Tricks and Treats, page 6
She went up the steps of the first house where she saw a woman behind the undrawn blinds. From the street she had looked motherly, a plump, aproned woman with gray hair. She came to the door at once when Julia knocked.
“Well?” she asked in a harsh accusing voice.
“I haven’t any money,” Julia said. “I’m sick. I’ve been walking all afternoon. Will you let me have a bed for the night?”
“I’ll call the authorities,” the woman said. “There’s a place for girls like you.” She turned as if to go to a phone.
“No, no,” Julia cried. “I won’t bother you. I’ll get to where I was going. Thank you.”
The woman shut the door before she could turn around. “I didn’t think she would,” Julia said to console herself. “I didn’t really expect it.”
She got out of town as she had come into it, only more painfully, with more frequent stops. I always heard it was easy to freeze to death, she thought. She was shuddering all over, uncontrollably, so that the shuddering racked and hurt her. All of her body ached, as her hand had ached when, as a child, she had held a piece of ice as long as she could for a dare. “If there were only a snowbank, a bed of white snow where I could lie down and die. I would rest myself in it. I would pull it over me. I would press my cheek to it.” But with this wet, ice-splintered ground, she would have to go on until she fell.
She was about to climb the curve of a small stone bridge when she saw the flicker of a red light beneath it, a fire, a windbreak, something to protect her from the sleet. She stumbled off the road and tried to run down the incline toward the fire. It was small, but really burning. She cupped her numb hands over it. Not until some of the heat had penetrated her skin did she look up, see the face of the man who sat with his back braced against the opposite side of the culvert.
She would have screamed, but a tide of slow cold horror rose in her throat, choking her.
Julia stretched her legs out along the warm smooth sheets and opened her eyes, saw the silver lights on the green ruffled curtains, the acacia spilling over the round bowl. “You almost overdid it tonight,” she told herself. “You almost screamed then.” She put her warm hand on the soft satin over her heart. It was jarred by her heartbeat. She had almost overdone it, but it had worked again.
Remembering that imagined suffering, that formless face, she was able to turn, once again, toward her husband, lying beside her in the warm sweet-smelling bed.
“So,” he said in the tone of one who has been waiting. When he moved his hands slowly over her shallow breasts, she scarcely winced.
No More Questions
Stephen R. Novak
COURTROOM DRAMA
One of the most difficult ways in which to tell any story, let alone a McGuffin, is solely through dialogue; the dialogue in such a tale must not only be crisp and realistic, it must convey characterization and nuance of feeling, plant clues if and where necessary, and of course carry the entire weight of the plot. In “No More Questions,” which does not contain a single narrative sentence until the story’s powerful last line, Stephen Novak has written a memorable example of the dialogue-only type-and has created as well both a lovely McGuffin and a piece of courtroom drama to match the master himself, Erle Stanley Gardner. Mr. Novak, in addition to writing short stories, is also a playwright: he recently won a prize in a one-act playwriting contest held by the Paulist Players of New York, who will produce his play. B.P.
“The defense calls as its last witness, the defendant, William Dempsey.”
“The defendant will advance to be sworn.”
“Do you solemnly swear that the testimony you are about to give is the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”
“I do.”
“State your full name and occupation.”
“William Tunney Dempsey. I own an appliance store in town.”
“You may be seated.”
‘‘How old are you, Bill?”
“Forty-six.”
“That’s a fighting name you have.”
“It was my mother’s idea.”
“Are you married, Bill?”
“Yes, for over twenty years.”
“Any children?”
“No, sir.”
“And where do you live?”
“In Jersey, just over the line.”
“That’s about fifty miles away? Do you commute every day?”
“Yes, including Saturdays. Six days a week.”
“And how long have you had your appliance business here in Wickham?”
“Close to four years.”
“And what made you open a business in Wickham?”
“My father died, and I inherited a small estate. I’ve always wanted a business of my own.”
“And how has business been?”
“Fair. But not as well as expected. It’s difficult for a newcomer to be accepted here. And now this…”
“Yes…well now, Bill, the prosecution is going to try to make a big deal about that television set you gave to Maryann, so I’d like to clear that matter up right from the start. I ask you to identify that television set, which is marked Exhibit Sixteen. Is that the one you gave to Maryann?”
“Yes, sir. It is.”
“What make set is it?”
“None, sir. I made it myself. I wanted to experiment with the new circuitry.”
“The chassis says Magnavox.”
“I used an old portable shell, because the components fit into it so neatly and polished it up.”
“And about how much did it cost you to make?”
“Not counting my time, about two hundred dollars for the parts.”
“So all you actually gave Maryann was about two hundred dollars?”
“If you put it that way, yes, sir. But I didn’t think about the money. She liked the set, so I gave it to her.”
“She saw you working on it?”
