Glass House (13 page)

“Thank god,” Neria repeated blandly. She
didn’t turn to him. She went to the water spigot and leaned close,
tapped at it, probed a finger inside. She pulled it away and rubbed
water against her thumb.

“No one uses this room?” she asked.

“Never.”

Neria wiped her fingers on her pants. “Thank
you for your time, Mr. Rupert,” she said. “I’d appreciate your
showing me back, and then I’ll be going.”

_______________

“Describe the room.” Hanley’s voice was
smooth and even, loud enough to be heard over the payphone’s beaten
handset, but not so loud that people behind him on the street in
Cape Town could hear what he was saying.

“Rupert suggested it was a kind of holding
room,” Neria replied. She was on a cell phone, headed back toward
Upington in her car, a battered Ford. By contrast to Hanley, she
was shouting into the phone. The Ford didn’t have air conditioning,
the window was down, and she was talking above the sound of the car
pushing ninety kilometers an hour on a half-dirt roadway. “That
makes sense in a way,” she added. “Older mines all would have had
them, and this one would be no different.”

Just as he’d watched the people in Cairo,
Hanley was watching the Cape Town crowd around him. He checked each
face he could single out, each person’s stance and motion where
possible.

“He also said it hadn’t been used, though,”
she finished.

“You don’t believe him.”

“The room was clean. Spotlessly. Someone
scrubbed it right well, a day back and no more. Water faucet in the
corner was wet, floor drain stank of bleach. Strong.”

“What else?”

“Chair in the middle. Bolted down and beaten
up, but I’d say it was no more than a few years old. X-shaped back.
Two flat pieces crossed there, each maybe two centimeters
wide.”

“Two-centimeter slats in an X?” Hanley
wanted to confirm that.

“Like his bruises,” Neria replied. “I saw
them, those marks on Anthony’s back. A black and blue X. Freshwater
drowning, too, right? Could have been this room.”

“Can you be sure on that?”

“Not at all,” she said immediately, her
voice still a shout. “Even if I could be, it’s not enough. A black
man, an X-shaped bruise, and a water pipe don’t get you far against
a diamond mine in South Africa.”

“Another little piece,” Hanley said. He was
shaking his head. “Not big enough to matter.”

“Maybe,” came the reply. “But you collect
enough of these pieces, and maybe you have something.”

Hanley had stopped watching the faces. “We
should get together. Day after tomorrow, Saifee’s meeting me here
in Cape Town. Coordinate with him and come along. I’d like to
discuss Laurentian a little more with you.”

Deposition

“You know Lora Alexander.” It was a
statement, not a question.

Paul McCallum was counsel for Kathleen
Landry, and he was one of a breed of lawyers who slip into
depositions or trials seemingly unprepared. They pull haphazard
stacks of papers from briefcases and shuffle through them without
apparent purpose or success. They search for pens. They work
without an outline, without a single question written out and read
from. They scratch their heads as if lost. Their shirts are rumpled
and coming untucked at the back, where the cloth oozes up in a
great marshmallow blob and gives a peek at the pale skin
underneath.

That can be misleading.

McCallum was asking questions, and he was as
calm and flat as ever. His voice didn’t fluctuate or hesitate. His
eyes never left Waldoch’s face, except to find an exhibit or give a
quick, casual glance out the window as he searched for a word or
phrase that Megan knew he already had in mind.

“I know her,” Waldoch answered in response
to the non-question. “I knew her at one time, anyway.”

“Ms. Alexander in fact sued you, is that
correct?”

“Objection,” Megan said softly. “Relevance.
Object to form as well.”

Objections in depositions don’t mean much,
in a sense. There’s no judge to rule on them. No one to prevent the
witness from testifying on the topic asked. The only ones present
are the lawyers, the witness, and the court reporter who’s
dutifully taking all the words down. So a lawyer’s objection is
only for a couple things – first, to make a record that a
court might look at later, and second, to clue the witness in to
the fact that the lawyer doesn’t like the question and maybe the
witness shouldn’t, either.

Waldoch didn’t speak. He looked carefully to
Megan, who gave a slight nod. “You can answer.”

“Ms. Alexander did sue me, yes.”

