LITMIR.BIZ

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      The judge intervened again, “Speak up, please!”

      Tina stated, “She said, ‘I hope he rots in hell.’”

      Rachel glanced at the jurors and noticed shocked expressions on some of their faces. She mused, why is it so hard for people to accept the truth?

      Next to her, the defense lawyer cringed seeing her nod in agreement to Tina’s statement. She must be out of her mind, he thought. I’ll take a great risk by putting her on the stand. She may go completely berserk and plead guilty. A good thing I don’t have to make the decision whether or not I should let her testify this very moment.

      The prosecutor stated, “No more questions.” And with a hand gesture toward David Wachterman he said, “Your witness.”

      “No questions; I do not wish to cross-examine.”

      The DA stated, “The prosecution rests.”

      The judge excused the jury while the lawyers argued with him over the merit of the evidence.

      David Wachterman said, “Your Honor, there is clearly a lack of evidence here. I ask for a motion of demurrer.”

      The judge did not accept the motion challenging the legal sufficiency of a case against Rachel. After the jury assembled again, he proclaimed, “Court adjourned until tomorrow morning at ten o’clock.”

      CHAPTER 2

      Although the story that led to the trial started long before, this narrative of it begins on a sunny Tuesday in mid-May when R. A. Huber met her new client. As she pulled into the parking lot on that morning, a man paced back and forth in front of her Pasadena office. He stopped pacing and looked at the trim woman with shoulder- length salt-and-pepper hair who came out of her car and walked toward him with a springy athletic gait. She stepped past him, came to a halt at the door with the sign R. A. Huber, Private Detective, and inserted the key into the lock. He thought, that can’t be her. Must be the secretary. When Nadine had called the investigator “seasoned,” he’d assumed the term referred to experience, not age.

      Huber turned to him and asked, “May I help you?”

      “I need to speak with R. A. Huber.”

      “That’s me. Come on in.”

      She switched on the lights and disengaged the burglar alarm – which was installed after her office had been broken into – turned on the air-conditioner, and stashed her briefcase and purse in the bottom drawer of her credenza. Then she motioned him to the client seat and offered coffee or water. He declined both, so she sat down in her own chair behind the desk.

      Nine out of ten people who came to Huber ’s office for the first time commented on her Staunton Rosewood chessboard set up with chessmen at one end of her desk. Not so this young man, who came straight to the point.

      He said, “I’m Jonathan Lighthart and want to hire you. A friend of mine has been arrested for a murder she did not commit.”

      “What do you suggest I do in the matter?”

      “Find the real killer, of course.”

      “That simple, you think! The authorities usually have good reason for an arrest. Tell me the details and I’ll decide whether or not I can help you. But first, give me some basic information about yourself.”

      “What do you need to know?”

      “Mr. Lighthart, please inform me of your profession, marital status, relationship to the accused, town of residence; that sort of thing.” And with a twinkle in her eye she added, “I won’t ask for your social security number.”

      Not amused, he said, “I’m an MD with an internal medicine practice here in Pasadena, and also live in town. I’m single, and my relationship to Rachel is that of an old friend.”

      “May I ask how you learned about me?”

      “You were highly recommended by Nadine Dugat.”

      Huber reflected for a second and then said, “The name sounds familiar, but I can’t place her for the moment.”

      “I know Nadine professionally. She was the dietitian at Optimum House before its downfall. She told me all about how you solved the murders in that place.”

      “Oh yes, I remember her now; an extremely efficient young woman.”

      Then she said, “Okay, Doctor, I’m ready to listen to the trouble your friend Rachel is in.”

      So he began, “Her full name is Rachel Penrose, and I’ve known her since we were kids. We lived next door from each other when growing up. Last September, she got engaged to Steven Moretti. As a matter of fact, I went to her engagement party. Moretti was the CEO of Cucina di Enzo and - -”

      Huber interrupted, “The restaurant chain?”

      He nodded and continued, “They set their wedding date for April 14, but ten days before, Rachel found Steven in bed with another woman and apparently threatened to kill Moretti. Rachel had moved into his house some months before. Of course, after walking in on the cheater on April 4, she moved out again. On April 8, Moretti died of poisoning. The autopsy revealed traces of oleander leaves in his system. It so happens that there is an oleander bush in Moretti’s backyard, and Rachel is accused of mixing the oleander leaves in with the loose leaf tea he usually drank.”

      Huber said, “Let me make sure that I’ve got the time frame correct. When exactly did Rachel move out of Mr. Moretti’s house?”

      “Right away. She didn’t spend another night under his roof.”

      “As I see it, before April 4, she had no cause to mix her fiancé’s tea with oleander, and afterwards, she stayed no longer at his house. So how could she have managed to add the toxic substance to the tea which killed him on April 8?”

      “The idea is that she added the oleander to the tea leaves the next day when she went back to pack her stuff.”

      “I see.” Then she inquired, “Was Moretti alone when he died?”

      “I believe so, but I’m ignorant of the details.”

      “Please go on.”

      “That’s all I know. They arrested her a few days later and her trial is scheduled for August.”

      “Is she in jail?”

      “No. Her folks borrowed the money for her bail.”

      “Will she have a public defender?”

      “Her dad can ill afford it, but he hired a first-rate defense attorney. I’ve talked with him; his name is David Wachterman, and he told me that the situation looks grim for Rachel. That’s why I’m here to hire you.”

      Huber studied him for a long time. By no means handsome, he had a pleasantly agreeable face, perfectly suited for a general practice physician. He had delicate hands, which he kept folded in front of him on top of the desk. He seemed to be under stress, which Huber linked to the situation Rachel was in. The doctor looked extremely young, almost boyish. He must be straight out of medical school, she presumed, wondering if she’d have confidence in someone that age, were she his patient.

      She asked, “Do you have somebody in mind as the suspect?”

      “No, but there has to be someone other than Rachel with a motive to kill the man.”

      “Has it occurred to you that she might be guilty?”

      “Impossible!”

      “You don’t think she is capable of murder?”

      He took some time before he responded, “I guess, under certain circumstances, anybody could be. Rachel has a temper and if she’d attacked and killed him right then and there in a fit of rage, I’d say that’s possible.” And he eyed her steadily as he continued, “But premeditated murder? No way!”

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