room matched Mrs. Watkins’s hair. Everything in it was white: the carpet, the walls, the loveseat, the two chairs, all perfectly arranged and lacquered into place. Donald looked astonished, as if he’d stumbled into a nightmare landscape. Just don’t touch anything, I thought.
“My son’s life,” Mrs. Watkins said, taking the loveseat and leaving us the two chairs, “was ruined by your client, even before she murdered him. He never should have married her. He’d been engaged for years to a wonderful young lady he’d met in high school, the daughter of a good friend of ours. Janet, however, couldn’t bear the idea of Hal going into law enforcement. She thought it was too dangerous. When she broke it off with him, he never recovered.”
I couldn’t help myself. “So it was Janet that ruined his life?”
Mrs. Watkins looked confused for a moment, and then shook her head. “No. It was Emily that made him so unhappy.”
“Which is why Hal drank?” Donald tried.
Mrs. Watkins glanced at Donald as if he were a bug that was unfortunately too big to kill. Donald receded into his chair and I knew he would simply take notes for the rest of the interview.
“Please go on,” I urged.
Mrs. Watkins was nodding. “Oh, Hal drank, but only enough to stand his marriage. He’d made a commitment and he intended to honor it. Hal was very much like me. We honor our commitments.”
“You and Hal were close?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“Very.”
“Did he confide in you?”
“Always. And I was always there for him.” She paused. “But I wouldn’t give him money as long as he stayed with her.”
“And so,” I continued smoothly, “he told you that sometimes he’d lose his temper with Emily and then feel badly about it?”
“Of course,” she said, and then thought about her answer. “But he never hurt her. If she said he did, she’s lying.”
I backed up a little. “He was very lucky to have you as a confidante.”
“Yes. He had little in common with his wife.”
I decided to take a leap. What the hell, she’d never talk to us again. “He was concerned, wasn’t he, that Emily was so accident-prone?”
Donald blinked, but said nothing. Mrs. Watkins looked wary; she was no dope.
“What are you getting at?” she asked.
I shrugged. “Nothing. Just that Emily was obviously very clumsy. All those bruises and black eyes. She must have always been running into things.”
Mrs. Watkins hesitated, and then said, “I didn’t see anything.” The interview would be over in a minute. I had to move fast.
“Well, the last Christmas you all spent together, didn’t Emily have a black eye?” Before she could answer, I said, “Didn’t Hal tell you she’d run into a door in the middle of the night?” I was totally prevaricating now.
“That sounds familiar,” she said cautiously.
“And that Easter Sunday when she was too embarrassed to go to church with you and your son because of the bruises on her face? Surely you remember that?”
“I think so. I’m not a hundred percent sure.” She sounded old and tired, and I was beginning to feel sorry for her. But I felt sorrier for Emily.
“One last question. Which car was Emily driving when she got into that accident and broke her jaw? Hal’s car or hers?”
Mrs. Watkins shook her head impatiently. “What difference does it make?”
“But didn’t Hal tell you?” I pressed.
“Hers, I think. And now I’d like you to go.” Donald and I both jumped up as if we’d been ejected from our chairs. Mrs. Watkins escorted us to the door.
“I hope they give your client the death penalty,” she said.
“Well, thank you for sharing your thoughts with us.”
She shook her head and closed the door. Then locked it.
“What a bitch,” Donald said as we headed down the hall. “Poor Hal. I assume you want me to follow up on this Janet lead?”
“I’d appreciate it.”
On the drive home, I thought about Hal and Emily’s marriage, and how
“My son’s life,” Mrs. Watkins said, taking the loveseat and leaving us the two chairs, “was ruined by your client, even before she murdered him. He never should have married her. He’d been engaged for years to a wonderful young lady he’d met in high school, the daughter of a good friend of ours. Janet, however, couldn’t bear the idea of Hal going into law enforcement. She thought it was too dangerous. When she broke it off with him, he never recovered.”
I couldn’t help myself. “So it was Janet that ruined his life?”
Mrs. Watkins looked confused for a moment, and then shook her head. “No. It was Emily that made him so unhappy.”
“Which is why Hal drank?” Donald tried.
Mrs. Watkins glanced at Donald as if he were a bug that was unfortunately too big to kill. Donald receded into his chair and I knew he would simply take notes for the rest of the interview.
“Please go on,” I urged.
Mrs. Watkins was nodding. “Oh, Hal drank, but only enough to stand his marriage. He’d made a commitment and he intended to honor it. Hal was very much like me. We honor our commitments.”
“You and Hal were close?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“Very.”
“Did he confide in you?”
“Always. And I was always there for him.” She paused. “But I wouldn’t give him money as long as he stayed with her.”
“And so,” I continued smoothly, “he told you that sometimes he’d lose his temper with Emily and then feel badly about it?”
“Of course,” she said, and then thought about her answer. “But he never hurt her. If she said he did, she’s lying.”
I backed up a little. “He was very lucky to have you as a confidante.”
“Yes. He had little in common with his wife.”
I decided to take a leap. What the hell, she’d never talk to us again. “He was concerned, wasn’t he, that Emily was so accident-prone?”
Donald blinked, but said nothing. Mrs. Watkins looked wary; she was no dope.
“What are you getting at?” she asked.
I shrugged. “Nothing. Just that Emily was obviously very clumsy. All those bruises and black eyes. She must have always been running into things.”
Mrs. Watkins hesitated, and then said, “I didn’t see anything.” The interview would be over in a minute. I had to move fast.
“Well, the last Christmas you all spent together, didn’t Emily have a black eye?” Before she could answer, I said, “Didn’t Hal tell you she’d run into a door in the middle of the night?” I was totally prevaricating now.
“That sounds familiar,” she said cautiously.
“And that Easter Sunday when she was too embarrassed to go to church with you and your son because of the bruises on her face? Surely you remember that?”
“I think so. I’m not a hundred percent sure.” She sounded old and tired, and I was beginning to feel sorry for her. But I felt sorrier for Emily.
“One last question. Which car was Emily driving when she got into that accident and broke her jaw? Hal’s car or hers?”
Mrs. Watkins shook her head impatiently. “What difference does it make?”
“But didn’t Hal tell you?” I pressed.
“Hers, I think. And now I’d like you to go.” Donald and I both jumped up as if we’d been ejected from our chairs. Mrs. Watkins escorted us to the door.
“I hope they give your client the death penalty,” she said.
“Well, thank you for sharing your thoughts with us.”
She shook her head and closed the door. Then locked it.
“What a bitch,” Donald said as we headed down the hall. “Poor Hal. I assume you want me to follow up on this Janet lead?”
“I’d appreciate it.”
On the drive home, I thought about Hal and Emily’s marriage, and how
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