The Ditto List (44 page)

D.T. got to his feet. “Objection, Your Honor. Mr. Gardner is being argumentative. Also the question assumes facts not in evidence.”

“I wasn't taking one damned thing, Mr. Gardner.
Not one thing
.”

“You needn't scream, Mrs. Stone. I can hear you quite well.”

“Your Honor. May Mr. Gardner be instructed to cease his harassment of this witness?” D.T. sank back to his chair.

“Mr. Gardner is within proper bounds, Mr. Jones. The witness, however, is instructed to cease her outbursts and limit her statements to full and complete answers to counsel's questions. Are you finished with the witness, Mr. Gardner?”

“I have only a few more, Your Honor. Do you have a personal computer in your home, Mrs. Stone?”

“No.”

“Your son wants one, doesn't he?”

“He thinks he does.”

“Your husband has offered to purchase one for him, has he not, but you have refused to allow it in the home? Isn't that correct?”

“Yes. I don't believe in computers. They're worse than TV. They turn kids into robots. I won't have David destroying his mind with those grotesque games.”

“But computers do much more than play games, don't they, Mrs. Stone?”

“That's what they claim, but I've never seen any evidence of it.”

“But you've never consulted an expert, have you, to learn exactly what a computer will do?”

“No.”

“Do you ever take your children to a doctor? For checkups?”

“Of course.”

“Do they have a pediatrician they see regularly?”

“Yes. Dr. Arnoldson. A wonderful man.”

“How about a dentist? Do they see a dentist regularly?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“The same one or different ones?”

“The same. I forget his name. He has an office downtown.”

“Dr. Flynn. Is he the one?”

“Yes.”

“Children are supposed to see the dentist—what?—every six months. Isn't that right?”

“I think so.”

“When's the last time you took your children to see Dr. Flynn, Mrs. Stone?”

“I don't know. I'm not sure. A few months ago, I think.”

“Well, I have Dr. Flynn's appointment records right here. Would you like me to tell you what they say? No? Well, I'll tell you anyway. These records suggest your children haven't been to the dentist for
seventeen months
. That is correct, is it not, Mrs. Stone? You haven't taken your children to see a dentist
for a year and a half?
”

“I don't know. I don't think that's right. It
couldn't
be, I … I just don't know.”

“Yes, well, perhaps someone
should
know, Mrs. Stone. Perhaps that's why we're here. No further questions, Your Honor.”

“Redirect, Mr. Jones?”

D.T. wiped his steaming brow.

TWENTY

He rehabilitated her as best he could, gave her a chance to explain, justify, modify, excuse. She did it well, dispassionately and maturely, but she had been damaged, perhaps fatally. Judge Hoskins eyed her speculatively, as though seeking in her shaded eyes and sunken cheeks a clue to the real woman that was asking him to find her fit, to the woman who lived outside of courtrooms and law offices, to the one that mothered children.

D.T. pressed a hand momentarily over his heart. The photographs seemed to pulse, to be heated by the blood of life. By now each image was impressed on his mind and on his soul as well, stains that might never be removed, even by the bleach of time. He dropped his hand away. Once confident that the pictures were unneeded, he was now convinced they must be used.

“I believe I have finished with my redirect, Your Honor,” D.T. said. “But may I have a brief recess before excusing the witness?”

“Make it
very
brief, Mr. Jones. Ten minutes.”

Judge Hoskins left the bench with Walter close behind. The spectators scrambled toward water fountains and lavatories, the bailiff blew his nose, the court reporter made notes, and Dick Gardner and Chas Stone huddled at the next table, exuding total confidence.

D.T. motioned for Mareth Stone to leave the witness stand and join him. When she was seated beside him he leaned toward her and spoke in whispers. “Who was it?” he asked.

Her eyes widened. “Who?”

“Lawyers always open their cross-examination with a sure winner. A point they know, sooner or later, they can develop to their advantage. The first thing Gardner asked you was whether you'd had any other love affairs. You said no. You were lying, and Gardner knows it and what's worse can prove it. So who's the guy?”

