Box Set: The ArringtonTrilogy (117 page)

The audience gasped, and the judge
immediately slammed down his gavel. “Silence in this
courtroom!”

Chills ran through me as I tried to absorb
what Felix was saying. Ned was brutally murdered, possibly because
of me!

Judith’s expression remained stone cold while
she stared over at Richard. He was whispering back and forth with
his lawyer and seemed surprisingly relaxed. Rachael and Sterling
appeared very concerned, and only once peered over toward me.
Sarah, on the other hand, continually turned Heath’s way. She was
desperate for him to acknowledge her, to give her some sign that he
still cared for her. But Heath refused to acknowledge anyone in
that room but me.

Richard’s lawyer was nearly the same age as
Seymour Stern. He began his statement with a courteous smile, which
flowed into a rather brief, monotonous speech that left everyone
straining to hear.

“I’m not here to tell you, the jury, that Mr.
Parker didn’t murder Mr. Griffin. I am here to see the prosecution
prove beyond a reasonable doubt that he was the one to commit this
crime. All the evidence Mr. Lowell will present to you is
circumstantial, the witnesses’ testimony based on hearsay. Richard
Parker is a fine, upstanding man, with a devoted wife and family.
When the time comes for you to deliberate, I assure you, there will
be not one shred of proof that my client committed this crime.
Therefore, you will set this innocent man free and justice will be
served.”

The first witness called to the stand was the
police officer, Patrick McNeil, who had come across Ned’s body
sometime around one in the morning on June fourth.

“What exactly did you see that night,
officer?” Felix asked, once the police officer took his oath and
stated his name for the record.

“I was walking my beat when I turned the
corner and noticed a man lying face down on the sidewalk, halfway
down Forty-first Street in front of the theater.”

“What did you do next, Officer McNeil?”

“I called out, then when he didn’t answer, I
blew my whistle and ran over to see what was wrong.” The police
officer described the incident in a heavy Irish accent.

“What did you notice first when you
approached the man, who you later learned was Ned Griffin?”

“He appeared lifeless and lay in a pool of
blood. I checked his pulse and found none. He was cold and
unresponsive. I realized he was dead.”

Felix paced back and forth in front of the
witness stand while asking the questions. It was almost like
watching lawn tennis without the racket and ball.

“Did you see a gun anywhere near the body,
Officer McNeil?”

“Objection. There has been no weapon entered
into evidence!”

“Sustained,” said the judge.

“Let me rephrase the question. Did you see
what it was that caused Mr. Griffin to be lying in a pool of his
own blood?” Felix asked. He shifted his amused gaze to the defense
table.

“His fatal injury appeared to be that of a
gunshot; the shell case was lying near to the body.”

Felix strolled over to a small table that
contained a few numbered items and picked up a small, metal object,
then walked back over to the witness stand.

“Is this the shell you retrieved from the
murder scene?”

Officer McNeil took it into his hand, glanced
at it, then said, “I believe so.”

“Where did the bullet enter Mr. Griffin’s
body?”

“The back.”

“Notice the chalkboard to the right side of
the room. There, a diagram of a body is displayed. If you wouldn’t
mind, could you go over to the board and point out exactly where
the bullet shell landed?”

The tall, red-haired police officer followed
Felix to the board and pointed to the middle of the diagram of the
chalk figure.

“Please note for the record, Officer McNeil
is pointing to the middle of the back.”

The police officer sat back down in the small
wooden chair on the stand and answered a few more questions.

“Did you happen to see anyone near the scene
at the time you discovered the body of Ned Griffin?”

“I did.”

The courtroom stirred with muffled commotion.
Richard leaned against the table and rested his chin on his
knuckles, listening intently.

“Tell the Court, Officer McNeil, who you
saw.”

“I saw a man lurking in an alley across the
street, and when he heard me call out to put his hands up and step
forward, he ran off.”

“That man you saw lurking in the alley near
the scene of the crime, can you give the court any kind of
description. Was he tall, dark-haired, well dressed?” Felix
prodded, raising his brows inquisitively.

