Sleeping Beauty (49 page)

“And why were you so upset?”

“Because we didn’t use–well, I didn’t use any protection with her on the night we were together. She’d been getting birth control shots for years, and it never occurred to me that she could get pregnant.”

“Did you at any time think the baby might be yours?”

“Of course.”

“Did you think that perhaps that was a good time to tell Ms. Beau about your time together?”

“No. It seemed like a perfect time to get an attorney.”

Even I smile at his blunt honesty.

“And did you?”

“Yes.”

“And what was your attorney’s advice?”

“He said that I should keep my mouth shut.”

Ben says, “Did you understand that the information you had might help Dr. Charmant’s case?”

“Yes.”

“But you said nothing, correct?”

“Right.”

“Why?”

“Because by that time I’d seen the sleep lab video with Claire, and I was furious.”

“Because you thought Dr. Charmant may have actually assaulted Claire in the sleep lab?”

“It looked to me like that was exactly what he’d done.”

“Did it ever occur to you to approach the DA and tell her what had happened with you and Claire in order to shed some perspective on the sleep lab footage?”

“Yeah, it occurred to me, but I thought if I’d said something about what’d happened with me and Claire, all it would do was get him acquitted. And I was sure he was guilty.”

“Let’s come back to Ms. Beau’s injury from the night the two of you were together. You said you weren’t aware at first that she was injured. When did you find out?”

“The next day I guess. Her brother told me that she had a bruise on her lower back the size of a dinner plate. When she woke up four or five days later, she limped for a few days.”

“Did you wonder how she’d gotten that injury?”

“No, I didn’t need to be told.”

“Why did you not need to be told?”

“Because I knew right away that it was from the night in her bedroom, when she fell on the floor.”

“You knew that her physical injuries–just like yours–were a direct result of her hypersexual overtures towards you?”

“Yes.”

“Again, did it ever occur to you to approach the DA and tell her about this incident in order to shed some perspective on the sleep lab footage and Dr. Charmant’s injuries?”

“That’s why I’m here now.”

“Fair enough,” says Ben with a wry smile. “Mr. Wibbens did you know that Dr. Charmant was suspected of taking Ms.Beau’s prescription medications, specifically the sodium oxybate and other sedatives, and using them to keep her selectively incapacitated while she was suffering from a Klein-Levin Syndrome episode in May?”

“Well, I don’t know the specifics of what they think he did with them, but whatever it is it’s impossible.”

“Impossible? You don’t believe that there’s any merit whatsoever to this suggestion as laid out by the prosecution?”

“None. If they think that he used them to take advantage of her or something like that, it’s impossible.”

“But surely you’re aware that Dr. Charmant’s fingerprints were found on the empty bottles?”

“Yes, they probably were.”

“Did it ever occur to you to wonder why Ms. Beau’s fingerprints weren’t on the bottles? Why her brother’s fingerprints weren’t on the bottles? Why
your
fingerprints weren’t on the bottles?”

“No, I never wondered why.”

“Do you dispute that the bottles were empty when they were found by police executing the search warrant?”

“No, I don’t dispute that.”

“And do you have proof that Ms. Beau didn’t take the medication as prescribed?”

“Yes.”

“But you yourself said you weren’t at her apartment twenty-four hours a day. How could you possibly know that it was not Dr. Charmant who removed the medications from their containers?”

“Because I’m the one who wiped the bottles clean after I emptied them out and stole them.”

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Ben turns a little towards the spectators as the whispers and nudges around us create a muffled stir. He affects surprise at Davin’s answer. “
You
did?” he says. “Why would you do that, Mr. Wibbens?”

Davin sighs. “I was going through a tough time, you know, having trouble sleeping.”

“And why were you having difficulties at this time?”

“I was–” He stops, and for the first time looks somewhere other than right at Ben. He hangs his head like a whipped dog. “I was depressed, I guess.”

“Did you seek counseling for your depression?”

“No.”

“Did you seek medical help for your depression?”

