Sons of Fortune

“Yes, that is exactly what happened,” said Rebecca, staring defiantly at Fletcher.

“But as he was significantly behind in the opinion polls, why waste time working on an acceptance speech he could never need hope to deliver?”

“He was still convinced he would win, especially following Mr. Cartwright’s outburst and…”

“And?” repeated Fletcher, but Rebecca remained silent. “Then perhaps you both knew something the rest of us didn’t,” said Fletcher, “but I’ll come to that in a moment. You say you went to bed around midnight?”

“Yes, I did,” said Rebecca, sounding even more defiant.

“And when you were woken by a gunshot, you checked the time by looking at the clock on your side of the bed?”

“Yes, it was just after two.”

“So you don’t wear a wristwatch in bed?”

“No, I lock away all my jewelry in a little safe Ralph had installed in the bedroom. There have been so many burglaries in the area recently.”

“How wise of him. And you still think it was the first shot that woke you?”

“Yes, I’m sure it was.”

“How long was it between the first and second shot, Mrs. Elliot?” Rebecca didn’t answer immediately. “Do take your time, Mrs. Elliot, because I wouldn’t want you to make a mistake that, like so much of your evidence, needs correcting later.”

“Objection, your honor, my client is not…”

“Yes, yes, Mr. Ebden, sustained. That last comment will be struck from the record,” and turning to Fletcher, the judge repeated, “stick to your brief, Mr. Davenport.”

“I will try to, your honor,” said Fletcher, but his eyes never left the jury to make sure it wasn’t struck from their minds. “Have you had enough time to consider your reply, Mrs. Elliot?” He waited once again before repeating, “How long was it between the first and second shots?”

“Three, possibly four minutes,” she said.

Fletcher smiled at the chief prosecutor, walked back to his table and picked up the stopwatch, which he placed in his pocket. “When you heard the first shot, Mrs. Elliot, why didn’t you phone the police immediately, why wait for three or four minutes until you heard the second shot?”

“Because to begin with I wasn’t absolutely sure that I had heard it. Don’t forget, I’d been asleep for some time.”

“But you opened your bedroom door and were horrified to hear Mr. Cartwright shouting at your husband and threatening to kill him, so you must have believed that Ralph was in some considerable danger, so why not lock your door, and immediately phone the police from the bedroom?” Rebecca looked across at Richard Ebden. “No, Mrs. Elliot, Mr. Ebden can’t help you this time, because he didn’t anticipate the question, which, to be fair,” said Fletcher, “wasn’t entirely his fault, because you’ve only told him half the story.”

“Objection,” said Ebden, jumping to his feet.

“Sustained,” said the judge. “Mr. Davenport, stick to questioning Mrs. Elliot, not giving opinions. This is a court of law, not the Senate Chamber.”

“I apologize, your honor, but on this occasion I do know the answer. You see the reason Mrs. Elliot didn’t call the police was because she feared that it was her husband who had fired the first shot.”

“Objection,” shouted Ebden, leaping to his feet as several members of the public began talking at once. It was some time before the judge could gavel the court back to order.

“No, no,” said Rebecca, “from the way Nat was shouting at Ralph I was certain he’d fired the first shot.”

“Then I will ask you again, why not call the police immediately?” Fletcher repeated, turning back to face her. “Why wait three or four minutes until you heard the second shot?”

“It all happened so quickly, I just didn’t have time.”

“What is your favorite work of fiction, Mrs. Elliot?” asked Fletcher quietly.

“Objection, your honor. How can this possibly be relevant?”

“Overruled. I have a feeling we’re about to find out, Mr. Ebden.”

“You are indeed, your honor,” said Fletcher, his eyes never leaving the witness. “Mrs. Elliot, let me assure you that this is not a trick question, I simply want you to tell the court your favorite work of fiction.”