Silent Witness (44 page)

‘More normal than Marcie Calder?'

‘Objection,' Stella Marz called out. ‘Calls for speculation.'

‘Is it true,' Tony amended, ‘that Marcie Calder was in a fragile mental state on the afternoon of her death?'

‘It's true.' Cox looked at him directly. ‘But in the Catholic Church, suicide is a sin. As is abortion.'

Tony let the answer linger. ‘But
you
were Catholic,' he said softly, ‘if I recall this morning's testimony.'

Dislike flashed in Cox's eyes again. ‘I was, yes.'

‘And the reason you shared your personal experience with Marcie was that you were worried for her, correct?'

‘Yes. But about Marcie ending her life in a figurative sense,
not
literally. If she believed her fetus was a life, how could she kill both the fetus and herself?'

‘That's an excellent question. As a doctor, are you aware of how the incidence of suicide among teenagers compares to the rest of the population?'

Cox hesitated. ‘It's quite high.'

‘And the decision to commit suicide can seem quite sudden, can it not? As with Beverly Snowden.'

‘Yes.'

‘And that's often because when the girl sustains some trauma, she has nothing to compare it to, no experience with coping.'

‘So the literature suggests.'

‘And teenage girls also can become quite isolated, true? They keep their suffering to themselves.'

‘Again, I'm not an expert. But that's what the literature suggests.'

‘Did
you
suggest psychological counseling for Marcie Calder?'

Nora Cox looked stung now. ‘No.'

Tony paused a moment, letting the jury absorb this. ‘Didn't Marcie Calder need professional help at least as much as she needed an abortion?'

Cox stared at him, torn between self-doubt and open dislike.

‘Objection,' Stella Marz called out, quickly approaching the bench. ‘Dr. Cox is a pediatrician. She has not been qualified as an expert in child psychology. Mr. Lord's attempt to blame others for this tragic death is offensive.'

Tony kept his own voice mild. ‘So is this attempt to blame Sam Robb alone for what may be the tragic result of a chain of events in which several adults, whatever their intentions, failed Marcie Calder quite badly. The jury is entitled to consider that. . . .'

‘Enough,' Karoly said belatedly. ‘Both of you.' Facing Tony with the weak man's sudden stubbornness, he said, ‘Dr. Cox is not a child psychologist. Your question is outside her expertise.'

Of course it is, Tony thought. But all that he said, quite respectfully, was, ‘Thank you, Your Honor.' He was, indeed, most grateful: in sound-bite form, he had just given his opening statement and suggested to the jury, several of whom were Catholic, that Dr. Cox had offered this vulnerable and lonely girl the wrong sort of help. Though Sam was mistaken about the reasons, he was right about the end result – Leo Karoly could be worked with.

Tony turned to Cox again. ‘As Judge Karoly has reminded us, it may be unkind to belabor what I know was a very sad experience. Given Ms. Marz's objection, is it fair to say that you can form no opinion – professionally, that is – as to whether the despair you observed in Marcie Calder might have rendered her suicidal?'

Next to him, Tony felt Stella hesitate. The twist he had just put on her objection, should Cox rise to it, was to suggest that Cox's belief that Marcie was
not
suicidal had no real basis. Then Stella did what Tony would have done: placed her trust in Cox.

The witness had composed herself. ‘All that I can tell you is that, as a layman, I did not consider the possibility that Marcie would take her own life. For all the reasons I suggested.'

Tony nodded his understanding. ‘Just as, in the case of Beverly Snowden, you did not foresee it, either.'

‘No.' Pausing, Cox fought back. ‘But in Marcie's case, she assured me that she had an adult to talk to.'

It was the response that, sooner or later, Tony had hoped Cox would give. ‘This adult – did you ask who he was?'

Cox steepled her hands. ‘Yes.'

‘And what was Marcie's response?'

‘I don't think she gave one.'

‘She avoided the question, in other words.'

Cox frowned. ‘I can't say that she did or didn't. There was so much else to think about.'

‘I understand. Tell me, did she give you any information about the
nature
of her relationship with this man?'

Cox's look was cool, appraising, tinged with distaste. ‘No.'

