“Yes.”
“And the Rix Road Shopping Center is owned by you?”
“Yes, me and a partner.”
“And the bank sent you that foreclosure notice in September of last year because you were behind in the quarterly payments on the mortgage. Is that correct?”
“That’s what the bank said.”
“Do you disagree, Mr. Duffy? Are you telling this jury that you were not behind in the mortgage payments on this property in September of last year?” Jack Hogan waved some more papers as he asked this, as if he had plenty of proof.
Duffy paused, then offered a fake grin. “Yes, we were behind in the payments.”
“And the bank had loaned you how much money on this property?”
“Two hundred thousand dollars.”
“Two hundred thousand dollars,” Hogan repeated as he looked at the jurors. Then he walked to his table, put down one handful of papers and picked up another. He situated himself behind the podium and said, “Now, Mr. Duffy, did you own a warehouse on Wolf Street in the industrial park here in Strattenburg?”
“Yes, sir. I had two partners in that deal.”
“And you sold the warehouse, didn’t you?”
“Yes, we sold it.”
“And the sale took place last September, right?”
“If you say so. I’m sure you have the paperwork.”
“Indeed I do. And my paperwork shows that the warehouse was on the market for over a year, that the asking price was six hundred thousand dollars, the mortgage at State Bank was five hundred fifty, and that you and your partners finally sold it for just over four hundred thousand.” Hogan was sort of thrusting the paperwork in the air as he spoke. “You agree, Mr. Duffy?”
“That sounds about right.”
“So you lost a chunk of money on that deal, right, Mr. Duffy?”
“It was not one of my better deals.”
“Were you desperate to sell the warehouse?”
“No.”
“Did you need the cash, Mr. Duffy?”
The witness shifted weight and seemed a bit uncomfortable. “We, my partners and I, needed to sell the warehouse.”
For the next twenty minutes, Hogan hammered away at Pete Duffy and his partners and their financial woes. Duffy refused to admit that he had been desperate. But, as the cross-examination grew stressful, it became obvious that the witness had been scrambling to prop up one deal while another fell through. Hogan had plenty of paperwork. He produced copies of two lawsuits that had been filed against Pete Duffy by ex-partners. He grilled the witness about the allegations in the lawsuits. Duffy adamantly denied he was at fault and explained that neither case had merit. He freely admitted that his business had been struggling, but clung to the position that he had been far from bankruptcy.
Jack Hogan did a masterful job of portraying Duffy as a cash-starved wheeler-dealer who barely managed to stay one step ahead of his creditors. But linking his problems to the motive for murder was still a stretch.
Changing subjects, Hogan began to position himself for another bomb. He politely poked around the issue of the Duffys’ troubled marriage, and after a few easy questions, asked, “Now, Mr. Duffy, you testified that you actually moved out, is that correct?”
/> “It is.”
“And this separation lasted for one month?”
“I wouldn’t call it a separation. We never referred to it as that.”
“Then what was it called?”
“We didn’t bother to give it a name, sir.”
“Fair enough. When did you move out?”
“I didn’t keep a journal, but it was July of last year.”
“Roughly three months before her murder?”
“Something like that.”
“Where did you live after you moved out?”
“I’m not sure I actually moved, sir. I just took some clothes and left.”
“Okay, and where did you go?”
“I spent a few nights at the Marriott, just down the street. I spent a few nights with one of my partners. He’s divorced and lives alone. It was a pretty lousy month.”
“So you were just here and there? For about a month?”
“That’s right.”
“Then you moved back home, patched things up with Mrs. Duffy, and were in the process of living happily ever after when she was murdered?”
“Is that a question?”
“Strike it. Here’s a question for you, Mr. Duffy.” Jack Hogan was back with the paperwork. He handed a document to the witness, and with one glance Pete Duffy became pale.
“Recognize that, Mr. Duffy?”
“Uh, I’m not sure,” Duffy said, flipping a page, trying to stall.
“Well, allow me to help. That’s a four-page lease for an apartment over in Weeksburg, thirty miles away. The lease is for a nice, two-bedroom furnished apartment in a swanky building, two thousand dollars a month. Ring a bell, Mr. Duffy?”
“Not really. I, uh—”
“A one-year lease, beginning last June.”
Duffy shrugged as if he had no clue. “It’s not signed by me.”
“No, but by your secretary, a Mrs. Judith Maze, a woman who’s lived with her husband at the same address here in Strattenburg for the past twenty years. Right, Mr. Duffy?”
“If you say so. She is my secretary.”
“Why would she sign a lease for such an apartment?”
“I have no idea. Maybe you should ask her.”
“Mr. Duffy, do you really want me to call her as a witness?”
“Uh, sure. Go ahead.”
“Have you ever seen this apartment, Mr. Duffy?”
Duffy was rattled and dazed and clinging to a slippery slope. He glanced at the jury box, offered another fake smile, then replied, “Yes, I’ve stayed there a couple of times.”
“Alone?” Hogan barked with perfect timing and great suspicion.
“Of course I was alone. I was over there on business, things ran late, so I stayed in the apartment.”
“How convenient. Who’s paying the rent?”
“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask Mrs. Maze.”
“So you’re telling the jury, Mr. Duffy, that you did not lease this apartment and you’re not paying the rent?”
“That’s correct.”
“And you’ve only stayed there a couple of times?”
“That’s correct.”
“And the leasing of this apartment had nothing to do with the problems you and Mrs. Duffy were having?”
“No. Again, I didn’t lease the apartment.”
To Theo, who knew the truth, Pete Duffy’s honesty had been severely questioned. It seemed obvious that he was lying about the apartment. And if he told one lie, then he would certainly tell another.