The Murder of Miranda

Part VI

Let the record show that all nineteen members of the grand jury are present and have been sworn and the District Attorney is ready to continue the presentation of his case.

“Mr. Foreman and ladies and gentlemen of the grand jury. During the morning session I outlined the general procedure I would follow, since this is the first homicide brought before you. In the course of the afternoon I will deal more with specifics. But first I would like to state that I am aware, as you must be, that the grand jury system has recently been criticized in the media on several grounds: the manner in which jurors are selected, the secrecy of the proceedings, the absence of any attorney to represent the defense and of a judge to rule on what is or isn’t permissible, and the fact that only twelve votes are required to issue an indictment, which allows for seven dissenters if the full jury of nineteen is present, as it is now. It is not my business to answer these criticisms. The system exists and we must operate within it. I have complete faith in your ability to reach a fair and impartial decision and I believe it will be a unanimous one.”

The District Attorney stopped to wipe his forehead with a handkerchief. The courthouse air conditioning was on the blink again and the chamber, in spite of its size and high ceiling, was hot. All the windows had to be closed to shut out traffic noises. A fan droned at the back of the room, pushing the air around without cooling it.

The District Attorney’s name was Zachary Tilford and he was in his early thirties, an age considered by many to be too young for the job. He knew this and in order to counteract it he spoke in an aggressively sharp staccato voice. His words bounced off the walls like ping-pong balls.

“The house at 122 °Camino Grande is a mansion by today’s standards. Purchased about a dozen years ago by Vice-Admiral Cooper Young, USN, Retired, and his wife, Iris Van Eyck Young, it has been occupied since then by the Admiral and his wife and their two unmarried daughters, Cordelia and Juliet. A housekeeper, Mrs. Paulette Norgate, joined the household a short time later, and last year Miranda Shaw, a well-bred attractive widow, then fifty-two, was hired to act as a kind of social governess for the daughters. These five people lived in the house. During the day other employees came to assist with the cleaning and cooking and general household chores, but for purposes of this hearing we will not concern ourselves with the latter group.

“Iris Young was sixty-two and in poor health. A chronic arthritic, she had suffered two heart attacks. She lived the life of a semi-recluse, spending most of her waking hours in her sitting room on the main floor, occupied with her business interests — she was a wealthy woman — as well as her books and music. For a hobby she played chess by mail with various people around the world. This was among her activities on the afternoon of July the fourth. We know that because she gave Mrs. Shaw two letters to post, one addressed to a professor at the University of Tokyo, the other to a missionary in Jakarta. The rest of the time she spent finishing a book she’d been reading and listening to an opera. For Mrs. Young it was a typical afternoon, except for one thing. It was her last.

“Shortly after nine o’clock that night Iris Young died. Preliminary reports indicated that she was attempting to light the gas log in the fireplace when she fell forward, struck her head and lost consciousness. The escaping gas exploded and set fire to the room and everything in it, but an autopsy proved that Mrs. Young’s death was actually due to smoke inhalation. I want to bring to your attention at this point that the official temperature reading in Santa Felicia at nine o’clock on the night of July the fourth was seventy-two degrees after a daytime high of eighty-one. The temperature in Iris Young’s sitting room must have been somewhere between those two extremes, probably about seventy-six degrees, warm even for someone who was an invalid. Yet she allegedly tried to light the gas log. I call this curious circumstance number one.

“Curious circumstance number two: Mrs. Young was alone in the house. As I promised this morning, I will not waste the jury’s time and the taxpayers’ money bringing in witnesses to testify to evidence already well-documented in the investigative reports which are included in the exhibits.

“Where was her family and the other people who lived in the house? The Admiral had escorted his two daughters to a fireworks display at the Penguin Club; Miranda Shaw was out walking the dog; and the housekeeper, Mrs. Norgate, had gone to babysit her grandson. The last person to see Mrs. Young alive was Miranda Shaw. I want to bring to your attention at this point that it was Mrs. Shaw’s habit to walk the dog before she retired between ten thirty and eleven o’clock. On the night in question she left the house at eight thirty, claiming the dog suffered a digestive upset. This may be true. Certainly, neither Iris Young nor the dog is in a position to deny it.

“At any rate, our list of curious circumstances continues to grow. Number three: Miranda Shaw left the house with the dog a couple of hours earlier than usual. Number four: she was the last person to see Iris Young alive.”

The District Attorney paused again to wipe the sweat off his forehead and take a drink of water from the pitcher on the table in front of him. He was suffering from a sudden attack of nerves in addition to the heat. Although he’d reminded the grand jury — somewhat unnecessarily — that this was the first case of homicide to be brought before them, he had neglected to inform them that it was also his first. Since grand jury proceedings were always secret, and the transcripts often sealed afterward by order of a judge, he was more or less flying blind. It was small consolation that the jurors were in the same plane.