“Kind of,” he mutters, to scattered titters, no doubt including every recreational drug-user in the courtroom. “No,” he says in a louder voice.

“Did you use Ms. Beau’s prescription medications yourself?”

“Most of them.”

“Who used the rest of the medications?”

He shrugs. “Just friends at parties, you know.”

“Did you share this information with your attorney?”

“Yes.”

“And what was his advice?”

“Same as before.”

“To keep your mouth shut about it?”

“Yes.”

“And did you?”

“Yes.”

“On the afternoon of November third, you received some surprising news from Ms. Beau, isn’t that right?”

“Yes. She told me she was going to testify for the defense.”

“And did this make you angry?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I’d seen the video, and I thought he was guilty. I was angry that she was going to defend him.”

“Is that all you were angry about?”

“No. I was angry that the baby might be mine, and I couldn’t tell anyone.”

“You and Ms. Beau argued, correct?”

“Yes, but not about that, just about her testifying for the defense.”

“Understood. Was it at this point that you left?”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell us where you went?”

“I went to Ghost Point to surf.”

“An area that is notorious for being dangerous at this time of year, correct?”

“Yeah, it’s not for beginners.”

“Can you explain the dangers?”

“Riptides are bad in that spot, really bad in November.”

“Ghost Point is accessible only by boat, isn’t that right?”

“That’s right. There are no roads closer than ten miles.”

“And why did you decide to surf Ghost Point?”

He sighs. “I don’t know. I was so wound up and stressed out. I wanted to think about something else.”

“Something besides how you were withholding crucial evidence that could possibly send an innocent person to prison?”

“That and I wanted to stop thinking about Claire.”

“Were you taking any drugs when you arrived at Ghost Point that morning, Mr. Gibbens?”

“Yes.”

“What were you taking?”

“Mostly sedatives.”

“Would you say that you felt suicidal as a result of your depression?”

“If I did feel that way, it wasn’t something I consciously thought about. There are easier ways to kill yourself besides wiping out in a surfing accident, you know? I could have just overdosed on the sedatives I had.”

“I see. Now I understand that you suffered a traumatic accident at Ghost Point, is that right?”

“Yeah, you could say that.”

“Do you know what happened?”

“Not really. I dropped in on a massive that collapsed. I imagine I was rolled over the rocks and then pulled out by the riptide.”

“Were you knocked unconscious?”

“Yes.”

“How much time passed before you regained consciousness?”

“I don’t know. I just remember waking up in the water. My helmet had been torn off and my wet suit was shredded.”

“What did you do then?”

“I swam to the boat. The storm was getting pretty bad, so it took me awhile to climb up. Then I went to Clemente.”

“Why did you go to San Clemente?”

“I knew that they’d discovered that Claire’s drugs were missing, and I figured they’d eventually discover my criminal record for drug use and drug possession before I went to college. I knew they’d eventually put two and two together.”

“Did you anchor at Lost Point on San Clemente in order to avoid discovery?”

“No, I didn’t have an anchor. It got ripped off at Ghost Point in the storm.”

“So how did you get onto the island?”

“I tried to land the boat at Pyramid Cove.”

“‘Land the boat’…you mean you purposely drove the boat onto the shore?”

“I tried to, yeah.”

“And what happened?”

“The Cove’s covered with unexploded bombs. The bottom of my boat hit one and detonated it.”

“What happened next?”

“I don’t know, I can’t remember. The next thing I knew, I was in a bomb crater above the Cove.”

“How did you get into the bomb crater if you were knocked unconscious by the bomb blast?”

“I wasn’t unconscious when I climbed the hill, just probably in shock.”

“So when you regained your faculties, you were in the crater?”

“Yes.”

“Did you have supplies with you?”

“No. Everything I would’ve taken with me was on the boat.”

“You had no radio? No water or food?”

“No.”

“And how long were you in the crater before you were discovered?”

“They tell me it was two days.”

“You have no memory of that time?”

He shrugs. “Bits and pieces here and there.”

“Who discovered you?”

“Claire found me.”

“How did Ms. Beau know where to look for you?”

