Chapter 10 - After Hours
Some Answers More Questions
As she made her way to the witness stand, I noticed the slight tremor in her hands and the way she kept her eyes downcast. She clearly wasn’t comfortable with the scrutiny, but she carried herself with a quiet dignity that commanded respect.
“Liza Thompson!”
My name rang out across the courtroom, and despite expecting this moment, my stomach still did a little flip. I’d been watching the proceedings with growing unease, but now it was my turn to take center stage as the key witness who’d found the woman’s body.
I stood and walked to the witness stand, trying to project the same calm confidence I used when handling difficult customers at Romano’s. The weight of everyone’s attention pressed against me. Detective William’s guarded expression, the Murduck family’s tense faces, even the cleaning woman’s calculating stare from the back row.
As I settled into the chair, I caught myself straightening my shoulders. This wasn’t just about giving testimony anymore. Dr. Patel had been impressed by my observations at the crime scene, and Detective William, for all his professional distance, had started treating my insights seriously. I might just be a restaurant worker, but I’d earned my place in this investigation.
The murmur of voices around the courtroom suggested my appearance had stirred interest. I wasn’t sure if it was curiosity about the woman who’d discovered the body, or something else entirely. Either way, I was ready. The first question was already forming on the coroner’s lips, and I had plenty to say about what I’d seen that night at Captain Mike’s Seafood.
Since most of my testimony covered ground we’d already been over, I won’t recount it all here. But there was one exchange that felt significant at the time, and even more so now.
The coroner had been walking me through what I’d witnessed that night, the couple I’d seen entering Captain Mike’s Seafood. When she asked about the young woman’s movements, whether she’d seemed hesitant or uncertain, I was clear in my response.
“No hesitation at all. She walked quickly, almost cheerfully.”
“And the man with her?”
“More deliberate, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Could be he was older, more cautious by nature.”
The coroner’s voice sharpened. “We’re looking for facts, Ms. Thompson, not speculation. Do you know for certain he was older?”
“No, ma’am.”
“What impression did you get regarding his age?”
I thought back to that shadowy figure. “Young. The way he carried himself suggested a young man.”
“Height? Build?”
“Average height, slender. He moved with a kind of… refinement, I suppose. Like someone who’d been raised with good manners.”
Then came the question that made the entire courtroom lean forward: “Do you think you could identify this man if you saw him again?”
The silence stretched as I considered my answer. I could feel the weight of every gaze, and instinctively glanced toward where the Murduck family sat. The moment I did it, I knew it was a mistake, my eyes had given away more than I’d intended. To cover, I looked back at the packed courtroom and said as firmly as I could manage:
“I thought I could, if I saw him in similar lighting and circumstances. But the more time passes, the less confident I become. I’d never want to point a finger based on such a brief glimpse in poor light.”
Disappointment rippled through the courtroom, and I could see it on the coroner’s face too.
“Unfortunate that you didn’t get a clearer view,” she said with a slight frown. “Now, how exactly did these two people get inside the restaurant?”
I kept my answer straightforward and factual. I described how the man had used what appeared to be a key, how long he’d stayed inside, and what I’d observed when he left alone. I explained my decision to contact the police the next morning and confirmed Sarah’s account of finding the woman’s body.
And that was it. My testimony was over.
What struck me as odd was what they didn’t ask about. No questions about why the cleaning woman made me so uneasy, or about the evidence I’d noticed that the detective seemed to dismiss too quickly. Maybe it was just as well, I wasn’t sure how much I should reveal about my own unofficial investigation, but it felt incomplete somehow.
The coroner called for a twenty-minute recess, which seemed unnecessary unless everyone desperately needed a coffee break. If they cared about this case as much as I did, they’d want to push through until we had answers. But since we were taking a break anyway, I slipped out to the café across the street for a quick sandwich and some decent coffee. Not that I was particularly hungry, my mind was still churning over everything I’d heard and what it all meant.
The next witness called was Detective William himself. As he approached the stand, I could see people throughout the courtroom shifting in their seats, trying to get a better look at the detective who’d been handling this high-profile case. I didn’t crane my neck like the others. I’d been working with him closely enough to know his mannerisms by heart, but I did feel a surge of anticipation. Finally, we might get some real answers.