“Most of you, if you have heard at all of the crime lab in Sacramento, may think of it as a remote place where obscure research is carried on which has no connection with you personally. Well, it is no longer remote and its work no longer obscure. The lab, in fact, has moved right into your lives in the form of the document I am now holding in my hand. It contains the results of the tests made on the material taken from the scene of Iris Young’s death. This covered a wide range of things, the most important being the blood and tissue samples from Iris Young’s body. Among the items salvaged from the ruins — the wood splinters and pieces of glass and other rubble — two specific items stand out, a cane and a candlestick.

“Each of you has been furnished with a list of exhibits I will offer you in support of my case. The first is the document I’m now holding in my hand. Many people, scientists and lab technicians, contributed to it, but it’s signed by Dr. Gustave Wilhelm, acting head of the arson division. Dr. Wilhelm cannot be here to testify until later in the week, so I will take the liberty of presenting to you an outline of his report in order to answer the first of the three significant questions in this case: Was a murder committed? What were the reasons behind it? Who had these reasons? It would be illogical to proceed with the last two questions until we’ve established a definite answer to the first. Was a murder committed? Yes. This document in my hand is, in fact, the story of a murder, written in the language of science instead of literature and having as its leading character not a person but a cane.

“The cane belonged to Iris Young. According to a statement by her husband, she purchased it merely as an artifact used by an African chieftain in certain tribal rites. Later it became her constant companion. It is made of zebrawood with an ornamental head of copper and the remnants of it are on the table to your left wrapped in plastic and identified by a red tag. Even without my unwrapping it you can see that it’s been badly burned. What you can’t see is that at the head, where the copper has been hammered into the wood, there are bloodstains. The fact that any of Iris Young’s blood was found on this cane is enough to suggest foul play. Microscopic tests have made the suggestion a fact. Let me clarify.

“A by-product of any fire is carbon monoxide, a colorless, odorless gas which has a strong affinity for the red blood cells of the body. Its presence is easily detected not only in the bloodstream but in the respiration passages and the lungs, where small granules of carbon can be found if a person has breathed in smoke. Tissues taken from Iris Young’s nasal and bronchial passages and lungs contained such granules. Also, samples of her blood indicate that carbon monoxide had forced the vital oxygen out of her red cells and caused death by asphyxiation. So what she died of is clear. How it happened is another matter.

“It was at first believed that Iris Young while leaning over in the act of lighting the gas log lost her balance and fell, that she struck the upper area of her face hard enough to cause bleeding and to render her unconscious. But now let’s ask some basic questions:

“Was blood found on the gas log? No.

“Anywhere near it? No.

“Any place in the room at all? Yes. On the head of the cane.

“What type of blood was it? AB negative.

“Did it, in fact, come from Iris Young’s body? Yes.

“Did it contain evidence of carbon monoxide? No. I repeat, no. The blood on the cane came from a woman who had not breathed in any smoke at all.

“Is it possible that Iris Young’s head wound was the result of her falling on her own cane? No. The force of such a fall would not have been enough to cause the kind of injury she sustained.

“How, then, did she die? She was struck. She did not fall and strike anything, she was struck with her own cane.

“Could this blow have been an act of impulse and the fire a desperate attempt to cover up the attack? No. I believe that the fire was, in fact, the main event, premeditated, carefully planned even down to the date, July Fourth, when the sound of an explosion would be nothing unusual. The holiday also made it easier to get the other people out of the house — Admiral Young to watch a fireworks display with his daughters, and the housekeeper to babysit her grandson while his parents went out celebrating. Oh yes, it was carefully planned, all right, except that explosions and fires are not predictable whether they’re arranged by an amateur or a professional. As many prisoners are painfully aware, arson doesn’t necessarily burn up evidence of itself.

“Iris Young was meant to be cremated in that fire. Perhaps that would have happened if she’d been fatter, since body fat acts as a fuel, but Iris Young was a thin woman. Her cane was meant to be destroyed and it was, but only partially. The part that was left provided the blood samples to compare with those taken from her body.

“There is still another object which was intended for destruction, or at least for damage enough to render it useless as evidence.”

He walked over to the table where the exhibits were displayed and picked up a candlestick wrapped, like the cane, in transparent plastic.

