"Your task here is not to determine either the theft or the misplacement of that gold boat. You don't have enough information to form a conclusion about that because you don't know why Jay Wilkins appeared to be so afraid. Sadly, neither does the state. If one speculative explanation seems as plausible as another, you can't decide which to choose by the toss of a coin. You must be convinced that one is true, the other false, and if the evidence you have seen and the testimony you have heard does not allow you to be certain of the truth or falseness of either, you must conclude that neither has been proven beyond a reasonable doubt.
"It is not your task to determine who was responsible for the death of Jay Wilkins if not Wally That is a task for the police investigators. Your only task at this court is to determine if you are satisfied that the evidence and the testimony that has been presented here has convinced you beyond a reasonable doubt of the guilt of Wally Lederer. If it does not, you must find him innocent."
She turned to look at Wally for a moment, then addressed the jury again. "When Wally came to me for advice about the accusation of taking the boat, I told him that he had to be patient and await developments. I said at that time that there was no way for him to prove he didn't take it. That same advice would apply to the death of Jay Wilkins. Wally had no way to prove his innocence. But, ladies and gentlemen, he didn't need to prove it. The state's own witnesses and the crime scene evidence proved it for him."
She looked at the jury members one after another, then smiled very slightly. "That concludes my statement, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for your attention." She nodded at them, and to her relief there was a nod or two, and even a faint smile in return.
Judge Wells announced that court would recess until the following morning, gave his usual reminder to the jury not to discuss or read about the case, and left the bench.
As soon as the jury was led out, Wally took Barbara's and held it. "You were swell,"
he said huskily. "I'll have something real to say tomorrow, but for now, just thanks."
They didn't linger long in the corridor that day. Watching Wally and Meg walk away hand in hand made Barbara want to weep.
"Bobby, let me drive you to my place, just leave your car wherever it is. Relax with some wine, and in a little while we'll get some dinner and I'll take you back to your car. Okay?" Frank said gently.
She shook her head. "Thanks. I think I'd rather just crash for a time."
"No. Not again. You need some decent food. We'll go someplace quiet and you don't have to say a word, and neither will I, and then you can crash. Come on."
She was too tired to argue and she knew that she needed to eat something and if she went home she probably wouldn't. As they walked to the tunnel, Frank said, "You did a wonderful job today, a superb job. With absolutely nothing to work with you spun gold. I'm very proud of you."
Chapter 41
The next morning the state and the defense rested. Judge Wells instructed the jury and sent them out to start their deliberations and announced a recess until twelve-thirty.
Wally and Meg had walked over from the Hilton. They had checked out and packed their things, left the suitcases in the car, and now they joined Frank and Barbara in his car to drive to his house. Barbara had left her own car there earlier.
"What now?" Meg asked on the way.
"Now we wait," Wally said. "That's it, just wait."
He said something else, or Frank did, but Barbara paid little attention. She had been plunged back into her days as a graduate student when a visiting lecturer had come to talk to them. A successful trial lawyer, with bushy black curly hair and an oversized mustache, she remembered his appearance but not a word of his formal talk that day. When it ended, he had looked at his watch, grinned, and said, "I still have a few minutes to keep all eyes on me. That's never a time to be wasted. I'll fill it in with a few more remarks, not footnotes, mind you, not even apropos of anything, just some random thoughts. You're going to find the longest day of any trial starts at the moment the jury leaves to deliberate. Whether an hour or a week, it's one long day of hell. And two things I should warn you about that you won't find mentioned in your law books. The two gods of advocacy. Yeah, they're real. The god of crowing and the god of despair. You start crowing too soon, celebrating your defeat of the enemy before the jury has delivered a verdict, the god of crowing will notice, and he's likely to strike you down faster than lightning hit the kite. And the god of despair is a jealous god, more jealous than most, I'd say. You try to encroach on his turf, decide for yourself when it's time to despair, he just might make sure that effort isn't wasted. Don't tempt him." He looked at his watch again, then waved. "I'm out of here. As the chorus girl said to the drunkard, see you at the bar."
