The Pact (45 page)

Chris crawled into his bunk, with the unwelcome realization that even if he was given leave to rejoin the real world, he might no longer fit in.

In THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT, with the shades drawn and the bedroom an airless cocoon, Gus turned to James. Like her, he'd been lying in bed perfectly still, as if immobility might segue into sleep, but Gus knew that he was every bit as awake as she was. She took a deep breath, thankful for the darkness that kept her from seeing his face and knowing whether or not he was lying.

“James,” she said, “is it going all right?”

He did not pretend to misunderstand, but beneath the covers, blindly reached for and covered her hand. “I don't know,” he said.

The NEXT MORNING, Jordan showered and shaved and dressed. He walked into the kitchen, his mind already running through his cross-examinations of the day. Heather Burns, a friend of Emily's, he could do in his sleep. Melanie Gold was a different story.

It was not until he sat down that he noticed Thomas smiling at him from across the table. And at his place, a clean bowl and spoon, a jug of milk, and a brand new box of Cocoa Krispies. Heather Burns trembled so badly on the witness stand that the slightly uneven legs of the chair beat a quick tattoo on the floor. Seeking to put the girl at ease, Barrie Delaney walked toward her, blocking out Heather's view of everything but Barrie herself. “Relax, Heather,” she said in an undertone. “Remember? We've already been through all the questions.” Heather nodded bravely, her face a stark white. “Heather,” Barrie said, “I understand you were Emily's best friend.”

“Yes,” she said in a tiny voice. “We've been friends for about four years.”

“That's a long time. Did you meet in school?”

“Uh-huh. We had a bunch of classes together. Health, and Calculus. And some art classes, too . . . but Emily was a lot better than me when it came to art.”

“How often did you see her?”

“Every day, at least in class.”

“And did she tell you what her plans were for the future?”

“She wanted to go to college and learn to be a better painter.”

“Did you know Emily when she began to date Chris?”

Heather nodded. “She was dating Chris when I met her. They were, like, always together.”

“Always?”

“Well, one time sophomore year they broke up for a couple of months. Chris was seeing someone else, and Emily got really upset about it.” “So there wasn't always perfect harmony between them.”

“No.” Heather looked down. “But they did get back together.” Barrie smiled sadly. “Yes. So they did. Can you tell me, Heather, what Emily was like this November-her personality?”

“She was usually pretty quiet-she always had been. But she certainly wasn't, like, crying all the time or saying she was going to kill herself. She was just acting like Emily, and hanging around with her boyfriend. That's why ...” Her voice trailed off, and her eyes, for the first time during her testimony, drifted toward Chris. “That's why it was such a shock to hear what happened.” JORDAN SMILED ENGAGINGLY at Heather Burns. She was a little sparrow of a girl, with brown hair hanging midway down her back and a silver ring on every finger. “Heather, thanks for being here. I know this is difficult,” he said, and then grinned. “But at least it gets you out of school.”

Heather giggled, warming toward the defense attorney, looking nowhere near as close to fainting as she had a minute before. “You saw Emily every day in school,” he said. “How about outside of school?”

“Not so much,” Heather said.

“You didn't run into her at the Gap, or at the movies on weekends?”

“No.”

“You didn't you make plans to go hang out together?”

“Hardly ever,” she said. “It wasn't that I didn't want to, but Emily was always with Chris.”

“So even though you were her best friend, you really didn't see her often outside of school?”

“I was her best girlfriend,” Heather admitted. “But Chris knew her better than anyone one else.”

“Did you see Chris and Emily together?”

“Yes.”

“What was their relationship like?”

Heather's eyes clouded. “I used to think it was really romantic,” she said. “I mean, they'd been together forever, and it was sometimes like they couldn't hear anything but each other's voices or see anything but each other's faces.” She bit her lip. “I used to think that Emily had what all of us wanted.”

Jordan nodded gravely. “And Heather, based on the relationship you saw between Chris and Emily, can you picture him ever hurting her?”

“Objection,” Barrie called.

“Overruled.”

At Jordan's nod, Heather looked directly at Chris, her eyes wide and liquid. “No,” she whispered. “I can't.”

