She had not personally met Christopher Flynn, Ann Chase concluded, but she had heard of him.
When Charter finished his direct examination, Ann looked smoothly at Judith without anxiety, even waiting calmly while Judith jotted notes.
Judith stood. She tugged the back of her jacket and stood at her place. “Hello,” she said.
A wary nod.
“I’m Judith Friedman. We’ve met before, though I don’t think we were formally introduced.”
That day at the mill, Naomi thought. Clearly Judith hoped to unnerve Ann with the memory.
Ann pursed her lips.
“You stated your name”—Judith smiled—“as Mrs. Whit Chase.” Her voice was warm. Alarmingly warm, Naomi thought, looking quickly at her. “Would it be all right if I called you Whit?”
“I …” Ann’s composure drained immediately. “No. My husband. My husband’s name is Whit.”
“Oh, but you said …” Judith stumbled carefully. “I don’t understand. Do you have a first name of your own?”
“Ann,” said Ann Chase. “My name is Ann.”
“Oh,” Judith said. “I’m sorry. I was confused. Well, may I call you Ann?” Ann Chase clearly wished to say no, but instead she nodded.
“That’s fine.”
“Good. Ann. Now”—she made a show of shuffling her papers—“I’ve been listening carefully to your testimony, and I’m not sure I understand exactly why you’re here today. Am I right in thinking that you have no direct knowledge that bears on the deaths of these two infants?”
It took her a moment to work through the syntax. Then she took umbrage. “You are not right. I know what I know.”
“But what is that, Ann?” Judith said sweetly. “Your testimony has been wholly about what you considered to be Heather’s sexual misbehavior. I never heard you even mention the two infants whose deaths are at issue in this trial. Am I wrong about that?”
“Well.” She was thinking through her response. “It may be that my only eyewitness account was of her taking off her clothes and messing around with a married man, but I think that has something to do with the babies. If you don’t …” She shrugged dramatically and rolled her eyes.
“Did Heather confide relevant information to you?” Judith pressed.
“Of course not,” Ann said, offended.
“She never said, ‘Ann, because we’re friends or acquaintances, I want to unburden myself to you and tell you what is happening in my life’?”
“No.” She shook her head to dislodge the disagreeable thought.
“Oh, but then you must have seen her do something to these babies, with your own eyes. And so you’re here to tell us what you saw.”
“Did I say that?” Ann sneered. “Did you hear me say that?”
“No, Ann,” Judith said solemnly. “What I heard you say was that you did not like Heather. You did not approve of her choice of lover or her behavior with that lover. But you see, I can’t for the life of me figure out what your opinion of Heather’s personal life has to do with two dead babies. I’m just completely at a loss, and I need you to help me. That’s all.”
“Which part don’t you understand?” Ann said cruelly. “The part about her running around with a married man and taking off her clothes in public or the part about her having babies out of wedlock and expecting that to be just super fine with everybody?”
“Ah,” Judith said happily. “I’m glad you brought this up, because I’d like to look more carefully at these things, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind,” Ann said smugly, gearing up to vent again.
“I take it you disapproved of the fact that Heather and Ashley had a physical, sexual relationship.”
“Certainly.” She nodded. “It was disgusting.”
“You must have been forced to witness many lewd acts, I suppose. For example, actual intercourse between Heather and Ashley?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. They wouldn’t do it in front of me!”
“No?” Judith said. “Well, perhaps you saw them fondle each other. Did you see that?”
“No.” She was catching on, and naturally she didn’t like it.
“Well, you must have seen them kiss, I suppose.” She waited a beat. “You never even saw them kiss?”
Ann, tense, remained silent.
“What about hand-holding?”
Her timing, Naomi thought, was matchless.
“Did you ever even see them speak to each other?”
Now Ann wasn’t talking on principle. She sat, petulant, in her seat, her arms crossed. At this point Judith calmly asked Judge Hayes to request that the witness answer. To Ann’s immense displeasure, he did so.
“I never saw those things,” she spat. “All right?”
“Well, sure.” Judith frowned. “But then how exactly did Ashley and Heather flaunt their sexual relationship in front of you? I mean, from what you describe, they sound as if they were pretty discreet about their activities.”
“They would go off in the woods!” Ann shouted. “They didn’t do it where anybody could see.”
“Now how”—Judith smiled—“could you possibly know that?” She waited for the answer she knew wouldn’t come. “Did you follow Ashley and Heather into the woods, Ann?”
“There was a group,” she said, haughty but newly uncertain.
“I don’t care about a group,” Judith instructed sternly. She held out her hands, the palms up. “There is no group here. You’ve come forward voluntarily to lend the weight of your own testimony—your own evidence—to the serious charges against Heather. I’m interested in you.”
“Fine.” Ann jerked her head. Her red cheeks were flushed even deeper than usual. “That’s fine.”
“So you followed Ashley and Heather into the woods.”
“There were—” She stopped herself and gave Judith a bitter look. “I did. Sure.”
“Do you recall the date of this event?”
“Last January. I don’t know the date.”
“Could it have been January the sixteenth?”
She shrugged. “Could have been.”
