The Evangeline Read online

  THE

  EVANGELINE

  OTHER BOOKS BY D. W. BUFFA

  The Defense

  The Prosecution

  The Judgment

  The Legacy

  Star Witness

  Breach of Trust

  Trial by Fire

  THE

  EVANGELINE

  D. W. BUFFA

  First published in Australia in 2006

  Copyright © D.W. Buffa 2006

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) under the Act.

  Allen & Unwin

  83 Alexander Street

  Crows Nest NSW 2065

  Australia

  Phone: (61 2) 8425 0100

  Fax: (61 2) 9906 2218

  Email: [email protected]

  Web: www.allenandunwin.com

  National Library of Australia

  Cataloguing-in-Publication entry:

  Buffa, Dudley W., 1940- .

  The Evangeline

  ISBN 1 74114 694 1.

  I. Title.

  813.54

  Printed by Griffin Press, South Australia

  Typeset in 12/16pt Bembo by Asset Typesetting Pty Ltd

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  To Michael Naumann

  who gave me my start as a writer

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter One

  NO ONE SPOKE, NO ONE MOVED, THE ONLY sound a muffled cough that made the silence more profound. In the crowded solitude of the courtroom everyone waited, as much worried about what this trial might tell about themselves as about the man who was charged with the crime. Their solemn, troubled looks told you that, deep down, they wondered whether they might not have done the same thing—and whether it was really a crime at all.

  At the far left, opposite the jury box, a wooden door flew open. Grey eyes blazing, the Honourable Homer Maitland moved quickly to the bench. He cast a long, thoughtful glance at the crowd and then, with a slight nod towards the clerk waiting obediently below, instructed her to bring in the jury.

  Judge Maitland greeted the six men and six women with a stern formality. It seemed to serve notice, as if any notice were needed, that this was not an ordinary trial, not the kind heard dozens of times each month. This was something different, something that none of those involved in were ever likely to forget. He turned away from the jury. The narrow creases at the edge of his mouth spread along his jaw as he studied the two lawyers at the tables set side by side at right angles to the jury box.

  ‘Mr Roberts,’ he said in a voice as rough and weathered as his hands.

  ‘Your Honour?’ replied Michael Roberts for the prosecution.

  ‘Call your first witness.’

  It was there for just a second, a brief confession of reluctance, and something more than that: a doubt whether any of this was wise. But Roberts was not there to show doubt or hesitation; he was there to construct a case which, when he was finished, would leave no room for doubt that a crime had been committed and that the defendant—and no one else—was guilty of it.

  ‘The People call Benjamin Whitfield.’

  Everyone turned to look. They had never met him, but they all knew who he was. Even before what had happened, everyone had known his name.

  Whitfield took the oath in a voice that, though steady, seemed to lack conviction.

  ‘Would you please state your name for the record,’ Roberts began as he took a position at the side of the counsel table, only a few feet from the jury box.

  ‘Benjamin Whitfield,’ replied the witness.

  Roberts struck a languid pose, his arms crossed in front of him, one foot crossed over the other.

  ‘You are the registered owner of a sailing vessel, the Evangeline?’

  ‘Yes, I am. Or, rather, I was.’

  ‘Of course. Would you describe that vessel for us, Mr Whitfield?’

  ‘She was a double-masted sailing ship, the finest of her kind.’

  ‘And it was registered in the United States?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you purchase it new?’

  ‘I had her built. She was finished a year ago. She was in trial runs for several months. This was to have been her first real voyage.’

  Roberts moved across the front of the courtroom to the clerk’s desk. ‘Would you be kind enough to identify these photographs?’

  He handed the witness a large folder.Whitfield removed half a dozen photographs, examined each in turn and passed them back.

  ‘They’re photographs of the Evangeline. Two of them were taken the day she was christened; three of them while she was undergoing her first sea trials.’

  Stepping away so everyone could see, Roberts held up the sixth and final photograph.

  ‘And this photograph, Mr Whitfield? When was this one taken?’

  With a grim expression, Whitfield stared down at his hands. ‘The day she left.’

  Roberts stood next to the railing in front of the jury box, waiting until Whitfield looked back.

  ‘The day she left Nice,’ Whitfield explained in a distant, hollow voice. ‘The day she started her last voyage.’

  ‘The day the Evangeline left the south of France to sail out of the Mediterranean, past Gibraltar, down along the west coast of Africa, around the Cape, back up the eastern coast and through the Suez?’

  ‘Yes, that was the voyage she was on, to sail around Africa. It was meant to be a vacation, a way to get away from everything and just spend time with friends.’

  ‘And how many of your friends were on board the day the Evangeline left the harbour in Nice?’

  ‘Nineteen.’

  ‘Was it your plan to sail the boat yourself?’

