Sons of Fortune Read online

  “But even if I did think that,” said Rebecca, losing her composure, “it’s only the second bullet that matters, the one that killed Ralph. Perhaps you’ve forgotten that the first bullet ended up in the ceiling, or are you now suggesting that my husband killed himself?”

  “No, I am not,” said Fletcher, “so why don’t you now tell the court exactly what you did when you heard the second shot.”

  “I went to the top of the stairs and saw Mr. Cartwright running out of the house.”

  “But he didn’t see you?”

  “No, he only glanced back in my direction.”

  “I don’t think so, Mrs. Elliot. I think you saw him very clearly when he calmly walked past you in the corridor.”

  “He couldn’t have walked past me in the corridor because I was at the top of the stairs.”

  “I agree that he couldn’t have seen you if you had been at the top of the stairs,” said Fletcher as he returned to the table and selected a photograph, before walking back across to the witness stand. He passed the photograph over to her. “As you will see from this picture, Mrs. Elliot, anyone who left your husband’s study, walked into the corridor and then out of the front door could not have been observed from the top of the stairs.” He paused so that the jury could take in the significance of his statement, before continuing, “No, the truth is, Mrs. Elliot, that you were not standing at the top of the stairs, but in the hallway when Mr. Cartwright came out of your husband’s study, and if you would like me to ask the judge to adjourn so that the jury can visit your home and check on the veracity of your statement, I would be quite happy to do so.”

  “Well, I might have been halfway down the stairs.”

  “You weren’t even on the stairs, Mrs. Elliot, you were in the hallway, and you were not, as you also claimed, in your robe, but in a blue dress that you had worn to a cocktail party earlier that evening, which is why you didn’t see the television debate!”

  “I was in a robe and there’s a picture of me to prove it.”

  “Indeed there is,” said Fletcher, once again returning to the table and extracting another photograph, “which I am happy to enter as evidence—item 122, your honor.”

  The judge, prosecution team and the jury began to rummage through their files as Fletcher handed over his copy to Mrs. Elliot.

  “There you are,” she said, “it’s just as I told you, I’m sitting in the hallway in my robe.”

  “You are indeed, Mrs. Elliot, and that photograph was taken by the police photographer, and we’ve since had it enlarged so we can consider all the details more clearly. Your honor, I would like to submit this enlarged photograph as evidence.”

  “Objection, your honor,” said Ebden, leaping up from his place. “We have not been given an opportunity to study this photograph.”

  “It’s state’s evidence, Mr. Ebden, and has been in your possession for weeks,” the judge reminded him. “Your objection is overruled.”

  “Please study the photograph carefully,” said Fletcher as he walked away from Mrs. Elliot and passed the state’s attorney a copy of the enlarged photo. A clerk handed one to each member of the jury. Fletcher then turned back to face Rebecca. “And do tell the court what you see.”

  “It’s a photograph of me sitting in the hallway in my robe.”

  “It is indeed, but what are you wearing on your left wrist and around your neck?” Fletcher asked, before turning to face the jury, all of whom were now studying the photograph intently.

  The blood drained from Rebecca’s face.

  “I do believe they’re your wristwatch and your pearl necklace,” said Fletcher answering his own question. “Do you remember?” He paused. “The ones you always locked away in your safe just before going to bed because there had been several burglaries in the area recently?” Fletcher turned to face Chief Culver and Detective Petrowski, who were seated in the front row. “It is, as Detective Petrowski reminded us, the little mistakes that always reveal the amateur.” Fletcher turned back and looked directly at Rebecca, before adding, “You may have forgotten to take off your watch and necklace, Mrs. Elliot, but I can tell you something you didn’t forget to take off, your dress.” Fletcher placed his hands on the jury box rail before saying slowly and without expression. “Because you didn’t do that until after you’d killed your husband.”

  Several people rose at once, and the judge carried on banging his gavel before it was quiet enough for the state’s attorney to say in a loud voice, “Objection. How can wearing a wristwatch prove that Mrs. Elliot murdered her husband?”

  “I agree with you, Mr. Ebden,” said the judge and turning to Fletcher suggested, “That’s quite a quantum leap, counselor.”

  “Then I will be happy to take the state’s attorney through it step by step, your honor.” The judge nodded. “When Mr. Cartwright arrived at the house, he overheard an argument going on between Mr. and Mrs. Elliot, and after he’d knocked on the door, it was Mr. Elliot who answered it, while Mrs. Elliot was nowhere to be seen. I’m willing to accept that she did run up to the top of the stairs so that she could overhear what was going on while not being observed, but the moment the first shot was fired, she came back down into the corridor and listened to the quarrel taking place between her husband and my client. Three or four minutes later, Mr. Cartwright walked calmly out of the study and passed Mrs. Elliot in the corridor, before opening the front door. He looked back at Mrs. Elliot, which is why he was able to tell the police questioning him later that night that she was wearing a low-cut blue dress and a string of pearls. If the jury studies the photograph of Mrs. Elliot, if I’m not mistaken, she is wearing the same string of pearls as the ones she has on today.” Rebecca touched her necklace as Fletcher continued. “But let’s not rely on my client’s word, but on your own statement, Mrs. Elliot.” He turned another page of the state’s evidence, before he began reading. “I ran into the study, saw my husband’s body slumped on the floor and then called the police.”

  “That’s right, I did ring Chief Culver at home, he’s already confirmed that,” interjected Rebecca.

  “But why did you call the chief of police first?”

  “Because my husband had been murdered.”

  “But in your evidence, Mrs. Elliot, given to Detective Petrowski only moments after your husband’s death, you stated that you saw Ralph slumped in the corner of his study, blood coming from his mouth, and immediately called the chief of police.”

  “Yes, that’s exactly what I did,” shouted Rebecca.

  Fletcher paused before turning to face the jury. “If I saw my wife slumped in a corner with blood coming from her mouth, the first thing I would do is to check to see if she was still alive and, if she was, I wouldn’t call for the police, I’d call for an ambulance. And at no time did you call for an ambulance, Mrs. Elliot. Why? Because you already knew that your husband was dead.”

  Once again there was uproar in the body of the court, and the reporters who weren’t old-fashioned enough to take shorthand struggled to get down every word.

  “Mrs. Elliot,” continued Fletcher, once the judge had stopped banging his gavel, “allow me to repeat the words you said only a few moments ago when questioned by the state’s attorney.” Fletcher picked up one of the yellow pads from his desk and began reading. “‘I suddenly felt cold and sick to my stomach, and I thought I was going to faint. I staggered back out into the corridor and collapsed on the floor.’” Fletcher threw the notepad down on his desk, stared at Mrs. Elliot and said, “You still haven’t even bothered to check if your husband is alive, but you didn’t need to, did you, because you knew he was dead; after all, it was you who had killed him.”

  “Then why didn’t they find any traces of gunpowder residue on my robe?” Rebecca shouted above the banging of the judge’s gavel.

  “Because when you shot your husband, you weren’t in your robe, Mrs. Elliot, but still in the blue dress you’d been wearing that evening. It was only after you had killed Ralph that you ran