The phone stopped ringing. For a brief instant, Paget thought of Terri; the sudden silence felt like losing her.
Distractedly, he shot the ball.
From the side, Carlo seemed to study his form. But this time, Paget’s shot bounced off the rim.
‘I’m taking your jump shot,’ Carlo announced. ‘I’ve decided it’s time to learn.’
With perfect form, suddenly quite like Paget’s, he swished the ball through the net.
‘Nice shot,’ Paget said.
Carlo retrieved the ball. But instead of tossing it, he walked over to his father and handed him the ball, looking into his face.
‘I think you’ll feel a lot better,’ Carlo said, ‘when you’ve finally gotten to testify.’
Silent, Paget took the ball. He backed up two feet, to where Carlo had stood, and carefully faced the basket. But his shot, falling, grazed the outside of the hoop.
‘“H,”’ Paget said.
The Trial
FEBRUARY 3 – FEBRUARY 16
Chapter 1
A murder trial is like a cocoon, Paget thought: the world outside seems barely to exist.
He sat at the defense table with Caroline Masters, waiting for Salinas to begin his opening statement. He could imagine the routines of daily life only by attaching them to Carlo, who had no choice but to go to school, or to Terri, whom Paget had asked to mind his cases. But his sole concrete image was that of the satellite trucks of news services, set up outside the Hall of Justice to feed live reports from the trial.
At Paget’s insistence, the trial itself would not be televised. But there was no help for the reporters who jammed the courtroom; or the fading novelist who had decided to write a true-crime book; or the producer who hoped to make a miniseries – all waiting for that dramatic moment that would reveal Paget’s character and which, translated into words or images, would put their own distinctive signatures on the death of Ricardo Arias.
For what mattered was not truth but entertainment, and here the plot was far too good. ‘The Christopher Paget trial captures the essence of the nineties,’ a television news report had begun; Paget had switched it off before he could find out what the essence of the nineties was.
Caroline, he knew, had worries of her own. She was facing by far the biggest case of her career, and the pressure was compounded by her ambitions. As if she had heard his thoughts, Caroline turned to him with a slight smile. In fresh makeup and gold earrings and a well-tailored black suit, she seemed nothing like the tired woman he had seen the night before. ‘Forgive me,’ she murmured, ‘but some perverse part of me enjoys this.’
‘Then it’s all worthwhile,’ Paget said dryly. But, for that moment, he felt better; during the next two weeks, no matter how many reporters and voyeurs packed the courtroom, the only people who would matter as much as Caroline were Judge Lerner and the jury.
Paget turned to scan the jury, among them Marian Celler, attentive and carefully dressed, with reading glasses on a silver chain around her neck; Luisa Marin, hands clasped and eyes half shut; Joseph Duarte, holding a notepad with a look of skeptical alertness, preparing to master this experience as he had mastered so many others. Paget wondered if he would ever become as real to them as they already were to him.
Finally, there was Jared Lerner. The judge alone would decide what these jurors would hear and how much latitude Caroline would have in creating a Richie different from the embattled underdog Salinas would put before the jury. From the bench, Lerner looked from Caroline to Salinas; beneath the judge’s calm, Paget sensed the pleasure of a man who was about to conduct the biggest trial of his career and felt himself well qualified.
Lerner took a long last survey of the courtroom and then nodded to Victor Salinas. ‘Mr Salinas,’ he said, and the trial began.
Approaching the jury, Salinas paused to underscore the moment. The jurors looked rapt. There was utter silence.
‘This,’ Salinas began, ‘is a case about secrets, and about lies. More than that, it is about arrogance.’
He stopped, looking directly at Paget. ‘The arrogance of a man who decided that another man was too inconvenient to live, and too insignificant for anyone to question how he died.’
Gazing back so that the jury could see him silently challenge Salinas, Paget wondered if the prosecutor’s stare of distaste was theater or an effort to stoke his own intensity. Abruptly, Salinas faced the jury, speaking to Joseph Duarte.
‘Ricardo Arias,’ he said softly, ‘was a man like you or me. He had a daughter he loved, a life built on family, a future he believed in – the dream of starting his own business. And most of all, he had his wife, Teresa.’
