Paper Castles (34 page)

“Price said Savannah was having an affair. He wanted a divorce and full custody of the kids. We talked about what that would involve. He was gathering all the information about his assets and we were scheduled to meet again at the end of February.”

“So he retained your services?”

“Yes, he did.”

Savannah stared at this man who had been in her home countless times. They’d laughed together, celebrated birthdays together; he’d eaten at her table and teased her like a brother. Now he believed she killed Price. From the looks on the juror’s faces, they believed it, too.

What chance did she have now?

Phil called for a recess. Once Savannah reached the war room, she brushed past everyone and ran to the bathroom where she threw up. Heaving the news of Price plotting and planning his divorce, as if it were an indigestible sour meal.

“That conniving son-of-a-bitch,” she said, stumbling back out, a cool washcloth pressed to her forehead. She slumped into a chair and Kip handed her a glass of water. Beverly stood behind her, hands on her shoulders.

Savannah’s thoughts were racing, unable to stand still.

He was going to do it. He was really going to take the kids. But what about the Valentine’s dance? He said he wanted to start over. Was he playing me? Or had he really changed his mind?

Phil had dropped in a chair as well, elbows on knees, staring at the floor. “Briggs is going to assert that Phil told you about the divorce during your fight,” he said. “And that ladies and gentlemen, is motive.”

“L
ET’S TOUCH up your make-up,” Rebecca said before court as she dragged Savannah to the bathroom. She pressed powder over the dark circles under Savannah’s eyes.

“Are you eating at all?” Rebecca asked. “You look so thin.”

Savannah shrugged. “I’m not hungry,”

Applying a stroke of pink blush onto Savannah’s pale cheeks, Rebecca did her best to play the optimist. “You just have to hold on for a couple more days and then it’ll be over.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Savannah said.

Days spent listening to the evidence had worn her down like a nail file chafing against her spirit. The anxiety she suppressed during the day manifested at night. In dreams, she ran to escape chains, iron bars and grotesque faces twisted in laughter. She couldn’t run fast enough. She kept getting stuck in the mud while hounds nipped at her heels.

Phil looked at her with concern every day, as if he could feel her slipping away. She did her best to don a positive attitude but it kept sliding off her shoulders, like the too-loose skirt sliding around her waist. She didn’t want him to think that she’d lost her confidence in him, yet the growing mountain of evidence against her seemed insurmountable.

In the final Day of testimony, the psychiatrists would take the stand. Phil thought Dr. Nolan would be persuasive. When the team gathered in the war room, Phil seemed upbeat. Maybe he was just happy the end was near and he could get back to his life in Philly. Pretend he never heard of some crazy broad named Savannah Palmerton, and how she was the first case he lost.

Cecily was back from her mysterious mission. She and Phil huddled at the end of the table, papers everywhere. Savannah knew enough to stay out of their hair.

Phil chucked Savannah under the chin as they were heading into the courtroom. “Put a smile on that face.”

Savannah pasted one on, wondering what on earth he had to be so chipper about?

The medical testimony was tedious. Jurors squirmed in their seats, looking up at the clock. More than one of them shot looks of disgust at Briggs, who insisted on twenty questions when two would have been sufficient.

Dr. Thorington told the court that in his expert opinion, Savannah was not legally insane at the time of the murder. He felt the mix of GABA-ergic drugs such as Valium, phenobarbital, and alcohol was a recipe for disaster. Phil let him go without questioning, eager to move on to Dr. Nolan.

The quiet, professional doctor spoke in plain language, making sure to include the jurors in his findings. They listened as he spoke of Savannah’s medical history of anxiety and her family history of mental illness.

Savannah closed her eyes, dialing into her mother’s presence. She could feel the support, a thin cord stretching between them. They’d prepared themselves for Nolan’s revealing testimony. Savannah insisted she’d understand if Beverly didn’t want to be present. Beverly drew her own line in the sand.

