Hide and Seek (25 page)
Barry and Nathan hurried to me, Nathan shaking my hand, Barry kissing me on the cheek. They followed me inside the crowded courtroom. Everything seemed so unreal. Barry and Nathan seemed unreal to me too.
I actually felt physically sick. I thought I was going to throw up. The terrifying excitement seemed to have entered the room like deadly gas. Every face turned toward me as if on cue. Ordinary people. Famous writers in the gallery.
This was so horrible, so bad
.
I struggled to keep my head up,
to look innocent
. I sat beside Nathan at the defendant’s table; Barry took a seat reserved for him in the front row of spectators.
I held on to the defense table with both hands for support. I was trembling. I felt cold and so very alone.
I looked around for Jennie and Allie. Only Jennie was there, of course. I knew that. We waved at each other, and Jennie started to cry.
So strange and weird and wrong
.
“Hear ye! Hear ye! All people having business with Part Forty-four in this court, give attention and ye shall be heard. The Honorable Judge Andrew Sussman presiding.”
It was the court clerk’s big moment onstage. Every eye in the crowded room was on him.
Good. That meant they were finally off me
.
The trial was beginning.
My murder trial
.
S
TRANGE AS A five-legged station wagon!
Norma Breen said to herself.
Nuts! Crazy! It doesn’t add up. There’s a piece missing here somewhere
.
Why had one gunshot, fired as Maggie Bradford was falling, been enough to kill that sorry bastard husband of hers? But it had, hadn’t it. Not much question about that
.
She was looking for the hundredth, or maybe the thousandth time at the police photographs of the murder site, taken just after Will’s body had been discovered.
The body was lying facedown.
Bad luck, Will
…
Or did you plan to have some bad luck? Did you shoot yourself, you sorry fuck? Is that your game?
He had been running away; that much was obvious from the footprints. Maggie had chased him and they had struggled. She had shot him in the head. He had fallen.
End of story, end of Will Shepherd.
Beginning of this current knotty mystery.
Norma felt a tingle travel up her spine.
Something didn’t mesh. Something just wasn’t tracking for her. What the hell was it?
What was the missing piece of this goddamned five-and-dime jigsaw puzzle?
She would have to run some more experiments. Call in some favors too. Keep all those balls in the air. She would find something to set Maggie Bradford free.
To kill again?
I
RONY OF IRONIES. I thought so anyway.
The prosecutor loved my music
—at least he used to.
I had met Dan Nizhinski once at a party at Nathan Bailford’s house. He was there with his wife, an ordinary-looking woman who wore huge, oval-rimmed glasses and no makeup. I remember wondering why so attractive a man would marry this woman, but when we got a chance to talk, I liked her a lot. The Nizhinskis told me they were both fans. Hoopty-doo!
Well, I didn’t like Dan Nizhinski now. He was tall and looked very scary, and the way he addressed the jury was like a beloved teacher speaking before a class of his best students.
“He’s good,” I whispered to Nathan.
“So are we,” he answered, but his confidence did not spill over onto me.
The jury was made up of a corporate secretary in her early twenties; a high school principal; two housewives; three retirees, one of whom was an ex-army colonel; a freelance writer; two self-employed businessmen; a clerk in a Ford dealership; and an actor, “currently unemployed.”
Six men, six women. Different backgrounds. With the power of God, they would somehow set me free. Or so I hoped.
My biggest fan, Dan Nizhinski, was talking about me again. Not exactly singing my praises though.
“You will hear evidence that the defendant, Maggie Bradford, did plan, over a period of several weeks, the murder of her husband, Will Shepherd.
“You will hear that this calculated murder was accomplished in a particularly cold-blooded fashion, as Will Shepherd ran for his life, as he tried to escape.
“You will discover that Will Shepherd was no ideal husband, but whatever his sins were, they were not enough to justify murder.
“And you will be presented with such a body of overwhelming evidence that there will be no doubt in
any
of your minds, as there is none in mine, that Maggie Bradford is guilty of murder in the first degree and should be punished to the full extent of the law.”
