Guilty Wives (16 page)

I WAS ALONE
now in every sense of the word, after three hours with my friends, who had tried everything in their power to talk me out of my position. They’d begged me. They’d tried guilt. They’d threatened me. They’d even offered me money.

When Durand had arrived at dawn, Serena and Bryah pleaded with him to let them accept the deal without me, to sever me from the “package.” But he was steadfast. The point was to end the trial, and without me confessing, it wouldn’t end.

No deal, he said, unless I agreed to it.

“You can’t do this to us!” Serena cried to me, as the guards pulled her out of the room.

“Please, Abbie.
Please
reconsider!” Bryah pleaded as they dragged her away.

I was left alone in the room while the others returned to their cells. I buried my head in my hands and let time pass. At some point, sweeping exhaustion overtook the stress and I lay down on the concrete floor. I think I drifted off a couple of times for a few minutes, but mostly it was a long, timeless stare at the wall, pondering how my life had come to this and what lay ahead.

I raised my head at the echo of footsteps on the concrete floor. My stomach was calling to me, so it must have been somewhere approaching noon, but I really had no idea.

My husband walked through the cell door. A guard closed it shut behind him and walked away.

“Rough night,” Jeffrey said.

I nodded. I got to my feet with some effort, pain shooting along my spine up to my neck.

“Abbie, this guy Durand? He said you have one more chance to say yes.”

I wiped at my eyes and shook out the cobwebs. “I can’t,” I said.

“What does that mean, you can’t? Of course you can.”

I looked away from him.

“Think of your friends—”

“Don’t do that,” I snapped. “Don’t make me responsible for them. It wasn’t my idea to make it a stupid package deal.”

“Then think of our family, Abbie.”

I looked at him. How could he say such a thing to me? What did he think I was doing? How could he not realize that my family was the
only
thing I was considering? Even at the height of my pain, after discovering his infidelity, I’d never felt a chasm between us as wide as the one I felt now. It was as if Jeffrey Elliot didn’t know me at all.

“Jeff, how can I ever look Richie and Elena in the eye again if I admit to something I didn’t do? How can I teach them to live their lives with integrity and courage if I abandon my principles the moment the going gets rough?”

He stepped toward me. “You tell them you did it so you could get out of prison someday. So you could spend time, later in life, with your children and with
their
children. I mean, really, Abbie.” He placed his hands together, as if in prayer, as if beseeching me. “Are the kids better off with a principled mother who spends the rest of her life in a shitty French prison?”

I brought a hand to my face and tried to keep my composure. “They’ll know that their mother had the courage to stand up for the truth. Doesn’t that count for anything?”

“Abbie—”

“And what about figuring out what the hell really happened, Jeffrey? Why aren’t you and Jules spending every waking moment trying to turn over every possible stone to figure out who really committed this crime? Has that thought ever crossed your mind?”

Jeffrey took a breath. “That’s not fair, Abbie. You know we’ve done everything we can.”

“Nearly nine months,” I said. “Nine months, and not a
single
clue as to who framed us? How is that even possible?”

“That’s not the point. Not anymore.”

I grabbed my hair and held my breath. This was sensory overload. Too much. Finally, I gathered myself and gave it one last thought. “I’m sorry,” I said. “But I can’t.”

“Oh, my God.” Jeffrey opened his hands. “You’re really going to turn this down.”

“Jeffrey,” I said.

He put a hand against the wall to steady himself, shaking his head furiously.

“Jeffrey,” I repeated. “I need you to be with me. I can’t do this alone. Everybody—” My throat choked closed. I tried again, in a hoarse whisper. “Everybody else is against me. I need you on my side.
Please.
”

“No.” He shook his head emphatically. “I can’t support this. I won’t. You’re screwing over your kids, your friends, and me.” He raised his hands in surrender. “And why? Out of principle? Because of the truth?”

I drew a breath and took a hard look at the man I’ve called my husband. I had the distinct sense, at that moment, that I wouldn’t be calling him that much longer.

“That’s exactly why,” I said.

Red-faced and flustered, Jeffrey moved his face within an inch of mine.