Melanie Gold was wearing black. On the witness stand, with her hair pulled back severely and the padded shoulders of her suit jacket stretched wide, she looked like an implacable mother superior, or maybe even an archangel. “Mrs. Gold,” Barrie said, laying a hand over her witness's. “Thank you for being here. I'm so sorry to put you through this formality, but I need a few facts for the record. Could you state your name?”

“Melanie Gold.”

“What was your relationship to the victim?”

Melanie stared directly at the jury. “I was her mother,” she said softly.

“Can you tell us about your relationship with your daughter?”

Melanie nodded. “We spent a lot of time together.” She began to talk, her words brush strokes, bringing Emily back to life with the same artistic elegance that Emily had possessed. She would spend time with me after school, when I was at the library working. We'd go shopping together on the weekends. She knew she could turn to me.

“What sorts of things did Emily talk to you about?”

Melanie started, and directed her attention back to the prosecutor. “We'd been discussing college a lot. She was getting ready to apply.”

“What were her feelings about going to college?”

“She was very excited,” Melanie said. “She was a wonderful student, and an even better artist. As a matter of fact, she was applying at the Sorbonne.”

“Wow,” Barrie said, “that's impressive.”

“So was Emily,” Melanie said.

“When did you first find out that something had happened to Emily?” Melanie wilted in the chair. “We were called in the middle of the night and told to come down to the hospital right away. All we knew was that Emily had gone on a date with Chris. By the time we got there, Emily had died.”

“What were you told about the death?”

“Not very much. My husband went in to identify ... Emily. I. ..” She looked up at the jury. “I couldn't. And then Michael came back out and told me that she'd been shot in the head.”

“What did you think, Mrs. Gold?” Barrie asked gently.

“I thought, Oh, my God-who did this to my baby?”

The stillness that comes on the heels of true grief settled over the courtroom, so that the jury could hear the scratch of Jordan's pen, the tick of the bailiff's watch, Chris's labored breathing. “Did you ever think for a moment, Mrs. Gold, that it might have been a suicide?”

“No,” Melanie said, her voice firm. “My daughter was not suicidal.”

“How do you know?”

“How wouldn't I know? I'm her mother. She wasn't sad; she wasn't depressed; she wasn't crying. She was the same wonderful young woman we'd always known. And she'd never used a gun in her life; she didn't know anything about them. Why would she have tried to shoot herself with one?”

“Did a jeweler start calling you after Emily's death?”

“Yes,” Melanie said. “At first I didn't know who it was. The woman just kept asking for Emily, and it seemed like a bad joke. But then she finally told me about a watch that Emily had bought for Chris and I went down to pick it up. It was a five-hundred-dollar watch-fifty dollars more than she'd made the entire summer working at a camp. Emily knew we would have been very upset to find out that she'd spent that amount of money on a surprise birthday gift for Chris; it was far too extravagant, and we would have made her return it.” She took a deep breath, then continued. “After I went to the jeweler's, I took that watch home and I realized it was Emily's way of telling me to look more closely at what happened.” She stared at the jury. “Why would Emily have bought a watch to give to Chris at the end of November, if she knew they were going to kill themselves before then?”

Barrie walked toward the defense table. “As you know, Mrs. Gold, the only other person at the carousel that night was Christopher Harte.”

Melanie's eyes flicked over him. “I know.”

“Do you know the defendant well?”

“Yes,” Melanie said. “Chris and Emily grew up together. We've lived next door to his family for eighteen years.” Her voice thickened, and she glanced away. “He was always welcome in our house. He was like a son to us.”

“And you know that he's here because he's charged with murder? The murder of your daughter?”

“Yes.”

“Do you believe that Chris could have been violent toward your daughter?”

“Objection,” Jordan said. “This witness is biased.”

“Biased!” Barrie sputtered. “The woman's child is dead and buried. She can have any bias she pleases.”

Puckett rubbed his temples. “The prosecution has the right to put on any witness it wishes. We'll give Mrs. Gold the benefit of the doubt.”

Barrie turned back toward Melanie. “Do you believe,” she repeated, “that Chris could have been violent toward your daughter?”

Melanie cleared her throat. “I think he killed her.”

“Objection!” Jordan yelled.

“Overruled.”