The car stopped. They had reached Frank's house.
Shelley had gone to the office to check in with Maria. Meg and Wally went with Frank to inspect his "livestock."
"The best gardener's helpers you can find," he said leading them to the back porch.
"Red wrigglers, world's greatest little compost machines."
Barbara drifted upstairs to stretch out on her old bed, the same one she had used after graduating from a crib until she left for college.
"The longest day," she repeated under her breath. No matter how often it came along, it was always the longest day.
She was too restless to stay still more than a few minutes. When she went downstairs again, Wally was standing in front of the fireplace, where a low fire was burning.
"Barbara," Wally said, "I want to tell you something. I've been around performers a lot, and I've seen magic acts of all kinds. But what I saw you do in court these last couple of days was real wizardry, nothing fake about it. You turned the case upside down and had the prosecution biting itself in the ass before you were done. That was magic, pure magic. The neatest verbal sleight of hand I've had the privilege to witness. And it was all done with words. No hands, no gimmicks, no props, just words. You're the tops, Barbara. I know we can't tell how the jury will swing. I've heard a lot about juries in my time and they can do anything from playing follow the leader, to dividing into immovable blocks of granite, to swinging chairs at each other.
They're beside the point right now. However it goes, I know I've had the best damn lawyer there is."
He was regarding her soberly, with no hint of his big smile or actor's flourish. "I knew my case was a loser from the start. I was going down with the ship. I don't know that now. Thanks."
She could find no words with which to respond.
Behind her Frank cleared his throat. "Coming through. Hot." He was carrying a tray with the coffee carafe and cups. "Meg's bringing sugar and cream," he said, putting the tray on a table.
"Someone's cooking something," Wally said, sniffing.
"Soup," Meg said putting down the creamer and sugar. "Frank and I decided some hot soup would be nice today."
"She said I needed a turnip," Frank added.
"I didn't. I said my mother always added a turnip."
"I took it to be an order. Whenever my mother said that's how she did something, it was understood by all that it was an order to shape up."
They were trying so hard, Barbara thought then. All of them, trying so hard to make waiting bearable. Wally took a deck of cards from his pocket and laid it on the coffee table. "You're kidding!" Barbara exclaimed. "Do you think for a second that anyone in this house would play cards with you?"
"Not my intention," Wally said. "I promised to teach Shelley a few tricks, let her amaze and confound her pals."
Shelley arrived a minute or two later.
"Have a seat," Barbara said. "Wally's going to show you something."
"Later," Wally said. "Later. But for now, I'll warm up a little."
He took the cards from the pack and shuffled them exactly the way Barbara had seen it done countless times. He shuffled them with one hand then the other, and when he used both hands the cards flew back and forth so fast they became a blur.
For the next few minutes he manipulated the cards in ways that Barbara would have thought impossible.
"I wonder that anyone plays cards with you," Frank said, when Wally returned them to the table.
"Well, I don't warm up like that in front of players," Wally said, showing every tooth. "Felt out of practice. Haven't played around for a long time. And, remember, Frank, I never cheat. No need to cheat at cards. Just pay attention, and learn to count. That's what it takes."
He laughed. "Tell you a story," he said. "You learn a thing or two playing cards and you can spot a cheater pretty fast. I came across one once and watched for a while.
He was fair to middling, but taking the fellows right and left. So I sat in on the game." He laughed again. "After he was cleaned out, he stomped off to another table and kept an eye on me, probably wanted to learn a new trick or two. And I began losing as regular as clockwork. What he must have thought was that Lady Luck had been riding my shoulder earlier. It happens now and then. She picks out a poor sap and gives him a night to remember. Not often, mind you, but when it happens the guy can't do anything wrong. Bet on an inside straight, you got it. Hit a sixteen, here's the five, pal. Like that. So that fellow must have been relieved. He'd learned that when the Lady decides to pick a winner it's best to fold your tent and head out.
