47.
AFTER THE LUNCH BREAK Swain called to the stand Mary Sue Mullins, sole proprietor of Mary Sue’s boardinghouse. Mary Sue was dressed in a bright green dress with a lace collar—undoubtedly her Sunday best. She left her apron at home.
As she passed Ben on her way to the witness stand, he noticed she was trembling slightly. Nervous? About cross-examination? Or perhaps she just didn’t like appearing in public without Old Sally.
Swain extracted a bit of background from Mary Sue, including the critical fact that she ran a boardinghouse on Maple Street. He didn’t waste much time. Ben had the feeling everyone on the jury—probably everyone in town—already knew who she was.
“Do you know the defendant?” Swain asked.
“Oh, yes. I’ve known Donald for several months.”
“And how do you know him?”
“He took a room in my house. Room six. At the top of the stairs.”
“Did you see much of him?”
“Well, a bit. ’Course, he was gone during the daylight hours. Out at that camp running maneuvers, I’d imagine.”
“Objection,” Ben said. “She’s speculating.”
Tyler nodded. “Sustained. The witness will confine herself to the events she has seen or heard.”
Mary Sue looked stung, but she managed to carry on. “He came back most evenings for supper. Then he’d go up to his room for the night.”
“So there’s no question in your mind but that you know who Donald Vick is?” Swain asked.
“Not the least bit. He’s sitting right over there in the gray coveralls.”
Swain nodded. “Where were you on the afternoon of July twenty-fifth?”
“At Mac’s place. You know, the Bluebell Bar.”
“Was anyone else there?”
“Yes. Tommy Vuong was there. With three of his friends.”
“Do you know the friends’ names?”
“No. But they were all Vietnamese. Coi Than Tien people, I assumed.”
“What happened when Donald Vick came into the bar?”
“Objection,” Ben said. “Assumes facts not in evidence.”
Swain didn’t respond verbally; instead he gave the judge a roll of the eyes and a do-I-really-have-to? look.
Judge Tyler licked his lips. “Sorry, Mister Prosecutor. He’s right. Let’s do it by the book.”
“All right,” Swain said. His tone made it clear he considered Ben’s objection a trivial annoyance that prevented him from unearthing the truth. “Let me try it this way. Did anyone enter the bar while you were there?”
“Yes. Donald Vick.”
“What a surprise.” He shared a smile with the jury. “Did Mr. Vick stop and chat with you?”
“Oh, no.” She folded her hands over her purse and leaned toward the jury. It was as if she was sharing a bit of gossip on the back porch. “He made a beeline for Tommy Vuong.”
“And then what happened?”
“Donald raised his hands like this”—she locked her fists together—“and clubbed Vuong right on the back. Without any warning. He was like a savage beast, just pounding and pounding him, without a shred of mercy.”
“That sounds horrible,” Swain said. “What happened to Vuong?”
“He didn’t know what hit him. He just kinda slumped over the bar. Didn’t move a muscle. But that didn’t matter to Donald Vick. He kept on hurting him. I thought he was going to beat the poor boy senseless.”
“Is that what happened?”
“No. Fortunately Vuong’s friends came to his rescue. They pushed Vick away, then overpowered him. Vick wasn’t so tough once the tables were turned. I have to say, they did some serious pounding of their own. Vick’s face was cut and bleeding, and the rest of him didn’t look any too healthy.”
“What happened next?”
“They tossed him right out the door.” She had apparently been coached not to repeat the hearsay statement Judge Tyler had excluded. “That was the last we saw of him. I figured we’d probably never hear from him again. I had no idea. …”
“I sure you didn’t, Mary Sue. No more questions, your honor.”
“Mr. Kincaid?”
Ben walked slowly to the witness stand, carefully considering his strategy. Whether he believed her testimony or not, Mary Sue was an older woman and a respected member of the community. Treating her like the enemy would be a big mistake.
Ben reintroduced himself and tossed her a few softballs, easy questions intended to ease into the cross-examination. But eventually, before the jury got too bored with the chitchat, he knew he had to get to what really mattered.
“Now, ma’am, prior to that night at the bar, did Donald Vick strike you as a hothead?”
“Oh, no. Anything but. He was a quiet fellow. Timid almost. But you know”—her voice dropped to a whisper—“it’s always the quiet ones.”
“Move to strike,” Ben said. When would he learn to keep his clever comments to himself? “Donald never picked a fight at your house, did he, ma’am?”
“Oh, no!”
“Never threatened you, did he?”
“No, no. Of course, I’m not Vietnamese.”
“Now that’s an interesting suggestion.” Ben walked slowly back to defendant’s table, drawing the jury’s eyes away from the witness. “Donald actually had some Vietnamese friends, didn’t he?”
“I’d be very much surprised.”
“Didn’t you yourself admit a Vietnamese visitor to Donald’s room two nights before the murder?”
“Well … that’s true.”
“Who was the visitor?”
“I don’t know.”
“Was it Tommy Vuong?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Was it anyone in the courtroom?”
Mary Sue scanned the faces in the gallery. “I don’t think so.”
“What about Donald’s other visitor?” Ben paused dramatically. “The woman.”
“I—I don’t—”
“Didn’t a woman come to visit Donald Vick the night before the murder?”
“Well … yes …”
“And didn’t she enter Donald’s room while he was there?”
Heads turned in the jury box. Ben was afraid the reputation of Mary Sue’s boardinghouse would be tarnished for some time to come.
“Y-yes.”
“Do you know who the woman was?”
“Never saw her before.”
“Was she Vietnamese?”
“No. White.”
“Would you recognize her if you saw her again?”
“I think so.”
“Is she in the courtroom today?”
Mary Sue took a quick look. “I don’t see her.”
“Did Donald have any other Vietnamese visitors?”
“Not that I noticed—”
“Is it possible that he had some visitors when you weren’t around?”
“Well … I suppose it’s possible.”
Ben had made his point. It was time to move on. “Let’s turn to the following afternoon, at the Bluebell Bar. You say Donald walked up and started pounding Tommy Vuong. But, ma’am—wasn’t there a bit of conversation before the pounding started?”
“Uh—conversation?”
“Right. Between Vick and Vuong?”
Mary Sue frowned. “They did talk. …”
“Vuong talked to Vick?”
“Mostly the other way around, as I recall.”
“Did you hear what they said?”
“No. He’s your client. Why don’t you just ask him what they said?”
Would that it were so simple. “How long did this conversation last?”
“Well, I wasn’t timing it. About a minute, I’d guess.”
“Did any of Vuong’s friends overhear the conversation?”
“I doubt it. The bar was quite noisy.”
“And then what happened?”
“Vuong turned his back while Donald was still talking. Just ignored him.”
“And that’s when Donald hit him?”
“I guess that’s right.”