CHAPTER ELEVEN. A DOUBLE INDICTMENT
Jim was buried on Tuesday. The funeral was very quiet, only Mary and myself, with a few of Jim's most intimate friends, attending. I have always had a repugnance to large and ostentatious funerals and I felt that Jim would have preferred to have the actual ceremony over as quickly and quietly as possible. It affected me too much to allow me to think of anything else but my loss, at the time, and I should have left town the day after, had I not received a summons to appear before the grand jury.
Mary called me up and told me that she, too, had been summoned, so I drove the car around for her. She was nervous and frightened at the thought of having to testify and she asked me all the questions she could think of on what to do and what to say. I reassured her, telling her the district attorney was friendly to Jim and that I was confident our testimony as to Helen's words would stave off any indictment until Helen was well enough to testify. "But, Warren, the fact that she was delirious will make it pretty shaky testimony, won't it?" Mary argued.
"Yes, that's true. But I don't think that they will want to bring an indictment while Helen is ill. You see, the indictment couldn't be served anyway, and I think our testimony will convince them there's a reasonable doubt as to Helen's guilt." She seemed convinced until the gloomy bulk of the court-house came in view, when terror rushed back fourfold.
"Oh, Bupps, can't I get out of it?" "No, dear, it's got to be gone through with. Remember it depends on you and me." "But what if they ask me Jim's and Helen's conversation before they started for the country-club?" "Tell them as little as possible, but stick to the truth. We know Helen's innocent and the truth can't hurt her." We passed Inspector Robinson in the hall down-stairs and the half smile on his lips irritated me. It was his report to the grand jury that had stirred things up. He knew only too well that with the sensational Sun to back him, an indictment would be taken by the public to mean proven guilt.
At the entrance to the anteroom we found Wicks, his face drawn into lines of the most acute misery.
"I couldn't 'elp it, sir. They made me come." "I know it, Wicks. Don't worry! It's a mere formality," I reassured him. "I 'ope so, sir, but I don't like it." "None of us do, Wicks, but it can't be helped," I replied. "Did Annie come with you?" "No, sir. Strange to say she wasn't called, sir." Good! That helped our case some. Mary and I walked into the anteroom to await our turn. The coroner was already there. Wicks had followed us and took a seat close by. Mary's face was a study in suppressed nervousness. "Couldn't you go in there with me, Bupps?" she asked.
"No, Mary, the grand jury does its work in secret." A clerk called the coroner and as he passed from the room, Robinson and Pickering came in. Robinson didn't even glance in my direction, but Pickering walked over quickly and shook hands. "Devilish sorry things have taken the turn they have, old man," he said. "You mean about—my sister?" "Yes. Robinson seems to think he has all the proof he needs. I wish I could help you." "Thanks awfully," I replied. He had only been seated a few moments when he was called to testify. As the coroner left the room, I tried to read in his face the nature of his testimony, but it was inscrutable. Pickering was out in less than ten minutes, and then Wicks was called. His legs seemed a bit shaky as he started for the door and he gave me a parting look, half awe, half terror.
Robinson paced up and down, his short stubby legs expressing confidence and satisfaction. Every turn, he scrutinized Mary, as if trying to place her in some criminal category.
At last Wicks came out, perspiring as if he'd been in a steam bath. Robinson looked him over once, gave a snort of derision and passed into the jury room. I wanted to ask Wicks some questions, but the poor man fled before I could attract his notice.
Mary got up and walked over to the big windows where a flood of warm September sunlight poured into the room. For a moment she stood gazing down on the crowded square below, then suddenly turned and half sobbed:
"Bupps, I can't stand it! I may say something that will hurt Helen." Great sobs shook her slender body. I went over and clumsily tried to comfort her.
"Mary, dear, Helen didn't do it. When she is well enough, we'll be able to find out all about it. Even if they do bring an indictment, Helen can prove her innocence." The sobs diminished to sniffles, and then to occasional sighs. She opened her bag, extracted a miniature powder-puff and dabbed at her small upturned nose spitefully. I knew that the storm had passed.
"I know—that—that I'm foolish to c-cry, but I just c-couldn't help it." A clerk opened the door and called Mary's name. She gave me a startled glance and her face blanched. I thought she was going to break down again, but suddenly I saw her raise her chin defiantly and an angry sparkle come to her eyes. She snapped shut her vanity-bag and marched toward the jury room like a soldier, sentenced to be shot, yet determined to die bravely.
