“Do you hear me, Mrs. Osborne?”
“Go — way.”
“Did you take any pills?”
“Pills.”
“How many pills did you take?”
“How—? Two.”
“Is that all? Just two pills?”
“Two.”
“When did you take them?”
“Tired. Go away.”
“Did you take them when you came home at noon?”
“Noon.”
“You took two pills at noon, is that right?”
“Yes. Yes.”
Leo opened the windows, and the incoming air smelled of a forgotten harvest, overripe oranges whose thickened pockmarked skins covered pulp that had gone dry and fibrous. Mrs. Osborne turned over on her side, knees bent and hands over her head like a fetus trying to ward off the pain of birth.
“If she’s leveling with me, she took only a hundred milligrams,” Devon said. “The stuff should be wearing off pretty soon. I’ll stay with her until it does.”
“I’ll stay too if it will help.”
“It won’t. She’d be upset if she woke up and found you here. You’d better go back to the courthouse and tell Mr. Ford what happened.”
“I don’t know what happened.”
“Well, tell him as much as you do know — that she’s all right but she won’t be able to testify, at least not this afternoon.”
Chapter Eleven
Ford addressed the bench.
“Your Honor, the testimony of this witness, Ernest Valenzuela, has presented a number of problems. Since he is no longer employed by the sheriff’s department, the files on the case are not available to him. However, I obtained permission for Mr. Valenzuela to refresh his memory by going over the files in the presence of a deputy and making notes for his appearance here today. I also arranged for a deputy to bring into the courtroom certain reports and pieces of evidence which I consider vital to this hearing.”
“These reports and pieces of evidence,” Gallagher said, “are they now in your possession?”
“Yes, your Honor.”
“All right, proceed.”
Valenzuela took the oath: the testimony he was about to give in the matter now pending before the court would be the truth and the whole truth and nothing but the truth.
Ford said, “State your name, please.”
“Ernest Valenzuela.”
“Where do you live, Mr. Valenzuela?”
“209 Third Street, Boca de Rio.”
“Are you currently employed?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where and in what capacity?”
“I’m a salesman with the America West Insurance Company.”
“How long have you held your present position?”
“Six months.”
“Before that, what was the nature of your employment?”
“I was a deputy in the Boca de Rio division of the sheriff’s department of San Diego County.”
“For how long?”
“Since 1955 when I got out of the army, a little more than twelve years.”
“Describe briefly the situation in the sheriff’s department in Boca de Rio on Friday, October thirteen, 1967.”
“The boss, Lieutenant Scotler, was on sick leave and I was in charge.”
“What happened that Friday night, Mr. Valenzuela?”
“A call came in from the Osborne ranch at a quarter to eleven asking for assistance in searching for Mr. Osborne. He’d gone out earlier in the evening to look for his dog and failed to return. I picked up my partner, Larry Bismarck, at his house and we drove out to the ranch. By this time the search for Mr. Osborne had been going on for about an hour, led by Mr. Estivar, the foreman, and his son, Cruz. Mr. Osborne hadn’t been located but there was considerable blood on the floor of the mess hall. I immediately phoned headquarters in San Diego and asked for reinforcements. Meanwhile my partner had found small fragments of glass on the floor of the mess hall and part of a shirt sleeve caught on a yucca spike just outside the main door. The shirt sleeve also had blood on it.”
“Did you take any samples of blood?”
“No, sir. I left that to the experts.”
“What did the experts do with the samples of blood they collected?”
“Sent them up to the police lab in Sacramento for analysis.”
“This is the usual procedure?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And at a later date you received a report of that analysis?”
“Yes, sir.”
Ford turned to the bench. “Your Honor, I hereby submit a copy of the full report for you to read at your convenience. It is, naturally, detailed and technical, and in the interests of saving time — not to mention the taxpayers’ money — I suggest Mr. Valenzuela be allowed to give in his own words the facts essential to this hearing.”
“Granted.”
“I will give Mr. Valenzuela a copy of the report also, in case his memory needs further refreshing.”
Ford took two manila envelopes out of his briefcase and handed one to Valenzuela. Valenzuela accepted his reluctantly, as though he didn’t need or didn’t want his memory refreshed.
“The report from the police lab,” Ford said, “deals with blood samples taken from four main areas — the floor of the mess hall, the piece of shirt sleeve caught on the yucca spike, the butterfly knife found by Jaime in the pumpkin field, the mouth of the dead dog. Is that correct, Mr. Valenzuela?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Let’s take them in the order mentioned. First, the blood on the floor of the mess hall.”
“Two types were found in considerable quantity, type B positive and type AB negative. Both are uncommon types, AB negative, for example, being found in only five percent of the population.”
“What about the blood found on the piece of shirt sleeve?”
“Again there were two types. The smaller amount matched some of the blood on the floor, type B, and the rest was type O. This is the commonest type, found in approximately forty-five percent of the population.”
“What blood type was found on the knife?”
“AB negative.”
“And in the dog’s mouth?”
“Type B positive.”
“Did the amount of blood found and the fact that it was of three different types lead you to any conclusions?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Such as?”
“Three persons were involved in a fight. Two of them were injured seriously, the third injured to a lesser extent.”
“The type O blood found on the shirt sleeve belonged to this third man?”
“Yes, sir.”
From his briefcase Ford took a clear plastic bag containing a piece of blue and green plaid material. “This is the sleeve referred to?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I offer it in evidence.”
A few of the spectators leaned forward in their seats to get a better look, but they soon sat back. Last year’s blood appeared no more interesting than last year’s coffee stains.
“Now, Mr. Valenzuela, tell us what facts were established by the contents of the plastic bag.”
“The sleeve belongs to one of thousands of similar shirts sold by Sears, Roebuck through their catalog and retail stores. The shirt is a hundred percent cotton and comes in four color combinations and in sizes small, medium, large. Price in the catalog is $3.95. The style number and lot number are contained in the report of my investigation.”
“In your estimation, Mr. Valenzuela, how many shirts of that style, color and size were sold by Sears Roebuck last year and the year before?”
“Thousands.”
“Did you try to pinpoint the sale of that particular shirt to one particular person?”
“Yes, sir. We couldn’t do it, though.”
“But you were able to ascertain some facts about the man who wore the shirt, were you not?”
“Yes, sir. He was small for one thing, probably less than five foot six, a hundred thirty-five pounds. A number of hairs adhering to the inside of the sleeve cuff indicate that he was from one of the darker but not Negroid races.”