Little Deaths

Ruth’s face was frozen. Her eyes wide, desperate. Pete glanced over at Frank Malone, who sat hunched over, staring down at his hands.

“The little boy got into the backseat of the car. I tried to close the window and it squeaked and she said something to the man. They both looked up so I moved behind the drape. I heard the engine start and when I looked out again, I saw the car turn around and drive away.”

“Mrs. Gobek, I want you to think very carefully before you answer my next question.”

He paused and the whole courtroom waited. The silence was absolute.

Hirsch said, “I’m sure you don’t need me to explain that the balance of this entire proceeding may depend on your answer.”

Pete realized he was holding his breath.

“Can you recognize either of the people you saw that night—either the man or the woman—in this court?”

This time there was no pause, no tense silence. She was nodding before Hirsch had even finished the question.

“It was that lady there. Her. Her,” and the plump white hand rose from its grip on the handle of her bag. She pointed at Ruth.

Ruth’s response was a howl.

“You liar! You liar! You swore to tell the truth! You don’t know what the truth is!”

Her face was flushed and furious. She half-stood, Scott holding her arm, pulling her back into her seat.

A murmur rose around the courtroom and the judge banged his gavel two, three times. Gradually the room fell quiet and Hirsch asked again, “Was it Mrs. Malone that you saw that night?”

“Yes. Absolutely it was.”

Ruth was out of her seat again, shrieking. “It wasn’t me! It wasn’t me!”

This time Pete could hear the terror beneath her anger, rising above Scott’s shushing and the swelling wave of voices, and even above the judge’s gavel as he called for order.

“I’ve never met this woman! I don’t know her! She doesn’t know me. She doesn’t know me!”

Eventually Scott forced Ruth to sit back down and the judge made himself heard.

“One more outburst like that, Mrs. Malone, and I’ll have you removed from the courtroom. Counselor, control your client.”

Scott turned to her, put his arm around her. Pete saw shock in his face.

Hirsch smiled at the judge and said, “Just a few more questions, Your Honor.”

He waited another moment, facing Ruth as though studying her. The members of the jury followed his gaze.

There was a bright spot of color on each cheek. Hirsch wanted the jury to see her anger, Pete realized. He wanted them to be able to imagine her raging and out of control.

“Mrs. Gobek, the events you’ve described took place on the night of July thirteenth, nineteen sixty-five, is that correct?”

She nodded, puzzled, and then remembered and leaned toward the stenographer again.

“That is correct.”

“I believe the police interviewed you on August sixth, just over three weeks after the children went missing. Is that also correct?”

“Yes sir.”

“And yet at that first interview, you didn’t mention any of this. Not waking in the night, nor sitting at the window, nor what you saw on the street.”

She looked flustered.

“Could you tell the court why that was? Why you didn’t mention any of this until you wrote to the police a full four months after the crime took place?”

Pete stared at Mrs. Gobek. At her shapeless dress, her dyed hair. And realized: she was the final piece of the puzzle. It was her statement that had finally given Devlin what he needed to arrest Ruth.

Ruth was frowning, leaning forward in her chair, but Scott looked almost resigned, as he listened to Hirsch anticipate the defense’s points before he could make them.

Mrs. Gobek threaded her fingers through the chain of the crucifix she wore around her neck and looked down.

“Well, it was my husband.”

“Your husband told you not to talk to the police?”

“Yes. I said I wanted to speak up, but he said not to get involved. That the police knew their job and they didn’t need me. And that if what I said was true, then someone else would have seen it too. He said, let them report it.”

Hirsch leaned against the witness stand, almost casually, and grinned at the jury. A couple of them smiled back.

“Your husband was reluctant to let you come forward. Understandably so. But what happened, Mrs. Gobek, to make you change your mind?”

“I read in the newspaper about the case. About the police, about how they have made no arrest. I realize that they do not know. That no one else has seen what I have seen.”

She lifted her chin.

“I realize—I tell my husband: I am the only one who has seen this lady, Mrs. Malone, with her children on the night they were murdered.”

Her gaze swept the jury, the public benches, then came to rest on Ruth. Her lip curled.

Hirsch stood back and let her deliver her last line without interruption.

“I realize that I am the only one who can help them catch this killer.”

Hirsch smiled at her.

“Thank you, Mrs. Gobek. Please remain seated.”

He walked away from her, winked at Scott, and said clearly, “Your witness, Counselor.”

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