“How many children has your father?” Knowlton asked.
“Only two.”
“Only you two.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Any others ever?”
“One that died.”
Knowlton nodded. Judge Blaisdell had begun fanning himself again. The court stenographer had caught up with the previous exchange. Her pencil stopped. She looked at the witness. Back to motive, Knowlton thought. On the day after the murders, Andrew J. Jennings had said that he had no particular desire to talk about the family affairs of the Bordens, but he admitted that as far as he knew, the murdered man had left no will. The estate would, as a matter of course, go to the daughters.
“Did you ever know of your father making a will?” Knowlton asked.
“No, sir... except I heard somebody say once that there was one several years ago. That is all I ever heard.”
“Who did you hear say so?”
“I think it was Mr. Morse.”
“What Morse?”
“Uncle John V. Morse.”
John Vinicum Morse, Knowlton thought. About whom lawyer Jennings, in that same interview, when asked about the possibility of the murders having been committed by a member of the family, said, “Well, there are but two women of the household, and this man Morse. He accounts so satisfactorily for every hour of that morning, showing him to be out of the house, that there seems to be no ground to base a reasonable suspicion. Further than that, he appeared on the scene almost immediately after the discovery, from the outside, and in the same clothes that he had worn in the morning. Now, it is almost impossible that this frightful work could have been done without the clothes of the person who did it being bespattered with blood.”
“How long ago?” Knowlton asked.
“How long ago I heard him say it? I haven’t any idea.”
“What did he say about it?”
“Nothing, except just that.”
“What?”
“That Mr. Borden had a will.”
“Did you ask your father?”
“I did not.”
“Did he ever mention the subject of will to you?”
“He did not.”
“He never told you that he had made a will, or had not?”
“No, sir.”
“Did he have a marriage settlement with your stepmother? That you knew of?”
“I never knew of any.”
“Had you heard anything of his proposing to make a will?”
“No, sir.”
Which, of course, was the proper answer if she’d murdered him. And if her motive had been to murder him before he could draw a will, thereby insuring that his estate would go to her and her sister, as her own attorney had pointed out. He reminded himself that this was an inquest, not a trial. An inquest — by definition and by law — was a judicial inquiry, an investigation. He was here today to make inquiry, to investigate — not to accuse, not to judge. Perhaps, as the Reverend Jubb had postulated, the murderer might, after all, have been some fiend incarnate, the very vilest of degraded and depraved humanity, a maniac.
“Do you know of anybody that your father was on bad terms with?” he asked.
“There was a man that came there that he had trouble with. I don’t know who the man was.”
“When?”
“I can’t locate the time exactly. It was within two weeks. That is... I don’t know the date or day of the month.”
“Tell all you saw and heard.”
“I didn’t see anything. I heard the bell ring, and father went to the door and let him in. I didn’t hear anything for some time, except just the voices. Then I heard the man say, ‘I would like to have that place, I would like to have that store.’ Father said, ‘I’m not willing to let your business go in there.’ And the man said, ‘I thought with your reputation for liking money, you’d let your store for anything.’ Father said, ‘You’re mistaken.’ Then they talked awhile, and then their voices were louder, and I heard father order him out, and went to the front door with him.”
“What did he say?”
“He said that he’d stayed long enough, and he would thank him to go.”
“Did he say anything about coming again?”
“No, sir.”
“Did your father say anything about coming again? Or did he?”
“No, sir.”
“Have you any idea who that was?”
“No, sir. I think it was a man from out of town, because he said he was going home to see his partner.”
“Have you had any efforts made to find him?”
“We’ve had a detective. That’s all I know.”
“You haven’t found him?”
“Not that I know of.”
“You can’t give us any other idea about it?”
“Nothing but what I’ve told you.”
“Beside that, do you know of anybody that your father had bad feelings toward? Or who had bad feelings toward your father?”
“I know of one man that hasn’t been friendly with him. They haven’t been friendly for years.”
“Who?”
“Mr. Hiram C. Harrington.”
The very man who, in last Friday’s interview, had said, among many other things, “Lizzie, on the contrary, was haughty and domineering, with the stubborn will of her father, and bound to contest for her rights. There were many animated interviews between father and daughter on this point. Lizzie is of a repellent disposition, and, after an unsuccessful passage with her father, would become sulky and refuse to speak to him for days at a time.”
“What relation is he to him?” Knowlton asked, though he knew full well.
“He’s my father’s brother-in-law.”
“Your mother’s brother?”
“My father’s only sister married Mr. Harrington.”
Which noble in-law had also said, “Her father’s constant refusal to allow her to entertain lavishly angered her. I’ve heard many bitter things she’s said of her father, and know she was deeply resentful of her father’s maintained stand in this matter.” A fine, true relative for a woman suspected of murder, Knowlton thought.
“Anybody else that was on bad terms with your father?” he asked. “Or that your father was on bad terms with?”
“Not that I know of.”
“You have no reason to suppose that man you speak of — a week or two ago — had ever seen your father before? Or has since?”
“No, sir.”
“Do you know of anybody who was on bad terms with your stepmother?”
“No, sir.”
“Or that your stepmother was on bad terms with?”
“No, sir.”
“Had your stepmother any property?”
“I don’t know — only that she had half the house that belonged to her father.”
“Where was that?”
“On Fourth Street.”
“Who lives in it?”
“Her half sister.”
“Any other property beside that? That you know of?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you ever know of any?”
“No, sir.”
“Did you understand that she was worth anything more than that?”
“I never knew.”
“Did you ever have any trouble with your stepmother?”
“No, sir.”
“Have you... within six months... had any words with her?”
“No, sir.”
“Within a year?”
“No, sir.”
“Within two years?”