“Here it is. An antique silver candlestick, ten inches high, bent, as you can see, by the force of the explosion and somewhat discolored by smoke. According to the housekeeper and the members of the family, it’s one of a set of four always kept on the buffet in the dining room. How did it get from the buffet in the dining room to the floor of Iris Young’s sitting room? The obvious explanation is that she took it there herself. But let me read a couple of sentences from a statement given to one of my deputies by the housekeeper, Mrs. Norgate:

“ ‘Miranda Shaw liked to use candles on the dinner table because she thought they made her look more youthful. But lately Mrs. Young had gotten so she couldn’t stand them. She said flickering lights gave her a headache.’ There’s no reason to doubt Mrs. Norgate’s word. Moreover, the same observation has been made by other members of the household, that Mrs. Young hated candles. Yet this candlestick was found in her room. Without her fingerprints on it, without, in fact, any fingerprints on it at all. I have lost count of the curious facts in this case but this must be number five or six. Or ten. Or fifteen. More questions arise:

“What was the candlestick doing in Iris Young’s room? It was doing what came naturally, holding a candle.

“And what was the candle doing? Committing a murder.

“And what does all this add up to? The following sequence of events: Iris Young was struck with her own cane, the candle was lit and its holder wiped clean, the gas was turned on and the murderer left the house.”

The District Attorney paused again, not for effect but because one of the jurors, a retired librarian, had raised her hand.

“Yes, Mrs. Zimmerman?”

“Why don’t you bring in some witnesses?”

“I will, of course. But in order to save both time and the taxpayers’ money — two important advantages of the grand jury system — I’m calling only enough witnesses to present my case without the kind of detail and repetition necessary in a criminal trial.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

The foreman intervened. “The calling of witnesses — who, when, how many — is up to the District Attorney, Mrs. Zimmerman.”

“But he’s just standing there telling me what to think.”

“He’s giving you material for thought. That’s an entirely different matter... Please continue, Mr. District Attorney.”

“Thank you, Mr. Foreman. I would like to go back for a minute to the results of the autopsy performed on Iris Young. Tissue removed from her air sacs and breathing passages showed carbon particles which indicated that she died of asphyxiation caused by the inhalation of smoke. Tissue removed from other areas, especially the abdominal cavity, showed traces of other chemicals, in particular flurazepam hydrochloride. This is a crystalline compound readily soluble in either alcohol or water and rapidly absorbed and metabolized by the body. It’s a commonly used sedative sold, by prescription only, under the name Dalmane. That Iris Young, a semi-invalid, should have taken something to induce sleep is not surprising. But the circumstances are peculiar. Dalmane is a very quick-acting drug meant to be administered only after the patient has retired or is about to retire. Iris Young was in her sitting room, fully clothed. So we have another curious fact to add to our growing list.

“And on the heels of that one we come to still another. Dalmane, as I said before, is available by prescription only in fifteen-milligram orange and ivory capsules or thirty-milligram red and ivory. Dr. Albert Varick, Mrs. Young’s personal physician, is attending a medical conference in Puerto Rico this week but we have his sworn statement available for you to read. The gist is as follows: From time to time Dr. Varick has prescribed various medications for Iris Young, mainly Indocin, to alleviate the pain of her chronic arthritis. But according to his records and Iris Young’s medical file, Dr. Varick never issued her a prescription for Dalmane. Yet there was such a prescription in that house. A police sergeant will give you the details about it later.

“Now, before calling my first witness, Admiral Cooper Young, I feel you should be told in advance that Admiral Young did not wish to testify and so stated when he was served with a subpoena. He cannot by any means be called a hostile witness, but he is a reluctant one, agreeing to testify only because he believes it’s his duty to assist in the enforcement of the law. Please bear this in mind as you listen to him.”

The Admiral moved to the witness stand with the brisk no-nonsense walk he’d learned at Annapolis fifty years previously. He gave the appearance of wearing a uniform, though it was only a dark grey suit with a white cuff-linked shirt and black tie and shoes. His face had the slightly jaundiced color that accompanies a fading suntan.

His reluctance to testify would have been apparent to the jury without any previous warning. He glanced at them with obvious distaste before responding to the District Attorney’s first question.

“Will you state your name and address for the record, please?”

“Cooper Randolph Young, 122 °Camino Grande, Santa Felicia.”

“And your occupation?”

“Vice-Admiral, United States Navy, Retired.”

“What was the nature and duration of your relationship with Iris Van Eyck Young?”

“She was my wife for thirty-five years.”

“Was it a happy relationship?”

“Yes.”

“Would you say that your household was, by and large, a congenial one?”

“Yes.”

“I realize this must be a painful experience for you. I wouldn’t have asked you to go through it if it weren’t necessary. Do you understand that?”

“I hear you talking.”

“I can’t very well apologize for doing my duty, Admiral.”

“No. Such an apology would not be accepted anyway.”

“Very well, let’s proceed. Would you tell the jury where you were in the late afternoon and early evening of July the Fourth of this year?”

“At home with my family — my wife and my two daughters.”

“Anyone else in the house?”

“Mrs. Norgate, our housekeeper, who was cooking dinner.”

“And Mrs. Shaw?”

“Yes.”

“What was Mrs. Shaw doing?”

