“Ever fire a gun?”
“No.”
“Never in your life?”
“Not that I remember?”
“Your memory’s not that good. You happen to fire a gun in the last forty-eight hours?”
“No.”
“There’s a test called the paraffin test.”
“I know. They gave it to me.”
Steve looked at her. “What?”
“Last night. They gave me the test.”
“You let them do it?”
“Did I have a choice?”
“Did they give you a choice?”
“I don’t know. The cop came, asked me if I’d take the test.”
“What did you say?”
“I asked him what it was for. He explained it was to see if I’d fired a gun.”
“What did you say?”
“I said maybe I’d better talk to my lawyer.”
“Why didn’t you.”
“I don’t know.”
“He explain the test to you?”
“Yes, he did.”
“He tell you that if you fired a gun, there’d be traces of nitrate powder on your hands?”
“That’s right.”
“Did he point out that if you were wearing gloves at the time, the test was worthless and wouldn’t show anything?”
“I think he mentioned that.”
“And it was after that that you decided that you didn’t need to call your lawyer and agreed to take the test?”
“You make it sound so bad,” Amy said.
“Oh yeah?” Steve said. “Just wait till you hear how Dirkson makes it sound. You ever own a gun?”
“No.”
“Ever have one in your possession?”
“No.”
“Did you take anything out of the office?”
“Huh?”
“You claim you didn’t touch the petty cash, right? Well, did you touch anything else? Was there anything else, however trivial, that you took from the office?”
“No.”
“Did you leave anything in the office?”
“Like what?”
“I have no idea.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“What about the body?”
“What about it?”
“Did you touch it?”
“No.”
“You went in the office, he’s lying on the floor dead. You didn’t bend down, touch him, make sure he was dead?”
“No.”
“What did you do?”
“I was horrified. I backed away.”
“But after you calmed down you went closer to look. Didn’t you?”
“Well, sure.”
“You didn’t touch the body then?”
“No.”
“Didn’t look in his pockets, perhaps?”
“No. Why would I do that?”
“I have no idea. I’m asking if you did.”
“You’ve asked the same questions several times.”
“And gotten several different answers.”
“Now look here-”
“No, you look here. You have a very low credibility rating right now. Just answer the questions, and try to get ’em right. Tell me this. When you went back there and called the cops-while you were waiting for them you didn’t by any chance close the petty cash box and the petty cash drawer?”
“Why would I do that?”
“You keep asking me that. Frankly, I have no idea why you do what you do. I’m asking if you closed the drawer.”
“No, of course not.” Amy took a breath. She leaned forward, blinked her eyes, looked close to tears. “Now look,” she said. “You gotta help me. You’re sitting there, firing questions at me like this was all my fault. I got the call, came to the office, found him dead.”
“Right,” Steve said. “You’re innocent. Just like the first time you came to my office.” He shook his head. “I should trust my first instincts more.” He snorted. “Innocent, hell.”
29
“Robbery and revenge.”
Harry Dirkson stood before the jury and held up his left hand with two fingers raised. “Two separate but interconnected motives.” Dirkson smiled. “It’s nice when you’re able to prove one motive. It’s a rare thing when you’re able to prove two. But that what we have in this case.”
Dirkson turned, pointed to the defense table, where Amy Dearborn sat beside Steve Winslow. “Amy Dearborn killed Frank Fletcher to rob him and to exact revenge. Revenge for what? For accusing her of a crime. Frank Fletcher was her employer, and he had fired her for stealing. More than that, he had actually had her arrested for the crime. She had been tried and acquitted that very afternoon.”
Dirkson paused, let that sink in. Then he shifted gears, became crisp and businesslike. “We expect to show, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, that that night, following the conclusion of the trial, the defendant went out to dinner, returned home to her apartment and found a message from Frank Fletcher on her answering machine. And what was the gist of that message? Telling her that he was working at the office and suggesting that she stop by and work things out.
“Well, Amy worked things out all right. She went down to the office, shot him and killed him.
“Why? Revenge.
“First motive.
“And what did she do then? She robbed the place. She cleaned out the petty cash drawer.
“Second motive.
“Just like that. In one fell swoop.
“Robbery and revenge.
“And what was the crime Frank Fletcher had accused her of? The crime she was arrested for? The charge for which she enacted her revenge?”
Dirkson paused, shrugged, smiled.
“Stealing the company’s petty cash.”
Dirkson nodded in agreement with himself, inviting the jury to agree too. “When you hear the evidence, ladies and gentlemen, you will see how well it all fits. We expect to show that in addition to the business relationship, Amy Dearborn had dated Frank Fletcher at one time. Until he dropped her. So it wasn’t just the accusation of theft. You also have to factor in the concept of a woman scorned. Imagine the defendant carrying all that around inside her. And then going through the emotional turmoil of a jury trial. Consider the relief she must have felt when that trial ended favorably. She goes home, she makes a date, she goes out to dinner. For once, she hasn’t a care in the world.
“And what happens then? She returns home, and on her answering machine is the voice of the man who used her, abused her, and accused her.”
Dirkson paused, smiled at his own rhyme. Was gratified when some of the jurors smiled back.
“Yes,” Dirkson said, “it’s not hard to see how that would be the last straw, pushing this woman over the edge.” He paused, raised his finger. “Though that is no excuse for what she did. What she did was a cold-blooded, premeditated murder. She went out, she hailed a taxi and went down to the office. She let herself in with a key she retained from when she worked there, a key she had never surrendered. She let herself in, closing the door quietly behind her. She tiptoed across the floor, surprised Frank Fletcher in his office, pulled out a gun and shot him.
“When did she do this, ladies and gentlemen? Right around eight o’clock. The report of the medical examiner will show that the decedent met his death sometime between the hours of seven-thirty and eight-thirty that night. We can place Amy Dearborn’s arrival at the office at approximately eight o’clock.
“All these facts are entirely consistent with her guilt. She arrived at eight o’clock, let herself in, and killed him.
“And what did she do then? She robbed the petty cash drawer. Why? Well, the obvious reason is to get the money. The other reason is to cover up the crime. To make Frank Fletcher’s death look like a robbery and murder.
“Well, it was. But the other way around.” Dirkson frowned. “What I mean is, Frank Fletcher was not murdered for the money. That was the way the defendant wanted it to appear. No, she murdered him, and, as an afterthought, she stole the money. First, because she wanted the money, and, second, to make it look like that was the reason for the crime.”
Dirkson held up one finger. “Can we prove Amy Dearborn took the money?” He nodded. “Yes, we can. By her very own actions and her very own words.”