“You realize, Abbie, this is all on you now. Like it or not. Whatever happens to Winnie and Bryah and Serena. Whatever happens to our family. It’s all because of this decision you’re making. It’s all on you and you alone. Are you prepared to roll the dice on all of that?”

I wasn’t prepared for much of anything that was happening to me. And I wasn’t rolling any dice. I was just doing my best to keep my nose above water.

I’d lost so much. My privacy, my reputation, my life as I knew it. There was only one thing I still owned—my integrity. I couldn’t let them take that away, too.

Jeffrey was right. Fair or not, I was making this decision alone. And that, I now realized with a sensation so palpable it stole my breath away, was how I was going to get through this entire ordeal.

Alone.

FROM OVERHEAD IN
a helicopter, the west end of the Île de la Cité, the tail of the dolphin-shaped island, looked like occupied territory. The bridges on that end—the Pont Neuf, Pont Saint-Michel, and Pont au Change—were closed, blocked by armored vehicles. Civilians were not permitted in the quarantined zone. French commandos patrolled the streets. To the east, the army had closed all streets within a block of the Palais de Justice except one, the Quai de la Corse, where a checkpoint was set up; all unauthorized vehicles were turned away.

The effects of the rioting were visible from the air: streetlamps had been pulled down; portions of the roads still bore the torch marks from Molotov cocktails; collateral damage to some of the nearby restaurants and cafés and shops was evident from boarded-up windows or plastic sheets. Authorities had estimated the damage to the Île would reach the millions of euros.

“All because of us,” I mumbled, as the helicopter swooped into its descent.

The French had considered moving the entire trial to a military installation but ultimately decided against it, presumably because it would be symbolic of defeat. Still, the four of us defendants were now spending our evenings under military detention. French troops would occupy the perimeter of the Palais de Justice. The only members of the public who could enter the quarantined zone were the media, and only after showing their credentials and being escorted through the checkpoint in armored vehicles.

The helicopter landed, under heavy guard, in the courtyard of the palace complex only steps away from the building that housed France’s highest court. It was a full-scale military exercise just to get me out of the copter, involving soldiers in formation, shouting to each other and forming a protective cover around me as I was whisked into the courtroom building.

We shared one moment together in the anteroom, the four of us. Serena and Bryah looked at me with tears in their eyes. This was their last chance.

“You can’t do this to us,” Serena said. “Please don’t.”

And then the guards beckoned us and we filed into the courtroom.

Today, I would testify.

INSIDE THE COURTROOM,
the presiding judge’s face was crimson with anger as the session came to order. This was the first time the court had convened since the riot and the judge wanted to say his piece. “This is a court of law,” he said. “And in this court of law, justice will not be deterred. It will not be delayed. It will not be denied.”

He looked in my direction as he spoke, as if the riot had been my fault—as if it had been some elaborate scheme on my part to get a day off from trial.

“We will conduct this trial with deliberation but with dispatch,” he went on. “We will waste not another day on distractions. The people of this great republic want justice and they want it with all deliberate speed. They will have it.”

The court gave a presumptive nod and then turned in my direction.

“Ms. Elliot,” he said. “You wish to testify at this time?”

I rose and approached the microphone in the cage. “I do, Mr. President.”

“It remains your intention to contest these charges?”

That was a strange question to ask. He was referring to my refusal to go along with Durand’s plea offer.

“Yes, Mr. President.”

“I am disappointed to hear that.”

Disappointed?
“Mr. President, I didn’t do anything wrong and I—”

“We have already heard this from you, have we not?” The presiding judge, needing both hands to do so, held up the dossier and then dropped it with a loud
thud.
“You testified in full to the investigating judge, did you not?”

“I did.”

“And you stand by what you said?”

“Every word.”

“Every word.” The presiding judge looked at the other judges on the panel.

“Mr. President, the court has heard other evidence that was previously detailed in the dossier. I would respectfully ask for the same—”

“The court does not require a lecture on its procedures, Ms. Elliot.”