“Objection! Prosecution is leading the
witness.”

“Sustained,” the judge ruled. He threw Felix
a disapproving glare.

“Can you please give us a
description
(he exaggerated that word) of the person you saw?”

“I could tell it was a man. But it was dark,
and I wasn’t able to clearly identify any of his features.”

“But it was a man, is that correct, Officer
McNeil?”

“Yes.”

“No further questions,” Felix announced and
took his seat next to Mr. Stern.

Richard’s lawyer stood for a
cross-examination.

“Officer McNeil, did you happen to see a
weapon left at the murder scene?”

“No, I found no weapon.”

“Can you tell me what, if any, evidence you
did acquire from the crime scene other than the shell of a
bullet?”

“I did notice a book not far from the
victim.”

“A book? What kind of book?”

“A Bible.”

“Was this the Bible you found near Ned
Griffin’s body?” the defense attorney asked, holding up the small
Bible for the officer and everyone in the courtroom to view.

“Yes, it appears to be the same Bible.”

“That is all.”

Court was dismissed for lunch break, and I
couldn’t wait to get outside and take in some fresh air. I wasn’t
hungry; in fact I had felt nauseated all morning. Heath suggested
we take a walk - to clear our minds.

City Hall Park was only a block over, and the
day was turning warm as the morning clouds parted, giving way to a
bright, late-autumn sun.

The park was like a safe haven, a private
retreat every afternoon. Heath and I would stroll without talking
much, side by side, kicking up the crisp leaves with our shoes.
Most of the time, the leaves stuck to the bottom of my dress, and
Heath was kind enough to pick every one off before we headed back
into the courtroom for the afternoon sessions.

Witness after witness came forward for the
prosecution. I was surprised that Ned’s parents, Norman and Martha
Griffin, never came to court. When I nervously asked Felix during a
brief recess, he revealed that the mother had died of a sudden
illness and the father was nowhere to be found.

Wanda, Tilly, and Phoebe were all up on the
witness stand that week, describing Richard as an adulterous,
egotistical man who was obsessed with Ned Griffin’s downfall.

Now the jury heard it all. They took note of
how Richard slept with all these women behind his wife’s back and
gloated over his theater production. He spoke of Ned to all these
women, and supposedly said that he would do whatever it took to
keep Ned from ever becoming an equal in the business.

Even Bart Wilco took the stand for the
prosecution and revealed Richard’s illegal activities - money
laundering and drugs. This was leading up to me. Felix was building
his case to have me step in. I was the decisive factor, the one who
could have him locked away for good.

One week dragged into the next, the trial was
moving slower than expected. Two of the jury members became ill
with some kind of stomach flu and court was postponed for two days.
Then Seymour Stern’s wife tragically died, holding up the trial for
another week.

I was thrilled when Heath came to my suite
with the first letter from Ayden. He came into the sitting room and
stood beside me while I brushed my hair before bed.

“Ayden says the weather has been rather mild,
no significant storms to speak of. All is well with the Coopers;
they ask about you both often, and Hazel sends her warmest regards.
The third keeper arrived. His name is Otto Moore, a kindly old
keeper who keeps to himself most often,” Heath read. He scanned the
remainder of the letter, then with a flushed face, handed it to me.
“This is meant for you to read. I‘ll be in my rooms if you need
anything,” he said quietly.

I put down the brush and grasped the letter
in my trembling hands. I missed Ayden terribly. Weeks seemed more
like months. I felt guilty because I hadn’t taken the time to write
to him. When I wasn’t in court, Heath and I were in the park,
walking and talking. And at the end of each day, I was exhausted
and queasy, and retreated to bed early. Heath continually
questioned me. “You don’t look healthy. Do you have headaches,
dizziness? Are you sleeping well enough?”

“I go right to sleep. I am simply worn out
from the emotional stress of the trial and the burden of seeing
Richard nearly every day,” I replied. “Now stop being such a
typical doctor and pestering me.”

“All right, I will leave you be. But if these
symptoms get worse, you will tell me?” he implored with intense
seriousness.

