Sleight of Hand (25 page)

Both statements were entered as exhibits, and they recessed.

Phase one, Barbara thought, watching the jury members. Some obviously were bored or sleepy. Several of them had been shifting positions frequently, as if they were finding it difficult to be comfortable, although she knew the chairs were very comfortable. Her real worry was that they might dismiss everything they had been hearing as inconsequential.

Chapter 34

That day when they left the courtroom a reporter and a video cameraman met them in the corridor. While the videographer began taping Wally, the reporter asked Barbara, "Why all the attention on Connie Wilkins? What's she got to do with anything?"

Barbara laughed and waved at her team. "You go on, I'll catch up." The cameraman paced them, videotaping Wally as they walked. She said to the reporter, "You know I won't comment on what's developing. What I will say again is that Wally Lederer is innocent and by this time next week I'll have proven that." The video camera swung around to focus on her. She smiled at the lens. "I repeat, Wally Lederer is innocent.

Wally will take the stand, probably on Monday, and we'll have a little theater of our own."

She walked to the tunnel entrance, with the camera on her all the way. Then she waved and descended the ramp and both newsmen remained behind.

When Barbara reached Frank's house, Maria was unpacking hot burritos Mama had made. "She began to worry that everyone was just eating bologna sandwiches or something like that," she said, smiling.

"Mama spoils everyone who crosses her path," Barbara said, sniffing. "And you're getting more like her every day," she added to Maria. The burritos smelled too good to resist, but when she started to eat, she found that her appetite was gone.

Doug Moreton was a lanky, tall young man who had a lot of catching up to do before his girth began to balance his length. He looked as if he was still growing taller. His neatly pressed jeans, although new looking, were a little short. Fair, with gray eyes, he appeared younger than his age, which he said was nineteen. He was in his first term at Lane Community College, studying automotive mechanics.

"Mr. Moreton, were you previously employed at the Wilkins dealership?"

He nodded, then said quickly, "Yes, ma'am." He was very nervous, darting quick glances about as he spoke. He said he had worked there for over a year, all through his senior year at high school, and on into the summer. When Barbara asked what his duties had been, he went over the same list that the general manager had talked about. He cleaned the sink, mirror, wastebaskets, the cars taken out for test drives...

"Was it a good workplace?" she asked. When he looked puzzled she said, "I mean, did you enjoy working there?"

"I liked the hours," he said. "Twenty-five hours a week and no night work. That was good. I was saving up to get a car and go to LCC."

"What hours did you work?"

"Every day from three until six and five hours on Saturday and Sunday."

"Did the weekday hours interfere with your schoolwork?"

He hesitated, then shook his head. "I got by okay," he said almost defensively. "I went to North and it's not a bad bike ride, by the river, over the bridge and you're practically there. It's quicker than the bus. Except on some Thursdays when I had chemistry lab and sometimes we ran late, and then it was a hassle."

"Were you ever late?"

He nodded, then said yes.

"Did anyone say anything to you about it?"

"Yeah, he did. He bawled me out, Mr. Wilkins, I mean. He said, 'Boy if you can't get here on time, just get out.' He took an hour off my paycheck. I thought I'd have to give up the chemistry lab, or else quit, and I hated that. But one of the mechanics said he'd clock me in on Thursdays if I didn't show up in time. He knew I wanted to be a mechanic. So that worked out."

"Were there other occasions when Mr. Wilkins bawled you out?" Barbara asked sympathetically.

"Yeah, a couple of times a week at least. He'd see me coming out of the bathroom where I'd be cleaning the sink or something and yell, 'Boy, get out there and clean up that car. I don't pay you to hang out in the toilet.' Or he'd yell, 'Get in there and clean up that garbage. Haven't you read the rules? Can't you read English?' I'd go in the lounge and couldn't see any garbage, maybe a Coke can or something like that, but that's all." His words came faster as he talked, as if things had been building for a long time. "He didn't want to see a water drop in the sink, or a smudge or fingerprint on the mirror or anywhere else. He was really on me after the closing of a deal. The desk in the office has a glass top and he'd go in and if he saw a fingerprint on it anywhere, he'd really yell. Everybody left prints on it. I mean, it was glass. I told the mechanic who clocked me in that Mr. Wilkins hated me and he said it wasn't just me.

