The Best Defense (37 page)

“Ms. Lorenza, Craig’Dodgson is involved with some very dangerous people. You have information about Craig that puts you in a dangerous position. As long as they think no one knows about you, you’re safe, I’m sure, but if they suspect you have told anyone—” Christina was shaking her head.

“You’re just crazy,” she said.

“I don’t know anything about him. I went out with him a couple of times, that’s all.”

Barbara reached into her purse, brought out the small prescription bottle, and emptied it into her hand, one baby aspirin, one pink capsule.

“Did the medicine he gave you look like this?” she asked, holding her hand open before Christina.

“Yes,” she said, startled.

“I was seasick.”

Barbara returned the tablets to the container and brought out the Dramamine. She shook one out and showed it to Christina.

“This is for motion sickness.

You take one or two every few hours, not a couple of days apart.”

“But he said … What did he give me, then?” She had gone very pale.

“I don’t know for sure. But he mustn’t suspect that you’ve told anyone about it, that you’re at all suspicious. Will you please not call him?”

Christina shook her head.

“What did he give me?”

she whispered.

“Why would he lie about it? Maybe an other kind of motion-sickness pill? The pink one, it’s a suppository. He said when you’re so sick you can’t take medicine by mouth. That sounded right….” She shook her head harder.

“It was for sea sickness!”

“Maybe it was,” Barbara said.

“And you’re fine, so there’s nothing to worry about, just as long as he doesn’t know you’ve talked about it.”

“I left a message on their machine,” Christina whispered.

“I just said it was Chris and I’d call back.”

“Did you leave your number?”

“No.”

“Does he know where you live now? Have you kept in touch?”

“Not since I got my job. I wrote him a postcard about the job. He knows where I work.”

How many women named Chris did he know? Barbara bit her lip and then drew in a deep breath.

“How long ago was that?”

“A couple of years.”

Would he remember? Would he have kept the card?

She said slowly, “I don’t know how safe you are. In your place, I’d take a trip and stay away for a week or so. Could you do that?”

Christina looked ghastly in her pallor.

“I don’t know.

I’ll have to talk to Dale. But I can’t tell him…. I don’t know. I can’t believe it wasn’t exactly what he said.

Why would he … ? How will I know when it’s safe again?”

“You’ll know,” Barbara said.

“Read the papers and you’ll know.” At the door she said, “I think you should tell Dale. From what I’ve seen of him, I think that he would be okay, that he’d be supportive.” And if he wasn’t, she thought, without voicing it, ditch him now before it’s too late.

It was ten-thirty when she found a motel with a vacancy.

She called her father and told him about Christina.

“Something Winnie could have done,” he grumbled.

“Maybe so,” she said, too tired to argue.

“Get some sleep. See you in court.”

She still had to go out and get something to eat and buy a toothbrush. She eyed the bed longingly, but went back out. So much for staying together, she thought, driving again, looking for a drugstore or grocery store or restaurant, whichever came first. There he was alone in that house that Bill Spassero had found without any trouble at all, and she was a thousand miles away in a strange town, starving. Togetherness, she thought bitterly.

That night she dreamed she was running away from the ocean where pink capsules and white pills formed waves that rose and rose and crashed down on her like a tsunami.

on monday, she was dismayed to see the haggard expression on her father’s face when she spotted him on the second floor, outside the door to the little room they shared for meals. As soon as he saw her, he straightened and his expression changed to relief.

“God, you had me worried,” he said, embracing her.

“Sorry, Dad. Stuck on a plane that wouldn’t get off the ground. I think they had to glue the wings on or something. How’d it go?”

“Fine. Fine.” He opened the door and they went in.

“Lucille was grand,” he said.

“Not a dry eye in the house by the time she was done.” He poured coffee from a thermos and handed it to her.

“You look beat.”

“Flying does that to me.” She had stewed on the plane, which had been delayed two hours. Heath Byerson had met her at the airport, whisked her home to change her clothes, and then sped her to the courthouse.

It was now a quarter till two. Fifteen minutes and she was on. She sipped the coffee.

