Murder, She Wrote (15 page)

“
J
essica, how nice of you to stop in,” Jacob Borden said.

After a quick lunch, I left Sunny at the house attaching Cecil's leash, and went downtown to the office of Cabot Cove's esteemed judge. But he wasn't the one I wanted to see. I was planning to show the photos Mort had given me, the ones taken from the strip of film, to Jacob's wife, Lorraine. She was a fan of old movies in general and of Vera Stockdale's movies in particular. When I'd spoken with her at Mara's she'd said she'd seen every one of the star's films.

“Hello, Jacob. I should have called ahead. I was hoping to catch Lorraine. Is she working with you today?”

“Not at the moment. She's off to a meeting, not sure which one. I can never keep track.”

“She's a busy lady. I'll call again and—”

“Actually,” he said, “I expect her back soon. And I'd like your opinion on something, if you have the time.”

“I always have time for you, Jacob. What's on your mind?”

“Come on in. I was just going over the trial transcript of the Harris case. You modeled a great deal of your book on it.”

My laugh was rueful. “Given what's been going on recently with the motion picture, I'm not sure I ever should have written that book.”

“I'm glad you did. I really enjoyed it, especially since the case raised a lot of unresolved issues. Let's talk about it.”

I followed him to his office and for a moment it felt as though I was back in the hangar on the “hot set.” But this was Jacob Borden's real office, not the replica created for the movie.

“Coffee, tea? Only take a jiffy. I was about to make a cup for myself.”

“I've just had some, but you go ahead.”

“Be back in a minute.”

In his absence, I gazed around the office, delighted by his collection of humorous figurines of lawyers and judges and impressed with the extensive law library he maintained. Judge Borden was known for having an encyclopedic knowledge of case law, and he often impressed lawyers arguing before him with his erudite manner and rock-solid legal grounding. He ran an orderly, no-nonsense courtroom, but was famous for breaking the tension of a trial with witty asides.

“I'm drinking decaf these days,” he said when he returned with his cup of tea. “Lorraine says I talk too fast when I'm on the full-strength stuff.”

“It must be working. You seem very calm to me,” I said, sitting in one of two visitor chairs. “So, what's prompted you to go back and revisit the Harris case?”

“That seems to be all that anyone is talking about these days,” he said, taking his seat in the maroon wing chair. “Ever since the arrival of the film crew—and especially since the murder of Vera Stockdale—the Harris case has been relived all over town. I knew Ruth Harris. When she was gunned down walking her dog, I naturally thought of that custody case she'd ruled on, where the husband threatened to kill her in front of the whole court. He was the first person the police zeroed in on.”

“But they ruled him out.”

“That's right. And then they focused on Ruth's husband.”

“You
have
heard that Neil Corday is back in town.”

“I happened to see him downtown just yesterday. He's taken a long fall since his days as an attorney in Cabot Cove. Almost didn't recognize him—he looked like a derelict. He had a promising career once, until he went off the deep end and got involved with the wrong people. I hate to see any attorney disbarred, but it was justified in his case.”

“He certainly has been acting strangely since returning,” I said. “He attacked me.”

Borden bolted forward in his chair, a shocked expression on his face. “Attacked you? Physically?”

“Yes. I'd been at the airport talking with people involved with the film production. I was leaving when he ran at me and pushed me down. He towered over me, raised his fists, and started ranting about my book, how I'd ruined his life. It was disconcerting, to say the least. Fortunately, Sheriff Metzger came upon the scene and intervened, handcuffed Mr. Corday, and had him taken to police headquarters. He was quite drunk at the time.”

“That doesn't excuse his behavior,” Jacob said. “I can imagine how upsetting it must have been for you. You say that Sheriff Metzger arrested him? He obviously didn't remain in custody very long.”

“I chose not to press charges,” I said. “Mort kept him a few hours and then released him. He's become quite a thorn in the side of the director and others involved with the filming.”

