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“I am.”
“And your address?”
“One fifteen Fauntleroy Avenue. Over behind the county hospital. It’s a lovely neighborhood.”
“Were you there on June fourteenth of this year?”
“Oh yes.”
“Are you sure?’
“I’m always there. I never leave my street, you see, at least for the last ten years or so, except on the Sabbath. And today, of course.”
She glanced at the jurors, who were listening attentively to the man. “What was your profession?”
“I was a traveling salesman. That’s why I don’t go anywhere anymore. For decades all I did was go from city to city. Sounds glamorous, but it gets old fast.”
“Does your home have a front porch?”
“Oh yes. That’s where I sit before I take a walk up and down my street at seven thirty in the evening after my dinner. Exercise is good for the digestion.”
“Now, on June fourteenth, did you have occasion to see anyone who is now in this courtroom?”
“Oh yes.”
“Who?”
“That young lady there.” He pointed at Pearl.
“Let the record show that the witness has identified Pearl Washington,” said DuBose. “And where did you see her?”
“She was going into the rowhouse across the street from mine.”
“Do you know who lived in that house?”
“A woman named Janice from New York was renting it from a lady named Angela Burton, who makes the very finest corn bread you’ll ever put in your mouth.”
The crowd collectively chuckled over this endearing comment.
“And you’re sure it was June fourteenth?”
“Oh yes, on account of the movers were at Mrs. Abigail Ward’s house that day. She had gotten on in years and was going to live with her son in Ashland.”
“And can you tell us when you saw the defendant go into that house on the fourteenth?”
“At one p.m. sharp.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“The hospital clock bonged the hour just as I saw her.”
“And you’re certain it was her?”
“Yes. I actually said hello to her and she said hello back, very nice, and polite, although she didn’t look too good. Seemed like she was having tummy trouble.”
“And did you see her leave?”
“Oh yes.”