I agreed, to appease him, and pretended to
enjoy my food when I could barely tolerate the look or smell of
it.

When I finished reading Ayden’s words of
longing and love for me, I folded the letter and placed it under my
pillow. It was a way of keeping his love close and filling my
dreams with his handsome face.

It took both Heath and me by surprise when
the evening before the trial was set to resume, we spotted Sarah
and Judith in lobby of the hotel. For some odd reason, they were
checking in.

We were on our way to the stores to do some
Christmas shopping when Heath stopped in his tracks. I stopped to
see what had caught his attention, and that’s when Sarah turned
around. Her woeful eyes welled up with tears as Heath shunned her.
He took hold of my hand and escorted me along.

“Are you going to ignore her forever?” I
asked curiously when we were outside and walking along the avenue.
A part of me wanted him to tell me that he would never have room in
his heart for anyone but me. But the other more honest side of
myself knew it was wrong to be so selfish, to have Heath hurt
Sarah, as well as himself. She was good for him; she could give
herself to Heath unconditionally. Heath deserved to be fulfilled. I
could never give him that, and the thought pained me.

Heath didn’t respond to my question. He
walked briskly, with his mind seemingly in deep thought. I
struggled to keep up, and finally, when we turned the corner, I had
to grab his arm to make him slow down.

Heath swung around and stopped, lowering his
head so I wouldn’t see his obvious pain. It was my fault he was in
so much pain. I had chosen to give myself to Ayden and slam the
door on any possible chance we might have had to be together. But I
didn’t know the way Heath cared for me; I couldn’t have. As far as
I knew, Heath loathed me, despised me for what I had done in my
past. I knew this by the way he had treated me so badly when I
returned to Savannah. He was the one who had hidden his love for me
all that time, when he could have come forth and revealed the truth
at any time. He should have come to me. Why, on that fateful night
of his engagement to Sarah, did he pretend not to know me? I could
only speculate as to the reasons. I never would dare to ask, for I
didn’t want to know the answers. So, why did it feel as if it were
my fault entirely?

I had an opportunity to tell Heath I knew all
about his betrayal of Sarah, that he had scarred himself to have an
excuse to return to the lighthouse station where we would meet
again. But should I take it? If so, I could lose what little Heath
and I had. If I didn’t, the burden of his pain would haunt me
forever.

We stood before one another, shivering from
the cold, and I made Heath look at me by lifting his chin with my
cold fingers. My mind struggled with what direction to take.
What to do, what to do?
I asked myself while our eyes met
and locked. Then it came to me. I was going to do in the end what
was right for Heath, and with a heavy heart, I made my ultimate
decision.

“Heath,” I began with a heavy lump in my
throat. “Sarah loves you.”

Heath violently shook his head no
.
“Please, don’t say that.”

“You can make things right. You have a second
chance. She is the one for you,” I cried and reached out to stroke
his cheek.

Heath seized my hand. “You don’t understand,”
he murmured, still holding my hand in his. “If only . . .”

“Ayden,” I choked. “I love Ayden.” My
blurted-out words were meant as my only defense to fend off the
sudden overwhelming desire to have Heath hold me and kiss me. My
heart raced, my pulse quickened at the thought that he was about to
lunge forward and place his lips onto mine.

Heath’s face went blank. I felt his heart
sink into despair.

“Go to Sarah and proclaim your love to her,
please,” I begged.

Heath stared at me, looking deeply into my
eyes to see if I was being truthful, if there was any sign of love
for at all for him. When he saw nothing, when I successfully
concealed my profound, never-ending love for him, he let go of my
hand and nodded in acceptance.

“Perhaps you’re right. I will give my heart
completely and unconditionally to her,” he said, then added with a
hurt, choked-up voice, “If that’s what you want.”

No, that’s not what I want!
My heart
screamed. However, it was the right thing to do. It had to be. For
once, I wanted to do what was right!

“Yes,“ I said in a tight, pained voice, while
blinking back the burning tears that were desperately trying to
escape. “That is what I want.”