Jacob sat back, formed a tent with his fingers beneath his chin, and said, “In your book, you left open the possibility that the wrong person might have been convicted of killing the judge. Did I read that correctly?”

“You did,” I said. “I wrote it that way because I'd always suspected that Jenny Kipp was wrongfully convicted. Since I was writing a novel, not a true-crime account, I could present the facts any way I wanted. In the actual case, the evidence against her seemed to me to be circumstantial. I thought she was innocent. The jury obviously didn't agree with me. I attended Ms. Kipp's sentencing hearing. Judge Hammersmith gave her the maximum penalty.”

Borden smiled, the sort of smile one displays when a pleasant thought has struck. “Judge Hammersmith,” he said. “Martin was aptly named. His sentences were always tough. He and I were good friends. We didn't always see eye to eye on many matters, but he was a good and fair judge. It was quite a shock when he suffered a heart attack while presiding over a trial and died on the bench.” A sad smile this time. “I suppose it's called dying with your boots on. He was too young to die, just sixty-one.”

“I didn't know him well,” I said. “You asked about my book leaving room for speculation about Jenny Kipp's conviction. I remember talking with you a few months after the trial. You expressed your own doubts. Why?”

“Certain factors, some of which never became public.” He pointed to a foot-high pile of papers and files on his desk. “The trial transcript,” he said, “and some material that never made it into the testimony.”

He had my attention.

He shuffled through the pile, came up with a folder, and handed it to me. The label on the tab read
INTERVIEW: TIFFANY PARKER.

“Tiffany Parker,” I said a few times. “She was the other woman romantically involved with Neil Corday.”

“Yes, she was. Of course, you know how rumors of that sort get started around town, and pretty soon everyone takes it as fact. It's like politicians repeating a lie over and over until people begin to believe it. Anyway, in this circumstance, what was a rumor turned out indeed to be a fact. The report you're holding was prepared by a private investigator that Jenny Kipp's court-appointed attorney hired. He got a lot of flak for that, spending taxpayer money to defend someone who most people believed was guilty. At any rate, the investigator interviewed Tiffany Parker at length, and she was surprisingly candid about her affair with Corday. According to what she told this investigator, she and Corday had been having an affair for six months leading up to his wife being shot.”

“Mr. Corday certainly got around,” I offered. “Jenny Kipp, Tiffany Parker, and probably others. He obviously possessed some sort of magnetism that attracted certain women despite his being married to Judge Harris.”

“Well, he was a handsome guy with a thriving law practice—until he began to consider himself above the law, got involved in a slew of shady financial dealings, and tried to bribe his way out of trouble. I remember when he got a snoot on—this was after Jenny Kipp's trial—and lambasted everyone who'd believed that he'd killed Ruth. Made an absolute fool of himself. I wasn't the only one who was glad to see him close up his practice and leave town.” Jacob's phone rang and he leaned forward to see the identity of the caller. “Do you mind if I take this?” he asked.

“Not at all.”

While Jacob talked on the phone, I idly thumbed through the private investigator's notes. One paragraph stopped me:

Ms. Parker claims that the victim's husband, Neil Corday, told her on more than one occasion that he wanted to get rid of his wife so that he could marry her. On one occasion he even said that it wouldn't be long before she was dead and he'd be free. Ms. Parker said that when she confronted Corday about her rival for his affections, Jenny Kipp, he told her not to worry—that once his wife was out of the way, he would “take care of her,” meaning Kipp. That conversation took place just days before the murder of Judge Harris.

I sat back and tried to force a recollection of what I remembered about the Kipp trial, from reviewing the transcript, and from what I'd read in the
Cabot Cove
Gazette
, which had published a special section while the trial was taking place.

Tiffany Parker had testified as a prosecution witness at Jenny Kipp's murder trial. Jenny, after finding out that Corday had also been romantically involved with Tiffany, confronted the pair with a weapon that turned out to have been the gun used to kill Corday's wife. That was damaging evidence against Jenny, and many thought it was the pivotal point in the trial that led to her conviction and prison sentence.