“What have you heard from Bailey? Winnie? What’s been happening?”

“That will keep. Craig got back in last night. If he got that message from Christina, and if he remembers her, and they put that together with your vanishing act this morning, they know too much. We have to tread very softly, Barbara.”

“I know,” she said.

“I have to call Roberto. There’s something I want Miguel to do today.”

“Tell me what it is; I’ll call while you tackle the doctors

She told him. She wanted Miguel to assemble facsimiles of the boxes he and his co-workers had put together at Gallead’s place. Frank’s expression darkened again, but he nodded.

Then, all too soon, it was time for her to be back in court, time to call the doctor who had examined Paula and have him explain the extent of her injuries before the fire.

She had two cracked ribs on the right side, he testified, and a bruise from her shoulder down the length of her left arm, as if she had been hit with enough force to drive her against a rigid, unyielding structure.

“Dr. Fellowes,” Barbara asked, “would you say it was possible for someone with injuries like that to carry a can of gas that weighed eleven pounds for three him dred feet, and then to methodically throw that gas around using both hands, being careful enough to avoid getting any on herself?”

Fierst objected. The doctor couldn’t say what was possible or not possible. Barbara rephrased the question, but it was the same question.

“In my opinion it would be most unlikely,” Dr. Fel lowes said. He described the muscles involved, how the nerve endings affected the muscle groups, the weakness that resulted.

In cross-examination Fierst said, “Dr. Fellowes, it has been stated that it required two adult women to restrain Mrs. Kennerman when they arrived at the fire. It would seem that she had very good muscular coordination.

Isn’t it possible excuse me, likely that ” “Objection,” Barbara snapped.

“Mr. Pierst might as well answer his question himself. He is leading the witness blatantly.”

Fierst rephrased.

“Sometimes,” Dr. Fellowes said, “the most grievous injuries can be overridden by a psychological need to act in a momentary situation of extreme anxiety.”

“Do you mean that people can act even if they’re injured badly?” Fierst asked bluntly.

“That’s putting it in ” “Dr. Fellowes, just yes or no. Can people take action even if they are badly injured?”

“Well … yes. Sometimes.”

During her redirect examination, Barbara asked, “Dr.

Fellowes, you said ‘a psychological need to act in a momentary situation of extreme anxiety,” didn’t you?”

“Yes. Those were my words.”

“Let’s break that down a little. Would an action that requires five to ten minutes of cautious behavior be what you mean?”

“No, absolutely not.”

“Would you explain why not, please?”

“Yes. Cautious behavior indicates that the person is conscious of every action and any possible consequences, and is taking them into account. In the psycho logical state I’m talking about the conscious mind is no longer functioning in a normal way; it is bypassed by the subconscious mind, which assumes control over the body and does not allow awareness of pain to interfere with its intentions. In that state a person behaves in a manner that often appears irrational, and is irrational in that the person is not taking into account the consequences of his or her actions. Pain is what prevents a person from adding further trauma when there is al ready an injury. A person in the state I am describing can and often does seriously aggravate an existing in jury.”

“And a person who is behaving rationally and deliberately could not ignore severe pain to such an extent that the original injury would be made worse?”

“A person might want to, but the body protects itself and prevents such actions most of the time. Tremors, weakness, even fainting may result if the person at tempts such action.”

The emergency-room doctor who had treated Paula after the fire and then, the dentist who had treated her over a year ago followed in quick succession.

The marriage counselor was the next witness. She made it clear that although she had permission from Paula Kennerman to disclose information about their sessions, no such permission had been obtained from Mr. Kennerman and therefore she could not divulge anything he had said, or what she had said to him.

Barbara nodded when she explained this.

“We’ll stick to Mrs. Kennerman,” she said.

“Did she say why they were there?”

“Yes. She told me he had struck her and she would leave him if things couldn’t be worked out.”

“Did she have proposals to make, suggestions to offer

“She said if he ever hit her again, she would leave without any discussion. And he had to make a contribution toward the welfare of their child, her future education.

