“Well,” Roscoe said, smooth and slow, though not enunciating and projecting but just talking, finding it odd as hell being up on the stage with all these people and talking regular. “I went from 1220 into 1219 and locked the door, and I went right to the bathroom. I found Virginia Rappe”-saying her last name because he decided that was more appropriate and all-“lying on the floor, rolling around, moaning, and very ill. When I opened the bathroom door it stuck against her and I could only open the door a little ways and had to edge my way in. I lifted her up and I held her head. I held her head, pulling back the hair from her face, while she vomited into the commode.”

“What else happened?”

“Well, after I had helped her sit up, she asked for water and she drank a glass and one half. I wiped her face with a towel. She said she wanted to lie down, so I helped her from the bathroom and assisted her to lie down on the smaller of the two beds in the room. I went back into the bathroom and closed the door.”

“When you came back out of the bathroom again, what did you observe?”

“I found Virginia Rappe on the floor, between the two beds, rolling as if in great pain and moaning. I got her up and got her onto the large bed. She at once became violently ill again. I went at once to 1220, expecting to find Mrs. Delmont. I found Miss Prevost, told her what had happened, and she went right into 1219. I went back into 1219 and Virginia Rappe was tearing her clothes. She acted then as if she were in a terrible temper. She pulled up her dress and tore at her stockings. She had black lace garters on and she was tearing them, too. Then Fishback came into the room. At that time, Miss Rappe was tearing her waist. She had one sleeve almost torn off, and I said, ‘All right, Virginia, if you want to get that off I’ll help you.’ And I did help her to tear it off.”

“What did you do then?”

“Well, I went out of the room for a few moments. When I came back, Miss Rappe was nude on the bed. Mrs. Delmont was rubbing her body with ice wrapped up in a towel. I saw a piece of ice on Miss Rappe’s body and I said, ‘What’s that doing there?,’ and Mrs. Delmont said, ‘Leave it there. You let us alone. I’ll take care of Virginia.’ She then tried to order me to leave the room. I said to Mrs. Delmont, ‘Shut up or I’ll throw you out of the window.’ ”

“What happened then?”

“Mrs. Taube came in and I told her to telephone Mr. Boyle, the hotel manager, and she did. She used the telephone in 1220. Then I went back into room 1219 and I told Mrs. Delmont to get dressed, as the manager was coming. I pulled the bedspread over the body of Miss Rappe. Then Boyle came upstairs. I took him into room 1219.”

“What was done then?”

“We got Fred Fishback’s bathrobe out of a closet and put it on Miss Rappe and then I picked her up and, with Mr. Boyle, started to carry her to room 1227.”

“How did you leave 1219?”

“Through the door leading into the corridor.”

“Was that door open?”

“Boyle opened the door.”

“What next?”

“Well, I carried Miss Rappe about three-fourths of the way. She kept slipping and I asked Mr. Boyle to help me. We put her in bed in room 1227. Then I walked back down the corridor with Mr. Boyle as far as the elevator and then went to 1219.”

“Was the door from 1219 into the hall unlocked on that day?”

“Yes. Fishback went out that way when he left to take my car.”

“How was it opened when you removed Miss Rappe?”

“Boyle walked right up to it and opened it.”

“Was the window to 1219 open?”

“Yes. It was always wide-open.”

“While in 1219, did you hear Miss Rappe say, ‘You hurt me’ or ‘He hurt me’?”

“No, I did not. She spoke to me several times, but no one could understand just what she said.”

“On the next day, or at any other time, did you have any conversation with Al Semnacher with regard to the ice on Virginia Rappe’s body?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Did you ever, at any time, in room 1219 on September fifth, 1921, have occasion to place your hand over that of Miss Rappe’s on the door of your room?”

“No, sir.”

“Did you in any way come into contact with that door leading out into the corridor?”

“No, sir.”

“Do you know Fred Fishback?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you ever, on any occasion, have a conversation with him in which you are alleged to have asked him if he had the key to Virginia Rappe’s room and in which he is alleged to have said yes and in which you further are alleged to have said, ‘I’ll give this for it,’ showing him a roll of bills?”

“No such conversation ever took place.”

“Now, Mr. Arbuckle, are there any other circumstances that occurred in room 1219 that you can tell this jury?”

“No, sir.”

“And you have related to the jury everything that occurred there on that day as you know it?”

“Yes, sir. Everything.”

“YOU’RE SAFE.”

“What time is it?” Sam asked.

“Noon,” Jose said.

“I need to get up.”

“You need to rest.”

“I feel fine.”

“You have a fever.”

“Why’s it so dark?”

“I pulled the curtains,” she said. “You want me to open them?”

“Please.”

Sam found his feet and dropped his head into his hands. The afternoon light was white and harsh and he squinted and looked down at his skinny legs and stocking feet.

“Where’s the baby?”

“In the bedroom,” she said. “Asleep.”

Jose softly shut the door separating the two rooms of the apartment. She walked back to Sam carrying a little bottle and spoon. “You need to take this.”

“I need a cigarette. Would you mind reaching in my coat?”

“Sam?”

He looked at her, blurred in the light behind her, and he closed one eye. “Open up.”

He did. The balsamea tasted horrible.

She poured another spoonful.

“I wired my aunt,” she said. “We can stay there until I get settled in Montana.”

He nodded. She found his cigarettes and a book of matches.

“I can arrange to have my checks sent direct to you.”

“That’s good of you, Sam.”

“It’s not good of me,” he said. “Don’t ever say that.”

“What’s the matter?”

“The City is nowhere to raise a child. The sooner the both of you get on that train, the better.”

“Whatever you say.”

“But you don’t understand?”

“There are other jobs.”

“Not for me,” he said. “I’m not strong enough to work the docks and not educated enough to work in an office.”

“You could go back to school. To business college.”

“And how would we make it?”

She was quiet.

“I’ll take care of you,” he said. “You have my word. As long as I can work a job, those checks will keep coming.”

She didn’t say anything.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake.”

“I believe you.”

Sam stared at the window, his eyes adjusting, curtains skittering in a cold wind. By the kitchen table, he noticed his steamer trunk, pulled from the bedroom, open and waiting.

“Thought you might need to get packed,” Jose said, catching his stare.

“And I want you to take this for luck.”

She smiled with her eyes and handed him the little card given to them at Mary Jane’s birth. On the flip side was her hospital number and footprints stamped in ink.

He didn’t say anything, only tucked the card in his jacket. He did not meet her eye as she continued to talk, only watched the curtains that brought in the cold air and the smell of the sea. The baby started to wail in the next room. Sam lit a cigarette and watched Jose go, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

“NOW,” MILTON U’REN SAId, pacing, smiling with those sharp teeth, his long bony fingers clasped behind his back, “you stated that you never attempted to borrow a key from Mr. Fishback during August of 1919 in Culver City? Is that correct?”

“That is correct.”