“I’m not sure, but she was probably fixing the table for dinner, arranging the centerpiece, the flowers, and so on.”

“And candles?”

“And candles, yes.”

“Were your dinners usually formal?”

“Yes, as part of my daughters’ social education.”

“Was there anything different about the dinner that night?”

“It was quite a bit earlier than usual because Mrs. Norgate had an engagement and I had promised my daughters to take them to a display of fireworks at the club. Mrs. Shaw was invited to go along but she refused.”

“She refused on what grounds?”

“She didn’t want to leave Mrs. Young alone.”

“But she did leave her alone.”

“Only to walk the dog.”

“That was long enough, wasn’t it?” The D.A. glanced pointedly at the table of exhibits. “Wasn’t it?”

“Mrs. Shaw is not responsible for what happened. She was always very gentle and kind to my wife.”

“And vice versa?”

“And vice versa, yes.”

The District Attorney had been sitting back in his chair until this point in the questioning. Now he leaned forward and wrote on the legal pad in front of him, And vice versa?!

“Did you know Mrs. Shaw before you hired her, Admiral?”

“Yes. She and her husband were members of the same beach club my wife and I belonged to. All four of us knew each other, though not very well.”

“What was the name of the club?”

“The Penguin Club.”

“That’s pretty well restricted to people in the upper financial brackets, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Was Mrs. Shaw still a member when she came to you seeking employment?”

“She was not a member and she didn’t come to me seeking employment. The possibility of such a job was suggested to her by Miss Brewster, the club secretary, who then spoke to me about Mrs. Shaw’s predicament.”

“Predicament?”

“Her husband had died leaving a great many debts.”

“And so you took her into your house, like a good Samaritan?”

“No, not like that at all. My wife and I needed help with our daughters.”

“Would you care to elaborate on that?”

“No.”

“All right. Now—”

“Am I permitted to make a statement?”

“Go ahead.”

“I want to protest my two daughters’ being given subpoenas to testify.”

“Do you have any reason to object to their testimony, Admiral?”

“I simply feel they’re not equipped to deal with stressful situations like this.”

“They’re of legal age, are they not?”

“Yes.”

“And represented by legal counsel?”

“Yes, but they won’t listen to his advice.”

“I talked personally with both your daughters and they exhibited no signs of stress and no aversion to testifying. Your paternal concern is admirable but perhaps not justified in this instance.”

“I have registered my protest.”

“It will be on the record, Admiral... Now, when did Mrs. Shaw start working for you?”

“Sometime in January.”

“Did she fit in well with the other members of your household?”

“Yes.”

“Right from the start?”

“There was the usual period of adjustment under such circumstances.”

“What was your own relationship with Mrs. Shaw?”

“Relationship?”

“Was it strictly one of employer and employee?”

“She was an employee certainly but I considered her more like a friend. And vice versa, I believe.”

“You were friends?”

“Yes.”

“More than casual friends?”

“We were friends.”

“Close friends?”

“No, I wouldn’t say we were — look, she lived in my house, we saw each other every day, we talked, we ate at the same table. What does that make us?”

“A good question, Admiral.”

Once again the District Attorney leaned forward to write on the yellow pad in front of him What does that make us? He didn’t hurry. He wanted to be sure the jury had plenty of time to supply their own answer to the Admiral’s question.

“Tell me, Admiral, did Mrs. Shaw go out socially?”

“What exactly do you mean?”

“Did she have dates?”

“I don’t know.”

“What percentage of her evenings would you say she spent at home? Fifty percent?”

“I didn’t keep track.”

“Seventy-five percent? Ninety percent?”

“She spent most of her evenings in the house with the family. Dinners usually lasted until quite late because they were, as I said before, part of my daughters’ social education.”

“You and your wife, your two daughters and Mrs. Shaw, was this a happy group?”

“Happy is a pretty strong word.”

“I agree, happy is a pretty strong word. I’ll amend the question. Did the five of you get along in a reasonably civilized manner?”

“Yes.”

“That will be all, Admiral.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I have no more questions. You’re free to leave.”

The old man didn’t move.

“Admiral? You may step down now.”

“Before I do I would like to make another statement.”

“Go ahead.”

“If this is all you wanted from me, you might have spared me the embarrassment of a subpoena. I haven’t told you anything you didn’t already know and I haven’t cast any new light on the situation...”

“Perhaps you have, Admiral. Thank you very much.”

“You didn’t even ask me about my wife’s death, how it must have happened.”

“We know how it happened, Admiral. Please step down.”

