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“Kate lurched toward the defendant, begging him not to hurt her baby. I guessed that he was just waiting for her to get close to him to drop the boy, so I restrained her. I hoped to use the element of surprise—and my superior
strength—to grab him around the waist and pull him back from the window before he had a chance to drop Taylor.”

He swallowed again. Hated the moisture that swam in his eyes.

“I grabbed him, pulled him down, but he dropped the baby before I could—”

His voice broke. Amy Black shook her head. He'd said enough.

 

“Mr. McCall, you just implied that the intimacies you witnessed between Senator Whitehead and his wife were somehow enacted against her will.”

“They were.”

“You sound certain of that.”

“I am.”

“I'm a little confused here.” The defense attorney leaned a forearm on the witness stand. “I must have missed something in your description of what you saw.”

Scott waited. Angry. Ready to step down from the stand, take his lover in his arms and lead her home.

“What did Mrs. Whitehead do when her husband unbuttoned her blouse?”

“Nothing.”

“He did it quickly, then? So quickly that she didn't have time to protest?”

His hands shook against the arms of the chair. “No.”

“And when he—how did you describe it? Fondled her breasts. Did she raise her hands then, maybe push him away?”

“No.”

“Did she even step away?”

“Not then, no, but—”

“Thank you, Mr. McCall. I have another question. Just how can you be so certain that the injuries you saw as you came into that nursery were inflicted by Mr. Whitehead?”

“I saw him slap her!” Acid, like fire, spread through his stomach.

“Yes, but a playful slap across the face is a far cry from attempted murder.” The defense attorney leaned so close now that Scott could see the coffee stains on his teeth.

“He'd hit her before.”

“Objection, Your Honor. There's no evidence to support that. It's hearsay only.”

“Sustained.”

“As a matter of fact, Mr. McCall, when the injuries actually took place, you weren't there to see anything at all, were you? You were breaking into the couple's home at the time….”

Scott's hands itched to punch something. He'd never known he was capable of feeling such rage. “Yes.” The single word scalded his throat.

“I have no further questions, Your Honor.”

 

“State your name for the record.”

“Kate Whitehead.”

“Thank you. Tell me, Mrs. Whitehead, what do you remember about the activities that took place on the night of May ninth?”

From his seat in the front row, Scott ran sweaty palms down the slacks of his black suit. The sixth day of the trial, and it wasn't getting any easier. The prosecution had not called Kate to the stand, but they'd known the defense was planning to do so. She'd thrown up twice during the night, and spent the rest of the hours lying awake in his arms in the room they were sharing in her mother's home.

Good news had come that morning. Her divorce from Thomas Whitehead would be final the next week.

But it hadn't been enough to dispel her unequivocal belief that they were going to lose. Thomas Whitehead had done his work well. His soon-to-be ex-wife believed, heart and soul, that he was, at all times, a winner.

“Mrs. Whitehead?”

The judge, an older man with a thick nose, reading glasses and a few tufts of gray hair growing over his ears and around the back of his head, stared down at Kate.

“Answer the question please.” At least his command was gently issued.

“N-n…” Kate started. Her eyes filled with tears. “I remember nothing.”

 

“State your name for the record please.”

Scott took Kate's hand between both of his. Carley, on her other side, slid an arm around Kate's shoulders. Her mother and Scott's dad, immediately behind her, both placed hands on her shoulder.

His mother was at Kate's mother's house with Tay
lor. Scott hoped that was what Kate was thinking about. She'd promised she'd try.

“My name is Thomas Whitehead.”

He was wearing brown today. Brown suit, beige shirt, brown tie, brown shoes. To go with his filthy character.

Concentrate on the color, man. If you get any more personal than that you're not going to be what Kate needs today.

His mother was probably feeding Taylor way too much sugar. And the toddler would be up half the night. He hoped so, anyway. Kate actually smiled some when her son was consuming her attention.

