A Covenant with Death by Stephen Becker Page A

marriage, those things happen. We had our fights too,” he said with visible embarrassment, “so I figured she was right, it was just one of those things. Next morning I went to work, and when I got home that night they was both crying. So I said what’s the matter, and I went over to Louise and tried to give her a kiss, but she said don’t kiss me, and got up and ran up to her room. So I asked Sarah. And after a while Sarah calmed down and said she’d tell me after supper. I said no, now. But Sarah said if I tell you now you won’t eat your supper. So I said in that case I won’t eat my supper anyway, it’s already too late, so you better tell me. I always had a bad stomach. So she did. She said—”
    â€œObjection, Your Honor.” Parmelee was on his feet again. “Witness is about to repeat a conversation that took place between two other people. His wife is on the state’s list and can testify herself. I think the District Attorney is working toward a cumulative effect by repetition.”
    â€œHe’s allowed to do that,” Hochstadter said.
    â€œYes, but not by hearsay.”
    â€œHe can tell us what his wife told him,” Dietrich said.
    â€œNot conversations,” Parmelee said. “Not when the substance is in what his wife said.”
    Hoyers belched audibly.
    â€œJust a minute, gentlemen.” Hochstadter thought it over for a few seconds. The audience sat still, alert. “Come up to the bench, will you?”
    Parmelee and Dietrich joined him. He told me about it later. “I said to Dietrich, ‘You know, Oliver’s half right. There’s a point where you’re not really asking for testimony so much as prejudicing the jury. If you want to establish facts, I suggest you do it as economically as possible.’ Economically. I thought that was a good word for it.” The Judge smiled, pleased as a poet. We were in his chambers that evening, just after adjournment, and he was waving a cigar. “Dietrich thought I was being rough on him, but Parmelee was happy enough. He looked at Dietrich then and said something strange: ‘Emil,’ he said, ‘I’m going to tell you something you won’t believe: Talbot didn’t kill his wife.’ Emil said, ‘I know you think that, and I’m glad you do, but you’re wrong as hell.’ So I said, ‘You can talk about that later. I’m going to sustain this objection.’”
    They returned to their tables and Hochstadter announced, “The objection is sustained.”
    Dietrich said, “Your Honor, I’d like permission to excuse this witness for a time and call Mrs. Hoyers. After which I’d like to recall this witness.”
    â€œThat agreeable, Mr. Parmelee?”
    Parmelee hesitated and then nodded. “Yes, Your Honor.”
    Hoyers was excused, and his wife was sworn. She was a strapping woman—Louise Talbot’s rude proportions were not her father’s contribution—with a squarish jaw, small eyes, gray hair, and a little black hat with a black veil dotted by white flowers. Her voice grated, not high and squeaky like Rosemary’s but shrill and brassy.
    She repeated much of what Hoyers had said. Then Dietrich asked her to tell us in her own words what Louise had told her. She took a deep breath as though she wanted to compress it all into one sentence. “It was late that afternoon. Louise had been moping around all day. Finally she busted out crying again—she was never very, uh, emotional, and I knew something was really wrong.” Parmelee stirred, but gave up and leaned back. “Finally she dried her eyes and told me. She told me that her husband—” Mrs. Hoyers came to a full stop and looked around her. She addressed Dietrich. “I can’t say this right out in front of everybody.”
    â€œYes you can,” he told her. “This is a court of law, Mrs. Hoyers. We’re