His testimony was revealing, though it felt deliberately limited. The coroner had promised earlier to show us the other half of whatever had been used to kill the woman, and Detective William delivered on that promise. He described finding the broken meat thermometer in the drain near the kitchen at Captain Mike’s, explaining how the sharp end had snapped off during the attack.
What he didn’t mention was how I’d been the one to spot the meat thermometer in the first place, or how my observations had helped piece together what had happened. Typical, men in law enforcement don’t like admitting when a civilian helps crack their case.
The coroner’s physician passed both pieces to the jury, the fragment they’d extracted from the woman and the broken thermometer from the restaurant. I watched each juror carefully fit the pieces together, saw the moment of recognition cross their faces as the jagged edges aligned perfectly. There was no question now about the murder weapon.
Then they brought out photographs of Captain Mike’s kitchen equipment inventory. Detective William pointed to a hanging utensil set on the wall, showing where a meat thermometer was conspicuously missing from its hook.
The implication was clear and chilling: this woman had been killed with a meat thermometer, and everyday item, pulled from the kitchen.
“A calculated and cold-blooded crime, the work of someone who planned this carefully,” the coroner observed as Detective William returned to his seat. The comment made me wince. While probably true, it seemed premature to be editorializing when we still had so many unanswered questions.
The proceedings took an unexpected turn when the coroner called the next witness: “Emily Barnwell.”
The name meant nothing to me, and from the puzzled murmurs around the courtroom, I wasn’t alone. When a woman rose from the back of the room, every head turned to get a look at her. She was unremarkable in appearance, the kind of person you might pass on the street without a second glance, but there was something in her nervous demeanor that immediately caught my attention.
As she made her way to the witness stand, I noticed the slight tremor in her hands and the way she kept her eyes downcast. She clearly wasn’t comfortable with the scrutiny, but she carried herself with a quiet dignity that commanded respect.
“Please state your full name and address for the record,” the coroner began.
“Emily Barnwell. I live in Haddam, Connecticut.” Her voice was unexpectedly warm and melodious, with a gentleness that seemed to surprise everyone in the courtroom. It was the kind of voice that would be perfectly suited for reading bedtime stories to children.
“Do you own an air bnb, Ms. Barnwell?”
“I do, yes. I take in a few renters, as many as my house can comfortably accommodate.”
“Who have you had staying with you this summer?”
I had a sinking feeling I knew where this was heading, and from the sudden tension in the room, so did plenty of others. But I kept my expression neutral and waited.
“I’ve been renting to a Mr. and Mrs. Murduck,” she said clearly. “Mr. Jacob Murduck, to be precise.”
A collective intake of breath swept through the courtroom. I felt my stomach drop as I glanced toward where the Murduck family sat. Robert had gone pale, while Lynn and Ann exchanged quick, worried looks.
“Anyone else staying with you?”
“A Mr. Morrison, from Massachusetts, and a young couple from Boston. That’s all my place can handle.”
“How long have Mr. and Mrs. Murduck been with you?”
“Since early June. About three months now.”
“Are they still there?”
“Well, their belongings are. But neither one is in right now. Mrs. Murduck left for South Carolina last Monday morning, and her husband followed that same afternoon. I haven’t seen either of them since.”
My mind raced. Monday, just one day before the body was discovered at Captain Mike’s.
“Did either of them take luggage when they left?”
“No bags, no.”
“A suitcase? Backpack?”
“Mrs. Murduck had a small purse with her, but nothing bigger.”
“Large enough for clothing?”
“Oh no, nothing like that.”
“And Mr. Murduck?”
“Just had his jacket with him when he left. Nothing else that I could see.“
“Why didn’t they leave together? Did you overhear anything about their plans?”
Ms. Barnwell shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “I did hear them discussing it, yes. Mrs. Murduck wanted to come to South Carolina, but her husband was against the idea. He didn’t want her to leave at all, and they had quite an argument about it. Since both their room and mine face the same porch, I couldn’t help but overhear some of what they said.”
“Please tell us what you heard.”
She hesitated, clearly uncomfortable. “It doesn’t feel right, repeating private conversations, but if it’s important to the case…” She took a breath. “I heard Mr. Murduck say something like, ‘I’ve changed my mind, Vivian. The more I think about it, the less I want you getting involved in this situation. It won’t help anything, you’ll just make things worse for yourself, and our life will become even more difficult than it already is.’”