“Mr. Whitehead, would you please tell the court what actually happened at your home on the night of May ninth of this year? The night, I might add, that you and your wife and son were finally reunited as a family since your wife's tragic disappearance—”

“Objection, Your Honor, irrelevant.” Amy Black's gray-suited back appeared in Scott's line of vision as her strident voice rang out in the packed courtroom. The trial had been blocked from the press, but there were supporters on both sides of the room.

“Objection sustained,” the judge said. “Stick to the question, counselor.”

“Tell us what really happened that night.”

Really happened.
As though every bit of evidence presented by the prosecution had been incorrect. Scott's knee started to bob.

“My wife and I were in our bedroom making love….”

Kate choked. And had four hands patting her back. Scott reached for the bottle of water he'd had with lunch, unscrewed the lid, held it to her mouth.

“She…occasionally…likes to—” Whitehead glanced down sheepishly “—enact fantasies…”

“And you play along with them?”

He shrugged, gave the jury a look that was a masterful mixture of innocence and knowingness. “She's my wife. I love her. It's all in fun.”

“Tell us about this fantasy…”

“Objection, Your Honor, this has no relevance to—”

“Overruled, Ms. Black. Please sit down.”

“She likes me to pretend to treat her like a…you know…”

“No, Senator, please tell us.”

“Like a woman who's been very naughty.”

Kate's whimper turned heads throughout the audience. Scott held on to her hand for dear life, willing all the energy, strength and love he had through his skin and into hers.

“Thank you, Senator. I apologize for having to do that.”

Whitehead nodded graciously.

“Tell us, sir, what happened next.”

“Our son started to cry. Kate was worried about him being frightened, as it was his first night in his new home and he'd already been tired by the time we arrived. When she heard him upset, she pulled away from me and ran from the room. I was particularly eager for him to adjust to his new home—and to me, his father—
and I ran after her. I made it to the hallway just in time to see her slip on the wood floor. I tried to catch her but her arms were flailing and she flew backward, slamming into the wall behind her.

“I reached for her then, but the knock on her head had been pretty severe. She didn't seem to recognize me, or our son, either. I've never personally witnessed anything like it. She went crazy, hitting at me. Lunging for him…”

“And that's how her face was hurt?”

“I'd put up a knee upon which to rest the baby while I got a better grip on him and she smacked right into it.”

“Then what happened?”

“I tried to calm her down, but I knew that my first priority had to be protecting the boy. She kept coming at him, clutching at him, screaming horrible things. In a desperate and incredibly stupid move, I resorted to hanging him out the window because it was the quickest way to get him away from her….”

 

“Has the jury reached a conclusion?”

At the back of the courtroom, where Kate had chosen to sit so they could make a quick exit, Scott sent up fervent prayers for the first time since Alicia's death. If the verdict was in Whitehead's favor—as Kate, the press and even he feared it would be—Kate was never going to be the same. Their lives together would be forever marred by fear and mistrust. Expecting the worst.

“Yes, we have, Your Honor.”

He and Kate knew the truth. Even the jury might
know the truth. But there'd been little proof shown that was beyond the shadow of a doubt. Kate couldn't remember anything about the night of the attack. He'd been thankful for that when he'd first found out.

Now he thought it was a cruel joke.

“Will the defendant please stand?”

Whitehead and his chief counsel rose together.

“On the charge of attempted murder of Kate Whitehead, count one, how do you find?”

“We find the defendant guilty as charged, Your Honor.”

And just that quickly, it was over.

“On the charge of attempted murder of Taylor Whitehead, count one, how do you find?”

“We find the defendant guilty as charged, Your Honor.”

Scott's arms were ready when Kate fell sobbing against him. Picking her up in his arms, kissing her all over her face, laughing and crying with her, he carried her out into the bright June sunshine to take her home to their son.

It might take a while for her to really believe it was over. But it would happen. Their time had come.

San Francisco Gazette
Sunday, August 21, 2005

San Francisco Gazette
Sunday, August 21, 2005
Page 21. Section E