Dan Nizhinski headed for his chair at the prosecutor’s table, then stopped and returned to the jury, as though what he were about to say had just occurred to him, though I’d bet he had rehearsed the movement, and the speech, many times.
“One further thing. I forgot one thing. The murderess we are dealing with here is not an ordinary woman—”
“Objection! Your Honor,” Nathan Bailford stood up and bellowed. “The district attorney has put a label on my client. She’s not a ‘murderess.’”
“Sustained.”
“—Her name is Maggie Bradford, and it is a household name. She is not the woman you see on television; television presents
images
, not truth. She is not as sweet as her voice, as alluring as her melodies, as compassionate ate as her lyrics.
“You must divorce the public Maggie Bradford, the singer and the songwriter, the star, from the real Maggie Bradford, the woman who sits before you charged with a hideous crime.
“Don’t be fooled by images, taken in by fame, deluded because this woman writes so convincingly of good. The real Maggie Bradford had access to a gun. The real Maggie Bradford knew well how to pull the trigger. The real Maggie Bradford thought nothing of taking another’s life. Why? Because she could
do anything
. She was a
star
.
“Well, when a star falls it blazes as it hits the atmosphere and is then extinguished. To Maggie Bradford, you, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, are her atmosphere, and because you stand for justice,
embody
justice, she will never shine again … she
must
never shine again.”
N
ATHAN BAILFORD ROSE and, with passion to match the prosecutor’s, outlined the defense. Throughout both speeches, I imagined that the lawyers were talking about somebody else—the disconnectedness I’d felt ever since I’d been accused of shooting Will had returned.
“The district attorney has painted a picture of a cold-blooded killer,” Nathan said in a gruff, dusty whisper. “It’s a scary picture, and perhaps, when it comes to killers, an accurate one. But it’s not a true picture of Maggie Bradford, as you’ll see when you hear from her friends, from her close colleagues, and from her.”
I sat up in my seat. Quickly, I scribbled a note to Barry:
We agreed that I wouldn’t testify. I will not!
He wrote back:
Fine. Then tell us why you shot Will!!!
And I:
No. I can’t do that either
.
I had told them again and again—I wouldn’t testify. I couldn’t. I had my reasons for remaining silent, even if it kept me in prison for the rest of my life.
“
M
R. SHEPHERD?”
“Speaking.”
“Mr. Shepherd, my name is Norma Breen, and I’m calling you from New York. You probably don’t know who I am—”
“Oh, but I do. You’re investigating my brother’s murder. The lurid tales make the front pages here too. How can I help you?”
“I found a note from you in his possession. A simple note, actually. An odd one to keep. It said, ‘Fuck you, Will.’ Can you tell me what that was in reference to? And why your brother might have chosen to keep it?”
There was a brief silence. “Yes, I believe I can. He wanted me to join him in a business venture. I was in the States at the time, and he asked me over to his house. I said no.”
“And that’s the language you used? With your brother?”
“It was the only language he understood. We weren’t very close. My brother was a crazy bastard, I’m afraid. My brother wasn’t my favorite person, I might add.”
Norma had known the brothers weren’t close. Still—“Please tell me why. I imagine this must be difficult for you.”
Palmer Shepherd laughed over the telephone. “How much time do you have? It’s a long story.”
“Lots of time, if you think it’d help.”
“I don’t see how it bears on the murder trial. By now, you must know what kind of man he was. But I could fly over to see you. Actually, I have a lot of sympathy for Maggie Bradford. You can’t begin to imagine how much.”
“That’s kind of you. I’ll certainly ask you to if I think it’s necessary.”
“Good. My offer is genuine. Maggie might have killed him. I’m surprised no one else did first though.”
“Can you imagine why she might have done it?”
“I didn’t know anything about their marriage. I stayed away on purpose. But Will was the Devil, Miss Breen. Will was
a bad man
. Frankly, whoever did it, did the world a service. I believe that with all my heart.”
T
HE TRIAL MOVED ahead—
very slowly
. Day after exhausting day, week by week.