She was braced for some insinuation, Tony saw. But there was grace in knowing when to stop, and Tony had the jury's sensitivities to consider. Politely, he said, ‘Thank you, Dr. Cox. I have nothing more.'

Sitting down, he saw the beautician follow him. Her gaze was not hostile but filled with puzzlement and interest; at once, Tony knew that he had stopped at the right moment. But what lingered with him was the image of Nancy Calder, regarding him with a hurt and anger so palpable that Tony could feel it himself.

In the corridor, Sam clasped his arm. ‘That was fucking brilliant,' he said. ‘You really got her.
Both
“her”s.'

To the side, Saul was quiet; he seemed to know that this was a compliment Tony did not need or want. Almost gently, Tony said, ‘I was glad to do it, for your sake. But there's something you should understand, pal. So that you don't take it personally.

‘I just humiliated a perfectly nice woman and, in the bargain, may have helped drive a wedge in the Calders' marriage. Before this is over, I'll do far worse. There may come some defining moment when the jury decides to hate me, and if that happens, it's over for you.

‘That worries me. Then there's how
I
feel. I'm doing this for you as a client, and as a friend. Most days, that satisfies me, but I don't always love it.' Tony paused, putting a hand on Sam's shoulder. ‘Just so you know that, okay?'

Sam looked at him with embarrassment, comprehension, compassion. ‘I understand. If I weren't so damned scared, I'd feel it too. But when you're just hanging on . . .'

His voice trailed off. Down the corridor, Tony saw Sue watching them, her own face troubled. ‘Go talk to Sue and the kids,' Tony said. ‘No matter how hard it is. The jury notices things like that.'

Uncomfortable in her tailored blue suit, Janice D'Abruzzi fidgeted on the witness stand. She could not look at the Calders.

Stella Marz took her through Marcie's account of an older, married lover, whose identity Marcie had promised to protect, and then Marcie's plea that Janice lie for her on the night of her death. Janice's responses, halting and ashamed, seemed to touch the jury, supplanting the doubts Tony had raised with Nora Cox. Then Stella began attacking Tony's defense.

Her manner was firm but gentle, that of an older sister. ‘Did Marcie ever suggest that she was involved – romantically or sexually – with anyone other than this man?'

The thought seemed to startle Janice. ‘No,' she answered firmly. ‘And it wouldn't have been like her.'

‘To your knowledge, was Marcie Calder sexually experienced?'

There was an objection here, Tony knew, perhaps two or three. Janice stole a sideways glance at the Calders. ‘Marcie told me this guy was her first. She'd never talked about sex before and didn't really know anything.'

‘Why do you say that?'

Janice looked down. ‘She wanted to know different things – I mean, what people did, exactly.'

‘Did she tell you
why
she wanted to know?'

‘Yes.' With sudden, surprising anger, Janice looked at Sam. ‘Marcie wanted to please this guy. He knew so much, she told me, and she loved him. She didn't want him to lose interest.'

To Tony's relief, Sam's gaze at Janice did not waver. But Tony could feel Sam's restiveness: his lawyer had not objected as Stella used Janice to firm up Nora Cox's story of a monogamous teenage girl, seduced by an adult, whose first act of intercourse had led to pregnancy and death. Tony scrawled on his notepad, ‘The kid was
yours
, remember? Why remind them?'

Staring at the notepad, Sam nodded slowly.

‘Did she ever talk about marrying him?' Stella asked Janice.

‘No way.' Janice seemed to gather herself. ‘What Marcie said was that they had their own world, and it should stay that way.'

Stella gave Janice a pensive gaze. ‘Why, do you suppose, Janice, did Marcie need to see this man on the night she died?'

Now Tony had no choice. ‘Objection,' he said to Judge Karoly. ‘I've let the prosecutor lead this witness through hearsay and speculation – on Marcie Calder's sexual experience, on Marcie's relationship to a man whose name Ms. D'Abruzzi never even knew, on what these two people said or did or felt when they were alone. But this
last
question assumes that Janice D'Abruzzi could read Marcie Calder's mind and now can tell the jury – without any factual foundation whatsoever –
why
Marcie Calder did whatever she did while Ms. D'Abruzzi was misleading Marcie's parents. In simple fairness, Your Honor – enough.'