“Oh yes. She’d come in the store, and, when I wasn’t needed on the floor, I’d be in my office working on this.”
“She’d often come into your office?”
“Maybe every two or three days.”
‘‘Tell us, if you will, about when you first met Maryann.”
“Well, sir, she was in her last year of high school, and she’d stop in every so often and buy records, you know, like most of the kids do, on their way home from school.”
“And?”
“I don’t know exactly how to explain it, but we got to talking to each other, she to me and me to her, and we were soon sort of confiding in each other. She always seemed so much older mentally than the other high school kids.”
“And very pretty?”
“Oh yes. Very. But she never seemed to have any boyfriends in the high school crowd. She was too much of a loner. After a while I found out why, and I think I understood why she sort of liked to talk to me.”
“We’d like to get to understand her character better, Bill, so would you tell the court why she liked to talk to you?”
“I guess I must of been something like a father or uncle that she’d never really had, but always wished she’d had.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, she never knew her real father. She grew up with a stepfather who was very nasty, drunk all the time. Even made passes at her once. He had lots of kids from a former wife who’d deserted him, and she was always neglected and left alone with all the dirty work and none of the love. As soon as she could, she left home and went on her own.”
“And how old was she then?”
“Maybe thirteen, fourteen.” “And what did she do?”
“Lived with an older married sister for a while. Then found various places to stay. Girlfriends mostly. A month here, a few weeks there. You know.”
“Did she ever tell you if she lived with any men?”
“No, sir. She never said that.”
“Did you ever get the impression that she...how shall I put it…played around?”
“No, sir. Not when she was in high school. At least as far as I know. As I say, she always seemed so much older, but then she was so naïve and trusting too.”
“To you?”
“Yes, sir. She was always the kind of person you felt sorry for, without ever knowing exactly why. But, yes, sir. She trusted me, I think. That’s why she always talked to me so much. But she never mentioned boyfriends. Just how lousy her family had been to her. And how she wanted to hurry and finish school, get a job, and be on her own. But, it seemed, she never could get what she wanted.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, first of all, she flunked and didn’t finish high school. Instead, she managed to get sent to some charity school with a bunch of other girls, where she was supposed to learn a trade she could work at. She used to write me and tell me how rotten the place was, how brutal and cheap and dirty the other girls were. And the dope and drugs! She stayed only a couple of months, then left and came back here, where she did get a job and was able to rent the room where she…where she was killed.”
“Tell me truthfully, Bill, do you think Maryann was in love with you?”
“I…I…guess so, maybe, in a special sort of way, as I said. She used to tell me that all she wanted out of life was someone to love her.”
“But you never encouraged her?”
“With me? No, sir.”
“Why not?”
“Why not? Why not. I don’t know how to answer. Maybe because I felt so sorry for her. Because I was so much older. Because I love my wife. But, I don’t wanna lie to you, Mr. Buchanan, I loved Maryann all right, but not in the way people might think, just in my own mind…in a special way…maybe not like a daughter, but more like a protective kind of thing, where I just couldn’t stand her being hurt by anyone after all she’d been through at such a young age.”
“And you never told her?”
“I didn’t have to tell her. She could see that, and that’s why she used to tell me everything. Even when she found out she was gonna have a baby.”
“She told you about her affair with another man?”
“Right away. The next day, in fact. And then later, when she found out she was pregnant, she was so scared. She didn’t know how to tell me. She was afraid she’d lose my friendship, I think.”
“And how did you react?”
“How could I? I knew right from the start this guy she was seeing was going to be trouble for her. She’d met him at a diner only a few months before…and she was so in love. I never liked it, but I yessed her and agreed with her because she was so happy about having found someone, even though he was married, and she said he’d leave his wife for her. I just thought to myself, ‘Oh, yeah? Well, let’s wait and see!’ Then she found out about the baby.”
“What happened?”
“She really broke down when she told me. She said the guy was no good. He was such a big shot, she said, but with her, he was nothing. He always took her to the most out-of-the-way places round here, where nobody would see them together. And when he found out about the baby, he really got angry with her. He blamed her for being careless, and he said he never wanted to see her again, unless she took the money he offered and got rid of the kid.”
“He paid her to have an abortion?”
“Yes, sir. He gave her five hundred dollars.”
“And she told all this to you?”
“Yes, sir. She told me.”
“And what then?”
“She didn’t know what to do. I suggested that she go see a priest or a minister, but she’d have none of that, and she sort of questioned me like I was her spiritual adviser, asking me what to do about the baby.”
“And what did you advise?”
“I told her that if she had the abortion and if fate was cruel to her in the future and never gave her another child, she might not want to live with the terrible thought of having gotten rid of the only child she ever had. I also tried to make her see that, if she had the baby, for the first time in her life she would really have someone to love. And I also said that she might consider having the baby and placing it out for adoption as soon as it was born. There were agencies that handled that right from the hospital.”
