Sons of Fortune

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…”