going out there to cook the books, so to speak? And maybe he was doing that to Pittleman’s other businesses, too.”
Archer saw Brooks jump to his feet to object, but forestalled this by saying, “That was actually Mr. Shaw’s idea. It’s in his notebook where he wrote everything down. And Mr. Brooks said those notes are part of the official record, so I can use what’s in there as part of my defense, just like he’s been doing this whole time to make the jury believe I’m guilty.”
All eyes went to a helpless-looking Brooks.
“Well, Mr. Brooks?” said the judge, who was regarding Archer in a somewhat more favorable light.
Brooks said, “That is…correct. And…I waive any objection I might have made.”
Archer continued his questioning. “And Mr. Shaw found a mess of unpaid bills that he thought Draper had tossed in the trash so Mr. Pittleman wouldn’t see them.”
“And you think my father had him do this? Why?”
“Well, let’s look at your father for a minute. He’d had bad farming years due to the drought. But Mr. Pittleman, he had water on his property and had the cash to truck in more if needed. I think maybe that didn’t sit well with Lucas Tuttle. And then he has to borrow money from the man. That must’ve stung his pride. And then, what does Hank Pittleman do? He starts using you as his—what did you call yourself again?”
Jackie looked down and said something.
“I couldn’t quite get that, Miss Tuttle.”
“I was his chattel,” she said sharply.
“That’s right. Like his property. Must’ve made your old man mighty upset. And then, someone goes into Hank Pittleman’s hotel room and cuts his throat.”
“So who do you think killed Hank, Mr. Archer?” she asked.
“Maybe the same pair who tried to kill you—Dickie Dill and Malcolm Draper.”
Brooks shot to his feet. “Your Honor, really! He’s doing it again.”
Archer grinned and said, “Well, hell, I was just answering the lady’s question.”
Archer and Jackie once more shared a look and exchanged tiny smiles as folks in the courtroom laughed over his remark.
Richmond said to the jury, “You are hereby instructed to not listen to any of what the defendant has just said. There’s not an ounce of proof in any of it.”
Archer turned to the jury and said, “You folks remember reasonable doubt? I just need to let you good people see that others had a reason to kill Hank Pittleman, not just me, and Lucas Tuttle had a damn good reason. A lot more than me.”
He turned back to find Jackie’s gaze upon him.
Archer leaned against the witness box, folded his arms over his chest, and said, “You moved out of your father’s house. Why?”
“I wanted to make my own way in the world.”
“Your father approved of this?”
“I don’t know if he did or not.”
“But he wanted you back home, didn’t he?”
“Yes, but so what? I wasn’t going back. I told you that.”
“Your mother died in an accident out at the farm right before you left home, correct?”
Jackie looked startled by this abrupt segue. “Y-yes.”
“Can you describe what happened?”
Brooks got to his feet. “Judge, what does this have to do with anything?”
“Good question,” said Richmond. “You care to answer that, Mr. Archer?”
“I’ve got a theory of the case, Judge, and this one goes to motive on both the murders I’m accused of.”
Richmond looked at Brooks, who finally shrugged.
“Okay, proceed.”
“Your mother’s death?”
“She fell out of the hay bale in the barn and was impaled on a corn picker that was down below.”
“How do you get impaled on a corn picker?”
“One of the cones was pointing upward. The ends are very sharp, almost like the point of an arrow. That’s what she fell on.”
“Do you know how to raise the cone on that machine?”
“No. I’ve never had a reason to do it.”
“Well, I do—and before anybody objects to me testifying again, I got Mr. Bobby Kent sitting over there who will back up everything I have to say on the matter.”
Kent, who was sitting in the second row and dressed in an old suit, shyly waved his hand and nodded.
Brooks looked put out by this, but the judge finally nodded. “Go ahead, Mr. Archer.”
“While I was preparing for the trial I talked to Bobby Kent, and he told me the corn picker there now is the same one your mother fell on. There’s a little turn handle. Now, as you already testified to, I’m pretty strong, but it took a lot of my strength to turn that thing and point that cone