Those were the two demands she made.”

“How many times did they consult you, Mrs. Maggiore?”

“Four.”

“And did they reach an agreement that they both accepted?”

She paused, then nodded, as if she had to consider if this was revealing what Jack Kennerman had said.

“They had an agreement.”

“Was it an agreement that satisfied Mrs. Kennerman’s original demands?”

Again she paused, and then with some reluctance said it was.

“Did you advise Paula Kennerman to have psychological counseling?”

“No.”

“Do you sometimes advise your clients to do so?”

“Yes.”

“Did you so advise Jack Kennerman?”

She tightened her lips.

“I’m sorry, I can’t answer that.”

When court recessed for the day, Barbara turned to Paula, whose eyes were puffy and red-rimmed.

“How are you holding up?” she asked.

Paula shrugged.

“Okay, I guess. None of this matters, does it? I mean, how things were before, what it was like before? They’ll say that’s past and done with. What matters is only that one morning, that one day.”

“Hey,” Barbara said.

“We’re making a case. You’re tired or you’d see that we’re making real progress, Don’t fade out on me now.”

Paula smiled wanly.

“Oh, I’ll be right here, won’t I?”

She stood up.

“Lucille told them today that she offered you eight hundred dollars. She shouldn’t have done that. It’s for her kids. Eight hundred dollars! That’s a laugh, isn’t it?” Tears were standing in her eyes; she turned abruptly and nodded to the matron, ready to go.

“Okay,” Barbara said as soon as she and Frank were inside his house.

“Give.”

“Bailey’s coming over,” he said.

“Don’t know yet what he’s dug out. But Craig’s getting the yacht ready for a long trip. Winnie dug up a good informant over there, and it seems that she knows each and every time that yacht moves an inch. For instance, Craig and Rich took off Monday after the death of that little girl. Went out for two hours, returned, drove back home.” His forehead wrinkled.

“Let’s have a glass of wine. If there’s anything else, it’ll come to me.”

“Did you get Roberto?”

“Oh, that. Yes.” He led the way into the kitchen and got out the wine and three glasses and poured for her.

“Here. We’ve earned it.” He poured another glass and sipped it with approval.

“Roberto and Miguel probably have the boxes done. I told him to keep away from here, to leave everything at Martin’s for Bailey to pick up later. Roberto wants his committee to patrol this street,” he added dryly.

“Let’s go out to the porch. This weather isn’t going to last, but it’s nice out there right now.”

It was. The evening was cool, pleasant, the yard fragrant with blooms and grass. No trace of the drought was visible from the porch. Barbara wondered if her rhododendron had died; she felt she had been away from home for a very long time.

“Oh,” Frank said, settling himself into a lounge chair, “Bill showed up in court this morning and left as soon as he saw I was at bat. Did he show up again?”

She shook her head.

“I don’t know. I didn’t look.” She couldn’t remember any trial where she had so resolutely ignored the spectators.

She could feel the tension oozing out of her, feel herself relaxing, and she wanted only to go to sleep.

Abruptly she put down her wineglass.

“I think I’d better get something to nibble on,” she said, standing up.

“I

just realized I haven’t had a bite since breakfast. And that was seven-thirty.” She went in for cheese, crackers, whatever she could find. In his house there were always good findings.

Back on the porch, eating cheese, she said with her mouth full, “When this is all over, I’m going to get drunk.”

He nodded.

“I did that a couple of times. Last time I did, the next day the judge summoned me to hear my penalty for contempt of court. I was in a sorry state, believe me, hung over like you wouldn’t believe, red-eyed, bleary, unshaved, and the son of a bitch thought I’d been on a crying jag or some such foolishness. He said a hundred dollars and my remorse were punishment enough.”

They both laughed. She never had seen him showing any effects of too much to drink. Another little secret he and her mother had shared, no doubt. And now, after a warning heart attack, he was off everything but an occasional glass of wine and, very rarely, a fine brandy after dinner. But she could drink, she told herself, and she would get smashed. She took another piece of cheese.