He hated all kids. He called them filthy animals, and if the customers brought kids in with them, he'd be on my back like a flash once they were gone to clean up their filthy fingerprints, clean the filthy bathroom, straighten out those magazines. I mostly tried to stay out of his way."

"Was that what he usually called you, just 'Boy'?"

"Yes, ma'am. I don't think he even knew my name."

"Why did you leave the dealership job after Mr. Wilkins was no longer there?"

"Some new people took over and they said they didn't need anyone cleaning all the time when there's a cleaning crew every night."

"Was there a cleaning crew every night all the time you worked there?" Yes, ma am.

Barbara smiled at him and said, "Thank you, Doug. No more questions." His smile was tentative at best.

Dodgson had no questions. He had read the jury as well as Barbara had. Doug Moreton had won their sympathy and all Dodgson would do was reinforce it if he tried hammering at the boy.

Barbara called her next witness.

Mrs. Vanessa Littleton was beautifully dressed in a beige raw silk suit and matching blouse, with a single strand of pearls. She was forty-three, with makeup so discreet that it appeared at first glance not to exist, and hair so carefully coiffed that it appeared natural although its strawberry blond color did not come in nature. She was poised and relaxed as she was sworn in and took the witness stand.

"Mrs. Littleton, were you acquainted with Jay Wilkins?" Barbara asked.

"Yes. He was our neighbor."

"Were you friends?"

"No, simply acquaintances who happened to live in the same neighborhood."

"Do you recall an occasion when a boy had car trouble on your street and you came to his aid?"

"Yes, very well."

"Please tell the court what happened that day."

"I had been walking my dogs and was on my way home late one afternoon when I saw an old car pull into a driveway up our street. I thought it might be the Wilkins house, but I wasn't certain until I drew closer. I saw a boy trying to push an old car out of the driveway to the street. The drive has a slight incline, hardly noticeable, but too much for the boy to cope with alone. I stopped and asked him if he was having trouble, and he said he would have to leave the car and go call his father to come with a truck to tow him home. He had pulled into the driveway in order to turn around, and his car stalled and wouldn't start. He was about sixteen, the age of my youngest son at the time. I knew the nearest public telephone was five or six blocks away, and I started to invite him in to use my phone, but instead, I told him to give me his father's number and I would make the call. I advised him to stay with his car until his father arrived, and to explain to Mr. Wilkins what had happened if he came before the boy's father got there. He gave me a cell phone number and I continued walking home and called his father and left a message. He returned my call a few minutes later and I told him about his son and his difficulties."

"Mrs. Littleton, why did you advise the boy to remain with his car and wait for his father?"

"I believed that if Jay Wilkins came upon it, he would have it towed. I hoped the boy could explain the situation and prevent that."

"Had there been other similar incidents in the neighborhood to make you think that?"

"Not just like that situation, but there had been other incidents. Jay Wilkins would not tolerate disorder in our neighborhood, and he was quick to complain, and even to take action if he felt anyone was violating what he regarded as a covenant."

"Was there a written covenant governing what was appropriate and what was forbidden?"

"No. He took it on himself to decide. His family was the first to build in the area, and he seemed to consider most of the rest of us as upstarts who had to be taught how to behave." She smiled slightly, an ironic little smile. "Six or seven years ago, my husband and I bought a camper and had difficulty in maneuvering it around the house to park it. We needed to do some rather extensive landscape work first. Jay Wilkins threatened to sue us if we didn't have the camper removed. I knew that boy's old car would not last five minutes in his driveway if he saw it there."

"Do you know what the outcome of the incident was?"

"Yes. Jay Wilkins called a towing company and had the car towed away before the boy's father could get there."

"Thank you," Barbara said. "No more questions."

Dodgson rose and, without leaving his table, he asked, "Mrs. Littleton, is it possible that Mr. Wilkins was merely trying to protect the property values of the neighborhood?"

"That was what he claimed, but some of us thought it more important to protect human values," she replied coolly.