His voice became flat with muted outrage. ‘That was the first time that Christopher Paget, Teresa’s boss, found Ricardo Arias inconvenient. Because he wanted Teresa for himself.
‘And so, ladies and gentlemen, Christopher Paget took her from her husband, and her home.’
‘Victor’s going for it,’ Caroline whispered to Page. ‘This is almost too good to believe.’
‘But Ricardo Arias,’ Salinas said with sudden steel, ‘still had his daughter. Elena, the child he adored.
‘He fought to keep her, and he won. Ricardo was satisfied with that. But Teresa Peralta would not let go. In spite of his limited funds – because he had cared for Elena while Teresa “worked” for Christopher Paget – Richie Arias suddenly found himself in a custody fight he never wanted.’
Listening, Paget thought again of the way in which a life, packaged for the courtroom, could become the opposite of what it was. ‘And then,’ Salinas continued, ‘strange things began happening. Despite all Richie’s efforts, Elena became moody and depressed. There was a call from a teacher, reporting sexual play involving Elena.’ Now Salinas turned to Marian Celler. ‘Reluctantly, an involuntary flicker of distaste crossed Celler’s face. Salinas nodded as if satisfied and resumed a normal tone.
‘Like any loving father, Ricardo Arias went into action. He demanded that Teresa keep Elena away from Carlo Paget. And when, in the face of all that had happened, Teresa still insisted on trying to get custody, Ricardo Arias went to court.
‘He accused Christopher Paget of adultery and began to strip the veneer of respectability which hid who this man really is.
‘Most important, Ricardo Arias placed the evidence of child abuse before the court and demanded that the court keep Elena Arias away from the kind of household that bred these kinds of horrors.’
Paget winced inwardly. An undertone of confidence had entered Salinas’s voice as he burnished Richie’s image for the jury. ‘In bringing his fears to the court’s attention,’ Salinas went on, ‘Ricardo Arias did the responsible thing. He filed the papers under seal, to shelter Elena’s tragedy from public view. Only if Teresa refused to keep Elena from the Paget home would a hearing ensue, in thirty days, and Richie’s concerns become public.’
Salinas paused again. ‘It was an act of compassion,’ he said softly. ‘And it was a fatal mistake. For Christopher Paget was running for the Senate.’
Turning to Lusia Marin, Salinas slowly shook his head. ‘Ricardo Arias’s act of love for his daughter was a death warrant. If his charges became public, Carlo Paget could be exposed as a molester and his father as an adulterer. Not only would Mr Paget’s lover lose her child but his ambitions for high public office might well be destroyed.’
Caroline had been right, Paget thought; his withdrawal from the race had spared Carlo nothing and was now hurting Paget himself. Abruptly, Salinas spun on him. ‘What, Mr Paget must have wondered, would life be like without Ricardo Arias?
‘His son would be off the hook.
‘His affair would remain buried.
‘His girlfriend would have her daughter – at whatever cost to Elena.
‘And most of all, Christopher Paget could become your senator.’
Still facing Paget, Salinas let the irony hang there and then turned back to the jury. ‘The only problem,’ he told them q
uietly, ‘was that Mr Arias would have to disappear within thirty days.
‘Christopher Paget had planned a vacation to Italy with Teresa. And despite this critical hearing involving both their children, Mr Paget wanted to go.’ Salinas’s body was suddenly as still as an actor’s. ‘Why? Because the night before they left for Italy was a perfect time for murder. For unless Mr Arias was quickly found, Christopher Paget could suggest that Ricardo Arias died in San Francisco while Paget made love in Venice to Ricardo Arias’s wife.’
Flushed with anger, Paget spotted Joseph Duarte gazing at Salinas, hand frozen above the pad.
‘And,’ Salinas added with indignation, ‘if people thought that Ricardo Arias had killed himself, no one would question Christopher Paget at all.
‘How do we know he thought these things?’ Still facing the jury, Salinas pointed an accusing finger toward Paget and softly answered, ‘Because Christopher Paget lied to the police.
‘When the police found Ricardo Arias, it looked like a possible suicide: he was shot in the mouth, a gun was found near his hand, and on his desk was the beginning of a note saying that he had decided to take his life.’ Salinas paused, lowering his voice. ‘But there were bruises on his legs, damage to his nose, a gash on his head – and there was nothing, not blood or even gunpowder, on the hand that supposedly fired the gun. And as the medical examiner will show you, the condition of the body and the circumstances of his death all pointed to one thing: murder.
