“They were both shouting angrily.”
“Mrs. Hunter, please answer the question. Was Matt Anthony shouting in anger?”
“He was shouting. I can't say if he was angry or not.”
“Mrs. Hunter, a second ago you said they were both shouting angrily. I ask you again: When Matt Anthony shouted at his wife, 'I'll kill you!' was there anger in his voice?”
“All I know is he was shouting!” Wilma snapped.
“Mrs. Hunter, have you ever heard people shout at a baseball game?”
“I think so.”
“Was Mr. Anthony's shouting of the same tone and intent as that of a person shouting at a ball game?”
“I am not an expert on shouting!”
Wagner stared at her for a moment, then smiled coolly, said, “No further questions.”
Jackson strode up to the witness stand, left hand hooked onto his beaded belt. “Mrs. Hunter, you are a redhead and there is a saying redheaded women have a big temper. Perhaps Mr. Wagner will agree with that. [Jackson actually paused, waiting for the inane giggles from the audience.] Mrs. Hunter, have you a temper?”
“Yes.”
“In the heat of an argument have you ever said, 'I'll kill you!' to anybody?”
“Probably.”
“I'm afraid I have to have a yes or no answer, Mrs. Hunter,” Jackson said, his voice almost a caress.
“Yes.”
“Have you ever wanted to actually kill anybody?”
“No.”
“Mrs. Hunter, according to your husband's testimony, and your statements to the police, after you heard Mr. Anthony threaten his wife, you went upstairs to do some work. Later you were on the lawn, sunning yourself. In view of the threat, didn't you think of calling the police, or at least being with Mrs. Anthony to protect her?”
“No. I didn't think of it as a threat, but rather as just talk.”
“That will be all, Mrs. Hunter.”
Wagner stood up, asked, “Mrs. Hunter, on the afternoon of July 25th, did you hear Mr. Anthony tell the deceased, 'I'll kill you!' Answer yes or no.”
“Yes.”
Wagner called Detective Kolcicki, who looked comical in a new suit far too tight for his pudgy frame. The collar of his white shirt seemed to be cutting the bull neck in half. He went through the routine of establishing his official title and duties, said he became suspicious of the 'accident' report when he came across the threat. Matt didn't even glance at Kolcicki, kept writing away and when he stopped, he merely stared down at the table.
In a self-important, clear voice, Kolcicki went on to say he decided to 'interrogate' Matt, had told him flatly he didn't believe it was an accident. That at first Matt insisted it was an accident and at this point Kolcicki had said, “'Mr. Anthony, as a mystery writer, would you expect any of your readers to believe this bunch of lies you're handing me, if one of your characters said it?” Mr. Anthony sat there for awhile, then he said, 'You're right, it does sound bad. It is a lie. I hit her in the boat and then she was dead. I tried to make it look like an accident. I confess it.' He had this typewriter on his desk and I typed while he dictated the confession. Then he read it and signed it. Whole thing took less than an hour.”
The confession was put into evidence and read aloud to the jury. Kolcicki volunteered: “Soon as I knew he was lying, I knew he'd done it An innocent man don't have to lie. That's been my experience in investigations.”
Jackson started his cross-examination with, “Detective Kolcicki, have you ever lied?”
“No, sir.”
“Are you telling this court that you have never once in your life told a lie?”
“Not that I know of.”
“You're not lying now, under oath?”
“No, sir.”
“Did you ever tell your wife a lie?”
“I'm not married.”
“Have you ever been married?”
“Yes, sir, but we divorced.”
“On what grounds did your wife divorce you, Detective?”
“Why... we didn't get along.”
“Aren't you lying, now? Wasn't the actual grounds for the divorce the fact that you beat her?” Jackson snapped.
Wagner stood up to ask the purpose of the questioning as Kolcicki wiped his sweaty face with his sleeve. Jackson said he wanted to establish, since the witness had stressed Matt had lied, that lying is an everyday occurrence, and it would be natural for a man to attempt to lie his way out of a tight spot. The judge told Jackson he wasn't aware lying was such a commonplace thing and he thought it was all irrelevant to the case. Jackson turned to Kolcicki, asked, “You have read and just heard Mr. Anthony's confession?”
“Yeah.”
“That's exactly what Mr. Anthony confessed to you?”
“Sure, it's the confession he signed.”
“Detective Kolcicki, I understand you have been a police officer for many years. During that time, have you secured other confessions?”
“I have, lots of them.”
“In other words, you are an experienced detective, an old hand at police work?”
“I am.”
Jackson said that was all.
As Kolcicki left the stand, walking with surprising grace, Wagner stood up and told the judge, “Your Honor, the State rests.”
There was a rush of small talk in the courtroom. I glanced at Brown: he didn't show any emotion at being off the hook. I was a trifle bewildered, somehow I had expected much more depth to the State's case.
Jackson stood up and said he wanted to make a motion. The judge had the jury sent out and Jackson asked that the case be dismissed for lack of evidence. The judge simply said, “Motion denied,” and asked if he was ready to open the defense's case. Jackson looked at the clock; it was a few minute after three—said he was ready.
The jury trooped back to their box and Jackson took several books out of his attache case, asked they be entered into evidence as exhibits for the defense. He and the judge had some sort of argument, of which I only caught part. The books were the writings of old Ben Jonson, Maugham, Anderson, Dreiser and others. Jackson claimed he wanted to quote a few lines from each of these famous writers, ”... who certainly can qualify as experts on their profession...” in order to establish the special conditions necessary for ”... a creative artist to work....” Jackson and the judge talked for several minutes. Wagner had not even risen from his chair. Finally the judge asked impatiently, “What has the prosecutor to say?”
“I have no objection, your Honor,” Wagner said.
The judge fussed some more, had Jackson mark the passages he wanted to read. The judge glanced through them and all this took a great deal of time. I was restless for a smoke. Matt was writing away at his table as though he was in his den and couldn't care less about the proceedings.
Wilma and Joel were whispering, their red and white heads together like a clumsy nosegay. I stared at her without any feeling and wondered why I didn't feel some damn thing. I'd certainly made the most asinine spectacle of myself possible before her. Also, I hadn't slept with more than a half a dozen women in my life, if that many. Yet seeing Wilma didn't remind me of a thing. All I could think of was—she wasn't wearing those awkward health shoes but regular high heeled ones.
The judge finally gave Jackson the go-ahead signal as the court attendants told people to stop talking. Jackson brought the books back to his table, then addressing the jury, he said, “As I stated in my opening address, it is the defense's contention—which I am about to prove—that a creative person, such as a writer, is a genius and not an ordinary person. Nor can the creative person, the writer, be expected to live by ordinary customs and conventions. I am about to read what several world-famous writers, experts, have said about the living and working habits of authors. Obviously they did not write this for Matt Anthony's trial. In each case I will give you the copyright date, and you will note that most of these observations were written many years ago and cover all writers.”