“She remembered part of our argument two days before.”

“The one you had with her when you found out she was going to testify for the defense?”

“Yes. I was angry and I guess I just sort of blurted out that I was going somewhere to get away—either Ghost or Lost Gorge.”

“How did she know where Lost Gorge was?”

“I’d taken her there before.”

“If she was hoping to find you at Lost Gorge, how did she end up discovering you in a crater on the other side of the island?”

“She told me that she knew I’d lost the anchor at Ghost, and suspected that my boat sank in Pyramid Cove.”

“Did she suspect that your boat sank because it hit a bomb?”

He shakes his head “No. She thought it sank because it was damaged at Ghost Point. She thought I’d
stepped
on a bomb on my way to Lost Gorge.”

“Was there ever at any time any type of collusion between you and Ms. Beau to conceal you on San Clemente for the purpose of–”

David interrupts his question by a bark of laughter, a sound that quickly turns into a groan of pain. He doubles over, holding his side. This time he doesn’t sit back up. The microphone magnifies his gasps for air. A few seconds later he starts to fall to the left, like he’s going to collapse and pitch sideways out of the wheelchair.

I gasp and jump up, Rev beside me. A bailiff rushes to the witness stand, but Brendan is faster than anyone else. He practically hurdles the defense table and sprints to Davin, dropping to his knees and catching him before he falls onto the floor. The microphone is still live. It picks up everything they’re saying, and feeds it to us through the overhead speakers.

“Wib, you still with us, buddy?” says Brendan, gently easing Davin onto the floor.

“Not sure,” says Davin between gasps for air. “Can’t–breathe.”

“Okay, hang in there.” Brendan looks up. “Has someone called for an ambulance?”

One of the bailiffs scurries out of the courtroom, no doubt to get help. The judge holds up her hand to Brendan, pointing to the cell phone on her ear.

“We’re getting you back to the hospital, okay?” says Brendan, grabbing Davin’s hand and squeezing it. “Won’t be long, you’ll be fine.”

“That–would be–too bad.”

“You’ll be back on your board in no time, you wait.”

“Don’t think–Not this–”

I break Rev’s hold on my arm and run. I get to the witness stand and knock the microphone away onto the floor. The impact is amplified through the speakers, making it sound like a military jet has just done an honorary flyover fifteen feet above our heads. I drop down next to Davin and grab his hand. He looks even worse up-close. His lips are chapped, his eyes still bloody red. Even his blonde hair seems to have darkened three shades.

“Claire-Bo,” he whispers.

Brendan spies medics pushing a gurney through the doors. He jumps up and starts barking orders at them, meeting them halfway.

“It’s going to be okay.”

He doesn’t seem to be able to move his head. To see me he strains his eyeballs to the far right, revealing a horrific amount of the bloody corneas.

“No,” he wheezes.

“Ssh! Don’t say that! Don’t say that!” I struggle to say through my tears.

“Better–to bail.” He smiles a little. “Shutdown.” He closes his eyes.

“No! You’re not bailing, okay? See that blue wall? Ride the barrel.”

“Sorry. Sorry.” His chest is rising and falling in a strange way, one side not moving at all. “Love–you. Claire.”

I lean over and kiss him on the forehead. “Don’t say it though,” I whisper. “Makes it even worse every single time.”

“Wish–wish–”

“What do you wish?” I whisper in his ear. “What do you wish?”

Davin inhales, the air making a bizarre gurgling noise as he pulls it in.

“Please don’t!” I shriek in a panic. “Please don’t do this!”

“Claire, get out of the way!” says Brendan, dropping the gurney down next to Davin’s body. He and Rev work with one of the medics, getting their hands underneath him, ready to move him to the gurney.

“On my count,” says Brendan. “One–”

That’s when Davin starts coughing up blood, bright crimson bursts that arc over his chest and spatter on his pants, me, the courtroom carpet. My scream is lost in a cacophony of screams. After a couple of wrenching heaves he goes limp, his eyes rolling back in his head like there’s nothing else for him to see.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

February 27
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