She didn't respond except by closing her eyes. Beyond her, Chas Stone looked their way and smiled a pitying smile.

“Come on,” D.T. urged. “You tried a finesse and it didn't work. They never do. The other side always knows the one thing you think they don't. So who was it?”

She looked at the empty witness stand. “He'd never testify against me. Never.”

“Welcome to Never-never land, Mrs. Stone. Give me a name.”

“He wouldn't
do
that. He … he's not
like
the rest. I
know
he isn't.”

“Sure, sure. Well, it's too late anyway, I suppose. But when you see him come into the courtroom you let me know.”

She blinked and looked at him. “This is so much worse than I thought it would be. I felt like such an
idiot
up there, a child, totally without control. I had no idea.”

“That's called lawyering, Mrs. Stone. Gardner had you in the palm of his hand, a lump of clay. He made you look just the way he wanted you to look, which was pretty horrid. On redirect I got you back in shape a little, but I don't know if it was enough.”

She looked at him sadly. “Are we winning?”

“It's close. You're a little immoral and your husband is a lot neglectful. Six of one and half-a-dozen of the other. Luckily for you a tie still goes to the mother.”

“Isn't there anything more we can do?”

“Put the kids on.”

She shook her head violently. “
No
. I won't let you do that. They shouldn't have to go through something like this. I absolutely forbid it.”

“Not the girl. I agree she's too young. But how about David? According to you he hates his old man. He could carry the day.”

“No. I won't win that way. I couldn't live with myself.”

D.T. shrugged, more convinced than ever that the case could be won only with what was in his pocket. “Anything else I should go over with you before you leave the stand?”

“I can't think of anything.”

“Okay. I'll tell the judge we rest.”

“Is it over, then?”

“Nope. They have a chance for rebuttal. They can call witnesses to challenge anything you've testified to. So. Like I said. Tell me when lover number two walks in. Maybe we can tear out his tongue.” D.T. shook his head. She recoiled as if he had slapped her.

The bailiff put his handkerchief away, the spectators took their seats, Judge Hoskins climbed to the bench and Walter sat beneath him, the clerk gavelled the room to order, the din stilled, the court reporter fit a new stack of paper in her machine. D.T. stood up. “Respondent rests, Your Honor.”

Judge Hoskins smiled approvingly. “Rebuttal, Mr. Gardner?”

“A few points, yes, Your Honor.”

“Call your witness.”

D.T. felt a tug on his sleeve. “He's here.” The breath that formed the words seemed to singe his ear. “He
came
. You were right. God, why don't they just tie me to the stake?”

D.T. looked back and cast his eyes across the rows of spectators.

The newcomer wore a placid, peaceful countenance, his rusty face resting atop a muscled, athlete's body. He was dressed casually, as though he were shopping for a battery or a belt. The man—the traitor—seemed entirely incapable of intrigue, which doubtless meant he had been entirely successful at adultery's essential element. D.T. turned back to Mareth Stone.

“Who?”

“Brick Lawson.”

“Who else?”

“Chas's best client. Or was.”

“Still is, it appears. Married?”

She nodded. “I can't
believe
he told Chas about us. I just can't believe it.”

“An hour from now you'll believe anything I tell you, Mrs. Stone, but by then it'll be too late.”

“I …”

Dick Gardner rose from his chair and spoke. “Petitioner calls to the stand Master David Stone, Your Honor. The son of the parties to this action. Their eldest child.”

D.T.'s client gasped and gripped his forearm savagely. “No. He can't do this.” Her voice serrated the words, cutting him.

“Of course he can,” D.T. said. “I told you he could.”

“You have to stop him.”

“I can't.”

“But it's so … so
brutal
. To make David choose between us. I just …”

Her voice faded as she watched her son emerge from the crowd of spectators and pass through the bar of the court. He was lithe and fluid in movement, wearing pressed pants, a crocodile shirt, and shoes with stripes. He seemed totally at ease. After he had taken the oath and was seated in the witness chair he even grinned, though not at his mother. D.T.'s gut grew sour.