After testimony was finished on the exhausting twentieth day, Barry and Nathan came to visit me in prison. I almost didn’t agree to see them.
I knew they wanted to press me again for an explanation, an alibi—something that I couldn’t give them. I knew they were worried that the trial wasn’t going our way.
“Tell me what you know about Palmer,” Barry said once we were together in a small conference room used for just such meetings.
I was somewhat puzzled. It seemed a strange way to begin our conversation. Palmer Shepherd?
“What about him? He’s Will’s brother, of course. They weren’t close. I only met him twice. He offered his condolences—
at the wedding
.”
“Was he close to his aunts, do you know?”
“Not as close as Will was.”
The words came out fast and must have had a ring to them. Barry looked at me sharply, then his eyes became sad and distant.
“You
know
about Vannie and Will?” he said. “So why didn’t you tell us? Why did we have to find out from Will’s brother?”
Long-suppressed anger rose. I had to let some of it. out. “I don’t know anything. I might have suspected something. Barry, what are you trying to do to me?”
He looked at me unwaveringly. “Tell me the truth, Maggie. Was she ever in your house? Was Vannie ever there?”
“Only at our wedding.” I remembered the image vividly. “She was very attractive—his mother’s younger sister. You were there, Barry. You saw her. Will never got over his mother.”
“I guess not! Did he ever bring any other strange women home?” Nathan asked.
“Never. Why would I allow that? That doesn’t make any sense, Nathan.”
“Let me ask again,” Nathan said at last. “Will didn’t try anything
funny
in the house? You have to trust us, Maggie. You mustn’t keep secrets from us. Not at this point in the trial. We have to know what the prosecution does.”
I hesitated, just for an instant. I tensed. I didn’t like where this was going.
“No,” I said. “I don’t have anything to tell you. Why would I hold something back?”
Barry pounced. “You’re lying right now. Dammit, Maggie. You’re breaking my heart.”
“I swear to you—” I whispered. I
was
lying, of course. I
never
lie—but I had to now.
“Who was it?” Barry nearly shouted at me. I’d never seen him this angry before. Veins pulsed all over his forehead and neck.
“Please! … Barry, no!”
His face suddenly went pale. His eyes closed, then slowly opened again. “Of course,” he said and I could see tears in his eyes.
He looked toward me with such tenderness and pity that I was sure
both
our hearts would break.
“Oh my God, of course,” he said. “Will was after Jennie, wasn’t he?”
I stood and called for the guard. “Take me back to my cell. Take me back right now!”
I went away with the guard. I wouldn’t say another word to either Barry or my lawyer. I couldn’t, I wouldn’t, drag Jennie into this.
“
T
HE PROSECUTION CALLS Peter O’Malley.”
I blanched as I heard the words spoken in open court. Actually, I was getting used to the feeling of constant anxiety and fear. We were twenty-nine days into testimony, most of it very bad for me.
Over strenuous defense objections, Judge Sussman had allowed Nizhinski to introduce evidence about the death of Phillip Bradford. Now the district attorney planned to get in as much as he could
about Patrick’s death
.
It would be difficult. He could do no more than
imply
that I had been responsible. But that’s what Peter wanted, I knew. To imply, to insinuate, to hurt me in any way that he could.
In a very strange move, the court had been cleared of spectators for the testimony. Peter had agreed to talk, but his lawyer had convinced the judge to allow Peter privacy.
I didn’t understand. Why should Peter be protected? But very soon, I understood everything. Peter’s testimony took forever in real time—there must have been a hundred objections from my lawyers—but the bottom line
would have sounded something like this
.
“Mr. O’Malley, are you a member of an establishment called the Lake Club?”
“I am.”
“The club is located in Bedford Hills? Just off Greenbriar Road?”
“It is.”
“What is its membership?”
“About five hundred people.”
“And the activities are those of most country clubs—golf, tennis, swimming, dinners, and dancing in the evening?”
“That’s right.”
“Yet the Lake Club provides something more, does it not?”
“For some members, yes.”