‘Murder,’ Salinas repeated. ‘Committed between roughly nine o’clock on October sixteen, the night before Christopher Paget left San Francisco, and noon the following day.
‘And so, on Mr Paget’s return from Italy, the police decided to question him.
‘And what did Mr Paget say?
‘That he had never met Ricardo Arias, or even spoken to him.
‘That he had never been to Mr Arias’s apartment.
‘And that, although not even his son or girlfriend can support this, he was at home on the last night of Ricardo Arias’s life.’
Caroline watched intently as Salinas surveyed the jury. ‘We will show that each and every one of these statements was a lie. Not only had Christopher Paget spoken to Ricardo Arias – he had been to his apartment.’ Pausing, Salinas lowered his voice. ‘Most important, ladies and gentlemen, we will show that Christopher Paget went to Richie’s apartment the night before he left for Italy, and that Ricardo Arias was never seen alive again.’
The jury was grim-faced now; Joseph Duarte had resumed writing. Covertly, Marian Celler glanced at Paget.
Salinas’s voice rose abruptly. ‘By the end of the trial, you will know that Ricardo Arias was murdered.
‘That Christopher Paget was there.
‘That Christopher Paget lied about that.
‘And that Christopher Paget profited from his death.’
Turning, Salinas gazed at Paget, until the jurors followed his eyes. ‘You will know,’ he finished quietly, ‘that Christopher Paget made Ricardo Arias write his own suicide note. And then, quite coldly, killed him.’
Facing the jury, Caroline Masters looked calm, almost serene. She took a moment to meet each juror’s eyes; the look said that she had heard the prosecution and was not impressed.
‘Let me tell you,’ she said in matter-of-fact tones, ‘what, when this trial is over, you will not know.
‘You will not know whether Ricardo Arias killed himself.
‘Or whether he died while Mr Paget was somewhere over the mid-Atlantic.
‘Or whether, even assuming that Mr Arias was murdered, and assuming further Mr Paget was in San Francisco, Mr Paget had any part in – or any knowledge of – that crime.’
Caroline paused, sweeping the jury. ‘And that, members of the jury, means that you must find Christopher Paget innocent of murder.’
The jury seemed alert; by inverting Salinas’s opening, Caroline had persuaded them to listen. But Duarte’s eyes were narrow with doubt.
‘What Mr Salinas just told you,’ she continued evenly, ‘is a list of what Mr Salinas needs you to believe.
‘Mr Salinas needs you to believe that Christopher Paget met Ricardo Arias.
‘That he went to Mr Arias’s apartment.
‘That he was there in some proximity to his death – perhaps hours, perhaps days.
‘In fact, Mr Salinas offered so many lists that it was easy to miss what was missing: proof that Christopher Paget killed Mr Arias.’
It was good, Paget thought; Caroline had put a subtly satiric spin on Salinas’s style, without ever raising her voice. Listening, the jury seemed more open now.
‘But Mr Salinas’s wish lists are not evidence,’ Caroline went on. ‘In truth, he cannot even prove beyond a reasonable doubt that Christopher Paget and Ricardo Arias were ever within two miles of each other at any moment of Mr Arias’s less-than-flawless life. Let alone,’ she said with irony, ‘that, beyond a reasonable doubt, Mr Paget killed Mr Arias.’ Pausing, she gazed at Joseph Duarte. ‘Because the truth, and please note this well, is that Mr Salinas cannot prove that anyone killed Mr Arias but Mr Arias.
‘And so,’ she said softly to Duarte, ‘Mr Salinas asks you to share his prejudice.’
Once more, Duarte put down his pencil.
‘He does this,’ Caroline told him, ‘by offering you a cartoon.
‘In this cartoon, Ricardo Arias is a simple and loving man, courageously fighting for his daughter’s welfare. While Mr Paget is the spoiled and arrogant son of wealth who stole Ricardo’s wife.
‘In short, Mr Salinas wants you to convict Mr Paget because you like Mr Arias better.
‘Aside from the total lack of evidence, there are two problems with this. And the first of them is the real Ricardo Arias.’
