More Twisted

company. It manufactures housings for computers and related equipment.”
    “Do you make a lot of money at it?”
    “Objection.”
    “Overruled. But you’ll bring this back to earth sometime soon, Mr. Lescroix?”
    “You bet I will, Your Honor. Now, Mr. Cabot, please answer.”
    “We had sales of eight million last year.”
    “Your salary was what?”
    “I took home about two hundred thousand.”
    “And your wife, was she employed by the company too?”
    “Part-time. As a director on the board. And she did some consulting work.”
    “I see. And how much did she make?”
    “I don’t know exactly.”
    “Toss an estimate our way, Mr. Cabot.”
    “Well, in the neighborhood of a hundred thousand.”
    “Really? Interesting.”
    Flipping slowly through the folder, while the jury wondered what could be interesting about this piece of news.
    Lescroix looked up. “How was your company originally financed?”
    “Objection, Your Honor,” the gray-faced prosecutor said. His young assistant nodded vigorously, as if every bob of his head was a legal citation supporting his boss.
    The judge asked, “Going anywhere real, Mr. Lescroix, or’re we being treated to one of your famous fishing trips?”
    Perfect. Lescroix turned to the jury, eyes upraised slightly; the judge didn’t notice. See what I’ve got to dealwith? he asked tacitly. He was rewarded with a single conspiratorial smile from a juror.
    And then, God bless me, another.
    “I’m going someplace very real, Your Honor. Even if there are people present who won’t be very happy where that might be.”
    This raised a few murmurs.
    The judge grunted. “We’ll see. Overruled. Go ahead, Mr. Cabot.”
    “If I recall, the financing was very complicated.”
    “Then let’s make it easy. Your wife’s father is a wealthy businessman, right?”
    “I don’t know what you mean by wealthy.” Cabot swallowed.
    “Net worth of twelve million’d fall somewhere in that definition, wouldn’t it?”
    “I suppose, somewhere.”
    Several jurors joined Lescroix in chuckling.
    “Didn’t your father-in-law stake you to your company?”
    “I paid back every penny—”
    “Mr. Cabot,” Lescroix asked patiently, “did your father-in-law stake you to your company or did he not?”
    A pause. Then a sullen “Yes.”
    “How much of the company did your wife own?”
    “If I remember, there were some complicated formulas—”
    “More complexity?” Lescroix sighed. “Let’s make it simple, why don’t we. Just tell us what percentage of the company your wife owned.”
    Another hesitation. “Forty-nine.”
    “And you?”
    “Forty-nine.”
    “And who owns the other two percent?”
    “That would be her father.”
    “And on her death, who gets her shares?”
    A moment’s hesitation. “If we’d had any children—”
    “ Do you have children?”
    “No.”
    “I see. Then let’s hear what will in fact happen to your wife’s shares.”
    “I guess I’ll receive them. I hadn’t thought about it.”
    Play ’em right. Just like an orchestra conductor. Light hand on the baton. Don’t add, “So you’re the one who’s profited from your wife’s death.” Or: “So then you’d be in control of the company.” They’re dim, but even the dimmest are beginning to see where we’re headed.
    Cabot took a sip of water, spilled some on his jacket and brushed the drops away.
    “Mr. Cabot, let’s think back to June, all right? You hired Jerry Pilsett to do some work for you on the second, the day before your wife died, correct?”
    Not before she was murdered. Always keep it neutral.
    “Yes.”
    “And you’d hired him several times before, right?”
    “Yes.”
    “Starting when?”
    “I don’t know, maybe six months ago.”
    “How long have you known that Jerry lived in Hamilton?”
    “I guess five, six years.”
    “So even though you’ve known him for six years, you never hired him before last spring?”
    “Well, no, but—”
    “Even though you had plenty of opportunities to.”
    “No. But I was going to say—”
    “Now June second was what day of the week, Mr. Cabot?”
    After a glance at the judge, Cabot said, “I don’t remember.”
    “It was a Friday.”
    “If you say so,” the witness replied churlishly.
    “ I don’t say so, Mr. Cabot. My Hallmark calendar does.” And he held up a pocket calendar emblazoned with a photo of fuzzy puppies.
    A wheeze of laughter from several members of the jury.
    “And what time of day was he