You can't beat her at her own game. He was sort of looking self-satisfied again, a little smug. When the Lady gets bored, she takes off, and you can crash like a meteorite, and I was crashing. Anyway, when I was back to where I started, I got up and left. Winked at him on my way out and thought he'd have a heart attack on the spot. A fun night."
Frank laughed and shook his head, and the conversation became desultory and disjointed.
Finally, it was time to return to court. Judge Wells asked the jury if they had reached a verdict, they said no, and he recessed until five-thirty. Or until the bailiff called to summon them back, whichever came first. The longest day.
Lunch was soup and cornbread, and God alone knew when Frank had found time to make it. No one ate more than a bite or two of either.
Late that afternoon when Barbara passed the breakfast room Wally was teaching Shelley a card trick. "You have a third hand," she said indignantly. "An invisible hand."
"Nope. Watch now."
Barbara moved on. Standing by the fireplace a few minutes later, she heard Frank scolding one of the cats. He came to her and put his arm around her shoulders and drew her closer for a moment, but said nothing. Both cats were at his feet.
The call came at five minutes before five.
In court the formalities were interminable. The parade of the jurors returning to the box, the judge's entrance. "All rise, all rise..." Finally the question, "Have you reached a verdict? and the written verdict handed to the bailiff, then delivered to the judge. He read it, then asked again, "Have you reached a verdict?"
"Yes, Your Honor. We find the defendant not guilty."
Judge Wells polled the jurors, thanked them, then said, "Mr. Lederer, you are free to go."
It was over.
Everything that followed seemed to Barbara both to be in slow motion and from a great distance. Wally grabbed her and bear-hugged her until she gasped; he embraced Shelley; Meg had run around the rail and he took her in his arms and held her close. The jurors were coming forward, some of them with notebooks open, pieces of paper, even a scrapbook. They wanted his autograph. Dodgson came to congratulate Barbara, then turned to Wally and said, "Congratulations..." He hesitated, then added, "Wally. Good luck." And the reporter was asking questions, another man trying to get to Wally with a business card extended.
"Mr. Lederer, would you mind signing it with one hand and then the other?" asked the juror with the scrapbook, a middle-aged woman. The twenty-two-year-old didn't want to go away.
Barbara was aware of Frank's hand on her shoulder and was grateful for it.
Gradually the courtroom cleared and only the reporter and the small group at the defense table remained.
"If you could give us a call," the reporter was saying. "You know, about the video."
"Next week sometime," Wally said.
The reporter turned to Barbara. "My editor would like to send someone out for an interview."
She nodded. "Later."
Wally looked at Barbara, then embraced her again, gently this time. "I guess some kind of celebration is in order," he said. "Drinks or something."
She drew back and shook her head. "It will keep. Take Meg home, Wally."
He couldn't hide his relief. "Let's go home," he said to Meg. "We have things to talk about. A chicken house, a worm box, things like that. Ready?"
"Yes," she whispered. "My God, yes!"
"I'll take off, too," Shelley said when Wally and Meg walked away hand in hand.
"See you Monday." She laughed. "I don't think I even need my car. I could fly home under my own power." Leaving, she looked as if she were floating.
Slowly Frank and Barbara followed. In his car a few minutes later, he started to speak, glanced at her and held it back. Her eyes were closed, her head against the headrest.
When she got out of the car in his driveway, she said, "I won't come in. I'm crashing. Maybe for all weekend. I'll surface long enough to keep the blood circulating and get something to eat. Don't count on me for Sunday"
"Fine. If you change your mind, come on over. We'll postmortem next week."
He watched her drive away, then went inside, humming softly. "My God," he thought. "My God, she did it!"
Chapter 42
On Sunday evening at dusk, with a light rain falling, Barbara entered the little getaway apartment and stood by the door gazing at the table, the living room furnishings. She did not take off her jacket, but put her key down and walked into the bedroom, where she stood for a longer time just looking, then she returned to the kitchen and sat at the table. When she heard steps on the outside stairs later, she stood up.