It was the second most important occasion in Cordelia’s life — the first being the Singapore incident — and she had prepared for it by buying a new outfit, a red and white polka-dot pantsuit and genuine red snakeskin shoes. (“Whoever heard of a genuine red snake?” Juliet said. “You were had.”) She put on her best wristwatch, three rings, a bracelet made of carved ivory elephants and as a last-minute addition the ruby necklace, formerly Miranda’s, which she’d bought from Mr. Tannenbaum a year ago. She hadn’t worn it since Miranda moved into the house and she didn’t know why she suddenly decided to wear it today, keeping it hidden under the collar of her jacket until she got into her car and on her way to the courthouse.

No one had clearly explained to Cordelia the actual function of the grand jury, but she wasn’t nervous. She had, in fact, the pleasant feeling that she was doing her duty, and she spoke in a loud distinct voice, giving her name, Cordelia Catherine Young, and her address, 122 °Camino Grande, and her occupation, none.

“Miss Young, have you discussed the testimony you’re about to give with any members of your family?”

“You asked me not to.”

“I’m asking you now whether you did.”

“Maybe I exchanged a few words with Juliet. I couldn’t very well not. The subpoenas arrived at the same time and there she was and there I was. We could hardly pretend nothing was happening.”

“Did you discuss with her in detail what you were going to say before this jury?”

“No.” Cordelia kept her hands in the pockets of her jacket, fingers crossed to protect her from a perjury charge, but in case crossed fingers had no legal significance she added, “Not really.”

“Do you know Miranda Shaw, Miss Young?”

“Naturally. She lives in the same house, day and night.”

“What is her job?”

“She’s supposed to teach me and Juliet things like etiquette, which we already know and anyway we’re never invited any place where we can use it. Mrs. Young just couldn’t get that through her head.”

“Mrs. Young is... was... your mother?”

“I assume she was. That’s what it says on my passport.”

“Did you get along well with your mother?”

“Nobody got along well with her. She was too hard to please and she had a terrible temper.”

The District Attorney stood up and walked around the table, partly to stretch his legs, partly to give the jury a chance to examine this new picture of Iris Young, considerably different from the one presented by the Admiral.

He returned to face the witness chair. “Miss Young — may I call you Cordelia?”

“I don’t mind if you think it’s etiquette.”

“We make our own rules of etiquette in this courtroom. Now, you said a moment ago, Cordelia, that nobody got along well with your mother.”

“It’s true.”

“If Mrs. Shaw, for instance, didn’t have a fairly pleasant relationship with her, what made her stay in the house?”

“Money.”

“Will you explain that?”

“Mrs. Shaw intended to leave after Mrs. Young hit her with the cane but Pops gave her a raise so she’d stay.”

“How much of a raise?”

“Two hundred dollars a month.”

“Do you know how Mrs. Shaw received the extra money? Was it added to her salary?”

“Good lord, no. That way Mrs. Young would have found out about it because she paid all the bills and salaries and stuff.”

“Then where did this extra two hundred a month come from?”

“Pops gave it to her. It worked out fine because she gave some of it right back.”

“How?”

“She bought him presents.”

“Mrs. Shaw bought your father presents?”

“Yes.”

“Did you ever see any of them?”

“No. But Juliet and I heard him thanking her one night in the hall. He said her presents had made him very happy.”

“What did you think when you heard this?”

“Exactly what you’re thinking,” Cordelia said. “Hanky-panky.”

“Hanky-panky?”

“That’s Juliet’s expression for it. She hates to say dirty words when she doesn’t have to. Of course, I can spell it out for you if you—”

“No, no. Hanky-panky is fine.” The District Attorney sat down again, heavily, as though the pressure of gravity on him had suddenly increased. “I’d like you now to go back to the early evening of July the Fourth. Where were you and Cordelia?”

“Home.”

“Doing what?”

“Helping Miranda get the table ready for dinner. The sun was still shining but she made me pull the drapes so we could eat by candlelight. It’s supposed to be more civilized, that’s what she says.”

“Did your mother come to the table for dinner?”

“Long enough to gripe about the food and take her medicine. The doctor made her take a capsule for her arthritis at every meal.”

“And you distinctly recall her doing so?”

“Yes. She took one of the same capsules she always did.”

“What color was it?”

“One end was white and the other end blue.”

“The colored end couldn’t have been orange?”

“No.”

“Or red?”

“No. I was sitting right beside her. She took one of her ordinary blue and white capsules and after that she got up and left without finishing her food.”

“Where did she go?”

“Where she always went to escape from the rest of us, her sitting room. She even had a lock put on it to keep us out.”

“When?”

“About a month before she died. It worried the doctor because he was afraid something might happen to her and nobody would be able to get in to help her. But I told him not to fret, I could always pick the lock with one of my credit cards.”

“You could pick the lock?”

“It’s easy. Even Juliet can do it.”

“Getting back to dinner on the night of July the fourth, why did your mother leave the table before finishing her food?”

“She said the meat was tough and the candles had given her a migraine. Even though Miranda took the candles off the table right away, she left anyway.”