After the witness was excused, Judge Wells beckoned Barbara and Dodgson. At the bench he said, "Ms. Holloway is your next witness to be Mr. Lederer?"

"Yes, Your Honor."

"Since it is now almost four, I think that I'll recess at this time until Monday morning.

I understand that Mr. Lederer's testimony will be lengthy, with the videos to display, and it might be best not to break it up with the weekend. Besides," he added with a smile, "it's a lovely day and the jury, and indeed all of us, might enjoy a little sunshine before the rains set in."

Barbara walked briskly hoping to clear her head, to go into the near meditative state she often reached when walking, leaving her feeling refreshed and alert. It was not happening. The thoughts that chased one another were meaningless, time wasters, a misuse of little gray cells.

A flock of seagulls wheeled overhead, their raucous screams discordant. The next wave of rain was coming, she thought distantly. The seagulls preceded a front.

The sun was very warm, the deep pools of shade welcome as she walked into and out of them. She had reached the footbridge, started across, then stopped to watch the speeding water carrying the land to sea grain by grain. Assembly line. Tireless, forever on the job. Her thighs were burning and she became aware of a throbbing pain in her heel. She turned to retrace her steps. She didn't even like to walk on the other side, where the trail was in the sun with no cooling caves of shadow. She should have gone home to change her clothes, put on good walking shoes. Her court clothes were not appropriate here. Rules. More rules. She began to limp.

She stopped abruptly in the middle of the path and shook her head. She had no idea of what had been running through her mind, no memory trace.

She thought of the news article that she had read that morning summing up the state's case. No one but Wally could have taken the boat, and the home security system proved that it had been returned the night of Jay Wilkins's murder. Only the killer could have returned it. In cold black-and-white print the conclusion had been inescapable. The person who stole the boat killed Jay Wilkins. It was as simple as that. The reporter had finished with a quote from an "expert." It was a waste of time to try the case, a waste of taxpayer money, a waste of court staff and facilities already overburdened with more pressing demands... She shook her head, trying to clear away the words.

She began to walk again. She had to write her closing statement. Her only witness from here on out was Wally himself, and a handful of letters, plus the videos.

Nothing. And what had she accomplished to date? Again, nothing. Refuting the state witnesses a little was not enough, and half of her refutation could be used by Dodgson to drive home his own point that Jay Wilkins would have followed through with charges against Wally even if the boat had been returned. Wilkins had believed in sticking to the rules, and the rule was that if you stole, you went to jail. No exceptions, no excuses.

The pain in her heel was getting worse with every step. As soon as she got to the park, she sat down on the nearest bench. What she wanted to do was ease her foot out of the shoe, but she was afraid she might not get it back on.

Phrases various people had said kept repeating in her mind:
If it goes sour.

She's only twenty-three! She just wants a real life.

Sometimes we could save them, sometimes we couldn't.

Just to know someone's looking after Meg.

Infantilism, as helpless as a new-born.

It will kill him to go back!

They'll kill her...

Even as the words reverberated silently, the faces of Meg and Stephanie formed, faded and formed again in her mind. Meg, anguished, drawn and hollow-eyed, her jaw clenched so hard it looked painful, and Stephanie as frozen and pale as marble, two equally terrified, equally desperate women. And everything depended on their not losing control, keeping silent. If either of them broke, it would all go up in flames; the woman would be destroyed, the ones she loved would be destroyed, and Barbara herself would be destroyed.

She was shivering. Three egrets skimmed the water, no longer gleaming white in sunlight, but ruddy, and the shadows had lengthened and merged until now there were few patches of sunlight even on the other side of the river. She looked behind her at the park in surprise. It was almost empty with just a few people remaining, and no boys throwing Frisbees.

It wasn't that she had never lost a case, she thought clearly then. She had. And it wasn't that she had not worried right up until the verdict was delivered; she always did. Juries could be mercurial and unpredictable. But in the past she had always thought she had conducted the best case, if not the only case, she could manage. In the past she had always tried to find the truth and reveal it.

You made a decision, she told herself harshly. How many times had she counseled a client: you made the decision, and you have to live with it for good or bad.