“We have nothing to be ashamed of,”
her mother said. “I was sick for a long time. Now I’m better. It’s been a long journey and I’m tired of hiding. I’ll be right behind you, just like every other day.”

Her mother’s presence was like great wings spread around her. Both sheltering and soaring. Savannah reveled in the knowledge it was never too late to fly.

She glanced at the jury. They seemed captivated as Dr. Nolan presented his findings. He concluded that in his medical opinion, Savannah had suffered from an episode known as psychotic fugue.

“A fugue state can last from hours to days to weeks,” he said. “A confluence of extremely stressful events set the stage for her lapse of memory. Compounded by her history of anxiety and the mix of prescriptions and alcohol.”

“So it’s possible it wasn’t the overuse of prescription drugs alone that caused the break,” Phil said.

“Correct,” Nolan said. “This wasn’t a typical alcohol-induced black-out. Her fragile mental state was a contributing factor. It’s entirely possible those missing hours will never return to her.”

Nathan Briggs didn’t cross-examine Dr. Nolan, only stood and said, “The people rest, Your Honor.”

Phil stood. “The defense would like to call Roxanne Murney.”

A murmur in the courtroom as a pretty young woman made her way to the witness stand, her pregnant belly leading the way. She was sweating and Savannah’s eyes narrowed instinctively, knowing this was nervous sweat and not from the heat of the day.

Phil walked up to her, smiling, as if they were the only two people in the room. “Will you state your full name for the court?”

“Roxanne Janine Murney.” She leaned into the microphone.

Phil smiled. “Is it Mrs. Murney?”

“Yes.”

“When is your baby due, Mrs. Murney?”

“Any minute.”

Phil winked at the jury box. “I’ll do my best to keep my questions brief.”

Relieved laughter rolled around the courtroom. Even Judge Houser smiled at the joke. “Where do you live, Mrs. Murney?” Phil asked.

“New Bern, North Carolina.”

“Lovely city. Where did you live before that?”

“Here. In Savannah.”

“Mrs. Murney, did you know the deceased?”

“Yes. He was my lawyer.”

“For what purpose did you hire him?”

“I received an inheritance. He was helping me with my father’s estate.”

“Estate law isn’t usually Mr. Palmerton’s area of practice. How did he come to handle your case?”

“I worked at the Twin Oaks Country Club. I was a hostess at the restaurant. We met there. He offered to help.”

“As a personal favor?”

“Yes.” Her voice quivered.

Savannah leaned forward, fixated on the curve of the woman’s belly, visible behind the witness stand.

“What kind of car do you drive?” Phil asked.

She seemed thrown by the question. “A Buick sedan.”

“Oh.” Phil’s eyebrows came together in a look of surprise. “Well, what kind of car did you drive before that?”

Roxanne bit her lip. “A Ford Thunderbird.”

The entire courtroom, including Judge Houser, leaned forward.

“Blue and white?” Phil asked.

Her voice was barely audible now. “Yes.”

“Well, I’ll be. I knew it was a popular car. What happened to that car?”

“I... I mean,
we
sold it. We needed something roomier for the baby.”

Phil picked up a photograph from Cecily and offered a copy to the prosecution before handing it to the witness.

“Mrs. Murney, do you recognize this photo?” Phil said.

“Yes.” Roxanne’s hands were shaking. “Where did you...” Her voice trailed off as she looked up at Phil then back to the defense table. Her eyes narrowed at Cecily as if seeing her for the first time.

“Can you tell me about the earrings you’re wearing in this photograph, Mrs. Murney?”

“They were a gift.”

“From?”

“My husband.”

“How nice.” He strolled back and forth in front of the jury. “What an odd coincidence, Mrs. Murney. You have a set of diamond and pearl earrings that exactly match the custom-made earrings Mr. Palmerton gave his wife for Christmas. Earrings Mr. Feldman described, under oath, as being one of a kind. I don’t know, Mrs. Murney. That might be one coincidence too many.”

