Next up is Edward Markham, who clearly did not spend his recent trip to Africa on a hunger strike to protest the granting of a new trial to his girlfriend's accused killer. He is at least forty pounds heavier than pictures show him to have been at the time of the murder, and though he is only in his thirties, he's already captured the look of an aging playboy.
“Had you and Denise McGregor been dating long?” asks Wallace.
“About three months. We were pretty intense.”
“Any plans for marriage?”
“I certainly had some,” says Edward. He grins. “But I hadn't gotten up the nerve to ask her.”
Wallace brings him to the night of the murder, and Denise McGregor's fateful trip to the rest room.
“How long was she gone before you started to worry?”
Edward appears to consider this, as if it is the first time he's been asked this question, and he's trying to comb through his memory. I would bet twenty-two million dollars he and Wallace rehearsed every word of this testimony at least twice.
“I'd say about ten minutes or so. And even then I wasn't that worried. I mean, you don't think about something like this. But I thought there might be something wrong.”
“So you got up to check on her?”
“Yes,” says Edward. “I went to the rest room door, and it was ajar, you know, not fully closed. I didn't know if I should go inside, or maybe find another woman to go in and check up on her. I thought she might be sick or something.”
“What did you do?”
“I called into the room a few times, just yelling ‘Denise,’ but there was no answer. So I pushed the door open a little more and looked in.”
“What did you find?”
“Well, at first nothing. I looked around, and she wasn't there, so I started to go back to the table. I really didn't know what to think. Then I saw the blood.”
“Blood?”
“It sure looked like it, and it was still wet. It was splattered on the floor near the phone. And the phone was hanging off the hook.” Edward is doing a good job, he's been rehearsed well.
“What did you do next?” asks Wallace.
“I got real worried … panicky … and I started looking around. I went out into the hall, and I saw that the exit to the alley was right there. So I went out there, and … and … I saw her.”
Edward acts as if he is trying to keep his emotions intact as he relives what happened. “It was the most horrible moment of my life.”
Wallace gives him a few seconds to compose himself; I can use the time to get over my nausea.
“What happened next?”
“Well, I went to her … I touched her to see if she was breathing, but she wasn't. So I went back into the bar and called 911, and then I called my father. And then I told the bartender, and we just waited for everyone to get there.”
Wallace turns Edward over to me. I don't want to do too much with him, because I'm going to call him during the defense case. I just want to put some doubts in the jury's mind, and maybe take away this image of Edward as the grieving near-widower.
I start off on his relationship with Denise.
“Mr. Markham, what is Denise McGregor's father's first name?”
He's surprised by the question. “I … I don't remember.”
“How about her mother's name?”
“I don't know … it's been a long time. I don't think her parents lived near here.”
“Have you seen them since the funeral?”
“No, I don't believe so.”
“Did you see them at the funeral?”
“No, I was very upset, sedated … I've felt guilty ever since about not going, but I was in no condition—”
“You didn't go to Denise McGregor's funeral?” I'm so shocked, you could knock me over with a legal brief.
“No, I just told you, I—”
I cut him off. “Do you know what Denise was working on at the time of her death?”
“No. I know it was a story.”
“Yes, Mr. Markham, that's what she wrote. Stories.” My voice is dripping with disdain. “But you don't know which one she was working on?”
“No.”
“Do you have a favorite story that she ever wrote?”
“Not really. She was a terrific writer. All of her work was great, but she didn't talk about it very much.”
“Tell us about any one of her stories.”
Edward looks stricken, so Wallace objects. “This is not going anywhere remotely relevant.”
“Your Honor,” I respond, “Mr. Wallace took the witness