When Pullios had finished with Tom, Hardy stood up. He didn’t want the jury to become somehow lulled by unquestioned testimony, to his disadvantage, even if it appeared unimportant.
‘Mr Waddell,’ he said. ‘Did you check the Eloise on Sunday when it was at its slip?’
‘What do you mean, check it?’
‘Go aboard, see if it was secured, anything like that.’
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘When was the first time you went aboard the Eloise.’
‘That was with you on the following Wednesday night.’
‘I remember. And was the cabin to the boat locked when you went aboard?’
‘No, sir.’
‘In other words, anyone could have gone aboard the Eloise between Sunday and Wednesday night -’
‘Objection. Calls for a conclusion from the witness.’
‘Sustained.’
Hardy took a beat. He didn’t really need it. He thought he’d made his point and excused the witness.
He half-expected Pullios to do something on redirect, but she let Tom go. Hardy would take it – he had read over everything both Tom and José had told either him or Glitsky and had found nothing that looked like it could bite him. And there hadn’t been. It gave him some hope.
Emmet Turkel combed back his forelock of sandy hair and smiled at Pullios. A character with a gap-toothed grin, the private investigator from New York had an old-fashioned Brooklyn accent. He had obviously spent many hours on the witness stand. Just as obviously, he admired the looks of the prosecuting attorney. The jury noticed and seemed to be enjoying it.
It was early afternoon, and Turkel and Pullios had chatted about the former’s professional relationship with the defendant, covering the same ground as his tape.
Andy Fowler had hired him by telephone on February 20. Turkel had some other business to clear up, but he made it out to San Francisco by the next Wednesday, February 26, met with the judge at ‘some fancy pizzeria -hey, what you folks out here put on a pizza!’
It had taken him, Turkel said, only a few days to find out why May Shinn had ended her professional relationship with Andy Fowler. When Pullios asked him why that had been, he answered it was because she had gotten herself a new sugar daddy.
Hardy had objected and been sustained, but the damage was done. None of Turkel’s testimony, covering Fowler’s relationship with May, his efforts to hide his activities, and his character in general, put the defendant in anything like a positive light.
Still, Hardy had at least known what was going to be coming. Turkel didn’t present anything in the first two hours that he hadn’t prefigured in his taped interview with Peter Struler months earlier. No surprise, but definitely no help.
Pullios had introduced the March 2 page from Fowler’s desk calendar showing Owen Nash’s name and had it marked as Exhibit 7. Turkel said that had been the day he had informed Fowler of the results of his investigation.
Pullios asked him if Mr Fowler had given Mr Turkel any indication of what he was going to do with the information.
‘No, not then,’ Turkel said.
‘Did he at any time?’
‘Nah, not really, he was just kidding like, you know?’
‘I don’t know, Mr Turkel. I’ll repeat the question – did Mr Fowler say anything about Mr Nash at any time to you after you’d told him he was Ms Shinn’s current… paramour?’
‘Yeah, well, we talked again sometime around April, May – I called him, just keeping up contact, you know, and I ask him does he still have his problem with this guy Nash, did he want I come out and clear it up for him?’
‘Clear it up?’
‘Yeah, you know.’
‘You asked Mr Fowler if he wanted you to kill Mr Nash?’
‘Well, you might take it that way, but -’
‘Can you tell us Mr Fowler’s exact words, please?’
‘But I’m telling you, we was kidding. You know, people kid all the time.’
‘Nevertheless, Mr Turkel, if you could tell the jury what was said.’
Turkel glanced at Fowler and shrugged theatrically. Chomorro slammed his gavel and told him to refrain from the gestures and answer the question.
Turkel sighed. ‘I said “Hey, I’m doin’ nothin‘ the next couple weeks, I could use a vacation, fly out there, do this guy.” The judge said, “No thanks, if I want the man disposed of, I’ll do it myself.” ’
‘That’s clear enough,’ said Moses McGuire. ‘No jury would buy that -’
‘You never know what juries are going to think,’ Hardy told him.
‘Yeah, but Turkel was right. People talk like that all the time, it never means anything.’
‘Except when it does.’
It was Wednesday night. Not exactly date night, but Frannie had invited her brother over. When Hardy got home at seven-thirty she poured him a beer, told him she was giving him a special dispensation on his no-alcohol-during-the-week policy and guided him to his chair in the living room. He would be a better lawyer if he could recharge for a while. Moses would be around in a minute or two. They were having a fancy leg-of-lamb dinner and he was going to sit and eat it.
His plan had been to keep reading, reading, reading -the dailies would be in later tonight, probably also May Shinn’s transcript. He wanted to go over every word Turkel had said – Chomorro had called it a day after Pullios finished with the private investigator and Hardy would start cross-examining him tomorrow.
Suddenly he realized enough was enough. Frannie was right, he was too beat to think. He finished his beer and lit the fire, turned on the Christmas-tree lights and listened to John Fahey play some seasonal guitar.
And now Moses was here. Frannie was humming, bustling around between the kitchen and dining room, setting a fancy table. He was having another beer. The claustrophobic feeling that had enveloped him for the past two days was letting up. So was the fatigue.
The real problem,‘ he said, ’is that Turkel’s in it, period. It’s not so much his testimony, although that’s bad enough, but the fact that Andy hired him at all.‘
‘What’s the matter with that? He wanted to find out what had happened, why May dumped him.’
‘So he hires a private eye? Would you hire a private eye?’
Moses shrugged. ‘He was a working judge. Maybe he didn’t have the time personally. I don’t know… what did he tell you?’
‘That’s what he told me. But what am I supposed to sell to the jury? I mean, we’ve all had relationships end, right? Do we go three thousand miles for a private eye to keep chasing it?’
Frannie was in the archway between the living and dining rooms. ‘I would chase you to the very ends of the earth,’ she said. ‘Meanwhile, dinner is served.’
She’d gone all out. The soup was a rich consommé with tapioca and sour cream. The lamb, stuck with garlic and rubbed with rosemary and lemon juice, was served with potatoes and a spinach dish with nutmeg and balsamic vinegar. She even had a half glass of the outstanding Oregon Pinot Noir. They talked about Christmases past, Moses’s memories of his and Frannie’s parents, Hardy’s memories of his. The trial wasn’t there.
After Moses left, Hardy and Frannie cleaned the table and did the dishes together, catching up on each other, trying out names for the new baby, getting back to some teasing.
‘Would you think I was a terrible human being if I didn’t work tonight?’ Hardy asked.
Frannie’s eyes were bright. ‘I don’t think I could forgive that.’ She put her arms around him.
‘How about if I got up early?’
‘How early?’
‘Real early.’