“Evidently she didn’t share Mrs. Shaw’s feeling that eating by candlelight was more civilized?”

“She never liked anything Miranda did.”

“Why didn’t she fire her?”

“Because Miranda took us off her hands, out of the house. Mrs. Young hated having us around but she worried about us when we weren’t. We spent a lot of time down at the beach club. I swam a lot but Juliet mostly ate because she had a crush on one of the waiters. It wasn’t very romantic. She got fat as a pig and then she found out he was married and had five children. It was a shattering blow plus having to go on a diet.”

“I’m sure it was. Thank you, Cordelia. I have no more questions.”

Cordelia stepped down from the stand with some reluctance. The second biggest occasion of her life was over and she didn’t know for sure what it was all about. In addition, the red snakeskin shoes were beginning to pinch and the ruby necklace felt quite heavy around her neck, as if Miranda herself had somehow become entangled in the silver clasp.

In comparison with her sister, Juliet was conspicuously dowdy. She’d inherited the frugal nature of her mother’s Dutch ancestors, and all her clothes came from Salvation Army and Humane Society thrift stores, and out-of-the-way little shops with names like New to You or Practically Perfect or Born Again Bargains.

The beige chiffon dress she wore had a pleated bodice which moved in and out like an accordion with every breath she took. She took a great many because ever since breakfast she’d been having an attack of nerves. People had urged her to tell the truth but nobody had defined what the truth was except Uncle Charles Van Eyck, and his advice was diluted with alcohol: “Truth is a matter of opinion. So opine, Juliet. Opine.”

She wished that Cordelia could be on the stand beside her encouraging her to opine, but the District Attorney explained that this was against the rules of a grand jury hearing, and like it or not, she was on her own. It gave her a creepy feeling having no Cordelia to watch for guidance, a frown, a nod, a shrug. When she walked to the front of the room her knees shook and the accordion pleats kept going in and out very rapidly. She could feel her lips quivering in the anxious little smile Cordelia hated — “You look like an idiot when you do that” — and her mind was an absolute blank — “Opine, Juliet, opine.”

She knew the grand jury was supposed to consist of nineteen people, but there seemed to be at least fifty and she noticed that the District Attorney, who previously seemed rather nice, had very cruel eyebrows. She gave her name and address in a whisper, as if the information were top secret being dragged out of her under duress: Juliet Ariel Young, 122 °Camino Grande.

The District Attorney’s eyebrows jumped at her. “I must ask you to speak louder, Miss Young.”

“I... can’t.”

“Please try. Would you like a glass of water?”

Even the mention of water made her want to go to the bathroom, and she said “No” quite firmly.

“That’s better, Miss Young. Perhaps you’d feel more at ease if I called you Juliet. Let’s give it a try anyway... Now tell me, Juliet, were you living at 122 °Camino Grande the first week of June, approximately a month before your mother died?”

“Yes.”

“On the afternoon of June the sixth was a package delivered to the house for Miranda Shaw?”

“Yes. She wasn’t home, so the deliveryman asked me to sign for it.”

“And did you?”

“Yes.”

“Would you describe the package?”

“It was a huge silver box tied with white satin ribbon. There was a fancy label on it, The Ultimate in Intimate, which is the name of a bridal boutique downtown.”

“What did you do with the box?”

“Left it on the hall table. Miranda got very excited when she came and saw it. She took it right up to her room and locked the door.”

“Did she mention it to anyone?”

“No.”

“Were you curious?”

“I guess I must have been.”

“Please speak up, Juliet. Did your curiosity prompt you to take any action?”

“You know it did. I told you all about it.”

“Now tell the jury.”

“It was Cordelia’s turn to help Miranda fix the table for dinner, so while they were busy downstairs I went upstairs and sort of let myself into Miranda’s room.”

“You picked the lock?”

“I guess you could call it that.”

“Did you find the box?”

“I didn’t have to find it. It was in plain sight on the floor, empty.”

“What about its contents?”

“There was an expensive-looking nightgown made of some white filmy material trimmed with lace and little pink rosebuds. A robe made of the same material was draped over a chair.”

“Where was the nightgown?”

“On the bed, lengthwise, as if someone invisible was lying inside it. The wig made it worse.”

“Wig?”

“She had put one of her wigs on the pillow. It made me feel qualmsy. I got out of there in a hurry.”

“Did you talk to anyone about it?”

“No.”

“Not even your sister?”

“Expecially not her. She would have wanted to go and see it for herself and drag me along and I was scared we’d be... that Miranda would catch us and... well, you know.”

“I don’t know. Tell me.”

“I was scared if Miranda caught us she’d take steps. That was the way she threatened us, saying she’d take steps if we didn’t listen to her and obey her. She never explained what she meant, but she meant something not very nice. If my father marries her it’ll be murder. She can twist him around her little finger.”

