Acts of Love (25 page)

Reardon rose from his desk. “The people call Sandy Leder.”

Sandy had worn her most conservative outfit for the day, a black wool suit that covered most of her knees and a cream silk blouse. She had lost weight in the last weeks, and the skirt twisted as she walked down the aisle, the back zipper turning all the way to the side by the time she reached the spot where she was to stand to be sworn in. She tugged at it anxiously while the bailiff, his highly polished bald head reflecting the overhead light, lifted the Bible.

After she was sworn in, Reardon began. “Miss Leder, will you please tell the court your relationship to the deceased?”

“Ann Waring was my sister.”

“So Ted Waring was your brother-in-law?”

“Yes.”

She could feel Ted five feet away without seeing him, feel him watching her, a magnet, pulling her in, pushing her away. She looked only at Reardon, the stark white of his eyes.

“Were you close with your sister, Miss Leder?”

“Yes, we were always extremely close.”

“Would you say she confided in you?”

“Yes.”

“Miss Leder, how would you characterize your sister's marriage to Ted Waring? Would you say it was a harmonious union?”

Sandy frowned. “Obviously not.”

“How would you characterize it, then?”

“Stormy. At best.”

“Can you give us some idea of what you mean by that?”

“Ted Waring is a very temperamental man. I think that he expected to have complete control in the marriage. Maybe he did at the beginning. She was very young. But things change;
she
changed. That wasn't what she wanted anymore. And he couldn't stand that.”

“Objection,” Fisk called out with obvious distaste. “This is all wild conjecture. What kind of testimony is this? This is a court of law, not ‘The Oprah Winfrey Show.'”

Carruthers frowned. “A simple objection will do, Mr. Fisk. Sustained.”

Reardon continued, calmly, patiently. “In your recollection, was there ever an occasion during their marriage when Ann had reason to be frightened by his temper?”

“Yes. I can think of one instance right off the bat.” Sandy twisted a loose curl of her hair twice around her finger before releasing it. Her voice was a cross-current of frailty and fury and defiance. “It was about a year before their separation. Right around the time things were beginning to get bad between them. Ted came home from a trip to Albany where he had lost out on a bid for some building project, I don't remember what it was exactly. Anyway, he was drunk when he got home. I don't know what started their argument. All I know is that Ann called me around eleven o'clock that night. She was so scared of him that she had locked herself in the bedroom. She called me from the phone in there, and I could hear him pounding on the door and screaming at her. She said when he got like that there was no reasoning with him. She was very upset, crying. I don't think she dared to open the door until the next morning.”

“She was scared of what he might do to her physically?”

“Yes.”

Ted, frowning, pushed his chair back, causing it to screech against the floor.

“Miss Leder, to the best of your knowledge, can you please tell the court why your sister was in the process of divorcing Ted Waring?”

“Because she finally came to her senses.”

There was tittering in the court, and Judge Carruthers, herself recently divorced, was forced to bang her gavel louder than was usual, as if to still herself as well as the room.

“She had decided that the marriage was no longer tenable,” Sandy said in her professional voice, her interview voice, uninflected and remote.

“Why was that?”

“Their arguing had reached the point where it was interfering with their lives and the lives of their children.”

“How did your sister feel after the separation?”

“Objection,” Fisk said, still seated. “Counsel is asking the witness to read another person's mind.”

“On the contrary,” Reardon countered. “We have already established that the two sisters confided in each other and that Sandy Leder was well acquainted with her sister's feelings.”

“Overruled,” Judge Carruthers said dryly.

Sandy continued. “Ann went back to work. She was building a life for herself. She seemed to feel free for the first time ever.”

“Miss Leder, do you know if Ted Waring tried to reconcile with Ann?”

“Yes, he did.”

“And do you know whether your sister was considering this?”

“No. Absolutely not. She couldn't wait for the divorce papers to arrive.”

“In fact, hadn't she gone on a date on the weekend in question with a Dr. Neal Frederickson?”

“Yes. And she was looking forward to seeing him again.”

“Miss Leder, how do you think Mr. Waring would have reacted to that news?”

“Objection,” Fisk called out. “Calls for speculation.”

“Well, Miss Leder,” Reardon continued patiently, rephrasing the question, “would you say that Mr. Waring was or was not a possessive man?”

“Mr. Waring is a very possessive man. I believe that it would have made him quite angry.”

“I understand Julia and Ali Waring are living with you now?”

“Yes.”

“To the best of your knowledge, did Julia Waring ever lie to her mother?”

“No. She's always been an honest kid.”

“Do you have any reason at all to believe she's being less than honest now?”

“No.”

“One final question, Miss Leder. How long have you known the defendant, Ted Waring?”

“Sixteen years.”

“From what you know of Ted Waring, is he capable of having shot Ann Waring?”

Sandy took a deep breath. “Yes.” The word was hollow in her ears, and she wondered if she wore the same blank stunned expression of people she had interviewed after tragedies.

Reardon nodded. “I have no further questions,” he said quietly.

Fisk stared at Sandy a long moment before beginning his cross-examination. “Miss Leder, you've never been married, have you?”

“Irrelevant,” Reardon objected.