“And whose idea was it to drive out after Ashley and Heather?”
“Sue’s idea,” Ann said. “His wife’s.”
“Did you walk or did you drive your car?”
“I drove.”
“Did you wait to see which way Ashley’s car was going and then follow it?”
“I guess,” she said tersely.
“And what was the route you followed?”
Ann frowned. “Along the Sabbathday River, past Nate’s Landing. There was a logging road.”
“Was it a long drive?” Judith voice was vaguely sympathetic.
“Not too long.”
“And how far back in the woods?”
“‘Bout a quarter mile. Their car was parked.”
“Was it light out, Ann?” Judith asked.
“No. It was dark.”
“And were there lights on inside Ashley’s car?”
“No.” Then, unable to resist: “They didn’t need any lights for what they were doing!”
Judith smiled at this unanticipated tidbit. “But how could you see what they were doing, Ann? By your own account it was dark out and dark inside the car.”
“I had a flashlight!”
Judith looked studiously amazed. “You had a flashlight? You went up to this car, in the darkness, in the woods, and shone a flashlight in it?”
She was enraged. “You’re making it sound worse than it was! You make out it was me doing something wrong. You don’t care about what they were doing!” she yelled.
Naomi looked reflexively at the jury, as she did whenever there was some outburst. Her favorite juror, she was pleased to note, looked downright embarrassed.
“But that’s just my point, Ann,” Judith said kindly. “I don’t care what they were doing. It’s none of my business what those two consenting adults were doing in their car, in the woods after dark. What I do
n’t understand is why you cared.”
She waited for an answer, knowing there wouldn’t be one.
“Is it possible that you got in your car on a winter’s night and followed this young couple along a snowy, remote road into the woods, and then took out your flashlight and approached their car, because after eighteen months of what you considered a public affair, you wanted to see it with your own eyes?”
“That’s absolutely revolting!” Ann said. “I resent that!”
“After all,” Judith went on, impervious, “this wanton affair had been going on and on. You knew it had to be a sexual affair, because people said so, and because there had been a baby. Polly. But you’d never actually seen any action, had you?”
“I’m not going to answer that!” she yelped.
“So when you took your flashlight and approached their car, weren’t you hoping you’d get to see an actual, carnal act? Something you considered obscene? Something you could tell your friends about? You were hoping to see some skin, weren’t you, Ann?”
“I did see some skin!” Ann objected. “Like I said. This girl couldn’t keep her clothes on. I told you—she got undressed on my own porch, for God’s sake!”
“Ah yes.” Judith switched gears. “The public nudity. This was”—she bent forward over the table to consult her notes—“October of 1984. A few months before you and your group followed Heather and Ashley into the woods, with your flashlights. Is that correct?”
She set her jaw. “The date’s correct,” Ann said stiffly, on her toes again.
“Now, when you described the incident a few minutes ago, for Mr. Charter, you said the porch of your store was full of customers—mostly tourists, by your account—and you suddenly saw Heather begin to strip. You said … you know,” Judith considered, “I can’t quite recall the exact words. Could we have them read back, your honor?”
The court reporter, a thin man with scurrying, arachnid fingers, found the place and read: “Answer: ‘Next thing I saw, she had her shirt unbuttoned and her breasts hanging out. I asked her to button up her shirt, but she wouldn’t.’
“Question: ‘Did you remind Miss Pratt that she was on your property, and that you were requesting she button up her shirt?’
“Answer: ‘Sure, I did. But she wouldn’t do it. I suppose she didn’t see anything wrong with it.’”
“Thanks,” Judith told the court reporter. She turned back to Ann. “You used the word ‘breasts.’ Is that right?”
Ann looked at her as if she were a moron. “Sure, it’s right.”
“Breasts, plural. Two breasts.”
“Well”—she was livid—“I saw one.”
“One breast? Not two breasts?”
“What difference does it make!” Ann spat.
“Ann,” Judith said, “you know perfectly well what difference it makes. You know, though you chose not to tell this jury, that Heather was not, in fact, stripping off her clothes in order to exhibit herself to the general populace, but was preparing to nurse her infant daughter, Polly.”
“How do I know what she was doing?” Ann retorted.
“Well, might you have inferred that a woman with an infant in her arms, who is unbuttoning her blouse, is just possibly preparing to nurse her child?”
“Listen, I don’t give a damn what she thought she was doing. She was taking off her clothes!”
“Really?” Judith asked. “Her pants? Her shoes? Or was she just unbuttoning her blouse?”
“Just the blouse, that I saw. Who knows where she might have stopped.”
“Do you have children, Ann?” Judith said, her voice suddenly softer and more intimate.
Ann looked at her with intense dislike. “Four. They’re grown now.”
“Did you breast-feed your own children?”
“I don’t see that’s any of your business!” Ann objected. She looked to Charter for help.
“Well, it seems to me that if you had nursed your own children you might have recognized the gesture Heather was making. So I ask you again: Did you breast-feed your own children?”
“Certainly not. All mine got the bottle. They got formula.”
Judith walked over to her for the first time. Ann watched her approach with something like wary repulsion. When she neared the witness box, she placed a friendly elbow on the railing.
