Page 115 of The Giver of Stars
The prosecution counsel glanced behind him and shook his head. ‘Your Honour, we have had no prior notice of such a witness and I object in the strongest terms to the introduction of such at so late –’
The judge chewed ruminatively. ‘Did the sheriff’s men not go up to Arnott’s Ridge to try to talk to the girl?’
The prosecution counsel stammered, ‘Well, y-yes. But she wouldn’t come down. She hasn’t left that house in several years, according to those familiar with the family.’
The judge leaned back in his chair. ‘Then I would say if this is the victim’s daughter, possibly the last witness to see him alive, and she is now content to make her way down into the town to answer questions about his last day, then she may well have information pertinent to the case, wouldn’t you agree, Mr Howard?’
The prosecution counsel glanced behind him again. Van Cleve was straining forward in his seat, his mouth compressed with displeasure.
‘Yes, Your Honour.’
‘Good. I will hear the witness.’ He waved a finger.
Kathleen and the lawyer spoke for a minute in hushed voices, and then she ran to the back of the court.
‘When you’re ready, Mr Turner.’
‘Your Honour, the defence calls Miss Verna McCullough, daughter of Clem McCullough. Miss McCullough? If you could make your way to the witness box? I would be much obliged.’
There was a hum of interest. People strained in their seats. The door opened at the back of the court, revealing Kathleen, her arm through that of a younger woman, who walked a little behind her. And as the court watched in silence, VernaMcCullough made her way slowly and deliberately to the front of the courtroom, every stride an apparent effort. Her hand rested on the small of her back and her belly sat low and huge in front of her.
A murmur of shock, and a second wave of exclamation as the same thought occurred to each person, went up around the room.
‘You live at Arnott’s Ridge?’
Verna had held her hair back with a bobby pin and now fiddled with it, as if it were out of place. Her voice emerged as a hoarse whisper. ‘Yes, sir. With my sister. And before that our father.’
‘Can you speak up, please?’ said the judge.
The lawyer continued. ‘And it’s just the three of you?’
She held on to the lip of the witness box and gazed around her, as if she had only just noticed how many people were in the room. Her voice faltered for a moment.
‘Miss McCullough?’
‘Uh … Yes. Our mama went when I was eight and it’s been us three since then.’
‘Your mama died?’
‘I don’t know, sir. We woke up one morning and my daddy said she was gone. And that was it.’
‘I see. So you are unsure as to her fate?’
‘Oh, I believe her to be dead. Because she always said my daddy would kill her one day.’
‘Objection!’ said the state prosecutor.
‘Strike that from the record, please. We will leave it on file that Miss McCullough’s mother’s whereabouts are unknown.’
‘Thank you, Miss McCullough. And when did you last see your father?’
‘That would be five days before Christmas.’
‘And have you seen him since?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Did you look for him?’
