by Gabi Moore
“Was it real blood?”
She looked irritated.
“No, obviously it wasn’t real blood.”
He smiled darkly at her. “Yes, Ms. Patton, I think it’s obvious too. That’s the point of fantasy, isn’t it? It’s not real. Tell me now, did he ever stab you?”
“No.”
“Did he ever admit to you that he stabbed Elizabeth Cane, or hurt her in any way?”
“No.”
“So, what you’re telling me is that Mr. Cane liked to pretend a lot of things. Why do you believe that him telling you he wanted to kill his wife was reality, when everything that you’ve told me so far is fantasy?”
She was silent.
“It was different,” she whispered. “He really meant it. We weren’t playing a game when he said it.”
The lawyer paced to his desk, grabbed a folder and flipped it open.
“Miss, I have here a screenshot from your profile on ‘Blingbabies.com’. Is this your profile?” he said and thrust a page in front of her.
“Yes,” she said, and set her jaw.
“Now it says here, and I quote, I’m a naughty baby, and the only thing I like more than being spoiled is making sure my Daddy knows just how much I appreciate him. I like to play on the dark side. I crave a strong, dominant man who knows how to take what he wants. I don’t care about rules. If you don’t care about the rules either and have the cash to spoil me like I deserve, get in touch. No time-wasters, please.”
The people in the courtroom tittered at his voice as he read the words, so out of place in a room like this, and on the lips of a serious, greying lawyer pushing sixty.
“Did you write those words, Ms. Patton?”
The girl tried hard to sit up straight although she could do nothing about the furious blush passing over her face.
“Yes.”
“Did you mean those words?”
“It’s a dating profile. It’s intended to appeal to men who are looking for a particular kind of arrangem--”
“Please answer the question.”
“Yes, I meant them.”
“You see, Ms. Patton, I can tell you’re embarrassed. It isn’t pleasant to have your personal sexual preferences aired in public like this, I’m sure. But would you agree that the words you wrote play into a certain fantasy, and are not strictly real?”
“Well, no, they are real,” she said, seeing exactly what he was trying to do.
“They are? So are you saying that you, quote, don’t care about the rules?”
“No.”
“No, you’re not saying that. That would be like saying you don’t care about the oath you are currently speaking under, wouldn’t it?”
She was silent.
“I think you’d agree that what you said here on this profile can be categorized as fantasy, don’t you?”
It looked like it pained her to nod her head and mumble, “yes.”
“So, do you agree that Mr. Cane shares the same right as you do, to speak in the heat of a private, sexual moment, and say words that are just fantasy, and not intended to be taken out of context?”
She didn’t respond.
“Would you agree, miss?” he said loudly.
“Yes,” she hissed, “I would agree.”
“I would agree too. Hell, we’ve all done it,” he said and turned to the room. “I’m not into any of the stuff the defendant is into, let me tell you, but even I’ve said on occasion that I could have killed someone when I was mad at them. Of course, most people understand that these words don’t literally mean I want to commit first degree murder,” he said with a cynical chuckle. “For the same reason as saying you love someone to death doesn’t constitute a confession to an intention to murder, so admitting to fantasies that are admittedly a little morbid, doesn’t tell us anything about what a person will do outside of that fantasy.”
The lawyer spoke on but I couldn’t hear him anymore, I was so transfixed by the horror on the girl’s face. She was humiliated. And all at once I saw Nora there, on the stand just as she soon would be, and I knew that the same kind of ridiculous arguments would be thrown her way too.
Every once in a while he asked the girl another question, and she answered him, but she was no longer quite there, and had crumpled down into her seat in shame as the lawyer invited others to consider that someone who willingly partook in what she did simply didn’t get the right to judge a man like Mr. Cane for his indiscretions. I wanted to run out of that courtroom and never come back. Eventually, court was adjourned and the crack of the gravel woke me from my spell and brought me to my feet.
Still, I had to ignore Nora’s tired face. I watched her walk out the main doors; throw a quick glance my way and then shuffle on, staring at her feet.
“That was your first witness?”
I spun to see my father behind me, smiling and packing some papers into a briefcase as he followed me out. I turned again without saying anything. Walking out those halls and back outside, I could feel him behind me, but when I turned again he had gone, and I was relieved. The last thing in the world I wanted to do now was to lay eyes on him. I couldn’t be sure that I could prevent my hands from flying to that neck of his and choking that smug smile right off his face.
This time, the media crowd outside was much, much bigger. Like a chattering swarm, they noticed people dribbling out of the main entrance and descended upon us, microphones and camera lenses thrust forward. But they weren’t after me this time.
Out the corner of my eye I noticed the swarm knot around a man running to a car hidden under his outstretched jacket, a ring of bodyguards shoving around him. Jeff Cane, the entrepreneur, the millionaire, the murderer. My father. I heard the car door slam and quickened my step to make a retreat before they came after me.
I raced down the stone steps, made a quick turn and disappeared into the street, thankful that at least for now, the farce was over. I’d go to the hotel and wait for her there, two secret soldiers in a public battle that really felt like it belonged only to us.