Caroline, Paget saw, would not take her eyes off Duarte. ‘As to Mr Arias, let me offer you a list of my own.
‘This was a man of minimal honesty.
‘A man unable to hold a job.
‘A man who lived off his wife.
‘A man who used his daughter for money.
‘A man whose selfishness and callousness drove Teresa Peralta out of the house and then, because she was the only responsible parent Elena had, forced Teresa to support them by posing as the loving custodial father.’
Duarte’s face was attentive now. ‘Ricardo Arias,’ Caroline said with scorn, ‘who, for ten thousand dollars, used his daughter as the centerpiece of a self-pitying article in a scandal sheet.’ Her voice, quieter yet, seemed even more contemptuous. ‘Ricardo Arias, who charged an innocent teenage boy with child abuse so that he would not lose the monthly support check Teresa provided for their daughter.’
Pausing, Caroline scanned the jury box. ‘Ricardo Arias,’ she repeated. ‘A man who, at the end of his life, was running out of excuses. A man, who after years of hiding behind his wife, faced a rigorous examination of his own life and motives by a psychologist appointed by the family court.
‘A man about to be exposed for what he was – a con artist whose only means of support was the daughter he claimed to love.’
It was nicely done, Paget thought. But in itself, an alternative vision of Ricardo Arias was not enough; it might well serve as a motive for murder.
Caroline, it seemed, had thought of this. ‘No one deserves to die,’ she said softly to Luisa Marin. ‘But I believe that we can understand why a man like this, faced with the truth of his life, might well consider ending it.’
Marin looked pensively at Caroline and then at her lap. Caroline turned to Marian Celler. ‘What is far more difficult to fathom is why Christopher Paget would choose to kill him. And that is Salina’s second problem – Christopher Paget.
‘Unlike Ricardo Arias, Christopher Paget already possessed those things he valued most: a warm relationship with his son, Carlo; a healthy and loving involvement with Teresa Peralta, after she had freed herself from the misery of her marriage; a distinguished career; and a chance to serve his larger community as a candidate f
or public office. Yet Mr Salinas asks you to believe that this man – a man with an unbroken history of emotional balance, personal responsibility, and a deep distaste for violence – was driven to murder Ricardo Arias.
‘In reality, Christopher Paget has faced far greater challenges than those Ricardo Arias posed to him. Sixteen years ago, this man earned his country’s gratitude by exposing corruption in the highest levels of our government – at the risk of his own career and against the awesome resources of a corrupt President.’ Caroline paused, shaking her head in wonderment. ‘For a lawyer with the courage and the talent of Christopher Paget, dealing with someone like Ricardo Arias – however painful his lies about Carlo – is something that Chris’s entire life prepared him for. And yet Mr Salinas asks you to believe that a man like Ricardo Arias drove this man to murder.’
At the corner of his eye, Paget sensed Marian Celler appraising him. Caroline approached the jury box, speaking quietly. ‘You come to judge Chris Paget’s life armed with the common sense and experience gained from your own life. Members of the jury, it is all that you will ever need. For all that Chris Paget asks is that you not set common sense aside.
‘Ricardo Arias was who he was: an unstable man, capable of self destruction. And Christopher Paget is who he is: a peaceful man, who loves his son far too much to kill Ricardo Arias.’
One by one, Caroline met each juror’s eyes, renewing their compact. ‘This prosecution,’ she finished simply, ‘makes no sense. In the end, if nothing else, you will know at least that much.’
As Caroline sat, Paget realized that her words had touched him. But there were two things Caroline had not done and could not do: directly challenge Salinas’s circumstantial evidence, or promise that Christopher Paget would explain it.
In the jury box, Joseph Duarte wrote feverishly.
‘You look preoccupied,’ Denise Harris said.
Terri nodded. ‘I am.’
It was a little past one; shortly before Terri had come here, Chris had called her from a pay phone at the courthouse. The phone booth had been surrounded by reporters, and Chris could say little: all that she could make out, less from his words than from his tone, was that Salinas’s opening statement had shaken him. It seemed to her that her life now consisted of waiting for other women to do her job – for Caroline Masters to salvage Chris and for Harris to penetrate Elena’s shell.
Eyes of a Child Page 35