“Do you know what situation he was referring to?”
“No, I have no idea.”
“What was Mrs. Murduck’s response?”
Ms. Barnwell’s voice grew softer, more troubled. “She was quite emotional. Said she wanted to go, that she was determined to go, and that her feelings mattered just as much as his logical arguments. She said she wasn’t happy, had never been happy, and wanted things to change, even if they got worse. But she didn’t think they would get worse.”
She paused, looking increasingly uncomfortable. “Then she said something about… about being pretty, asking if she wasn’t very pretty when she was upset and looking up at him like that. I heard her drop to her knees, which made her husband make some kind of noise, I couldn’t tell if he was pleased or annoyed. Then there was quiet for a while, just the sound of him pacing back and forth. After that, she spoke again, but she sounded petulant, almost childish.
“She said something like, ‘It may seem foolish to you, knowing me the way you do and seeing all my different moods. But it will be a surprise to him, and I’ll handle it so well that we’ll get everything we want, and maybe even more. I have a talent for certain things, Jacob, and something tells me I’m going to succeed with this.’”
“How did Mr. Murduck respond?”
Ms. Barnwell looked increasingly uncomfortable. “He wasn’t having any of it. Said her ‘good intentions’ were just vanity talking, that his father would see right through whatever she was planning, and that he absolutely forbade her to go through with it. There was more along those lines, he was quite firm about it.”
“And Mrs. Murduck?”
“She was furious. I heard her stomp her foot, and she said she was going to do what she thought was right regardless of what he wanted. That she’d married a lover, not someone who would order her around, and that if he didn’t know what was good for him, she certainly did. She said that when his father reached out to patch things up in the family, then he’d have to admit that even if she didn’t have money or connections, she at least had plenty of brains.”
“What was his response to that?”
“Something about brains being useless when they border on stupidity. That seemed to end their argument, because the next thing I heard was her shuffle past my door, she’d won and was leaving the house. But her husband wasn’t happy about it, judging from what he said after she left.”
“Do you recall his exact words?”
Ms. Barnwell flushed. “They were… profanity, ma’am. I’m afraid he cursed both her and his own foolishness. Though I always had the impression that despite everything, he truly loved her.“
“Did you see her after she left her room?”
“Yes, ma’am, I watched her walk down the front path.”
“On her way to catch the train?”
“That’s right.”
“Still carrying that small bag you mentioned?”
“Yes, and that tells you something about the state of things between them. Mr. Murduck was usually very considerate, always helped ladies with their bags. I’d never seen him act ungentlemanly before.”
“You watched her from the window as she walked away?”
“Yes, ma’am. I suppose that makes me nosy, but I can’t help being curious about people.”
I found myself warming to this straightforward woman. She seemed honest about her own flaws, which I could respect.
“Did you notice what she was wearing?”
“Of course, that’s normal to notice those things.”
“Can you describe her outfit in detail for the court?”
“I believe so.”
“Please tell us what Mrs. Murduck was wearing when she left for South Carolina.”
“It was a black cashmere wool dress, very expensive-looking…”
A murmur ran through the courtroom. This wasn’t what anyone had expected to hear.
“It was cut in the latest style. She wasn’t wearing a coat, which seemed unwise, September weather can be unpredictable.”
“A black wool dress. What about her hat?”
“Oh, I’d seen that hat many times. It was… well, it was expensive. Years ago people would have called it frivolous, but nowadays fashion is more… important.”
Several people in the courtroom chuckled at her diplomatic phrasing, though the women remained tactfully silent.
“Would you recognize that hat if you saw it again?”
“I certainly would!”
Her emphasis carried confidence. But my thoughts had already jumped to the designer hat Detective William had found at the crime scene, the one that seemed to match exactly what Ms. Barnwell was describing.
The coroner asked a couple more questions about jewelry and shoes, but Ms. Barnwell hadn’t paid much attention to those details. She did mention that pointed-toe shoes were fashionable in the city, so Mrs. Murduck probably wore those.
The revelation that Vivian Murduck had been wearing completely different clothes as the murdered victim sent a ripple of confusion through the courtroom. People were just beginning to process this bombshell when Ms. Barnwell returned to her seat. Only the coroner seemed unsurprised by this development, which made me think she knew exactly where this testimony was leading.