“Wait. Hold on a minute, Juliet. You said if your father marries her?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s put things in perspective here. The clothes which Mrs. Shaw bought at the bridal boutique were delivered on June the sixth, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“That was a month before your mother died.”

“Yes.”

“Do you think there’s something peculiar about this order of events?”

“I don’t... can’t think anything.”

“Why not?”

“I live in the same house with her.”

“Are you afraid, Juliet?”

Juliet didn’t answer. She had her hands clasped together very tightly, as though someone had threatened to separate them by force.

“Let the record show,” the District Attorney said, “that the witness is nodding her head affirmatively.”

From the moment Charles Van Eyck walked into the courtroom it was obvious to the District Attorney that the old man had primed himself for the occasion with alcohol. He thanked the bailiff effusively for escorting him to the witness stand, bowed to the members of the jury, shook hands with the District Attorney and swore to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

“Are you feeling all right, Mr. Van Eyck?”

“Yes, indeed. Never better. And yourself?”

“Please sit down, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh, I don’t mind. Not at all. A pleasure to be here. Didn’t have anything else to do anyway.”

“Will you state your name and address for the record?”

“Charles Maas Van Eyck, 84 °Camino Azur, the azur referring to the jacaranda trees planted along the road, though the blossoms are actually more purplish than bluish, wouldn’t you say so?”

“You’re retired, are you not, Mr. Van Eyck?”

“Dear me, no. I’m a monitor of government waste. Can’t afford to retire from a job like that when there are so few of us and millions of them. Even you are one of them because you’re a county employee.”

“Then I suggest we get down to business immediately and avoid further waste. You were related to the deceased woman, Iris Young?”

“She was my sister.”

“Was it a close relationship?”

“Close as either of us could stand.”

“When was the last time you saw her?”

“Towards the end of June, shortly before she died. She called and asked me to come over, she had something important to talk to me about while the Admiral and the girls were out of the house. Very odd. We never had much to say to each other.”

“Did you go?”

“Hard to say no to Iris. She’s always been a forceful woman. Kicked and screamed when she was a baby and much the same sort of thing when she got older.”

“Who let you into the house?”

“Miranda Shaw. She was on her way to the garden to cut some flowers.”

“Did you exchange any words?”

“I asked her about the possibility of a small drink before I talked to Iris. But she said no because Iris had seen my car coming up the driveway and was waiting. In fact, the music was already playing.”

“Music?”

“People like Iris who are getting deaf often use the trick of playing loud background music so that other people will have to shout above it. Most irritating. An ordinary conversation turns into a shouting match.”

“Do you remember what the weather was like?”

“It’s always pretty much the same at that time of year, warm, sunny, rather monotonous.”

“Were the windows open in your sister’s room?”

“Yes, I distinctly recall sitting beside one to get away from the music. Never cared much for Mozart, same damn thing over and over. He probably started too young, should have been booted out to play cricket like the rest of the boys.”

“Can you give me the gist of the conversation you had with your sister, Mr. Van Eyck?”

“She was in the process of drawing up a new will and she wanted to warn me not to expect anything, since I already had an adequate income. I objected to the idea of being cut off without a penny — the principle of the thing, her own flesh and blood and all that — so she said very well, she would leave me a penny. Iris had a rather crude sense of humor.”

“Did she tell you anything else about the will?”

“Its main purpose was to set up trusts for the two girls so they’d be well provided for during their lifetime but unable to throw money around. The capital would eventually go to various institutions and foundations.”

“What did she intend to leave to Admiral Young, her husband?”

“The house.”

“Just the house?”

“Probably its contents, too.”

“No cash, stocks, bonds?”

“He has a sizable pension. Iris thought anything more would simply make him a target for some predatory woman.”

“Did she mention anyone in particular?”

“She didn’t have to. Cooper never got much chance to meet other women, predatory or not, and Miranda was right there in the house all the time. I said, ‘Cooper’s too old for Miranda.’ And she said, ‘He’s also going to be too poor.’”

“Let’s recapitulate for a minute, Mr. Van Eyck. This discussion about your sister’s new will took place in a room with the windows open and music playing so loud that you had to shout in order to be heard.”

“Yes.”

“Did the possibility of an eavesdropper occur to you?”

“Certainly. I’m sure it occurred to her, too. I’d say she probably depended on it to get her message across.”

“By that you mean she expected and wanted to be overheard?”

“I think so.”

“You may step down now, Mr. Van Eyck. Thank you very much.”

“It was no trouble, not a bit. I didn’t have anything else to do anyway.”

Once again Van Eyck shook hands with the District Attorney and bowed to the members of the jury. Then the District Attorney sat back in his chair and watched the members while they watched the old man leave. They looked a little uneasy, as though they’d just caught the first real scent of blood in the air.