It was only after she had left that I began to think about my own testimony. After all, the evidence was terrifyingly strong against Helen. She had threatened to kill Jim. She had quarreled with him just before their last ride, had chosen the back seat purposely, had Jim's revolver with her, and knew she was being taken to see her lover humiliated and threatened. Against all this, I had only a brother's faith in his sister and those half dozen words cried out in a delirium. A sickening certainty that they would indict Helen came over me. What if she did—? What if she should confess?
In some way I had to save Helen if only for mother's sake. After all, Woods, too, had threatened Jim. He knew Jim had proof of his dishonesty. He had made the engagement and had asked Jim to come alone. At this point of my review of the facts I decided to tell the jury all. If Woods was at the country-club the entire evening he would be able to establish a complete alibi and my testimony would not hurt him, while it might be enough, if I could make it so, to hold the jury until Helen could testify. Hearing steps outside, I turned to see the object of my mental attentions walk into the room.
"You here, Woods?" I queried.
"Yes. Those admirable servants of your sister's gave the police just enough of the vulgar details of that meeting between Felderson and myself to make them think I—well, they ordered me to report and here I am." He looked worried and irritable. For the first time I realized what the man must have gone through during the last few days, with his business troubles and Helen's injury. How he had met his obligations without Helen's money, I didn't know. "I should have thought you'd have been glad to testify to save Helen from an indictment." Woods whirled around. "You don't mean to say there's a chance of that, Thompson? Why, she didn't do it, she couldn't have done it. She—she isn't capable of doing such a thing. It's monstrous. I've read the rot that The Sun has been printing, but I didn't think—I can't think any one would take it seriously." A gray shadow seemed to fall across his face.
"Felderson was shot from behind and Helen was the only one with him," I threw out, watching Woods closely to see what effect my words would have on him. The man looked as though he knew more about the crime than I had supposed.
"I know that! But haven't people sense enough to see that Helen is utterly incapable of such an act. Good God, they must be blind!" I was brought back to the business on hand by hearing my name shouted. They must have let Mary out by another door for when I entered the jury room she was not there. It was hot and stuffy, smelling of stale tobacco and staler clothing. I noticed that the jurymen seemed deeply interested and that they were, for the most part, a rather intelligent lot. The foreman, a near-sighted business-looking person, seemed to radiate sympathy through his glasses. The district attorney, Kirkpatrick, knew Jim well, had his help often and was one of his best friends.
"What is your name?" he asked.
"Warren Thompson." "Your address?" "Eleven thirty-two Grant Avenue." "Your business?" "I am a lawyer," I responded. The district attorney seated himself at a table and arranged some papers before him.
"You were what relation to the deceased?" "The brother-in-law," I replied. "Mr. Thompson," the attorney began, leaning on the table in front of him, "will you please tell the jury if there was any unhappiness in the married life of your sister and brother-in-law?" "Until recently Mr. and Mrs. Felderson were very happy together. During the last three months their happiness has not been quite—so pronounced." "What was the cause of their disagreement?" I determined to begin my attack on Woods at once.
"A man whom Mr. Felderson disliked and did not wish to come to the house." "Can you tell the jury that man's name?" "Frank Woods." The attorney glanced at his notes.
"Did this man Woods make love to Mrs. Felderson?" "I couldn't say. He was very attentive to her." "Did Mrs. Felderson ask her husband to divorce her?" "Yes," I replied. "And Mr. Felderson refused?" "No. Mr. Felderson consented." "You are sure of that?" he demanded.
"Yes. I was present when he said he would give her a divorce." "Was Woods there at the time?" "Yes." The foreman of the jury interrupted here.
"Will you tell the jury just what took place at that meeting?" I told them briefly what happened, not forgetting to mention that Woods had threatened Jim's life in case he did not let Helen go. "Has that man been summoned?" asked the foreman.
"Yes. He is waiting to appear now," a clerk responded. "Mr. Thompson, did you hear your sister threaten to kill her husband?" Kirkpatrick asked.
"My sister was very excited at that time and said several things—" "Please answer my question!" fired the district attorney.
"I can't remember," I replied. Kirkpatrick again consulted his papers.
"A witness says that on the evening of the disagreement between Mr. and Mrs. Felderson, she used the words: 'I could kill him,' referring to her husband. Did you hear her use those words?" "I don't think she realized what she was saying." "I did not ask for your opinions. Did you hear her say she could kill him or that she would like to kill him?" "Yes." The attorney seemed satisfied and I noticed the foreman of the jury lean back in his chair.
"Now, Mr. Thompson," Kirkpatrick began, "on the evening of the tragedy did you see Mrs. Felderson leave with Mr. Felderson?" "No," I replied. "Do you know if she was sitting in the back seat or the front seat of that automobile?" he asked.