“You think he killed her,” Barrie restated, letting Melanie's words settle, a gauntlet thrown. “Why?” For a moment, Melanie stared at Chris. “Because my daughter was pregnant,” she spat out, forgetting the prosecutor's warning to stay calm. “Chris was going off to college. He didn't want his career and his education and his swimming future ruined by some baby and a hometown girl.” Melanie saw Chris startle, then begin to shake. “Chris was the one who knew about guns,” she said tightly. “His father had his own arsenal. They were hunting all the time.” She pinned Chris with her gaze, her words solely for him. “You put two bullets in the gun.” Jordan leaped to his feet. “Objection!”

“You thought the whole thing out. But you couldn't keep her from bruising when she fought you-”

“Objection, Your Honor! This is inappropriate!”

Melanie stared at Chris, unstoppable. “You couldn't guarantee the angle of the bullet. And you couldn't do a thing about the watch, because you didn't even know about it.” Her hands flexed on the railing of the witness stand, knuckles white.

“Mrs. Gold,” the judge interrupted.

“You killed her,” Melanie shouted. “You killed my baby, and you killed your baby.”

“Mrs. Gold, you will cease immediately!” Puckett yelled, banging his gavel. “Ms. Delaney, control your client!”

The tips of Chris's ears were flame red. He shrank down beside Jordan. “Your witness,” Barrie said, offering up the sobbing, heartsick woman.

“Your Honor,” Jordan said tightly. “Perhaps we should take a short recess.” Puckett glared at the prosecutor. “Perhaps we should,” he said.

When Melanie TOOK THE STAND again, her eyes were red and high flags of color rose on her cheekbones, but for all intents and purposes she was again composed. “It sounds like Emily was quite a daughter, Mrs. Gold,” Jordan said, still seated at the defense table, as casual as if he'd invited the woman over for lunch. “Talented, beautiful, and she confided in you. What else could you possibly want in a child?”

“Life,” Melanie said coldly.

Momentarily flustered-Jordan hadn't expected her to be quite so sharp-he mentally took a step back.

“How many hours a week did you spend with Emily, Mrs. Gold?”

“Well, I work three days a week, and Emily was in school.”

“So ... ?”

“I'd say two hours at night, on weeknights. Maybe more on weekends.”

“How much time did she spend with Chris?”

“Quite a lot.”

“Could you be more specific? More than two hours at night, and some extra on weekends?”

“Yes.”

“So she spent more time in Chris's company than in yours.”

“Yes.”

“I see. Did Emily have high expectations for her future?”

Surprised at the change of topic, Melanie nodded. “Very.”

“You must have been very supportive parents.”

“We were. We certainly praised academic success and helped her further her interest in art.”

“Would you say it was important to Emily to meet your expectations?”

“I think so. She knew we were proud of her.”

Jordan nodded. “And you said that Emily confided in you, as well.”

“Absolutely.”

“I've got to tell you, Mrs. Gold,” he said. “I'm a little bit jealous.” He turned to the jury, inviting them into confidence. “I've got a thirteen-year-old son, and it's not that easy to keep the lines of communication open.”

“Maybe you don't make yourself available to listen,” Melanie said sarcastically.

“Ah. So that's what you did, those two hours every weeknight? Make yourself available to listen to whatever Emily had to say?”

“Yes. She told me everything.”

Jordan leaned against the jury box. “Did she tell you that she was pregnant?” Melanie's lips pressed together. “No,” she said.

“In her eleven weeks of pregnancy, during all those heart-to-hearts, she never mentioned it to you?”

“I said no.”

“Why didn't she tell you?”

Melanie smoothed the fabric of her skirt. “I don't know,” she said softly.

“Might she have thought that being pregnant would mean not living up to your very high expectations of her? That she might not be able to become an artist, or even go to college?”

“Maybe,” Melanie said.

“Might she have been so upset about not meeting your expectations, about not being the perfect daughter anymore, that she was too afraid to tell you?”

Melanie shook her head, tears coming easily now. “I need an answer, Mrs. Gold,” Jordan said gently.

“No,” she said. “She would have told me.”

“But you just told us she didn't,” Jordan pointed out. “And Emily isn't here to answer for her reasons. So let's look at the facts: You're saying that Emily was so close to you she told you everything. But her pregnancy-she didn't tell you about that. If she hid something that important from you, isn't it possible that she could have hidden other things as well-for example, the fact that she was thinking of killing herself?”