Prosecution: A Legal Thriller (23 page)

I let go of the door and stepped back as it began to
slide shut. "If you had told the truth at trial," I said, just
before the two brass doors met, "I might be able to believe you
now."

* * *

Late that night, with cool air drifting in through
the open French doors, I put aside the voluminous case file and
gazed at the library shelves, wondering where among all those books
I could find anything as intriguing as the subtle duplicities of a
wife worried that she might have missed her best chance to betray
her husband. It was time to bring another player into the game. I
picked up the telephone and called the hotel where Richard Lee
Jones was staying. We agreed to meet a half hour before court
convened the next morning.

Two floors below the courtroom where we were trying
the case, in a tiny conference room where the press would never
find us, Jones listened while I made an offer. "We'll drop the
charge to murder in the second degree. He saves his life and, more
than that, he'll eventually be eligible for parole."

He took it as a sign of weakness. Leaning across the
small table, he tried to face me down. "When that jury comes back,
he's going to walk out of there a free man."

"Listen to me," I replied. "This is serious. The only
reason I'm making this offer is because he isn't the only one I
want. I want her, too. Your client agrees to testify against her...
"

"His wife?"

"Who do you think I'm talking about?"

Jones got to his feet and glared at me. "You just
finished putting on your case, and now you make an offer? All of a
sudden you don't want this case to go to the jury?" He could not
help himself. "And you used to be so good with juries. What
happened, lose your nerve?" He turned to go.

"Please convey my offer to your client," I remarked,
as if it was a matter of no great importance. "So there's no
misunderstanding about this, the offer will stay open until you
rest your case." His hand was on the door, turning the knob.
"Unless I make a deal with his wife first. If that happens, there's
no offer at all." The door had opened.

"She's been to see me twice already," I remarked
dryly. "But perhaps you already know that." And I went out in front
of him.

If I had in any way shaken Jones's confidence, it did
not show when he rose from behind the counsel table and, turning to
the jury, called Marshall Goodwin to the stand. Goodwin moved to
the end of the counsel table, cast an easy smile toward the jury,
and then walked briskly across the front of the courtroom to the
witness stand. With an open, almost cheerful countenance, he
listened with one hand raised while the clerk rapidly recited the
oath. Wearing a dark tie and a conservative suit, shiny black
shoes, and a white long-collared shirt, Goodwin was a model of
understated propriety and an eager self confident witness. He had
an answer for everything.

Jones began with the only question that mattered.
"Mr. Goodwin, did you have anything—anything at all—to do with the
death of your wife Nancy two years ago?"

Goodwin bent slightly forward, grasped both arms of
the chair, and, gazing directly across at the jury, said in a firm,
clear voice, "No, I did not."

I did not know if they believed him yet, but watching
their eyes I knew they wanted to. Goodwin had the kind of boyish
blue-eyed charm that always made people want to believe him. It had
been his strength as a lawyer, and perhaps the source of his
weakness as a man. Because everything always came easily, it made
him believe he could have anything he wanted.

Richard Lee Jones's voice seemed to become more
compassionate, more understanding, with each question he asked. His
eyes settled on his client in silent approval of each answer
Marshall Goodwin gave. Hour after hour, with steady, clear-eyed
Goodwin presented the autobiography of falsely accused. For the
better part of two whole days, Jones led him through the story of
his life and marriage and the tragic consequences of Nancy
Goodwin's death.

Asked about his reaction when he was first informed
of his wife's murder, Goodwin broke down and cried.

"Now you've had to sit here and listen while the
prosecution tried to convince us to draw certain inferences about
your conduct," Jones said, with a sidelong glance at me. "Why don't
we just clear the air once and for all about this. Just tell us.
When was the first time you ever slept with your present wife,
Kristin Maxfield?" Stark and sensual, stunning in its raw
simplicity, the question riveted the attention of the courtroom.
The court reporter let her hands rest on the keys as she turned to
look.

"Three months before we were married," Goodwin
answered, staring level-eyed at the jury.

"And you were married a little less than a year after
your first wife was killed?" Jones asked earnestly.

"Yes." Goodwin sighed. "That's correct."

Jones moved from sex to money. "Do you deny that you
withdrew ten thousand dollars from your bank account?"

Goodwin treated it as if that was the last thing he
would ever want to do. "No, of course not."

"But why would you do that when you apparently had to
first transfer money—I believe it was something like thirty-five
hundred dollars—from your savings account to cover a withdrawal of
that size?"

"We had decided, Nancy and I, to invest the money in
a mutual fund. We started talking about it when she found out she
was pregnant." With a faraway look, he added, "We decided we had to
do everything we could to make sure we started saving money instead
of spending it."

Apparently still confused, Jones inquired, "Why
didn't you just write a check?"

"I couldn't remember the name of the brokerage firm,"
Goodwin replied, embarrassed. "It was downtown, near my office, and
I had an appointment there later in the day."

"And did you invest the money that day?"

"No. Something came up and I had to be in court. I
put the money in a safe in the office."

"Did you ever invest it?"

"There wasn't time. The next day I started a murder
trial. The money was safe. I wasn't worried about it. And then...
well, after my wife was killed, there were some expenses." He spoke
quietly, his eyes drifting to the floor.

"One last thing. Did you request that the money you
withdrew be given you in hundred-dollar bills?"