“How did she take these suggestions of yours?”
“I’m sure she was happier when she left than when she came in.”
“But you don’t know what she resolved to do?”
“No, sir. I don’t.”
“Did she ever tell you who her lover was, his name?”
“No, sir. Just that he’d told her not to tell anyone.”
“Can you guess who he might be?”
“Your honor, I object. Defense counsel knows better than trying to get his witness to implicate someone by innuendo. Indeed, if there is someone.”
“Mr. Buchanan, you are leading your witness.”
“I’m sorry, your honor. I thought the witness might have some clue as to his identity.”
“Rephrase your question then.”
“Bill, did Maryann ever give you any specific indication of who her lover might be?”
“No, sir. She did not.”
“And how long ago was this that she told you about the baby and getting the money from her lover?”
“About a month before she was killed.”
‘‘Now, Bill, and this is very important, as I know you realize, I want you to tell the court as best you can remember the details of the day Maryann was murdered.”
“Well, sir, it was about five-fifteen in the afternoon. She must have just gotten home from work when she called me.”
“She telephoned you?”
“Yes, sir. Said she had turned on the TV set and wasn’t getting any picture and could I do anything about it after I finished work. Well, I close the store at six, so I said I’d stop by and check the set. Probably just a cold solder joint. I know how much she loved the TV set, because she always kept it on when she was home, always, from the time she got up, until going to sleep. She never had anything, you see. Never got a gift like it before from anyone. So…I closed the store about six-ten, got my tool caddy, got into my car, and drove the twenty blocks or so to her apartment.”
“You’d been there before?”
“Several times outside, when I’d give her a lift home. Only once inside, and then only for a minute or so, when I carried the set inside the room for her and set it up. That was the only time.”
“And when was that?”
“Just the week before. I guess I gave it to her to cheer her up.”
“And that was the only time you were in her apartment?”
“Yes, sir. Except it wasn’t really a whole apartment, just one room in this old private house, one room on the street side with its own side entrance.”
“So, after you closed the store, you drove to her flat?”
“Yes, sir. It was dark out already. When I got there, I could see her lights were on and I could hear the TV set playing. So, I knocked at her side door entrance. There was no answer. I tried the doorknob and it opened. At first, I didn’t see her, ’cause the couch faced the other way. First thing I noticed was the TV set, sounding off with one of the children’s programs, but absolutely no picture—gray blank. I called her. ‘Maryann?’ Thought she might be next door or in the bathroom, but no answer. Then I saw her on the floor in front of the couch. Her face was all bruised and she was just lying there, all crumpled up. I touched her and I saw she was dead.”
“Then what?”
“Then what? Oh, I think I cried, ’cause I remember hearing myself sobbing. I think I shut the TV off.”
“How long was it before you called the police?”
“I don’t know. Maybe ten minutes. Maybe fifteen.”
“And they arrested you for her murder?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And did you, William Tunney Dempsey, kill Maryann Ravelle?”
“No, sir. I swear I did not kill her.”
“And now, Bill, with his honor’s permission, I am going to tum you over to Mr. Whitaker, the district attorney, for cross-examination. I will have more questions to ask you on redirect.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, William Tunney Dempsey, your attorney has tried to portray you as sort of a generous poor slob, with a kind heart and a father’s protective instinct over this poor little innocent girl who you say was killed by a person unknown, by a lover unknown who fathered her unborn child, paid her to have an abortion, then in a murderous rage beat this poor girl to death, killing not only her, but, if you are right, his unborn child also? Am I correct? Is that the gist of your testimony?”
“I object, your honor.”
“Objection overruled. You may continue, Mr. Whitaker.”
“If I offend learned counsel, I apologize, but I see his client as a vicious, calculating, heartless murderer, who, to exonerate himself, having had an affair with this child not half his age, has concocted this absurd story of another lover to draw suspicion from himself by trying to create a sympathetic doubt in the jury’s minds. Well, I for one don’t believe this jury will overlook the cold, hard facts of this crime, based on the testimony of all the witnesses we’ve had who have sworn to the relationship existing between the defendant and the victim.”
“Is the district attorney making his summation at this point?”
“I’m sorry, your honor.”
“Confine your remarks to questions of the defendant.”
“Mr. Dempsey. Do you deny the testimony given by your employees…that they would see Maryann come in time and time again and go right into your office, where you’d close the door, and she’d stay for hours? Do you deny their testimony that they saw you drive away with her many evenings on closing the store?”
“No, sir. I don’t deny any of that. But they have all read something into our relationship which just wasn’t there.”
“Oh, really? You mean to tell me that a man of your age, a good-looking middle-aged man, I might add, a handsome, mature-looking man—you mean to tell me you were not flattered by the affection shown you by this young girl? That you did not in the slightest return her affection?”