“That was Lorraine,” Jacob said, breaking my train of thought. “She's on the way home. Did you look through the file? Interesting, isn't it? You can take it home if you want, but I'd like it back when you're finished with it.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I would like to read it more carefully. These notes made by the investigator were never introduced during the trial, were they?”

“No, they weren't, Jessica. It was ironic, because even though Tiffany Parker had testified as a prosecution witness, Jenny Kipp's attorney wanted to call her again as a defense witness to testify on Jenny's behalf. After all, what she'd related to the investigator about Corday and his statements about his wife would have helped Jenny's cause. Don't you agree?”

“I certainly do.”

“But Tiffany surprised everyone by denying that she'd ever said those things, and threatening to deny it again if she were put on the stand. The defense decided to try an end run around her by asking to enter the investigator's notes into the record, but the prosecutor, Oscar Whittle, vehemently objected. That led to a lengthy bench conference with Judge Hammersmith, who upheld Whittle's objection.”

“Too bad,” I said. “Had the investigator used a tape recorder, Tiffany wouldn't have been able to deny that she'd said those things about Corday.”

“Correct. I think the private investigator learned a tough lesson there.”

“Any idea what caused Parker to recant her statements?” I asked.

Jacob's cocked head and raised eyebrows answered my question.

“She was bought off,” I said flatly.

“A fair assumption, Jessica. Of course, it's always possible that Ms. Parker had a sudden bout of amnesia, but we both know that's unlikely. No, I think it fair to at least contemplate that she was paid to change her story—or not to tell it.”

“By Neil Corday,” I said.

“He had the most to lose if Jenny Kipp was found not guilty of the killing. If that's what happened, an innocent woman is sitting in prison.”

I shivered at the thought. Among many things that send chills up my spine are people who are behind bars for crimes they didn't commit. It must be unbearable to wake up each morning in a tiny cell knowing that you don't deserve to be there.

“I haven't seen or heard of Tiffany Parker in a long time, Jacob. Did Corday ever marry her?”

“Never did.”

“Do you know anything about her whereabouts these days?”

“I personally don't, but Lorraine might. She's bumped into her from time to time while working with her antipoverty group over in Cross Acres.”

Cross Acres was a hardscrabble area on the outskirts of Cabot Cove. It had fallen on hard times with the closing of a plant that had provided most of the jobs there.

“She lives in Cross Acres?” I asked.

“According to Lorraine.” He looked up at the sound of the front door opening. “You can ask her yourself, Jessica. The lady of the house has arrived.”

“Jessica! What a nice surprise!” Lorraine said, bustling into her husband's office, her arms full of shopping bags.

Jacob rose from his seat to accept a quick peck on the cheek from his wife. “Jessica actually came to see you, dear,” he said. “I was just the icing on the cake.”

“Let me just drop these in the kitchen,” she said to me. “Then I can give you a proper greeting. Anyone want tea or coffee?”

“I already offered,” Jacob called to her back as she left the room. “I'm well trained,” he said to me.

Lorraine was back a moment later, a smile on her face. “Now that my arms are empty, let me give you a hug,” she said to me.

“You look like you had a good afternoon,” I said when I sat down and she collapsed in the chair next to mine.

“Charles was having a sale on shoes and it was a mob scene,” she said. “But I fought my way to the counter and came up with these.” She held out both legs, showing off a new pair of alligator flats. “They're not real, of course. ‘No alligator was harmed in the making of these shoes,'” she intoned, sounding like a narrator on a National Geographic special.

“A shoe sale!” Jacob said. “I told Jessica you were at a meeting.”

“I was at a meeting. The sale was after the meeting,” Lorraine said patiently. She looked at me. “I'm teaching a quilting class at the senior center. It's ironic, really. There are some women there who are far more experienced quilters than I am, but they're not good at explaining to others what they do. Ellen Purdy was supposed to teach the class, but she's too busy. So I was elected.”