I took a breath. “May I pro—”

“The court has reviewed your statements to the investigating judge at great length. The members of this court do not have any questions for you. If you have anything to supplement what you have previously said, the court will hear that testimony. But your general claims of innocence are well known to this court.”

I wasn’t sure what to say.

“Do you have anything to add to your previous statements, Ms. Elliot?”

“Mr. President, I—I guess I’m not sure how to proceed.”

“Proceed by answering my question. Do you have any new information?”

I let out a breath and tried to calm myself as the heat came to my face.

“Mr. President—”

“Are you able to substantiate your claim that you were framed by another individual? Are you able to tell us who could have possibly possessed all the information and resources necessary to frame you?”

“I—no, I can’t give you a
name.
”

“Then we are left with your general denials. Which we will review again during our deliberations.” The presiding judge took a moment to look among his colleagues, to confirm their unanimity. “There is no need for any further testimony from you at this stage.”

“I don’t get to testify?” I cried. “Are you kidding me?”

Jules jumped up. “Mr. President, if I may have a brief moment with my client.”

The presiding judge stared at me, then at Jules, for a long count. “If you must. One minute. We will not recess.”

Jules leaned against the glass cage, speaking through the mouth holes. I put my hand over the microphone and leaned forward, too.

“Abbie,” he said in a harsh whisper, “you must accept the deal. We can see if it’s not too late to change our minds.”

“No,” I said.

“They must be getting pressure to end this trial. They’re going to blame you for dragging this out.”

“No,” I said.

“Abbie, listen to me. It’s over. You can see it in their faces. I’m sorry but it’s over—”

“No!” I shook my head violently. I removed my hand from the microphone and turned to the court. “This isn’t fair! I have the right to testify as much as anyone. I didn’t commit any crime and I don’t care how much you threaten me or pressure me—I won’t admit to something I didn’t do. You can’t do this!
You can’t do this!
”

The presiding judge said something to the bailiff and the sound to my microphone was cut off. It didn’t stop me from continuing to yell at the judges. Gendarmes approached me and ordered me to my seat. When I refused, they each took one of my arms and forced me down.

I ripped off my headphones as I sat seething, my pulse racing so wildly that my vision was spotty. But I could see enough: Jeffrey, in the front row, with a hand covering his face in horror. Serena, Bryah, and Winnie, all with tears streaming down their faces, their fates now sealed. The presiding judge, admonishing me furiously. I couldn’t make out what he was saying but it didn’t matter.

Because I knew. Everything was unraveling, any last chance at hope. We probably never really had a chance. Maybe my pride, my stubbornness, my blind hope had prevented me from seeing it earlier. It no longer mattered. Regret was irrelevant. Hope was a continent away.

It was over.

“LISTEN,” I SAID.

I placed my hand gently against my daughter’s wet cheek. Her shoulders were bobbing, her chest heaving. Eye contact was difficult for her, but she recognized the moment as much as I and struggled to contain her emotions.

I rested my other hand on Richie’s trembling shoulder. He was quiet but his grimaced, tearful expression made him almost unrecognizable.

“Listen,” I repeated, trying to keep myself stable. “I want you to understand that I had to stand up for the truth. I had to do it. I couldn’t let them make me say something that wasn’t true. Your integrity, your dignity, your honor—they aren’t for sale. Not ever. Not to anyone. Do you understand?”

Each of my children nodded, emotion choking their throats.

I took a deep breath. “You know what I care about the most? I care about the two of you making the most of your future. You have so much going for you and you’re going to be wonderful at whatever you do. Whatever you do. I don’t care if you become nuclear scientists or schoolteachers or garbage collectors. Just promise me you’ll love what you do and that you’ll do it with all your heart.

“You’re going to accomplish amazing things. You’re going to make lifelong friends. You’re going to fall in love and, I hope, have children that fill your heart with love like you—like you fill mine,” I concluded with a whisper.

I brought them closer and we collapsed into each other. Still, after all this time, it was utterly incomprehensible to me that this was happening, that events had spiraled so wildly out of my control.

I closed my eyes and listened to them breathe. I pretended that this moment wouldn’t end, that if I never let go of them, this moment would never end.