“Sustained.”

“All right,” Fisk continued. “You have testified that Ann and Ted Waring argued frequently.”

“Yes.”

“Is it possible that this was just the tenor of their marriage, their way of communicating with each other?”

“I wouldn't call that communication.”

“But
they
may have considered it communication, Miss Leder?”

“I really wouldn't know.”

“Let me ask you this. Had it ever led to any form of violence? Did your sister ever once, in all her years of marriage, tell you that Ted Waring had hit her, or had physically abused her in any way?”

“No. But…”

“In fact, you have no reason to believe that Ted Waring has any history of physical violence of any sort, do you?”

Sandy looked down at her chapped hands, the nails bitten raw. She took a long time before answering, and when she did, it was in a barely audible voice. “No.”

“You have said that you and your sister were quite close, am I correct?”

“Yes.”

“Then you must be aware that Julia Waring was having a difficult time emotionally and that she was seeing a counselor at school?”

“Ann mentioned it.”

“You were also aware, were you not, that she had exhibited physical violence and other forms of troubling behavior, and that both Ann and Ted Waring were concerned about this?”

“I don't remember Ann being overwhelmingly concerned, no.”

“Would you say that Julia and her father had a difficult relationship?”

“I would say that a lot of people had a difficult relationship with Ted.”

“Please answer my question. Did Julia have a difficult relationship with her father?”

“She might have.”

“Miss Leder, you were in the Sycamore Street house on the night that Ted Waring and his daughters returned from their camping trip, were you not?”

“Yes.”

“Would you say Ann was happy to see them?”

“The girls, anyway.”

“Did you witness any arguing at all between Ann and Ted Waring?”

“No, but…”

“You didn't see any arguing in the slightest, did you, Miss Leder, yes or no?”

“No.”

“When you left the house, where was Julia Waring?”

“She was in the living room.”

“Was she standing near her parents?”

“She was in the same room as them.”

“So she was standing near Ted Waring?”

“I didn't say that.”

“You would like custody of the children, wouldn't you, Miss Leder?”

Reardon rose. “Objection. This is a murder trial, not a custody battle.”

“Overruled. Witness will answer the question.”

“I don't think Ted Waring should have them, anyway.”

“You don't much like your brother-in-law, do you, Miss Leder?”

“No, as a matter of fact, I don't.”

“I have no further questions.”

Sandy remained still for a moment, her head a cottony mass, before stepping down. She walked slowly at first, testing her legs, and then faster. She finally looked at Ted as she passed, and he reared up and looked straight back at her.

Peter Gorrick, observing them from the third row, described the exchange in his notes as “corrosive.”

 

S
ANDY WATCHED
J
OHN AS HE SLEPT
, his face sweet, unlined, peaceful. Outside, the storm had finally abated, leaving the world muffled and immobile beneath its foot of snow. The sky was a clear coal-black, as if finally purged, and dotted here and there with the brilliant pinpoints of winter stars. She turned the pages of her magazine softly, but he opened his eyes.

“Can't sleep?” he asked.

“No.”

He glanced at the minuscule travel clock she kept on her night table. It worried him that even her clock was so portable, so light and easy to move. It read 3:17 in faint gray numerals. “You need a new battery,” he told her.

“I know.”

They were quiet for a few minutes. He rested his hand on her stomach, but she did not respond.

“You know,” she said reflectively, “I used to dream about having children. Once, I dreamt that there was a baby attached to my back, its little arms reaching around my neck and strangling me. Another time, I dreamt of kicking a baby down the street like a soccer ball.”

“Everyone has anxiety dreams.”

“You have an excuse for everything, don't you?”

“What do you want me to say, that you're a horrible person and I can't stand the sight of you?”

“Never mind.”

“Why don't you try to get some sleep? Do you want me to make you some hot milk?”

“I don't want any fucking hot milk,” she snapped.

“Well, do you mind if I try to get some sleep? Or do you have any more Norman Rockwell fantasies you'd like to share with me?”

“I'm sorry, John.” She sighed, exhausted. “Go to sleep.” She bent over, kissed the top of his forehead cursorily, and watched as he shut his eyes.

 

S
HE REMEMBERED THE NIGHT
J
ULIA WAS
born, one week early, Ted calling her from the hospital, We did it, We did it, it was the middle of the night, August, her chest was moist with night sweat, We did it, We did it, he hung up quickly, as if he had forgotten he was on the line, had something much more pressing, Julia, the next morning, nestled against Ann's chest, still wrinkled, wet, for weeks Sandy thought she looked more frog than human, We did it, We did it, Ann's weary smile, Love is not immediate, she confessed, alone with Sandy, the baby taken by the nurse, you think it will be and it's not, I don't even know her. Later, she didn't remember saying any such thing, had pulled the love that soon came with such sudden force back to the inception, the birth, We did it, We did it, that steamy summer night, holding on to the dead telephone.

 

T
HE FOLLOWING AFTERNOON
, Mrs. Murphy, the guidance counselor of the Hardison Middle School, called Sandy at the
Chronicle.
“I think you should be aware,” Mrs. Murphy said, “that we are making no progress whatsoever with Julia.”