Dick Gardner smiled at his witness. “Now, David, tell us your full name.”

“David Allen Stone.”

“Are you the son of Chas Stone and Mareth Stone?”

“Yes.”

“Your parents are both in the courtroom, is that right?”

“Right.”

“How old are you, David?”

“Thirteen.”

“And which one of your parents do you currently live with?”

“My mom.”

“And you've lived with her since your dad moved out of the house?”

“Yes.”

“But you've seen your dad from time to time since then, am I right? About twice a week? Sometimes more?”

“Right.”

“Now, David, I'm going to ask you a few questions. I'm not going to try to trick you, or confuse you, or anything like that, so if I ask something you don't understand, or aren't certain of, you just tell me—okay?—and I'll try to be more precise. Sometimes I get tongue-tied and don't make any sense. If that happens you just tell me, okay?”

“Okay.”

David smiled, he and Gardner buddies. D.T. wondered how many coaching sessions Gardner had conducted, question-and-answer marathons that put David on automatic pilot, that ensured his testimony would be as deadly as a scythe. Perhaps D.T. should go into it on cross-examination, the question of coaching. Perhaps that would be the only thing he would have to work with.

“Now, you've taken an oath to tell the truth, David,” Dick Gardner continued. “You understand what that means, don't you, to tell the truth?”

“Sure.”

Judge Hoskins glanced at D.T. over the top of his glasses. “Does counsel wish to voir dire on competence?”

“No, Your Honor.”

“Proceed, Mr. Gardner.”

Dick Gardner's smile would have sold a Chiclet to a Wrigley. “Now, David, I want to ask you a few questions about your life at home with your mom. And I'm talking now about the period of time since your father left and moved to another place, which was approximately last August. Remember?”

“Sure.”

“Okay. Now, since that time have you and your mother had any problems?”

“Some. Sure.”

“What kind of problems?”

“Well, Mom, you know, sometimes Mom gets a little weird.”

She gripped his arm and started to rise from her seat. D.T. was barely able to force her down.

“How do you mean weird, David?” Gardner prompted.

“Well, you know, I mean there's
lots
of things. She yells at us a lot. About nothing, you know? Then other times she doesn't seem to care
what
we do, even things that aren't real safe, you know, like when we take the bus downtown? And then, she gets sloshed, you know? Mom gets wasted every once in a while and Cris and me have to take care of her kind of—put her to bed and stuff, make sure the doors are locked and the furnace is down, that kind of thing.”

She broke away like a mustang, rearing to her feet, her mouth spraying spittle. “No! David! Don't you know what you're doing to me? Oh, my God. David. My dear sweet God. How did he get you to do this, David?
What did he buy for you to get you to say that?
”

As D.T. reached for her, Mareth Stone slapped his hand away, then turned and ran blindly from him, upsetting her chair, bouncing from obstacle to obstacle, tripping and almost falling over a spectator's foot just before she reached the door that opened onto the corridor. Nothing stopped her flight, not even the arms of her former lover, which reached for her as she ran by. With a final cry of anguish, Mareth Stone pushed through the door and was gone.

D.T. started to go after her, then stopped and faced the bench. “A recess, Your Honor?”

“Very well.” Hoskins looked at his watch. “It's after three. We'll adjourn for the rest of the afternoon. Court will convene promptly at nine. I want testimony and arguments completed by noon. I've scheduled other matters at one. Understood?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Calm her down, Mr. Jones.”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

The gavel banged and the judge was gone.

D.T. looked at Dick Gardner. Gardner smiled ruefully and shrugged. “Sorry,” he mouthed, then turned back to his client, who had lost a struggle to restrain his glee. If he had not hated Stone fully before, D.T. hated him fully now. He patted the pictures in his pocket, then looked at the witness stand.

The boy still sat there, his eyes darting with uncertainty. D.T. walked to him. “It's all right, son,” he said. “We're finished for today.”