Chapter 4: What Patricia Knew
Ruth Calloway took the stand with the careful dignity of someone who had decided, a long time ago, that she would tell the truth regardless of the cost.
Denise's lawyer tried immediately.
He was on his feet before Ruth had finished settling into the chair.
"Your Honor, I must object to this witness.
She has no legal relationship to either party.
Her testimony is hearsay at best—"
"Mr.
Crane," the judge said, "I've already ruled.
Sit down or I'll ask you to leave your own case."
Mr.
Crane sat.
The judge nodded at Aaron.
"Proceed."
Aaron stood.
He was nervous — I could see it in the way he held his notepad — but his voice came out steady.
"Ms.
Calloway, can you tell the court about your relationship with Patricia Hargrove?"
"We were neighbors and close friends for eleven years," Ruth said.
"We had coffee together most mornings.
We talked about everything."
"Did Patricia ever speak to you about her sister, Denise?"
"Yes.
Many times."
"What did she tell you?"
Ruth looked at the judge rather than the gallery.
"Patricia told me that her relationship with Denise had been difficult for most of their adult lives.
That Denise had borrowed money from her and James on three separate occasions and never repaid it.
That when Patricia's father left his estate to both sisters equally, Denise contested the will and the legal battle lasted two years." She paused.
"Patricia said she forgave her.
She always forgave her.
That was the kind of woman she was."
"And in the weeks before her passing, did Patricia say anything to you about Denise?"
"Yes." Ruth's hands were still on her lap.
"About three weeks before the fire, Patricia called me in the evening.
She was distressed.
She said Denise had visited that weekend and had spent most of Sunday asking James detailed questions about Vicky's trust fund.
How much was in it.
Who the trustee was.
What would happen to it if both parents were gone before Vicky turned eighteen."
The gallery stirred.
The judge didn't move.
"Patricia said it frightened her," Ruth continued.
"She said something felt wrong.
She told me she was going to speak to her lawyer about changing the trustee designation."
"Did she do that?"
"I don't know.
She p*ssed away before our next coffee."
Aaron let that land for a moment.
"Thank you, Ms.
Calloway."
Mr.
Crane was up before Aaron had fully sat down.
He buttoned his jacket as he approached the stand, and his voice came out smooth and almost kind.
"Ms.
Calloway.
You're a neighbor.
Not a lawyer, not a financial advisor, not a family member."
"That's correct."
"So everything you've told this court is simply your recollection of private conversations."
"Yes."
"Conversations that cannot be verified.
Because Patricia Hargrove is no longer alive to confirm or deny them."
Ruth looked at him calmly.
"That's true."
"So for all this court knows, you may be misremembering.
Or exaggerating.
Or perhaps you simply don't like my client."
Ruth tilted her head slightly.
"Mr.
Crane, I'm seventy-one years old.
I've outlived my husband, my brother, and my closest friend.
I did not drive forty minutes to this courthouse on a Tuesday morning to exaggerate."
Two people in the gallery made sounds they quickly suppressed.
Mr.
Crane changed direction.
"Isn't it possible that Patricia was simply venting?
That she was upset with her sister temporarily and said things she didn't mean?"
"Patricia was not a dramatic woman," Ruth said.
"When she said something frightened her, it frightened her."
Mr.
Crane paused.
Then he smiled, thin and careful.
"Nothing further."
The judge called a short break.
I walked out into the hallway again and stood by the window at the end of the corridor.
My legs felt strange.
Like the floor wasn't entirely solid.
Aaron appeared beside me.
"She was good," he said quietly.
"She was telling the truth," I said.
"That helps." He looked at his notepad.
"Michael, I have to ask you something.
The manila envelope you brought.
What's in it?"
"Financial records," I said.
"I found them in my dad's files two weeks ago.
Bank statements.
Transfers.
Denise borrowed money from my parents four times, not three.
The last transfer was six months before the fire.
Thirty thousand dollars.
There's no repayment record anywhere."
Aaron was quiet for a moment.
"You held that back."
"I wanted to see what she'd do first."
He looked at me with an expression I couldn't quite read.
"You're nineteen."
"I know."
"Okay," he said.
"We use it in the next round.
Let Crane think he's recovered, then we put it on the table."
We turned to walk back.
Through the narrow window in the courtroom door, I could see Denise leaning close to Howard.
May you like
His hand was flat on the table between them, and he was shaking his head.
Whatever she was asking him to do, he didn't want to do it.