"No," he replied, glancing up. "The teller just gave
it to me that way. It's easier to count and easier to handle."

It was a few minutes past four when Jones finally
finished. Judge Holloway asked if I wanted to wait until morning to
begin cross-examination. Behind me I heard the rustling of people
getting ready to leave.

"No, your Honor," I said, glancing up at the clock.
"I only have a few questions to ask this witness. It shouldn't take
long."

The fingertips of my left hand rested on the table. I
shoved my other hand into my pocket and cocked my head."Tell me,
Mr. Goodwin. If your present wife, Kristin Maxfield, wasn't
sleeping with you until three months before your marriage, who was
she sleeping with?"

Before Jones was halfway out of his seat, Judge
Holloway was hammering the courtroom back into submission and
demanding to know what I thought I was doing. I was not in the mood
to be apologetic.

"I'm beginning my examination of this witness with
questions about statements made by him during the direct
examination conducted by his attorney," I said firmly, returning
her gaze.

She looked at me a moment longer; then, convinced I
was serious, she nodded her head thoughtfully and allowed me to
continue.

Raising my chin, I looked hard at Goodwin."You
testified that the first time you slept with Kristin Maxfield was
three months before you married her. Is that correct?" I asked
rapidly.

With one hand on the arm of the witness chair,
Goodwin shoved himself forward, as if he was more than willing to
meet any challenge thrown his way."Yes, that's correct," he
replied, his words sailing at me as fast as mine had come at
him.

"You heard Conrad Atkinson testify that she moved out
of his house within days of the death of your wife, did you
not?"

"Yes."

"You heard Conrad Atkinson testify that the night of
your wife's death, the night you were working with Kristin Maxfield
in the conference room of the district attorney's office, she came
home only long enough to shower and change and leave for work, did
you not?"

"Yes."

"You heard Conrad Atkinson testify that he had for
some time prior to that night suspected that his fiancee, Kristin
Maxfield, was seeing someone else, did you not?"

"Yes."

Moving around to the front of the counsel table, I
sat against it, moving one leg along the edge until my foot dangled
a

few inches above the floor. "The other person wasn't
you?"

"You're assuming Mr. Atkinson was correct."

"I'm not assuming anything. I'm simply asking you
whether you were romantically involved with your second wife while
you were still married to your first. It's a simple question. Why
don't you just answer it?"

"I was never sexually involved with her. I won't deny
I found her attractive."

I slid off the edge of the table and began to pace
back and forth in front of the jury box, scratching the back of my
head.

"You weren't ' "sexually involved' " with her?" I
asked, stopping still. "Is that what you said?"

"Yes."

"But I didn't ask if you had been sexually involved
with her while your wife was still alive. I asked if you had been
romantically involved. Would you like to have the court reporter
read it back?"

He shook his head. "No. I thought that's what you
meant."

"I see. You thought romantically meant sexually. I
see. Very well. So, then, by your definition, you were not '
"romantically' " involved with Kristin Maxfield until three months
before you married her?"

A look of uncertainty passed over his face. "Well,
no, I would not say that exactly. We had started to see each other,
spend a lot of time together. I think I was probably falling in
love with her sometime earlier."

"Were you falling in love with her the night you were
working together in the conference room, the night your wife was
being murdered a hundred miles away?"

"No, of course not. I've already told you that."

Turning my back on him, I faced the jury. "Tell me,
Mr. Goodwin, what time did you leave your office that night, the
night your wife was killed?"

"Sometime after eleven, I think."

"And did you leave alone?"

"Yes."

Looking at him over my shoulder, I asked, surprised,
"You didn't leave with Kristin, walk her to her car?"

"Yes, I'm sorry," he said hastily. "I thought you
meant—"

"I know what you thought I meant." Raising my
eyebrows, I smiled sympathetically. "Romantically involved," I
repeated, waiting while the two words echoed in the expectant
silence of the courtroom.

"Nothing happened between the two of you that
night?"

"No," he insisted.

"So you weren't with her at all after—what?—eleven,
eleven-thirty?"

"Yes, that's right."

"You didn't see her again after eleven,
eleven-thirty, until you saw her again the next morning at
work?"

"Correct."

"And has your present wife ever told you where, or
with whom, she spent that night?"

Jones exploded out of his chair. "He's asking
questions about conversation between spouses. There's an absolute
privilege involved here, your Honor, and I demand the court do
something about it."

Irma Holloway shook her finger, scratching the air.
"If you want to make an objection, make an objection; if you want
to make a speech, go out on the courthouse steps. Mr. Antonelli,"
she continued, without a pause, "the privilege protects spousal
communications."

"Leaving aside the question of whether the defendant
is now invoking that privilege, your Honor," I replied, stopping
just long enough to return Jones's sneer with one of my own, "I'll
limit the question to communications that took place before the
defendant's marriage to Kristin Maxfield."

"Very well." She looked down at the witness stand
where, seemingly unperturbed, Goodwin sat waiting. "You may answer
the question."

"Could you repeat the question, please?" he
asked.

"Did she ever tell you where she spent that
night?"

Jones was back on his feet. "Objection, your Honor,"
he said with a slight bow, making a mockery of the formality she
demanded. "Hearsay."

"I'll rephrase the question," I said, before she
could rule. "Did you ever, at any time prior to your marriage to
her, have a conversation with Kristin Maxfield about where she
spent that night?"