"And you heard nothing, no sounds of struggle, the night your husband was killed?"
"No. I slept awhile that night. I was tired so I locked my door and slept. I heard nothing."
"Do you know who would want to kill your husband?"
"An enemy I suppose."
"Did your husband have any enemies?"
"Of course, everyone does. Even God has enemies."
That shocked the spectators, but then Isobel had meant it to. Quite suddenly she found herself hating those in the packed court room. Hating these upright citizens who had come to delight in her misfortune. Who sat in smug holier-than-thou attitudes and hoped for the worst. Not one among them really cared what happened to her—as long as it entertained them. Isobel shivered.
"Could you be more specific about your husband's enemies?" the Defense asked.
"No. He never confided in me. He was only interested in his munitions factories. In machines. He loved machines. He particularly loved destructive machines. Some hated him for that."
"The man Mrs. Whychek said you met in the park. Was there such a man?"