“How do you feel about breast-feeding, Ann?”
She squared her shoulders. “It’s fine. If you can’t afford the formula, it’s fine.”
“So formula is better than breast-feeding?”
“It’s cleaner. It’s scientifically better.”
“You know,” Judith said kindly, “I think most mothers—and most doctors—felt that way during the time your children were young. Yet many women today who have the option to do either actually prefer to breast-feed their babies.”
Another jerked shrug. “Why would someone do it if you could do what was cleaner? Only to make a display of yourself!”
“Someone might do it for the same reason you fed your own children with formula: because they believed it was the best thing for the baby. Are you aware, Ann, that most doctors today feel that breast-feeding is, in fact, healthier for the baby than bottle-feeding? Perhaps Heather was following the best advice available to her, just as you followed the best advice available to you when you were a young mother.”
“I hope you’re not comparing me to her! I don’t give a good goddamn what she does. I care where she does it.”
“I’m well aware of that. After all, didn’t you try to have Heather arrested for nursing her baby on your porch that day?”
“She was taking her clothes off!”
“She was nursing her baby, Ann. And it offended you so much that you called the police.”
“Hey,” Ann shouted. “I have a right to say what goes on on my own porch!”
“Without question,” Judith said soothingly. “You could have gone over to Heather and suggested she move inside. You could have offered her a private room inside the shop where she could have fed her hungry child in warmth and quiet. Or you could have just told her the truth: that nursing in public made you uncomfortable and you’d be very grateful if she could find somewhere else to do it.” Judith paused. “But for whatever reason, you felt unable to do those things. Instead, you called the police.”
“I had a right to do it.” Ann held her ground.
“And you encouraged Nelson Erroll, the sheriff who responded, to arrest Heather on a public-indecency charge, even though you were well aware that Heather was only attempting to feed her child.”
“Like I said, I—”
“Had a right,” Judith said fiercely. “Yes, I think we know about your right, Ann. I’d like to move on now.”
She was so commanding, Naomi thought. She played it as if Ann were a fish on her line: a strong and pigheaded fish, but stupid. “You gave your place of employment as Tom and Whit’s, the general store. Is that correct?”
“It’s where I work,” she confirmed. “With my husband. Have done for years.”
“But you had a second line of work, didn’t you? Until recently, that is.”
“Only part-time,” she said grudgingly.
“And what was that?” Judith asked. “This part-time work?”
“At Naomi’s place,” Ann told her. “The collective.”
“Oh, you worked for Flourish. That’s where Heather Pratt worked, isn’t it?”
Ann gave her a dark look. “Last couple of years, she did.”
“And did you do the same kind of work there as Heather Pratt?”
“No.” She bristled at even this comparison. “I made rugs.”
“Hooked rugs?”
“Yes.” A quick, brutal glance at Naomi. “I was very good at it.”
“I’m sure you were,” Judith said disingenuously. “And how long did you work for Flourish, Ann?”
“From the beginning. Since before it was even a business.”
“That would be about nin
e years?”
“I guess,” she said.
“But you no longer work for Flourish.”
“I said so,” Ann said tightly. “I quit.”
“Did you, now?” Judith said, delighted at this unexpected boon. “And why would you quit suddenly, after nine years?”
“Needed a change.” She shrugged, evasive.
“Is that the truth, Ann?” Judith stood with her hands easy on her hips. She looked maternal, almost, a kind of 1950s-sitcom maternal, with her features gentle and her voice full of loving authority. “Is that what really happened?” And Ann filled the role of the chastened child. Arms folded, she pouted in her seat. “Isn’t it true that you were actually fired from the job you had held for nearly a decade? Isn’t it true that you were asked to leave by Naomi Roth, because your tirades against your co-worker Heather Pratt had become intolerable?”
“You’ll have to ask her.” Ann jerked her head at Naomi. “She’s the boss, after all, for all her fancy talk about communes.”
“Well,” Judith seemed to consider, “we can do that. We can recall Naomi to the witness stand and ask her what drove her to fire one of her most accomplished rug hookers and most faithful employees. I’m sure Naomi has her own take on the question. You know, employer and employee rarely see these things the same way …”
She went on. She dug and needled and punished and pretended to cajole. Naomi, who could not believe she was actually enjoying herself, sat stiffly on her hands, waiting for it to end but hoping it might last just a little longer as the successive Ann Chases were laid bare: a peeping Tom with flashlight in hand, a pathological prude unable to countenance the sight of a woman’s breast in a baby’s mouth, a gossip, a snoop, a fellow worker who refused to be civil … It was a bloodbath.
Just before lunch, Ann Chase was asked again about Christopher Flynn.
“I said I didn’t know him,” she retorted, but feebly.
“No. You said you had not met him but that you had heard of him.”
“Sure. Fine.”
“So my question is, from whom did you hear of Christopher Flynn?”
“I don’t know,” said Anne wearily. “Everybody was talking about him. And Mr. Charter asked me if I knew the man.”
“I see.” Judith nodded. “And of all these people who were talking about Christopher Flynn, did anyone say that they had actually met him?”
The Sabbathday River Page 40