Arizona.”
“I was depressed and poor company for a growing boy. Robert needed men to guide him.”
“Estivar claims that the guidance was the wrong kind.”
“He exaggerates. Most Mexicans do.”
“Do you agree with Estivar that Robert had changed when he returned home?”
“Of course he’d changed. They’re years of change, between fifteen and seventeen. Robert went away a boy and came back a man who had to take over the management of a ranch. I repeat, Estivar exaggerates. The relationship between him and Robert was never as close as he likes to remember it. Why should it have been? Robert had a perfectly good father of his own.”
“And they were on friendly terms?”
“Of course.”
“How did Mr. Osborne fall off the tractor, Mrs. Osborne?”
“I wasn’t there when it happened. And my husband didn’t tell me because he never regained consciousness. Just what are you trying to prove anyway? First, you bring up Ruth Bishop’s death and now my husband’s. They were totally unconnected and half a dozen years apart.”
“I didn’t bring up the subject of Ruth Bishop,” Ford said. “You did.”
“You led me into it.”
“By the way, it’s not exactly easy to fall off a tractor.”
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never tried.”
“The rumor is that your husband was drunk.”
“So I heard.”
“Was he?”
“An autopsy was performed. There was nothing in the report about alcohol.”
“You said a minute ago that Mr. Osborne lay in a coma for days. All traces of alcohol would have disappeared from the bloodstream during that time.”
“I’m not a doctor. How would I know?”
“I think you know a great deal, Mrs. Osborne. The problem is getting you to admit it.”
“That was an ungentlemanly remark.”
“I come from a long line of ungentlemen,” Ford said. “You’d better go back to your place. The recess is over.”
Judge Gallagher was striding back into the courtroom, his black robe flapping around him like the broken wings of a raven.
“Remain seated and come to order,” the clerk said. “Superior Court is now in session.”
Chapter Six
The name of John Loomis was called, and one of the men in ranchers’ clothes came to the witness box and was sworn in: John Sylvester Loomis, 514 Paloverde Street, Boca de Rio; occupation, doctor of veterinary medicine. Dr. Loomis testified that on the morning of October 13, 1967, he was asleep in the apartment above his place of business when he was awakened by someone pounding on the office door. He went downstairs and found Robert Osborne with his dog, Maxie, on a leash.
“I gave him hell, if you’ll pardon the expression, for waking me up so early, since I’d been at a foaling until three o’clock. But he seemed to think it was urgent, that someone had poisoned his dog.”
“What was your opinion?”
“I saw no evidence of poison. The dog was lively, his eyes were clear and bright, nose cold, no offensive breath odor. Mr. Osborne said he’d found Maxie in a field before dawn, that the dog’s legs were twitching violently, it was frothing at the mouth and had lost control of its bowels. I persuaded Mr. Osborne to leave the dog with me for a few hours, and he said he’d pick it up on his way home from San Diego in the late afternoon or early evening.”
“And did he?”
“Yes. About seven o’clock that night.”
“Meanwhile you’d had a chance to examine the dog.”
“Yes.”
“And what did you find out?”
“Nothing absolutely positive. But I was pretty sure it had suffered an epileptic seizure. Such seizures are not uncommon in dogs as they get older, and spaniels like Maxie are particularly susceptible. Once a seizure is over, the dog makes an immediate and complete recovery. It’s the speed of the recovery, in fact, which helps with the diagnosis.”
“Did you explain this to Mr. Osborne, Dr. Loomis?”
“I made an attempt. But he had this thing in his mind about poison, that the dog had been poisoned.”
“Was there any basis for his belief?”
“None that I could see,” Loomis said. “I didn’t argue with him, though. It seemed a touchy subject.”
“Why?”
“People often identify with their pets. I got the impression that Mr. Osborne thought someone was trying to poison him.”
“Thank you, Dr. Loomis. You may step down now.”
Leo Bishop was called as the next witness. His reluctance to take the stand was evidenced by the slowness of his movements and the look of apology he gave Devon as he passed her. When he responded to Ford’s questions about his name and address, his voice was so low that even the court reporter, who was sitting directly below the witness box, had to ask him to speak up.
Ford said, “Would you please repeat that, Mr. Bishop?”
“Leo James Bishop.”
“And the address?”
“Rancho Obispo.”
“You are the owner as well as the operator of the ranch?”
“Yes.”
“What’s the location of your ranch in relation to the Osborne ranch?”
“It’s just to the east and southeast, with the river as the boundary line.”
“In fact, you and the Osbornes are next-door neighbors.”
“You might put it like that, though it’s a long way between doors.” A long way and a river.
“You knew Robert Osborne, of course.”
“Yes.”
“Had known him for many years.”
“Yes.”
“Will you tell the court when and where you last saw him, Mr. Bishop?”
“On the morning of October thirteen, 1967, in town.”
“The town of Boca de Rio.”
“Yes.”
“Would you explain the circumstances of that meeting?”
“One of my green-carders showed up for work suffering from stomach cramps. I was afraid his symptoms might be the result of an insecticide we’d used the previous day, so I drove him into Boca to a doctor. On the way I saw Robert’s car parked on Main Street outside a café. He was standing on the curb talking to a young woman.”
“Did you honk your horn or wave at him, anything like that?”
“No. He seemed busy, I didn’t want to interrupt. Besides, I had a sick man in the car.”
“Still, it would have been the natural thing to do, taking a second or two to greet a close friend.”
“He wasn’t a close friend,” Leo said quietly. “There was a generation between us. And some old trouble.”
“Would this ‘old trouble’ have any bearing on the present case?”
“I don’t think so.”
Ford pretended to consult the pages of yellow foolscap on the table in front of him, giving himself time to decide whether to pursue the subject further or whether it would be wiser to stick to the main theme he’d chosen to present. Overkill might be a mistake in view of Judge Gallagher’s skeptical mind. He said, “Mr. Bishop, you’ve been present in the courtroom all morning, have you not?”
“Yes.”
“So you heard Mr. Estivar testify that he hired a crew of Mexicans to work on the Osborne ranch at the end of September, and that these men disappeared on the night of October thirteen... As a grower you’re familiar with the pirating of work crews, are you not, Mr. Bishop?”
“Yes.”
“In fact, in the summer of 1965 you had occasion to report that a crew which you’d hired to pick melons had disappeared during the night following a payday.”