Authors: Amy Gutman
Equivocal Death (60 page)
willingness to take risks, fed my own nascent desire to break away 3
from the life I was leading. For that, I’d like to thank him.
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This book is dedicated to my family. Much love and thanks to 5
my mother, Janet Franz, who has always believed in me and en-6
couraged me to follow my heart; to my brother, Peter, who took 7
time from the whirlwind of investment banking to give the manu-8
script a careful and perceptive reading and who staunchly champi-9
oned my choice of title; to my father, Froncie, who has maintained 10
a steady interest in my progress; and to my sister, Karin, also a 11
writer, whose warmth and good spirits help keep me on an even 12
keel.
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Special eBook Feature:
Excerpt from
Amy Gutman’s
The Anniversary
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THE
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ANNIVERSARY
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A N o v e l
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AMY
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GUTMAN
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LITTLE, BROWN AND COMPANY
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Boston New
York London
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P R O L O G U E
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Nashville, Tennessee
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Eleven years ago
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As soon as the jury came back, she knew.
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Faces somber, eyes trained on the floor, they filed back to their 12
seats, these twelve men and women who held his life in their 13
hands. None of them glanced toward the spectators. None of 14
them met his eyes. In her third-row gallery seat, Laura Seton leaned 15
slightly forward. Placing a hand on her throat, she felt a birdlike 16
pulsing flutter. As her fingers traced the delicate bones of her 17
neck, she thought how easy it would be to break them.
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Judge Gwen Kirkpatrick looked down on the room from her 19
position high on the bench. She had thick, dark hair streaked 20
with gray and a bright red gash of a mouth. A bronze disk hung 21
on the wall above her, the Great Seal of the State of Tennessee.
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It floated there like a halo, invoking some higher good. Not that 23
Laura believed in that. She believed in very little these days.
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“All right, if the record would reflect that the jury is back in 25
the courtroom after their deliberations.” Judge Kirkpatrick took a 26
sip of water, then turned to the jury box. “Mr. Archer, you are still 27
the foreperson of this jury, is that correct?”
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“Yes, ma’am.” Archer was a stocky man with blue suspenders 29
and a white moustache, recently retired from thirty years in the 30
insurance industry.
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“I understand that you’ve reached a verdict.”
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“Yes, we have.”
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Laura glanced at her watch: 10:55 a.m.
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For the first time since she’d arrived, she allowed herself to S 35
look at him.
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A dark-haired man in a navy blazer seated beside his lawyer.
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His face was beautiful in profile. A high, rounded forehead, straight 3
nose, chiseled chin. He gave the impression of being at once both 4
sensitive and strong. While she couldn’t clearly see his expres-5
sion, she easily pictured it. The vaguely ironic smile. Eyebrows 6
slightly raised. As if he were a little bored but trying to be polite.
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His deep brown eyes would be shining, like stones from a riverbed.
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He leaned toward his lawyer to say something. She willed him 9
to turn around.
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Please, Steven, look at me. There’s something you need to know.
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His back stiffened almost imperceptibly, as if he’d read her 12
thoughts, until a moment later he lapsed into stillness again.
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She hadn’t planned to be here today, had planned to sleep 14
through it all. She’d gotten as drunk as she could last night before 15
passing out on the floor. But at 4 a.m. she’d snapped awake and 16
stumbled into the bathroom. In the glare of the fluorescent light, 17
she’d looked like she was dying. Haggard face, pallid skin, huge 18
burning eyes. “I’m only twenty-four,” she’d whispered. “I’m only 19
twenty-four.” For reasons that now eluded her, this had seemed 20
significant.
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From the front of the room, the voices pressed on, but Laura 22
barely listened. She forced herself to breathe. She noticed her 23
skirt was too tight. During the past few months she’d gained at 24
least ten pounds, but the effect was oddly soothing. Buried in 25
flesh she felt safer. As if she couldn’t be seen.
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Memories were flashing through her mind, like a video on fast-27
forward. Lobsters at Jimmy’s Harborside. Camping in the Smoky 28
Mountains. Dancing at 12th & Porter to driving country rock.
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I’m in the mood, I’m in the mood, I’m in the . . .
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And then there were the other things. The things she didn’t 31
want to remember.
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A blood-soaked shirt behind the bed.
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Bone fragments in the fireplace.
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Knives. A mask. Rubber gloves.
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But always an explanation.
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Always an explanation. Until one day, there just wasn’t.
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“Mr. Gage, would you please stand and face the jury?” That 1
was the judge again.
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Steven Gage got to his feet. He seemed calm and somewhat 3
bemused. Simply going through the motions, as if he were hu-4
moring them.
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“Mr. Archer, would you read me the verdict as to count one of 6
this indictment.”
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Archer rubbed a hand over his mouth, then, eyes down, 8
started speaking. “We, the jury, unanimously find that the State 9
has proven the following listed statutory aggravating circum-10
stance or circumstances beyond a reasonable doubt . . .”
