Free The Girls of Murder City by Douglas Perry Page A

whispered in Klarkowski’s ear. “Bring him in quick,” the prosecutor replied. A well-groomed man in his thirties entered the room, his eyes darting, and took the oath. He said his name was Paul E. Goodwin and that he worked with Law, selling cars. It was clear that Belva and her lawyers had no idea who this man was or what he would say.
    “Walter told me Monday that he planned to take out more life insurance because Mrs. Gaertner threatened to kill him,” Goodwin testified. “In a joking way he said he was afraid Mrs. Gaertner might shoot him. Three weeks before, he told me she locked him in her flat with her and threatened to stab him with a knife unless he stayed there.”
    The testimony was better than Klarkowski could have hoped. The assistant state’s attorney had planned to have the inquest continued to the next day, so the police would have more time to tidy up their investigation, but Goodwin provided everything he needed. After that damning testimony, this case was definitely moving on to a grand jury and trial. Klarkowski turned to Joseph Springer, who was running the inquest. “The state is willing to let this case go to the [coroner’s] jury at once, without further delay,” he said.
    The deputy coroner looked to the defense table. “Does Mrs. Gaertner wish to take the stand?”
    Reilly rose, with Belva’s eyes following him up to his full height. “She does not, on advice of counsel,” he said. “Her statement to the police has been admitted in evidence. That is all she cares to say.”
    With that, Klarkowski closed the show, adding the key pieces of Goodwin’s testimony to his summation. “I believe that when Law and Mrs. Gaertner returned from the café she tried to make him enter her apartment,” he said. “He, remembering the time she locked him in and held him there at the point of a knife, refused. Then she pulled the gun, perhaps. He tried to stop her, but couldn’t.” The prosecutor asked for a verdict.
    As soon as the jury and the deputy coroner left the room, reporters swarmed over Belva, Klarkowski, and Freda Law. Klarkowski waved off questions, but Belva and Mrs. Law welcomed them. The two women sat in the bare-walled room of the police station, separated by only a few seats, answering questions, seemingly oblivious to each other. Back and forth they went, each serving as background noise for the other.
    “At first, I felt rather sorry for that other woman because she was guilty of killing and everything. But did you see her come in? She was almost giggling. Oh, I never knew I could hate anyone so much.”
    “Walter never did get along with his wife. He often told me that if it weren’t for his little boy he’d never live with her.”
    “We had been married for four years and my husband was devoted to me. We celebrated our fourth wedding anniversary only last Friday.”
    “He was always a perfect gentleman, and I certainly never had any occasion to threaten his life. . . . He told me that the reason he wanted his insurance increased was because his wife had asked him to. About three weeks ago she went to a fortune teller and found out that her husband was going to die suddenly within eighteen days.”
    “No, I don’t want her to hang. But I don’t want her to go to jail for a month or two and then step out.”
    The two women could have gone on this way for some time, offering details and opinions about Walter Law, his marriage, and what should happen next, but after only twenty minutes, the coroner’s jury returned. The interviews ended abruptly.
    “Walter Law,” the jury declared, “came to his death in the automobile of Mrs. Belva Gaertner from a bullet fired by Mrs. Belva Gaertner.”
    Freda Law buried her head in her father-in-law’s embrace. Belva stared straight ahead and then blinked slowly. A reporter asked her a question, but she didn’t hear him. If she had come in giggling, she wasn’t going to leave that way.

    The day after William caught her in bed