Roxanne said nothing. Savannah thought back to Christmas morning. Price sitting on the arm of her chair, handing over the velvet box. She could feel the soft nap in her hands, and recall the puzzlement. Wondering what it meant.

In memory, she opened the little box, but it was empty. The earrings were gone. Price took them from her dressing table and wrapped them up as a gift to this blonde woman on the witness stand.

Everything was worse than she thought. Price was capable of more deceit than she ever gave him credit for.

“How much money does Mr. Murney make?” Phil asked.

Savannah watched in fascination as Phil spun the wheel again, it was obvious Roxanne couldn’t catch her breath.

“I’m...I’m not sure.”

“Well, we can come up with a good guess. Your husband is in the Navy, correct?”

“Yes, but—”

“An Airman, E3 would make roughly three hundred dollars a month. Hardly the kind of salary where one could afford to pay a thousand dollars for a pair of earrings. Even if it was a special occasion.”

Roxanne was shaking.

Phil went on. “I’m very confused, Mrs. Murney. I did some research and as far as I can tell, the United States Navy has no record of a James Murney in its ranks. Are you aware of that?”

Phil gave Roxanne time to answer, but she only looked down at her hands.

“Murney is actually your maiden name, isn’t it?” he said.

Roxanne looked up eyes darting back and forth, her body tensed as if to flee, before her shoulders rolled forward with her exhale.

“Yes.”

“Just one more thing,
Miss
Murney. On the day of the murder, Price Palmerton wrote a check to you for two thousand dollars.”

A collective gasp rose up in the courtroom, Savannah’s among it.

“Your Honor, I am marking this canceled check for identification as Defense Exhibit 2,” Phil said as he crossed the room and handed a copy to opposing counsel.

Judge Houser looked over his glasses at Nathan Briggs. “Do the people have any objections?”

“We do not, your honor.” Briggs seemed to fold in his chair.

“Do you recognize this check, Miss Murney?”

“Yes.”

“Can you identify this item for the court?”

“It’s a check Price wrote to me.”

“And can you tell the court the date on the check?”

“February fourteenth.” Roxanne held the piece of paper, staring at it, as if the verdict of her guilt were written across it.

“Your Honor, at this time, we offer Defense Exhibit 2, for identification into evidence.” Phil handed the document to the clerk for submission.

“Here’s another odd thing, Miss Murney,” Phil continued as he made his way back before Roxanne. “When I looked over the meticulous records Mrs. Lou Ann Graves keeps of office appointments, I saw your name entered eleven times between July 1963 and January of this year. But not once in the month of February.

Mrs. Graves said she stayed until six o’clock on the fourteenth, the Friday night in question, to enter all the week’s checks into the ledger. The check you hold in your hand was not entered. The cleaning crew was there from six to eight. Mr. Palmerton was at the country club dance from seven until about ten. So when exactly did Mr. Palmerton write this check to you?”

The room held its breath through a few moments of heavy silence.

“Please answer the question, Miss Murney,” Judge Houser said.

Roxanne looked around the room, wild-eyed.

“Miss Murney—” Judge Houser said.

“He wouldn’t talk to me.” Roxanne’s voice was a pathetic wail. “He broke it off with me in January, after my birthday. Said he was going to try to make it work with his wife. He promised...” She buried her face in her hands and sobbed uncontrollably.

“Did you go to Twin Oaks the night of the Valentine’s dance?”

She looked up at Phil, as her story dissolved around her. “He wouldn’t see me,” she wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “He said to meet him later at his office.”

Cecily reached for Savannah’s hand and squeezed hard.

“And you went to his office, didn’t you?” Phil tugged at the dangling thread of her carefully crafted lies and stood back as the spool unwound.

“Yes,” Roxanne nodded through her tears. “When I told him I was pregnant, he blew up. He started screaming at me, said I was trying to trap him.”

Everyone had a front row seat to the undoing of this woman. Savannah watched in a mix of humiliation and vindication.