Stella Marz appeared unruffled. ‘Your Honor,' she said mildly, ‘please admonish Mr. Lord not to use objections as a pretext for speeches to the jury. His only legitimate objection is exactly three words long: “objection – no foundation.”

‘As to
that
, Janice D'Abruzzi has testified to numerous conversations about what was driving Marcie Calder: that she was afraid this affair would ruin her lover's life, that she was trying to protect him –'

‘Speaking of speeches,' Tony interjected.

‘Yes.' Karoly, as always, was too slow to assert himself. ‘That's enough from both of you.' Pausing, he pursed his lips. ‘In context, I think Ms. Marz is entitled to Ms. D'Abruzzi's opinion.'

Sitting, Tony murmured to Saul, ‘That's one for the appellate court.' But that did not change his concern and irritation, aggravated when Stella Marz, with a professional sweetness, milked the moment by asking the court reporter, ‘Could you read back my last question, please? The part before Mr. Lord's objection.'

The reporter, a stout, middle-aged man with thinning brown hair, thumbed the roll of paper that hung from his machine, squinting at the shorthand symbols. ‘Here it is,' he murmured, and then, in a monotone that somehow made the question sound more damning, read: ‘“Why, do you suppose, Janice, did Marcie need to see this man on the night she died?”'

As one, the jury looked from the reporter to Janice D'Abruzzi. ‘To warn him,' Janice answered. ‘So that he'd know he was in trouble.' For the first time, Janice's voice broke. ‘Marcie was such a good person. She'd want to protect him. . . .'

The courtroom was still. ‘Thank you,' Stella said softly, and turned to Tony. ‘Your witness, Mr. Lord.'

Tony stood beside the defense table. He did not want the jury to see him crowding a teenage girl – it might seem an unpleasant echo of his client.

‘Just for the record,' Tony said mildly, ‘am I correct that Marcie never told you why she wanted to meet this unknown man? So that your last answer is just a guess?'

Janice eyed him warily. ‘It's what I thought,' she answered. ‘Not what she told me.'

‘In fact, she didn't tell you she was pregnant, either.'

Briefly, Janice fingered the collar of her suit. ‘No.'

‘But if I remember our prior conversation, didn't you ask Marcie if she was “in trouble”?'

Janice's face filled with distrust. ‘Yes.'

‘What did you mean by the question?'

‘
I
was worried that she was pregnant.'

Tony nodded. ‘And based on your relationship with Marcie, do you think she understood you?'

‘Objection,' Stella said promptly. ‘How can this witness know what Marcie's understanding was?'

Tony kept his voice mild, a friend reasoning with another friend. ‘That really is the problem, Stella, isn't it?' He turned to Leo Karoly. ‘We started down this road, Your Honor, when Ms. Marz asked Ms. D'Abruzzi why Marcie Calder wanted to meet this man. With your indulgence, I'd like to establish a foundation for my questions.'

Karoly hesitated. ‘Go ahead, Mr. Lord.'

Tony saw Stella Marz's look of irritation; in a moment, he had reduced her from righteous prosecutor to erring colleague, his peer in some common search for truth. Turning to Janice, Tony asked, ‘Did you and Marcie have some common understanding of what “in trouble” meant when you talked about girls and guys?'

The
jury
did, Tony was quite certain. Janice paused, biting her lip. ‘It meant getting pregnant,' she said at last. ‘A couple of girls in school already had.'

Tony nodded. ‘Looking back at it,' he said gently, ‘Marcie didn't tell you the truth, did she?'

Janice stared at him resentfully. ‘Marcie wasn't a liar,' She retorted. ‘Maybe she wasn't sure.'

‘But if she were worried, wouldn't she confide in you?'

Trapped between two bad answers, Janice looked down. ‘I don't know.'

‘In fact, except for whatever Marcie chose to tell you, you don't know
anything
about this relationship.'

Janice's full lips set in a stubborn line. ‘I knew Marcie, that was all.'

‘Did you?' Tony asked mildly. ‘Besides trying to protect this man, whoever he was, did Marcie give you any other reason for wanting to keep her affair a secret?'