She wasn’t there when I got back in. I yanked off my tie, kicked my shoes away and collapsed onto the bed. It was more than an hour later when she finally arrived, her jacket and skirt suit now looking crumpled. I stood when I heard the door click and went to meet her in the hallway. She looked and me, and I looked at her.
“I was worried something happened to you,” I said.
She sighed, put her bag down and cricked her neck one way and then the next. She had flat ironed her hair and had put on dark brown and beige make up which, now a little smeared, made her look even more tired. I didn’t like her playing this role. Not one bit.
“They put her through the ringer,” she said at last, and carefully evaded my gesture for her to come close and kiss me. Instead she went to the mini bar and poured herself a drink.
“Nothing we didn’t know to expect,” I said, trying to sound optimistic. She leaned against the fridge and looked me over carefully.
“That guy is an asshole. He’s going to try and do the same with me. I can see it all unfolding now…”
I went to her, took the glass from her hands and looked into her eyes.
“Not if you don’t let him.”
She shrugged.
“He has a point though. There’s a reason why prostitutes don’t make very good witnesses. People don’t see them as reliable, they don’t--”
“But you’re not a prostitute,” I said quickly.
That look was falling over her eyes again. That horrible look I had only seen once or twice before, but knew well.
“The jury won’t see it that way, though. They’ll--”
“Alright, well, just forget about it then, you’re right.”
“What…?”
“You’re right. You’re a stupid, lying whore and nobody will believe you, because they shouldn’t, because you’re disgusting,” I said, took a gulp of her drink and slammed the glass on the table.
“I--”
> “Well, aren’t you? It’s clear that I’m biased in the whole situation, because we’re fucking, so what do I know, right? But everyone else will see what you really are, very soon…”
“Dean, are you trying to get a rise out of me or something?”
“No need. I just have to point out the obvious. The truth does hurt though. You’re a prostitute, you sold yourself, and you should be ashamed for the rest of your miserable life, you’re a--”
“Dean, shut up.”
“…A filthy whore who deserves all the scorn that people throw on her and--”
“Dean, stop.”
“Why? You say so yourself. You’re worthless, Nora. A worthless prostitute.”
“That’s not fucking true!”
I grabbed her wrists and banged her hard against the cabinet, sending it rattling.
“Yes, Nora, it is true, it’s painfully true, admit it. Admit that you’re a worthless nobody.”
I bored holes into her eyes with mine, and she stared back defiantly.
“No. I’m. Not,” she hissed and with surprising force she shook off my grasp and pushed back against me, rage in her eyes.
“I’m not a prostitute,” she cried. “I’m not worthless, and fuck anyone who says so!”
I stared at her in shock and then smiled. She was so angry I could see her nostrils flaring. I went to her and gently took her cheeks in her hands and kissed her.
“There. That right there. That’s the attitude you should go in there with,” I whispered to her angry lips. Soon she was smiling too.
“You’re such a bastard, you know that?” she said, but her voice had softened.
“Nora, if there’s anything in this world I know for sure, it’s that people will never treat you better than how you secretly believe you should be treated.”
She wriggled from my grasp and went to slump down on the bed. I sat beside her and took her in my arms.
“Don’t let them tell you what you are. You decide that.”
“Dean?”
“Yeah?”
“All this sneaking around and hiding… are you sure you’re not ashamed of me?”
“Ashamed? Nora, I’m proud of you.”
“And do you really want to marry me, of all things? And just, like, ride off into the sunset and go and live in a house somewhere with a white picket fence?”
“Sure, if that’s what you want. Do you want that?”
She simply folded into my arms and let me hold her.
“Why don’t you go and get washed up?” I said and stroked her hair from her eyes. “We should sleep soon. We have to be at court tomorrow at 8, and it’s going to be long day.”
We lay together for a moment like this, the quiet whirr of the air conditioner the only sound. Soon, all of this would be over, and we could stop running, stop hiding. Start living for real. She eventually got up and made her way to the shower.
“Wait,” I said and came after her. “Mind if I join you?”
Chapter 12
Myth: The truth will always win in the end
Reality: The one who wins is the one who gets to say their version of the truth
The next morning came quickly. Before I had time to think, I was back in those halls, back swimming against the sea of reporters and back to wondering if I had done everything I could to get Nora out of this in one piece.
Though I sat back and away from that main wood-paneled arena, I alone felt like the sole defense, the sole prosecution. I was to blame for bringing this into Nora’s life. It was my father who was trying to frame her for his hideous actions. And it was me who sleuthed her out, emailed her and proceeded to treat her worse than he had.
But no more.
When you play the kind of games that Jeff Cane is a master at, there’s no choice but to become like him.
Ruthless.
Inhumane.
And yes, crazy.
I don’t know if she knew that she had, but Nora had taught me. And now as I watched her walk up to stand, I felt like it was me who should have been in her place.