  Whitfield shook his head emphatically.‘No. I could have done it; not by myself, you understand, but with a crew. But I wanted this to be a time when I didn’t have to do anything, when I had no responsibilities at all. That’s why I hired Vincent Marlowe; so that everything would be taken care of, so that the boat and everyone on her would be in good hands.’ Whitfield bent forward and stared at Roberts. ‘I still believe that.’

  ‘You still believe…?’

  ‘That Vincent Marlowe was the best choice I could have made. I would trust him with …’ Whitfield suddenly stiffened; a shudder passed through him.

  ‘You would trust him with what, Mr W
hitfield? Your life? You trusted him with a lot more than that! You trusted him with nineteen of your closest friends and the other seven members of the crew,’ said Roberts in a voice that, as it fell lower, became harsh and implacable.‘Twenty-seven human beings, Mr Whitfield—and how many of them are left?’

  ‘Objection, your Honour,’ cried William Darnell, lifting himself halfway out of his chair.

  It was unmistakable, that voice. It came clothed in the indefatigable cheerfulness of a man who had lived long enough to know that every day might be his last, and who found in that otherwise depressing fact one more reason to love each day he was alive.

  ‘If I still have any memory left, I could swear I heard the prosecution call Mr Whitfield as a witness. I’m pretty sure I didn’t call him.Which leaves me—and perhaps the court as well—a little confused about why my good friend Mr Roberts has decided to subject him to cross-examination?’

  Homer Maitland lifted one of his iron-grey eyebrows. ‘Mr Roberts? He is your witness, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, your Honour,’ said Roberts without expression. ‘Sorry, Mr Whitfield. That was unfair of me. But to get back to your testimony: you hired the defendant, Vincent Marlowe, as the captain because you wanted to spend time with your friends?’

  ‘Yes. As I say, Marlowe is a very experienced sailor.’

  Whitfield darted a glance past Roberts to the defendant, who was sitting next to Darnell.

  ‘But something happened, and this trip, this voyage around Africa, went on without you.What happened? Why didn’t you go?’

  Benjamin Whitfield began to rub his hands together as he leaned forward. He was looking straight at Roberts, but staring at something only he could see. ‘Would it have made any difference if I had gone? I keep wondering what I would have done—what anyone could have done…’

  Roberts clutched the hard, varnished railing of the jury box with his right hand and shoved his left hand into his pocket.‘Why didn’t you go?’ he asked.

  The question brought Whitfield out of the strange reverie into which he had fallen. He shook his head. ‘My father had a heart attack. I had to get home.’

  ‘I’m very sorry. And did your father…?’

  ‘The doctors could not save him. He died in the hospital a few days later.’

  ‘But you were able to spend some time with him? You had the chance to say your last goodbyes. And he died surrounded by his family. He—’

  ‘Your Honour?’ objected Darnell.‘We’re all very sorry for Mr Whitfield’s loss, but I’m not quite certain that I see the connection between the manner of his father’s death and the charges brought against my client.’

  Judge Maitland gave Roberts a cautionary glance. Roberts returned a brief, formal nod and, without moving from his place next to the jury box, went on to his next question.

  ‘Mr Whitfield, there were nineteen passengers and eight crew members on board. What precautions had been taken for their safety? Let’s begin with the question of life preservers, or, as I think they are sometimes called, vests?’

  ‘There were dozens of them on board—more than adequate.’

  ‘Their number may have been adequate, but were they immediately accessible?’ Roberts stared down at the tips of his shoes as he moved one foot slightly in front of the other. There was no reply to his question. His eyes came up first, followed by his head. ‘Mr Whitfield?’

  ‘Sorry. Yes, I assume so. They were stored in all the normal places; everything was done according to the standard regulations.’

  ‘The life vests—these were the inflatable kind? You put it on, pull a cord, and it inflates itself?’

  ‘Yes, exactly. Everyone knew how to do it. That’s one of the first things the crew would have done—shown everyone where the vests were, how to put them on, how to use them. And, you have to remember,’ said Whitfield, looking towards the jury, ‘all those people—every one of them—had been on boats before…’

  ‘But always as passengers, never as members of the crew,’ said Roberts.

  ‘Yes, that’s right; but they were familiar with life vests.’

  Roberts moved his foot another inch forward.

  ‘Now tell us, if you would, about the lifeboats that were available in case of emergency.’

  ‘There were several inflatable rafts, and two Zodiacs, which are also inflatable but have outboard motors fixed to a wooden board in back.’

  ‘And each one could accommodate how many passengers?What I mean to say,’ Roberts added quickly,‘is safely accommodate?’

  ‘The inflatable rafts could probably each handle six or seven; the Zodiacs could carry perhaps as many as nine or ten.’

