“Dr. V expects to call about a dozen witnesses,” Sheriff Curtis said. “Let’s move this table over.” The sheriff and the constable moved a long table from against the wall out to the middle of the office.
“I’ll fetch some chairs from the courthouse,” Constable Hicks said. “Boys, do you mind?”
The five jurors followed the constable out the door. Newsmen started to file in.
“You fellers wait till we get things set up,” the sheriff said. “Space is tight. Gone have to stand in the back, anyway.”
I stepped outside with the others and lit a cigarette.
“Getting a poker game up this evening, Charlie,” Pace said. “You interested?”
An older reporter next to Pace chuckled.
“Oh, that’s right,” Pace said. “That’d be against your high morals, wouldn’t it, Charlie? Coroner ain’t giving you any preferential treatment, is he? You being his pious little college boy and all?”
I could feel my face reddening. I held the cigarette in my lips and pulled out my handkerchief. I wiped my glasses and wrapped the frames back behind my ears. I saw the jurors coming out of the courthouse, each man carrying a chair under each arm. I trotted across the square into the courthouse and picked up a couple of chairs, too. Pace and the other newsmen followed. They each grabbed chairs. I held the door for Pace and the constable.
“That ought to do it, Charlie,” the constable said. “Just pull that door to.”
Witnesses began to arrive about 9:30. Poindexter was among the first to show up. He looked nervous. The sheriff offered him a chair but Poindexter refused and paced the back of the room. I smiled at him when he looked my way but he did not smile back. He had worn a big winter coat and he did not remove it, even though the room was warm. Sweat glistened on his forehead. Finally the sheriff had enough and told him to sit down. Poindexter complied. Then he stood up again, shucked off the big coat, and sat back down, piling the coat on his lap.
Dr. Vanderslice greeted the witnesses as they entered and showed each one to a seat. I recognized Mrs. Stewart, who lived upstairs at the C&O depot with her husband, Gus, the station manager. Other women I remembered seeing standing in front of the victim’s house came in. The only person of color who entered was a woman wearing an apron and bandanna. A trim man with wavy brown hair and a thick moustache entered. Dr. Vanderslice nodded to him as he took a seat. The constable opened the stove firebox and jabbed at the coals with a poker. He added an armload of wood, shut the firebox, and turned down the draft. Then a small, pale woman entered the jail, the girl I recognized as Harriet flanking her on one side, and the younger girl, Sadie, on the other. Everyone in the office stood, some leaning one way or the other to get a view. These were Mrs. Belote’s three daughters. Dr. Vanderslice took the woman’s hand in both his for a moment and bent to speak to her. She pressed a white kerchief to her cheek. Dr. Vanderslice touched Harriet on the shoulder, Sadie on the head, then guided the three to their chairs with the other witnesses. Sheriff Curtis unlocked the iron door and went back in the jail. He returned with Virginia Christian. She stood, the sheriff holding an arm, by the door.
“Hello, Virgie,” the little girl called from her chair.
The black girl smiled faintly and lowered her eyes.
Dr. Vanderslice beckoned the jurors, who took their seats behind the table. He immediately seated himself with them.
“Coroner’s inquest, Virginia, County of Elizabeth City, here continued. I now call Miss Harriet Belote,” he said.
When the girl stood, she wavered, and her older sister reached for her hand and held it a moment. The girl’s black hair hung in a long braid down her back. Pace leaned forward. The room was silent, save for the crackling of the new wood in the fire and the wind sighing in the flue. The girl stepped forward and sat in the chair, erect, not touching the chair back.
“Harriet Belote, you told me you went to school yesterday?” Dr. Vanderslice asked.
“Yes, sir, I did.”
“About what time did you leave home for school?”
“About a quarter after eight.”
“Was everything all right when you left for school?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Mr. Cahill, who boards at your house, had he gone to work?”
“Yes, sir.”
“When you returned from school, was everything all right?”
“Everything was quiet. My little sister was out playing. I thought my mother was out.”
She sat perfectly still, her back to us. Her voice was calm and musical, like the middle range of a piano. Dr. Vanderslice and the jurors never took their eyes from her face.
“Did you see anything unusual when you went in the kitchen yesterday?” Dr. Vanderslice asked.
“I noticed the bloody water in the basin.”
“When you saw the bloody water what did you do, did you go in the room?”
“I looked at it and then started in the front room to get my lessons and something told me not to go into the room; I saw my mother’s hair and combs lying on the floor, and I called my sister.”
“Did you see any blood on the floor?”
“I saw two little splotches; I did not go into the room where it was.”
“Why didn’t you go into the room?”
“My heart just failed me, that’s all.”
“Where did you go then?”
“I ran out and called the Warriner and Richardson boys and told them to go in there.”
“What did they do?”
“They went in there and saw the blood and they were frightened too, and they went down to the depot and called two men.”
“What two men did they call?”
“Gus Stewart and another man. They work at the depot.”
“You stated that your mother was all right when you left home that morning. Had your mother had any difficulty of any character, or any kind, at any time?”
“I know about the skirt.”
“Well, what about that?”
“Sunday a week ago when my mother was getting ready to go over to my married sister’s in Newport News, she missed her best black skirt.”
“Had you missed any sort of articles before?”
“A gold cross and chain of mine, but I got that back, and another time a ring that was missing and she looked around and found it behind some things. And Momma missed a light apron and my little sister missed her gloves, and once a locket. Momma did not say anything about these but she said that she could not afford to lose a skirt.”
“And Virgie once quit washing for your mother?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did your mother discharge her when she quit washing that time?”
“No, sir, she didn’t discharge her. She stopped on her own accord, she said her mother was paralyzed, and she said she could not wash any longer.”
“You always found her amicable, and of a pleasant disposition?”
“Yes, sir, she seemed to be pleasant; we did not miss anything the first time she washed for us, not a thing.”
“Thank you, Miss Harriet; I have no further questions for you.”
She stood and faced