Sons of Fortune Read online

  “He drives over uninvited to the Elliots’ family home at two A.M. The door is answered by Mr. Elliot, who has been in his study working on an acceptance speech. Mr. Cartwright barges in, punching Mr. Elliot so hard on the nose that he staggers back into the corridor, only to see his adversary come charging in after him. Mr. Elliot recovers in time to run into his study and retrieve a gun that he kept in a drawer in his desk. He turns just as Cartwright leaps on him, kicking the gun out of his hand, thus ensuring that Mr. Elliot has no chance of defending himself. Cartwright then grabs the pistol, stands over his victim and without a moment’s hesitation, shoots him through the heart. He then aims a second shot into the ceiling to leave the impression that a struggle had taken place. Cartwright then drops the gun, runs out of the open door and, jumping into his car, drives quickly back to his home. Unbeknownst to him, he left behind a witness to the entire episode—the victim’s wife, Mrs. Rebecca Elliot. When she heard the first shot, Mrs. Elliot ran from her bedroom to the top of the stairs and moments after hearing the second shot, she watched in horror as Cartwright bolted out of the front door. And just as the television camera had recorded every detail earlier in the evening, Mrs. Elliot will describe to you with the same accuracy, exactly what took place later that night.”

  The state’s attorney turned his attention away from the jury for a moment and looked directly at Fletcher. “In a few moments’ time, defense counsel will rise from his place and with all his famed charm and oratory will attempt to bring tears to your eyes as he tries to explain away what really happened. But what he can’t explain away is the body of an innocent man murdered in cold blood by his political rival. What he can’t explain away is his television message, ‘I will still kill you.’ What he can’t explain away is a witness to the murder—Mr. Elliot’s widow, Rebecca.”

  The prosecutor transferred his gaze to Nat. “I can well understand you feeling some sympathy for this man, but after you have heard all the evidence, I believe you will be left in no doubt of Mr. Cartwright’s guilt, and with no choice but to carry out your duty to the state and deliver a verdict of Guilty.”

  There was an eerie silence in the courtroom when Richard Ebden resumed his place. Several heads nodded, even one or two on the jury. Judge Kravats made a note on the pad in front of him, and then looked down toward the defense counsel’s table.

  “Do you wish to respond, counselor?” asked the judge, making no attempt to hide the irony in his voice.

  Fletcher rose from his place and, looking directly at the judge, said, “No thank you, your honor, it is not my intention to make an opening statement.”

  Fletcher and Nat sat in silence looking directly in front of them amid the pandemonium that broke out in the courtroom. The judge banged his gavel several times, trying to bring the proceedings back to order. Fletcher glanced across at the state attorney’s table, to see Richard Ebden, head bowed, in a huddle with his prosecution team. The judge tried to hide a smile once he realized what a shrewd tactical move the defense had made; it had thrown the state’s team into disarray. He turned his attention back to the prosecution.

  “Mr. Ebden, that being the case, perhaps you’d like to call your first witness?” he said matter-of-factly.

  Ebden rose, not quite as confidently now that he’d worked out what Fletcher was up to. “Your honor, I would in these unusual circumstances seek an adjournment.”

  “Objection, your honor,” cried Fletcher, rising quickly from his place. “The state has had several months to prepare their case; are we now to understand they cannot even produce a single witness?”

  “Is that the case, Mr. Ebden?” asked the judge. “Are you unable to call your first witness?”

  “That is correct, your honor. Our first witness would have been Mr. Don Culver, the chief of police, and we did not want to take him away from his important duties until it was entirely necessary.”

  Fletcher was on his feet again. “But it is entirely necessary, your honor. He is the chief of police, and this is a murder trial, and I therefore ask that this case be dismissed on the grounds there is no police evidence available to place before the court.”

  “Nice try, Mr. Davenport,” said the judge, “but I won’t fall for it. Mr. Ebden, I shall grant your request for an adjournment. I shall reconvene this court immediately after the lunch break, and if the chief of police is unable to be with us by then, I shall rule his evidence inadmissible.” Ebden nodded, unable to hide his embarrassment.

  “All rise,” said the clerk, as Judge Kravats glanced at the clock before leaving the courtroom.

  “First round to us, I think,” remarked Tom, as the state’s team hurriedly left the courtroom.

  “Possibly,” said Fletcher, “but we’ll need more than Pyrrhic victories to win the final battle.”

  Nat hated the hanging around, and was back in his seat long before the lunch break was up. He looked across at the state’s table to see Richard Ebden also in his place, knowing he wouldn’t make the same mistake a second time. But had he yet worked out why Fletcher had risked such a bold move? Fletcher had explained to Nat during the adjournment that he believed his only hope of winning the case was to undermine Rebecca Elliot’s evidence, and therefore he couldn’t afford to let her relax even for a moment. Following the judge’s warning, Ebden would now have to keep her waiting in the corridor, perhaps for days on end, before she was finally called.

  Fletcher took his seat next to Nat only moments before the judge was due to reconvene. “The chief’s out there in the corridor storming up and down fuming, while Mrs. Elliot is sitting alone in a corner biting her nails. I intend to keep that lady hanging around for several days,” he added as the clerk called, “All rise, Judge Kravats presiding.”

  “Good afternoon,” said the judge, and turning to the chief prosecutor added, “Do you have a witness for us, Mr. Ebden?”

  “Yes, I do, your honor. The state calls Police Chief Don Culver.”

  Nat watched as Don Culver took his place on the stand and repeated the oath. Something was wrong, but he couldn’t work out what it was. Then he saw the second and third fingers of Culver’s right hand twitching, and realized it was the first time he’d seen him without his trademark cigar.

  “Mr. Culver, would you tell the jury your present rank?”

  “I’m the chief of police for the city of Hartford.”

  “And how long have you held that position?”

  “Just over fourteen years.”

  “And how long have you been a law enforcement officer?”

  “For the past thirty-six years.”

  “So it would be safe to say that you have a great deal of experience when it comes to homicide?

  “I guess that’s right,” the chief said.

  “And have you ever come into contact with the defendant?”

  “Yes, I have, on several occasions.”

  “He’s stealing some of my questions,” Fletcher whispered to Nat, “but I haven’t yet worked out why.”

  “And had you formed an opinion of the man?”

  “Yes, I had, he’s a decent law-abiding citizen, who, until he murdered…”

  “Objection, your honor,” said Fletcher, rising from his place, “it is up to the jury to decide who murdered Mr. Elliot, not the chief of police. We don’t live in a police state yet.”

  “Sustained,” said the judge.

  “Well, all I can say,” said the chief, “is that until all this happened, I would have voted for him.” Laughter broke out in the court.

  “And after I’ve finished with the chief,” whispered Fletcher, “he sure won’t be voting for me.”

  “Then you must have had some doubt in your mind that such an upstanding citizen was capable of murder?”

  “Not at all, Mr. Ebden,” said the chief. “Murderers aren’t run-of-the-mill criminals.”

  “Would you care to explain what you mean by that, Chief?”

  “Sure will,” said Culver. “The average murder is a