Fletcher turned yet another page and continued writing furiously. ‘I’m afraid I woke him, but the chief said he would come over as quickly as possible and that I was to touch nothing.’
‘What did you do next?’
‘I suddenly felt cold and sick in my stomach, and I thought I was going to faint. I staggered back out into the corridor and collapsed on the floor. The next thing I remember was a police siren in the distance and a few moments later someone came running through the front door. The policeman knelt down by my side and introduced himself as Detective Petrowski. One of his officers made me a cup of coffee and then he asked me to describe what had happened. I told him all I could remember, but I’m afraid I wasn’t very coherent. I recall pointing to Ralph’s study.’
‘Can you remember what happened next?’
‘Yes, a few minutes later I heard another siren, and then the chief walked in. Mr Culver spent a long time with Detective Petrowski in my husband’s study, and then returned and asked me to go over my story once again. He didn’t stay for very long after that, but I did see him in deep conversation with the detective before he left. It wasn’t until the following morning that I discovered that Mr Cartwright had been arrested and charged with the murder of my husband.’ Rebecca burst into tears.
‘Bang on cue,’ said Fletcher as the chief prosecutor removed a handkerchief from his top pocket and handed it over to Mrs Elliot. ‘I wonder how long they took rehearsing that?’ he added as he turned his attention to the jury and noticed that a woman in the second row was also quietly crying.
‘I’m sorry to have put you through such an ordeal, Mrs Elliot.’ Ebden paused. ‘Perhaps you would like me to ask the court for an adjournment so you have a little time to compose yourself?’
Fletcher would have objected, but he already knew what her answer would be, because they were so obviously sticking to a well-worn script.
‘No, I’ll be fine,’ said Rebecca, ‘and in any case I’d rather get it over with.’
‘Yes, of course, Mrs Elliot,’ Ebden looked up towards the judge, ‘I have no more questions for this witness, your honour.’
‘Thank you, Mr Ebden,’ said the judge. ‘Your witness, Mr Davenport.’
‘Thank you, your honour.’ Fletcher removed a stopwatch from his pocket and placed it on the table in front of him. He then slowly rose from his place. He could feel the eyes of everyone in the courtroom boring into the back of his head. How could he even consider questioning this helpless, saintly woman? He walked over to the stand and didn’t speak for some time. ‘I will try not to detain you for longer than is necessary, Mrs Elliot, remembering the ordeal you have already been put through.’ Fletcher spoke softly. ‘But I must ask you one or two questions, as it is my client who is facing the death penalty, based almost solely on your testimony.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Rebecca replied, trying to sound brave as she wiped away the last tear.
‘You told the court, Mrs Elliot, that you had a very fulfilling relationship with your husband.’
‘Yes, we were devoted to each other.’
‘Were you?’ Fletcher paused again. ‘And the only reason you did not attend the television debate that evening was because Mr Elliot had asked you to remain at home and make some notes on his performance, so that you could discuss them later that evening?’
‘Yes, that is correct,’ she said.
‘I can appreciate that,’ said Fletcher, ‘but I’m puzzled as to why you did not accompany your husband to a single public function during the previous month?’ He paused. ‘Night or day.’
‘I did, I feel sure I did,’ she said. ‘But in any case you must remember that my main task was to run the home, and make life as easy as possible for Ralph, after the long hours he spent on the road campaigning.’
‘Did you keep those notes?’
She hesitated, ‘No, once I’d gone over them with him, I gave them to Ralph.’
‘And on this particular occasion you told the court that you felt very strongly about certain issues?’
‘Yes, I did.’
‘May I ask which issues in particular, Mrs Elliot?’
Rebecca hesitated again. ‘I can’t remember exactly.’ She paused. ‘It was several months ago.’
‘But it was the only public function you took an interest in during his entire campaign, Mrs Elliot, so one would have thought you might just have remembered one or two of the issues you felt so strongly about. After all, your husband was running for governor and you, so to speak, for first lady.’
‘Yes, no, yes — health care, I think.’
‘Then you’ll have to think again, Mrs Elliot,’ said Fletcher as he returned to the table and picked up one of his yellow notepads. ‘I also watched that debate with more than a passing interest, and was somewhat surprised that the subject of health care was not raised. Perhaps you’d like to reconsider your last answer, as I did keep detailed notes on every issue that was debated that night.’
‘Objection, your honour. Defence counsel is not here to act as a witness.’
‘Sustained. Keep to your brief, counsellor.’
‘But there was one thing you felt strongly about, wasn’t there, Mrs Elliot?’ continued Fletcher. ‘The vicious attack on your husband when Mr Cartwright said on television, “I will still kill you”.’
‘Yes, that was a terrible thing to say with the whole world watching.’
‘But the whole world wasn’t watching, Mrs Elliot, otherwise I would have seen it. It wasn’t said until after the programme had ended.’
‘Then my husband must have told me about it over supper.’
‘I don’t think so, Mrs Elliot. I suspect that you didn’t even see that programme, just as you never attended any of his meetings.’
‘Yes, I did.’
‘Then perhaps you can tell the jury the location of any meeting you attended during your husband’s lengthy campaign, Mrs Elliot?’
‘How could I be expected to remember every one of them, when Ralph’s campaign started over a year ago?’
‘I’ll settle for just one,’ said Fletcher, turning to face the jury.
Rebecca started crying again, but on this occasion the timing was not quite as effective, and there was no one on hand to offer her a handkerchief.
‘Now let us consider those words, “I will still kill you”, spoken off-air the evening before an election.’ Fletcher remained facing the jury. ‘Mr Cartwright didn’t say “I will kill you”, which would have indeed been damning, what he actually said was “I will still kill you”, and everyone present assumed he was referring to the election that was taking place the following day.’
‘He killed my husband,’ shouted Mrs Elliot, her voice rising for the first time.
‘There are still a few more questions that need to be answered before I come to who killed your husband, Mrs Elliot. But first allow me to return to the events of that evening. Having watched a television programme you can’t remember, and had supper with your husband to discuss in detail issues that you don’t recall, you went to bed while your husband returned to his study to work on his acceptance speech.’
‘Yes, that is exactly what happened,’ said Rebecca, staring defiantly at Fletcher.
‘But as he was significantly behind in the opinion polls, why waste time working on an acceptance speech he could never hope to deliver?’
‘He was still convinced he would win, especially following Mr Cartwright’s outburst and...’
‘And?’ repeated Fletcher, but Rebecca remained silent. ‘Then perhaps you both knew something the rest of us didn’t,’ said Fletcher, ‘but I’ll come to that in a moment. You say you went to bed around midnight?’