It was time to call in the police.

Sergeant Reuben Orr of the sheriff’s department testified that in the early hours of July the fifth — “as soon as we could wake up the judge” — he had obtained a search warrant to enter the premises at 122 °Camino Grande.

“And did you search the premises, Sergeant?”

“Yes, sir. I and my partner, Ernesto Salazar, spent the next two days going through the house room by room except for the burned area, which was left to an arson specialist.”

“Did you find anything which has a particular bearing on this case?”

“Yes, sir, several items.”

“Are they in this courtroom now?”

“Yes, sir, on the table with the other exhibits. They’ve been marked 15 A, 15 B, 15 C, and 16.”

“Let’s consider 15 A first. Would you go over and pick it up and show it to the jury?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now describe it, please.”

“It’s a piece of pale blue notepaper which has been crumpled and then straightened out and placed between sheets of heavy plastic for safekeeping. The paper is of good quality, made of rags instead of wood pulp, and there are words on it written with a felt-tipped black pen.”

“Where did you find it?”

“In a trash bin outside the door of the main kitchen.”

“What condition was it in at that time?”

“Crumpled.”

“What is it?”

“A letter or note, at least the beginning of one.”

“We’ll return to that in a moment. I direct your attention to exhibit 15 B. What is it, Sergeant?”

“A half-empty box of pale blue stationery.”

“Could the sheet of paper marked 15 A have come from this box?”

“Not only could, it did.”

“Where was the box found?”

“In the room occupied by Mrs. Miranda Shaw.”

“What about exhibit 15 C?”

“I found that in the same place, on the desk in her room. It’s an address book bound in blue leather which has faded and turned greenish from overexposure to light. There are gold initials on the front, M.W.S.”

“What does the book contain?”

“Names, addresses and phone numbers, dates of anniversaries and birthdays, and a Christmas card list going back several years.”

“All in what appears to be the same handwriting?”

“Yes, sir, even though the entries were made at different times with different writing instruments — pencil, metal nib and ballpoint pens, and in the case of the most recent entries, a black felt-tipped pen.”

“Was this handwriting similar in any way to that of the unfinished letter or note found in the trash bin?”

“It was similar in all ways, including the instrument used, a black felt-tipped pen.”

“So 15 A was written on a sheet of paper from 15 B, the box of stationery found in Miranda Shaw’s room, in the same handwriting as in 15 C, Miranda Shaw’s address book.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Would you read to the jury the words written on 15 A?”

“Yes, sir... ‘Dearly Beloved: I don’t expect you to approve of my plan. It must seem drastic to you but please, please realise that it is the only way we can be together. This is the important thing, being together, you and I, now and always...’ The word realise, spelled with an S, has been stroked out and realize, spelled with a Z, written above it. Possibly on this account the note was crumpled up and thrown away.”

“Does the phrase ‘dearly beloved’ have any connotation in your mind?”

“Those are the words that usually begin a marriage ceremony.”

“A marriage ceremony?”

“Yes, sir.”

At the back of the room the fan, as if it had been waiting for the right moment, made a few gasping noises and expired. The District Attorney poured himself another glass of water.

“Sergeant Orr, which of the exhibits 15 A, B and C did you find first?”

“We started our search on the ground floor, so we found the note in the trash bin first, 15 A. It sounded peculiar in view of what had happened, so I was on the lookout for any clue as to who wrote it. When I found the box of stationery and then the address book containing the same handwriting, I became interested in everything else in Mrs. Shaw’s room which might possibly have some bearing on the case.”

“Such as exhibit 16?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Show it to the jury and explain what it is and where you found it.”

“Yes, sir. It’s a bottle of red and ivory capsules prescribed by Dr. Michael Lane for Mrs. Miranda Shaw on June the twentieth of this year. I found it in the medicine cabinet of Mrs. Shaw’s bathroom. Each capsule contains thirty milligrams of Dalmane, which is a fast-acting sedative. The dosage on the bottle is given as one capsule at bedtime for sleep.”

“How many capsules are left in this bottle?”

“Six.”

“How many were in it originally?”

“According to the pharmacist’s label, thirty.”

“Now, if Mrs. Shaw took one every night as prescribed, beginning June the twentieth until July the fourth when you picked this up in her medicine cabinet, how many should there be left in the bottle?”

“Fifteen.”

“Are there fifteen left?”

“No, sir. As I said before, there are six.”

“So nine are unaccounted for.”

“They’re missing, yes, sir.”

“Thank you, Sergeant. That will be all.”

It was enough.

On October the fourteenth the grand jury of the county of Santa Felicia returned an indictment of willful homicide against Miranda Waring Shaw in the death of Iris Van Eyck Young, a human being.