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The words rolled on, endless and without meaning. A barrage 12
of neat official language to disguise what was happening.
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Now, Steven. Look. Now.
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But his eyes remained on the jury. He didn’t turn around.
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The sense of déjà vu grew stronger by the moment. It seemed 16
to Laura that they’d done this all just ten days ago. But after the 17
determination of guilt had come a whole new round of proceed-18
ings. They called it the penalty phase. Mitigating factors. Aggra-19
vating factors. All of them brought to light. The testimony had 20
lasted for more than two days, but the jury was back in an hour.
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Laura’s eyes roamed the gallery, the sea of crowded benches.
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The elderly man beside her smelled like wintergreen. The fami-23
lies were sitting in the front rows, as they had throughout the 24
trial. Dahlia’s family to the right of the aisle, Steven’s on the left.
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Dahlia’s parents sat ramrod straight, their teenage son between 26
them. The boy, sullen and slightly sprawled, looked utterly out of 27
place. Across the aisle, Steven’s mother was flanked by two 28
grown sons. A small, plump woman with bottle-blue hair, she’d 29
shrunk down in her seat. Laura had a sense that if her sons 30
weren’t there, she’d slide right onto the floor.
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A jagged line of pain shot through Laura’s brain. Her mouth 32
was dry as sand. She breathed in hot recycled air, blown from 33
vents in the wall. Dun-colored curtains covered the windows, 34
shutting out the sun. The world had collapsed into this single S 35
place. There was nothing outside this room.
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Laura felt the words before she heard them, as her heart tore 2
into her chest.
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“We, the jury, unanimously find that the punishment for the 4
defendant, Steven Lee Gage, shall be death.”
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An instant of absolute silence, and then the whispers began.
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Laura’s stomach heaved, and she pressed her hands together. It 7
had happened, it had actually happened, and she couldn’t take it 8
in. She’d tried to imagine how it might feel, but she’d never 9
imagined this. An utter absence of feeling, a blankness akin to 10
sleep. Sentenced to death.
Sentenced to death.
She tried to absorb 11
the meaning. But before the words could fully sink in, something 12
was happening. Up front, a flurry of action. Steven had lunged 13
toward the judge.
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“I do not accept this verdict! I do not accept it, do you hear 15
me?” He stood slightly crouched and quivering, glaring at Judge 16
Kirkpatrick. “I am innocent, and
you
are the guilty ones, all of 17
you here today. Those responsible for this will pay. Do you hear 18
me? All of you will pay!”
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A muffled roar in the gallery, as Kirkpatrick pounded her gavel.
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“Mr. Phillips, control your client!”
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“Steven. Please. Calm down.” George Phillips raised a slender 22
hand, but his client didn’t respond. Instead, Gage took another 23
step forward, his eyes burning into the judge.
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Two court officers were rushing forward, converging around 25
Gage. The first one, well over six foot five, tackled Gage from be-26
hind. He seemed to have gained a hold until Gage bit down on his 27
hand. The injured man stumbled backward, let out an agonized 28
shriek, as his partner, hurling himself toward Gage, wrestled 29
him to the ground. “No! Steven. No! Oh God!” Steven’s mother 30
clutched her other sons’ arms as her screams gave way to sobs.
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Gage fought back from the floor, spitting, writhing, kicking.
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Everywhere, spectators were jumping up, gawking at the scene.
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Laura was almost surprised to find she was standing too, craning 34
her neck to watch, to get a better view. Gage’s face was a deep 35 S
bright red. Veins pulsed in his forehead. She didn’t want to look, 36 R
but she couldn’t turn away.
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This is what they saw,
she thought.
This is what they saw.
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He’d managed to get to his feet again when one of the bailiffs 2
grabbed him, jammed a knee in his lower back and hurled him 3
against a table.
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“Jesus Christ, get him! Get him!” That was Tucker Schuyler, 5
Dahlia’s younger brother. He pounded a fist into his palm, his 6
face as red as his hair.
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Another vicious flailing struggle, and Gage broke free again.
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He flung himself toward the gallery, his eyes bulging grotesquely.
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A swirl of movement now, as spectators streamed for the door.
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The jurors, who’d climbed to their feet, seemed astonished, dis-11
believing. Pretty, blonde juror number four wore an expression of 12
abject terror, one hand clapped over her mouth, her eyes enormous 13
and bright. Jurors number six and seven were edging toward the 14
exit. They’d been told that the system
worked.
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pected this.
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“You motherfuckin’ fascists,” Gage shrieked. “You don’t know 17
what you’re doing. Get your fuckin’ hands off me!”
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He was still cursing and kicking when the handcuffs snapped 19
on his wrists. His body strained frantically, shivered, then went 20
slack. His mouth fell open, and he gazed at the room, drained of 21
