Little Deaths(85)

She spoke in a tight little rhythm, unconsciously tapping her hand on her knee. And as she listed the details of her life, a breath of laughter rippled through the courtroom. Pete noticed her raise her head to feel it, noticed her take pleasure in her audience, and smile around the room. Then she leaned forward over her handbag, waiting for the next question.

“How long have you lived at that address, Mrs. Gobek?”

“My husband and I have lived there since September 1946. Since we married. That will be twenty-one years this year.”

“Would it be fair to say, then, that you know the neighborhood well?”

She cocked her head, said seriously, “I do not know if it would be fair, Mr. Hirsch. But it is true to say that. It is true that I know the neighborhood.”

Another ripple of laughter, a little louder this time. Mrs. Gobek lifted her eyes to the public benches. Her face flushed and she beamed.

“And the defendant. How long have you known Mrs. Malone?”

Lena Gobek looked at Ruth for the first time that day and her face was suddenly hard.

“I have known Mrs. Malone for three or four years.”

Ruth’s whisper was loud enough to make the judge frown at her.

“I don’t know that woman!”

Scott shushed her. Rested his hand on her wrist.

Hirsch turned to face the jury again and spoke slowly. Emphatically.

“Three or four years. Since well before the children were murdered.”

He swung back to face Mrs. Gobek.

“How did you meet Mrs. Malone?”

“We met at the beauty parlor on the corner of Ascan and Queens Boulevard. Mrs. Malone goes there once a week for her hair, her nails. I began to go there too.”

Pete looked at Ruth, who was staring at Lena Gobek.

“That would be Dolly’s Parlor at three sixty-eight Queens Boulevard?”

Mrs. Gobek nodded.

“Please speak up for the court reporter, Mrs. Gobek.”

She looked toward the thin blonde girl at the side of the witness stand, fingers flying over the keys of her stenotype machine. Leaned forward and said carefully, “Yes, Dolly’s Parlor.”

“And when was that? When did you start going to Dolly’s?”

“In nineteen sixty-three. At the end of October.”

“How can you be so sure of the date, Mrs. Gobek?”

“I go every week. And I was there for the third or maybe fourth time when Mr. Kennedy was shot. Everyone remembers where they were that day. The whole place was talking about poor Mrs. Kennedy. The blood on her dress. About the man who shot the president from the window.”

“Did you ever meet Mrs. Malone anywhere other than the beauty parlor?”

“Yes, we met in the grocery store. We both did our shopping on Tuesday and Friday afternoons. I often saw her there and said hello.”

Ruth looked startled. She frowned and shook her head.

“Anywhere else?”

“Oh yes. All around the neighborhood. I would see her in the street, or sometimes in the park. Mostly with her children. Very pretty children. Polite.”

“You recognized the children?”

Mrs. Gobek looked over at the blown-up photographs of the children on the wall, and the jury followed her gaze.

“Yes. I know little Frankie and his sister. Mrs. Malone always called her Cin.”

Pete’s eyes flickered to Ruth’s white face.

Hirsch turned back to the jury.

“So you knew Mrs. Malone well, Mrs. Gobek? You got to know her over a period of years?”

“Oh yes. Certainly. I did.”

“Good. Thank you. Let’s turn now to the night of July thirteenth, nineteen sixty-five. Please tell the court what you remember about that night. In your own words.”

Pete watched her settling herself in the chair. Surely she must have read so many words about this case in the newspapers by now, heard so many from the mouths of her family and neighbors, from strangers. How could she find her own?

Her gaze slid from Hirsch to the jury. The judge. Hirsch again.

He nodded, and she began, tentatively at first.

“It was hot that night. Very hot. I could not sleep so I got up to . . . to visit the bathroom. And to get some water.”

“And then what happened?”

Hirsch was leading her gently but Pete could hear impatience in his voice. He wanted her to get to the meat of it. His mouth was almost watering.

“I took my glass into the living room and sat by the window. I was not tired. I thought that I would read until I was ready to sleep. Then I remembered that I left my book in the bedroom and I did not want to get it and wake Paul. He had a cold, he was tired.”

It was the detail that made it real. Pete looked at the faces of the jury and saw that they were in that dark apartment with her.

“So what did you do, Mrs. Gobek?”

“I was in my chair by the window. The window was open and there was a breeze.”

“Which way did your window face?”

“It looked out onto Main Street.”

“What time was this?”

“I looked at the clock when I got up and it was almost two. At first it was quiet, and then I heard voices. So perhaps fifteen or twenty minutes after two.”

“How many voices did you hear, Mrs. Gobek?”

“At first I could not tell. And then they came closer. There were two of them. A man and a woman.”