  ‘Certainly enough capacity for the nineteen passengers and eight crew members of the Evangeline,’ said Roberts with a glance at the jury that was dark and full of meaning.

  Darnell bounced up from his chair. An eager smile darted across his mouth. ‘I’m afraid it’s my dreadful memory again, your Honour. I know, of course, that Mr Roberts has now become a witness; it’s just that I can’t remember him being sworn!’

  Homer Maitland drew in his cheeks, forcing his lips forward: the wily expression of a judge who knew the subtle art by which the legendary William Darnell had captivated juries for the better part of half a century.

  ‘Perhaps the clerk had better put you both under oath,’ he remarked as he studied Darnell through half-closed eyes.‘Do you have a question, Mr Roberts? Because if you do, this might be a good time to ask it.’

  ‘Yes, your Honour,’ replied Roberts in a voice that had no humour in it.‘Mr Whitfield, what other precautions were taken for the safety of the passengers and crew? Were the lifeboats adequately provisioned?’

  ‘Yes. I mean, I think so. I mean, the captain, Mr Marlowe … I’m sure that before they were ever lowered away, he would—the crew would have…’

  ‘What about the communications equipment? There was a radio; there was…?’

  ‘A radio was the least of it. Computers, wireless Internet communication, global positioning, cell phones—the most advanced electronic equipment in the world was on that boat. The Evangeline was one of the most technologically advanced sailing vessels ever built.’

  Roberts walked back to the counsel table and started to pull out his chair. He stopped and looked again at Whitfield.

  ‘The most advanced equipment in the world—and none of it worked! How do you explain that, Mr Whitfield? That with all this technology, the Evangeline went down in a storm at sea and for forty days no one knew where she was or what had happened to her?’

  With a grim, haunted look, Benjamin Whitfield shook his head.

  ‘How do you explain that, Mr Whitfield?’ Roberts asked insistently.

  With an anguished stare, Whitfield shook his head one last time. ‘They say she went down in less than two minutes. No one on her would have had a chance to do anything.’

  Chapter Two

  WHEN HE WAS NOT ON HIS FEET OBJECTING, William Darnell sat in his chair, his arms hanging limp over the sides, staring at the ceiling as if he were either bored by every word the witness said or had fallen asleep with his eyes wide open. He had done it often enough before, taken advantage of the longwinded testimony of a witness for the other side to catch up on his sleep. He had done it at least once in every one of the hundreds of trials in which he had appeared for the defence. And when he had not actually done it, he had made certain to pretend that he had. It was part of the legend that had grown up around him: the brilliant eccentric who, if he slept at all during a trial, slept not at home in bed but in his office, fully dressed, able to make up for what he had missed with a short nap in court.

  The prosecution had finished with its first witness. The judge had inquired whether the defence wished to cross-examine. Darnell had not opened his eyes. His small head was tilted back, his mouth hung slightly open. Homer Maitland bent forward, about to rouse him with a louder voice.

  ‘And so you planned this trip around Africa as a way
of spending more time with a few of your favourite friends!’ Darnell’s eyes were still closed, his head still thrown back. He might have been talking in his sleep. ‘But then your father, who, if I’m not mistaken, had a long history of heart failure—this wasn’t his first heart attack, was it?—was put in hospital, and for that reason you flew home and the others went ahead without you?’

  Darnell’s eyes flew open. In a single, fluid motion, he spun out of his chair and moved to the precise spot in front of the jury box from which Michael Roberts had conducted the majority of his direct examination.‘May I inquire, Mr Whitfield, why you did not simply postpone the trip? You had been planning it for some time, isn’t that true? You testified, if I remember correctly, that the boat had been built to your rather exacting specifications; that it had completed all its trials; that it was a quite wonderful two-master, capable of sailing anywhere in the world. And her maiden voyage— the one you had planned for, the one you had dreamed about, the one on which, at an expense some might think exorbitant, you were bringing nineteen of your friends—’

  ‘Your Honour!’ Roberts objected.‘I seem to recall something about a witness testifying without first being sworn?’

  Homer Maitland drew in his cheeks the same way he had before. A look of sly amusement danced in his eyes as he waited for Darnell’s reply. But Darnell stared down at the floor and, with his small hands clasped behind his back, rose up on the balls of his feet and rocked slowly back and forth. The jurors close to him could see, if they were looking sharply, a smile at the corners of his mouth. Then, suddenly, it was gone. His head jolted up and he staggered forward, planted his feet firmly on the floor, and fixed the witness with a piercing stare.

  ‘Question:You had been planning this trip for some time— correct?’

  Startled,Whitfield scratched his head.

  ‘Planning it for some time?’ Darnell repeated as he took a step forward.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Question: The Evangeline was built to your specifications?’ He took another step.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Question: It had completed all its trials?’

  ‘Yes.’