One Good Deed(116)

“Yes.”

“Gold bars are very heavy. Would you say a man like Mr. Archer was strong enough to carry them out to the car?”

“Yes,” she said resignedly.

“And the contents of the safe are nowhere to be found today?”

“Nowhere to be found,” she repeated, keeping her eye on the lawyer.

“Now, as to your friend, Mr. Hank Pittleman?”

“Yes?”

“Did there come a time when Mr. Archer helped carry Mr. Pittleman to his room at the Derby Hotel, a room that was virtually contiguous with Mr. Archer’s?”

“That is correct.”

“Tell us about that.”

“Hank and I were at the Cat’s Meow. Hank had too much to drink, as he often did. I was helping him out of the bar when suddenly Mr. Archer turned up.”

“Suddenly? You had not expected to see him there?”

Jackie looked confused. “No.”

“Go on.”

“Then he volunteered to help me get Hank to the hotel. He actually carried him into his room and put him on the bed. That’s how I knew Mr. Archer was strong.”

“What happened after that?”

“We left and went to Mr. Archer’s room, where we had a drink.”

“And that was all?”

Jackie flicked a quick glance in Archer’s direction. “We might have fooled around a bit. After that I left and went home. It was the next day that I found out Hank had been killed.” She took a handkerchief from her purse and dabbed at her eyes. “Poor Hank.”

Archer eyed Marjorie Pittleman, who sat in the front row looking just like a pillar of the community except for the fact that she was shooting venomous tipped daggers at the younger woman.

“What did Mr. Shaw tell you about fingerprints on the doorknob to Mr. Pittleman’s room?”

Jackie slowly removed the hanky from her face. “He told me that Mr. Archer’s fingerprints had been found on the doorknob of Hank’s room.”

“Did that surprise you?”

She didn’t respond.

“Miss Tuttle, I know that you were, well, friends with Mr. Archer, but you took an oath to tell the whole truth. Please do so.”

She sat up straighter, her features firmed up, and she placed her hands on the front rail of the witness box. “Look, the thing is, when we went into the room, I opened the door because Mr. Archer was carrying Hank. And I closed the door after us when we left the room.”

“So you’re saying that Mr. Archer’s fingerprints having been found on the doorknob could only have occurred if he had gone back later and entered the room?”

“Yes, and he later conceded to me that he’d done so.”

“So he went back into the room later. When was that?”

“He said it was after Hank was dead.”

“He said it was after Mr. Pittleman was dead?”

“Well, yes.”

“Could anyone corroborate that?”

“Um, no.”

Brooks again eyed the jury. “Indeed, Mr. Shaw could not as well. The facts will show that taking into account the time of Mr. Pittleman’s death, the accused would have had ample time to kill him, as his room was only a short distance away. His prints were found on the doorknob, for which he has no explanation, and he had a motive to kill the deceased, because of money owed.” Brooks glanced questioningly back at her. “And perhaps there was another motive for him to murder Mr. Pittleman.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said.

“Oh, come, come, Miss Tuttle. Isn’t it a fact that Mr. Archer was sweet on you? He’s a good-looking man around your age. And you just testified that you and he went back to his hotel room and, well, to use your words, ‘fooled around’?”

The courtroom chatter went up several notches after that until the judge beat it back down with his gavel.

“Well, yes we did. But—”

“So presumably Mr. Archer could have seen Mr. Pittleman as a rival for your affections.”

“I don’t think Mr. Archer thought that at all.”

“Really?” said Brooks, once more gazing at the jury, this time with an incredulous look that was mirrored by the majority of the men there.

He turned back to her. “What else can you tell us about Mr. Pittleman’s death? Specifically about the papers representing the debt of your father to Mr. Pittleman? Please be as precise as you can. And keep in mind that we have your earlier statements to Detective Shaw on this subject.”

This time Jackie did not glance in Archer’s direction. Her gaze downcast, she said, “Mr. Archer told me that he had taken the papers representing my father’s debt from Hank’s pocket while he was lying there dead. And he said he gave these papers to my father when the debt was paid.”

“And the sixty-five hundred dollars your father gave to Mr. Archer in repayment of the debt? What happened to it?”

Jackie now glanced in Archer’s direction. Brooks had shifted positions, allowing her to do so. Archer looked back stoically.

“I have no idea.”

“Did he pay the money over to Mrs. Pittleman?”

“Not that I know of.”

All eyes turned to Marjorie, who slowly shook her head.