“You were represented by Ms. Davis in that
case, too, is that right?”

“That’s correct.”

“And the case alleged sexual
harassment?”

“Same objection,” Megan cut in.

“Yes,” Waldoch said.

“And retaliatory termination?”

“I’d like a standing objection to this line
of questioning.” Megan shook her head, sighing lightly, a sign of
her impatience with McCallum and a signal to Waldoch to pay
particular attention to the upcoming questions.

“I believe so,” Waldoch said.

“You believe so?” McCallum asked. “But you
don’t know?”

“I’m not a lawyer, Mr. McCallum. And it’s
been a little while.”

“To the best of your recollection, though,
that was generally it?”

“It sounds right.”

“That ever go to trial?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you won?”

“The verdict was in our favor, yes.”

“Which is a fancy way of saying you
won?”

Megan reached out to stop Waldoch from
speaking. “That’s a little argumentative. The verdict’s a matter of
public record, and he’s already answered your question.”

McCallum turned back to Waldoch. “I’d like
to switch gears a touch, if you don’t mind.”

“It’s your deposition.”

“Technically, sir, it’s yours,” McCallum
replied, his eyes not leaving the witness. He said it bluntly, as
though he were announcing that it looked like rain outside but they
still might get some sun off and on throughout the day. He hadn’t
used his pen throughout the testimony, and he scratched at his
temple with the end of it. “With respect to Ms. Alexander,” he
said. “Did you ever give her a gift with a value of more than, say,
fifty dollars?”

“I don’t believe so.”

“You don’t believe so but you’re not
sure?”

“No, I didn’t give her gifts.”

“No jewelry, for example?”

Megan sat forward. She didn’t know she was
doing it, but she wouldn’t have been able to help herself even if
she did.

“No,” Waldoch said. By contrast to his
attorney, he didn’t move.

“Not a necklace?”

“No.” The answer was quick and certain.

“Nothing like an eighteen-carat gold chain,
with diamonds bezel-set in platinum? Every tenth diamond a pink
one?” McCallum paused. He scratched the pen at his head again.
“Say, maybe sixteen inches in length? Something that looks a little
like this?”

McCallum slid a picture in front of Waldoch.
The necklace in it was displayed, round and spread out against
black velvet, each of the diamonds a bright point of light centered
in the smooth shine of a platinum setting.

Megan hadn’t seen or heard of the necklace
before. In her entire litigation of the Lora Alexander case, she’d
never heard mention of anything like the jewelry in the picture,
and she thought for a moment that it was a bluff. That McCallum was
flipping this out there to get Waldoch off guard.

But it was so specific. The description was
full of particulars, and the picture was
there
, and that
made a bluff risky.

“Objection,” she said, examining the
picture. “Object to the form. Relevance. Assumes facts not in
evidence.” She searched for anything else she could say.
“Argumentative.”

She turned to McCallum, who was staring at
her. Where once he was flat and bumbling, the attorney now had a
glint of smugness in his gaze.

“I’d like to take a break to confer with my
client,” she said.

“I’m sure you would, counselor,” McCallum
replied. “But there’s a question pending, and I’m entitled to run
this out before anyone here will be taking a break.”

Waldoch was listening to them both. He
hadn’t looked at the photo, but he slid it back across the
table.

“I didn’t give that necklace to Lora
Alexander,” he said, “and I’ve never seen it otherwise.”

“Really, Mr. Waldoch?”

“Really, Mr. McCallum.”

“Any gifts to any other women?”

“Any women at all? Ever?”

“Any women at DMW.”

“Not that I recall.”

“Not that you recall. Well, do you have a
habit of giving gifts to women you work with?”

“I’m a generous man. I sometimes give gifts
to employees. Did you have something particular in mind?”

“How about my client Kathleen Landry?”
McCallum asked. “Ever give her any gifts?”

“Gifts?” Waldoch sounded uncertain.

McCallum smiled. The expression was
uncharacteristic enough that Megan sat forward again.

“Gifts, sir,” McCallum said.
“
Presents
.
Rewards
. Material niceties bestowed on
others. You seemed to know what the term
gifts
meant when
you used it a second ago. I assume you know now. Did you ever give
gifts to Kathy Landry?”