"Barbara! Why didn't you give me a call? I would have come home sooner." Darren reached for her and she took a step backward.
"I came to tell you something," she said. "I started to write a letter, but that would have been too cowardly. So I came."
He stopped moving. "What do you mean?"
"I won't be seeing you for a while. I need time to sort things out, to think some things through."
"You're tired. You need a few days rest."
"I am tired, but... The question of whether my mother was happy keeps coming back to me. I said no at first, then I said yes. It's a qualified yes. Considering the circumstances, they were both as happy as they could have been, but that's because they didn't ask any questions. I've been asking questions, and what I'm finding out is that once asked, they can't go unanswered. I don't have any answers."
"We have to talk about it. Tell me what's bothering you." His voice was low, musical, almost hypnotic.
"What's bothering me," she said shaking her head. "This," she motioned around at the apartment. "You. Me. Us. Things in general, I guess. I need some time."
"Barbara, you aren't giving us a chance. You aren't giving me a chance. I love you."
"I know," she said almost absently. "Darren, I'm sorry."
"For God's sake! At least, let's talk about it! We can find the answers together." His face was twisted, contorted, and now his voice broke. "You can't make a decision like this without even talking about it!"
In a low voice, she said, "When I come here, I leave part of myself outside. I've even thought of it that way, now I can stop thinking. But that's the bigger part of me that I don't bring in. That part is who I am. Coming here is like stepping into a dream, but who's the dreamer? A stranger? See, I've been asking questions. They're my questions, Darren. I have to find my answers. You have to find your own questions and answers. You know the old conundrum about the torturer and the victim? Which one in the end pays a higher price? The victim is destroyed physically, perhaps, and the torturer is destroyed psychologically, almost certainly.
That's the extreme example, but it applies on many levels. Giver and taker. Each comes with a price tag."
She picked up her purse and cast one more glance around the apartment. Darren didn't move again. She walked out.
Frank was deep in thought that Monday morning. He had made an astounding discovery, he thought of it that way, astounding. He saw Barbara's car in his driveway, and a broad grin spread across his face. He walked faster.
Inside, he went straight through to the kitchen door. She was standing by the back door. "Be with you in a minute," he said. "I have to change my shoes. Wet." He continued down the hall toward his bedroom.
It wasn't really raining, she thought, gazing out, but damp enough to get feet wet, apparently. It looked more as if a big piece of the sky had become tired and decided to settle down and rest a while, an endless piece of tired sky, settling, settling. She felt a great deal of sympathy for it.
"That's better," Frank said, entering the kitchen.
He had changed his suit jacket for a sweater and had taken off his tie. All those years, she wondered, had he hated having to wear a silly necktie as much as she hated panty hose? She never had thought of that before.
He went to the refrigerator and started to rummage around in it. "I had a revelation at the office," he said. "For years I thought I had two books in me, and suddenly realized that's wrong. It's three. I'll wrap up the case law book, and move on. I'm going to write another one after that. Closing statements. Sum up the case, do an annotated closing statement. I'll start with yours, of course. Brilliant beginning—"
"No, Dad. You can't use it."
"What? Why not?" He closed the refrigerator door.
She shook her head. "Just no. I came over to tell you something."
"Bobby, stop kicking yourself over that business with the boat. Wally and Meg gave you an impossible choice and you made it and you saved them both without lying.
Wilkins did take it and it doesn't make any difference who put it back. One way or another that damn boat was going to sink and take them down with it. And it would have been both of them. Wally knows that, so do I, and you know it, too. Wally thought it was a lost cause from the start, and I did, too. Right up until your closing statement." He drew in a breath. "You had no choice. You did what you had to do."
"You don't know what I've done," she said in a low voice.
"What else? Something you didn't trust me with?"
"No, Dad. I just wanted you to have a clear conscience if questions came up and you had to deny any knowledge."
He looked at her sharply. "You're coming down with something. You need to get some rest. Didn't you get any sleep over the weekend? I know what you did, and it's all right, Bobby. It wasn't your job to accuse Jay Wilkins of killing his wife. You did your job."