"I couldn't say." Kirkpatrick took Jim's revolver from the table. "Is this revolver familiar to you?" "I don't know." "Did Mr. Felderson have a revolver like this?" he demanded.
"Yes." "Do you know whether he was carrying it at the time of the tragedy?" "I'm not sure," I stated. "Did Mr. Felderson usually carry a gun?" "No." "Did Mrs. Felderson have a revolver?" "No," I replied, "I don't think she even knows how to use one." "Please only answer my questions!" Kirkpatrick rebuked me sharply.
"You have stated to the jury that Mr. Woods had threatened Mr. Felderson's life in case he did not give Mrs. Felderson a divorce. When did Mr. Felderson intend giving his wife the promised divorce?" "I don't think he really intended to give Mrs. Felderson a divorce." "But you stated that he consented to a divorce?" "He did, but with certain reservations," I answered. "What were those reservations?" "That there should be nothing in Mr. Woods' past that could cause Mrs. Felderson trouble in the future, in case she married Woods." "Did Mr. Woods know of Mr. Felderson's intention not to divorce Mrs. Felderson?" he demanded.
"I don't know. I know that Mr. Felderson had made an important discovery about Mr. Woods' past life." "Was this discovery of such a nature as to cause Mr. Felderson to refuse a divorce?" "It was!" I answered.
"Can you tell the jury what this discovery was?" "No, I can not." "Did Mr. Woods know that Mr. Felderson had made this discovery?" "I think he did." "Aren't you certain?" "No." "This is important, Mr. Thompson. Will you tell the jury why you think Mr. Woods knew of Mr. Felderson's discovery?" "Because Mr. Woods called Mr. Felderson up shortly after the discovery was made and asked for an interview at the country-club." "Was Mr. Felderson on his way to that meeting when he met his death?" the attorney queried.
"Yes," I responded. "Do you know whether Mr. Felderson intended to inform Woods that he would not divorce Mrs. Felderson?" "I think he intended to accuse Woods of dishonesty," I replied. "Mrs. Felderson knew the purpose of the meeting, did she not?" "I couldn't say." Kirkpatrick turned to the jury.
"Has the jury any questions they wish to ask?" I seized my opportunity.
"I would like to say a few words with the permission of the jury." Receiving a nod of consent, I related to them as briefly as possible my conviction of my sister's innocence, her cry of danger to her husband, and the coincidence of the black limousine on the road at about the same time as the tragedy. I also told of the enmity of Zalnitch for Jim and of his presence with the others in the black limousine. The foreman of the jury leaned forward.
"Will you repeat the words that your sister uttered?" "She cried, 'Look out, Jim! It's going to hit us!'" "Your sister was delirious at the time, was she not?" "Yes," I answered. "But from the tone of her voice I feel perfectly sure she referred to something that occurred on the night of the tragedy." "You think she referred to the black limousine when she said, 'It's going to hit us'?" the foreman continued.
"Yes." "Yet the coroner's verdict was that your brother-in-law was killed by a bullet, fired, apparently, from behind and above." I felt the weakness of my ground.
"The bullet might have been fired from the automobile and ricochetted from some part of Mr. Felderson's machine." I saw the incredible smile that played on the face of the prosecutor.
"That will do, Mr. Thompson," Kirkpatrick announced, and I passed out of the stuffy room into the corridor. Wicks had returned and was standing with Mary. They looked at me with wide and anxious eyes.
Mary saw the droop in my shoulders and caught my arm.
"What happened, Warren?" she asked.
"Nothing yet," I responded. "Are they going to——?" "I don't know, I don't know." Tears welled up in Mary's eyes. "Oh, Warren, that man was terrible!" "What man?" I asked.
"The man who asked me all the questions," Mary sobbed. "There wasn't anything he didn't ask me." "Did he ask you about the conversation between Helen and Jim?" "He asked me everything, I tell you!" Mary exclaimed angrily. "He twisted and turned everything I said into something horrible." Discouraged, I led the way to the car. I drove out into the country, thinking the fresh air might quiet Mary's nerves. Twice I tried to start a conversation about some trivial thing, to take her mind off her unpleasant experience of the afternoon, but with no success. It always came back to the jury room. Our drive, for the most part, was a silent one. At length we turned back and as we walked up the steps of Mary's home, her father came from the house with a newspaper in his hand. "This is terrible, Warren." "What is it?" I cried, reaching for the sheet.
It was an extra edition of The Press , our only respectable paper. In black head-lines, I read the words:
"SOCIETY LEADER INDICTED FOR HUSBAND'S MURDER!" Then underneath in small type:
"Frank Woods, Well Known Business Man, Released on $10,000 Bail." Helen and Frank Woods had both been indicted.