Charlie and his team had painstakingly pulled at every loose thread they could find. The Belmont flats and the Patton girl. The suspicious movements of large sums of money. The fact that Nora was only one of a dozen women Jeff was involved with, and that their relationship was in any case circumstantial and she had no reason to resent him, let alone murder him. The game was to cast doubt, and yes, disgust. And as it happened, there was a lot to Jeff Cane’s life that was shocking.
I held my breath as she was sworn in. She looked nervous, but at least she wasn’t as ashen as the day before. I clenched my teeth as I saw him staring at her. Charlie began to ask her name, her involvement with Jeff. She answered carefully and clearly. The whole conversation had the feeling not of walking on eggshells, but of walking on landmines.
“Please describe the events of May 16th Ms. Smith,” he said. She shifted in her seat and nodded once.
“May 16th I had an appointment with Mr. Cane. We usually had a routine, something we did every appointment without fail. But during the scene he broke character and began to do something else. He suddenly became very threatening. I was terrified. He sexually assaulted me. He told me that… that he…”
“Go on.”
“He told me he could do whatever he wanted to me, without my consent, and that it didn’t matter because the Police were on his side.”
Charlie paced the room. They chewed over the story a little more. But Nora sat firm, and described the details in crisp formal sentences that neither gave away too much or concealed anything. The jury was told how he had ejaculated on her dress. How he hadn’t left when she told him to. And how he had broken and entered into her home and threatened her further. With each word that fell from her lips I too tried to keep my calm. Hearing it all was my literal worst nightmare.
Life is funny sometimes…
I had wanted nothing more but to force this very feeling on my father, to steal someone who was important to him. And now I was sitting here, feeling that he had stolen her from me. It wasn’t enough to save Nora from his schemes; I wanted to save her from ever having had to deal with him at all.
Once the whole sordid story had been outlined, an hour had already passed. It was now time for the cross-examination. The defense lawyer rose again, breathed in all the air the room had to offer and took a haughty walk over to the stand.
“Mistress Morgan!” the lawyer said.
She didn’t flinch.
“That’s your dominatrix name, correct?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Care to tell the jury exactly what it is that a dominatrix does?”
“She’s somebody who plays the role of a dominant female in sadomasochistic scenarios. I allow my clients to act out fantasies where they are submissive to me,” she said with no more shame than if she was stating her name and age.
“So, you tell your clients what to do, boss them around.”
“My field of work is very nuanced. It takes some skill to understand my clients psychologically. It’s more than just bossing around.”
“Yes, I’m sure, Ms. Smith, that it takes a particular kind of woman to be attracted to the kind of work you did. Did you enjoy having men under your control?” he said smiling.
“I enjoyed my work, yes.”
“It must have been a shock to hear that Mr. Cane wanted to terminate your relationship.”
“Objection. That’s not a question, your honor.”
“Allow me to rephrase. Given that you enjoyed your work so much, were you upset when he ended the relationship?”
“I already said – I was the one to end the relationship.”
The room muttered.
“He was your first client in this business, correct?”
“Correct.”
“By total earnings, who was your most lucrative client?”
“He was.”
“And yet you weren’t sorry to see him go?”
; “I told you. He assaulted me.”
“Did you report this assault, miss?”
“No.”
The examination went on like this, and everyone watching wondered when he’d strike, but a half hour passed and the conversation seemed to be going in circles. Then he reached into his briefcase and submitted what we had all been waiting for. The photographs.
“Care to describe what’s going on in this picture?”
“This is when Elizabeth came to see me. She asked me to keep seeing her husband.”
“Really? Seems like an odd request.”
“Not really. She was a smart woman who understood her husband. She said I was his outlet, that he needed to see me. And she said that she was afraid of what would happen if I stopped seeing him.”
“So, you’re telling the court that a happily married woman came to visit her husband’s mistress in order to--”
“I wasn’t his mistress,” she blurted.
The attorney gave her a sinewy smile.
“I can see why you were good at the work you did, Mistress Morgan,” he said, and acted aghast at being interrupted so forcefully. Some people in the audience laughed quietly.
“You’re telling me that a happily married woman came to see you to ask that you keep seeing her husband? Is that what you’re claiming?”
“I provided a service. It turns out Mr. Cane was using that service to keep his sick fantasies under control.”
I swallowed hard. That wasn’t the right thing to say.
“Well yes, Miss, we’ll let the court decide on that, won’t we? Tell me, why does she look so upset in this picture?”
“She’s afraid.”
“Of you?”
“Of him.”
“Miss Smith, do you know who took this picture?”
“Someone he sent to follow her.”
“That’s correct. He had someone document your interaction because he knew how unstable you were. Mrs. Cane came to you to tell you to back away from her husband, didn’t she? She was sick of you overstepping. After all, Jeff Cane was a wealthy, powerful man, who was responsible for the bulk of your income at the time. He calls it off with you, you don’t get the hint and harass the family, and a few weeks after this photo was taken, Mrs. Cane, your rival, was found stabbed to death in her home.”