"You don't know," she repeated.
He went to the table and sat down. "Maybe you'd better tell me," he said quietly.
She turned away and, facing his sodden garden, she told him all of it. She reminded him of what Dr. Minnick had said about Eve's attacks, her infantilism at those times.
She told him everything Adele had said about Eve, everything Eric had said. And finally she told him about her talk with Stephanie.
"Stephanie knew they would demand access to Eve, demand their own evaluation in the state hospital. And she was right, they would have killed her, or sent her so far back no one could have saved her." Dr. Minnick's words ran through her head.
Sometimes we could save them, sometimes we couldn't
.
"Case number whatever, routine examination. Between episodes she's competent to help in her own defense, except she has amnesia for the whole thing. Right, the convenient amnesia defense. She could not have coped with aggressive questioning, and she would have had it. Or, helpless, an infant with a beautiful twenty-three-year-old body, a lovely face, how long would she have lasted in their hospital before she was raped? You know the stories about that. Stephanie knows them, too. She would have put her daughter back in the private hospital, turned herself in and confessed to murder. And they still would have gotten to Eve."
"Christ on a mountain!" Frank said almost inaudibly "That's not just an impossible choice. It's inhuman."
"I couldn't sign that girl's death warrant, so I concealed evidence," she said almost tonelessly "I manipulated other evidence and testimony. I implied things I knew were not true. I told outright lies. I shielded two killers and put my own client at risk. I gambled, knowing Wally's life was at stake, and Meg's, too. I did that knowing what the odds were for his conviction. I did it thinking they've had a good life and that girl has to have a chance at life. I knew exactly what was at stake, and I did it, anyway."
"You gambled, but, Bobby, you won! You didn't save just two people. You saved all four innocent people. That's what counts."
She turned around, but she was no more than a silhouette against the glass door. "Is that what we all come to, finally?" she murmured. "Any means to an end? I used to think I knew what the law meant. But I don't. I don't know what the law means, the rule of law, men's laws."
"Goddamn it, Bobby! They're fallible, those who write the laws. They make the rules, and their rules are hellish! One rule doesn't fit all, not in the real world. Not with real people."
She walked past him. She wasn't listening. She picked up her jacket and put it on.
"I've been to the office this morning. Shelley and Maria can wrap up the details of Wally's case, settle accounts. I told Shelley to waive my fee on this one. I wanted to ask you to look things over and make sure she does that. Maria has the key to my apartment. She'll check my mail, pay things that come along." She pulled an envelope from her pocket and put it on the table. "Wally's safe deposit box keys,"
she said. "Will you get them back to him?"
"What the devil are you talking about?"
She looked startled, puzzled, then said, "Isn't that strange? That's what I came to tell you. I'm going away for a while. Shelley and Maria can manage without me."
"Going where? For how long?"
"I don't know. Nowhere in particular. I have my laptop. I'll be checking my e-mail.
You know, if anything comes up. I need time out, Dad. I need to think, and I don't know how long it will take." She was walking toward the front door.
"Bobby!" Frank felt panic rising. She had walked out before, railing at the system, and it had been several years before she returned. He put his hand on her shoulder.
She patted it and kept moving.
At the door, she paused and kissed his cheek. "Don't worry about me. Okay?"
Helplessly, he stood on the front stoop and watched her back out of the driveway, watched until her car was out of sight. The door was standing open, and both cats had followed him out.
"Get back inside, you devils," he said in a rough, rasping voice. They strolled back in. He went in and closed the door. "She'll be back," he said in the same harsh voice.
The cats moved a few feet away, then began eyeing each other like two hostile alley cats, backs humped, tails fluffed like clubs, circling each other.
He remembered the day she had brought them, two tiny golden dust balls. They had destroyed his Christmas tree that year, ornament after ornament fair game. She named them Thing One and Thing Two, a two-kitten destruction team. He closed his eyes, shaking the memory away "She'll be back," he whispered.