Waldoch’s brow pinched. “I don’t recall
anything specific.”

“How about anything in general?”

“No.”

“Do you think you’d recall it? I mean, if
you gave some nice thing to Ms. Landry, do you imagine maybe you’d
remember doing so?”

“I suppose it would depend on the material
nicety at issue.” Waldoch smiled as he tossed McCallum’s words
back.

McCallum returned the look, grinning at the
witness opposite him. “How about a pair of earrings?” he said.
“Platinum mounts. Each one with a fat Tahitian pearl and two small
marquise diamonds set under the pearls. Those diamonds were red, in
this case. Pale red, but still red. That ringing a bell?”

Waldoch’s smile remained, but it looked
pasted on. He was suddenly a schoolboy, feeling a principal’s
heated questions about pigtail pulling. He glanced at Megan, then
back at McCallum.

He’d been asked a similar question before.
There were fewer specifics, to be sure, but Megan had asked him if
he’d given any gifts to Kathy Landry, and Waldoch had replied
simply, saying he hadn’t. The answer didn’t appear to have retained
its simplicity.

“Yes,” he said. “That rings a bell.”

“You did give Ms. Landry those
earrings?”

“Yes, I believe I did.”

“And believing you did means you actually
did, is that correct?”

“Yes. I gave her the earrings.”

“How much did those cost?”

“I don’t recall.”

“How about seventeen thousand dollars? Do
you recall that?”

“Perhaps.”

“Does it or does it not sound like the right
figure?”

“Perhaps,” Waldoch said again.

“That’s a big gift.”

“Objection,” Megan said.

“Strike it,” McCallum immediately replied.
“Why’d you give her the earrings?”

Waldoch shrugged, and Megan knew what the
answer would be before it came.

“I’m a generous man,” he said again. “I give
people gifts.”

“You do, do you?” McCallum said levelly.

“The break, counselor?” Megan asked.

“An answer, Ms. Davis. Then just a couple
more follow-ups.”

Waldoch wasn’t waiting for her. “Yes,” he
said. “I give gifts to employees from time to time. As I said, I’m
generous. It’s not a fault, and it’s not a crime. I recognize good
work, and I reward it.”

“Does your lawyer know about that?”

“Objection.”

“You can strike that as well.” McCallum
scratched the pen against his head. “Just one more point before the
break that Ms. Davis requested,” he said. “I’d like to know what
happened to those earrings, sir.”

“I think you should ask your client that,”
Waldoch said.

“Turns out I have, actually. She told me
about a man named Samuel Chilcott. Do you know Mr. Chilcott by
chance?”

“I know him.”

“You employed him, is that right?”

“I did.”

“He reclaimed the earrings at some point,
didn’t he.”

“I don’t know that.”

“You didn’t ask Samuel Chilcott to get Kathy
Landry’s seventeen-thousand-dollar earrings back for you?”

“No.”

“Didn’t order him to do that?”

“I have no idea what happened to the
earrings.”

“That’s not precisely an answer, sir, but
let’s move on so Ms. Davis can get her break. Do you know where
Chilcott is?”

“I’m not exactly sure.”

“Not exactly sure. But do you have an
idea
where he is?”

“He no longer works for me.”

“But he did.”

“Yes, he did.”

“And are you aware what he did before
working for you, Mr. Waldoch?” McCallum himself knew the answer.
You could hear that in his tone, and he didn’t wait for Waldoch to
respond. “Samuel Chilcott was in prison, isn’t that correct?”

“I’ve heard that.”

“He’d just gotten out of Hutch when he
started for you?”

“Hutch?”

“The state correctional facility in
Hutchinson, Kansas?”

“That’s possible, yes.”

“It’s possible?”

“Yes.”

“And in quite a coincidence, it’s also
possible that he was
in 
prison because of an assault on
one of your former employees. That’s possible, right?”

“Objection,” Megan said. “What’s the
relevance of this?”

McCallum ignored her. “A woman, Mr. Waldoch?
Five or six years ago?”

“I’m going to have to insist that this line
of questioning be discontinued,” Megan said.

“No need for that,” McCallum replied. “I for
one am fully aware of the relevant facts. But I would like to ask
this before you claim your break.”