Litigants and barristers wearing expensive designer suits haggled in the hallways, but all I owned was my plain navy cotton school slacks, a white button-down shirt, and a too-heavy navy blue cardigan that I'd dug out of my winter clothing in the barn. I prayed Mrs. Hastings had gotten hold of Adam's solicitor to warn him I was being hauled into court to betray him.
Not betray … all you have to do is tell the truth.
Maynor Jackson's handlers were unfailingly polite, but each gripped an elbow as though they feared I would rear up and bolt. They opened an enormous pair of wooden doors and led me into the lushest courtroom I had ever seen, with a coffered ceiling and intricate molding, the kind of courtroom you see on a police procedural television show. It bore the muted scent of old leather and power, but no amount of air conditioning could mask the aura of intimidation which reminded me of the scent of horses up for bid. Lined up like spectators surrounding the kill pen, curiosity-seekers and the media filled the benches, waving their portable recording devices like bid numbers, each of them eager to pick the carcass of Adam's dead marriage and sell their meaty stories to the highest bidder.
I searched for Adam, but the handlers made me slide into a bench at the very back of the courtroom while the other strode forward to whisper over the railing to a big, dark grizzly bear of a man the same approximate height and build as Randy Evans, only this wildcatter had allowed his weight to go to paunch. The grand dogger himself turned and looked at me with contempt.
Maynor Jackson. Billionaire. Oilman. Eva Jackson's father.
I forced myself to lift my chin and meet his gaze even though I wanted to faint. Yeah, I'm scared of you, you old bastard. But that doesn't mean I'll let you lead me on to slaughter.
The judge sat up in his elevated perch, wearing the black robes, powdered wig and jabot that signaled his authority to bring down his gavel and declare "Justice … sold to the highest bidder!' I knew better than to tick the judge off by leaping up and shouting 'Adam,' so I sat down like a docile little mare and bit my lip.
To the left of the judge, my old Psychology of the Gifted Child professor, Roberta Dingle, sat in the kill pen, dressed up for auction wearing the finest designer suit. In front of her paced a slender man wearing a barrister's robe and wig who reminded me a bit of a greyhound racing dog. He droned on and on in a sing-song voice, asking innocuous-sounding questions such as how many cases she'd investigated, how many times she'd ruled for a father instead of a mother, and how much experience she had investigating cases where the mother possessed a mental illness. It didn't take me long to figure out the barrister was part of Adam's legal team.
"Ms. Dingle, you knew Eva Jackson as a kid, didn't you?"
"Yes."
"How did you meet her?"
"We both attended the same primary school together."
"Did you see each other often?"
"Yes. My father worked for Maynor Jackson."
"And did your friendship continue beyond grammar school?"
"Yes. We were both roommates at the Geelong Grammar School."
Holy shit. Adam is going after her…
"Did your parents pay for your tuition at this exclusive boarding school?"
"No."
"Who did?"
"I got a scholarship."
"And who donated that scholarship?"
"Jackson Oil Company."
"And did your friendship with Eva Jackson continue after you both graduated secondary school?"
"Yes."
"In what way?"
"We were roommates in college."
Holy shyte! Adam had said Professor Dingle and Eva were friends. But this was more than friends. This was freaking BFF pinky-swear forever friends! And Adam had agreed to let Roberta decide where Pippa would live? The barrister kept at her, trying to get Roberta to spook.
"Who paid for your university tuition?"
To her credit, Roberta Dingle did not flinch.
"I won another scholarship."
"What is the name of that scholarship?"
"The Jackson Oil Company Merit Scholarship."
"And how many students has that scholarship been awarded to over the years?"
"Just once. To me."
The questions droned on and on about how Pippa acted when Roberta had first been assigned her case, her meetings with both Adam and Eva, and lots of questions about Pippa's best interests. At last Adam's barrister got to the question which would seal her bid as a valuable saddle horse, or just some broken-down old mare whose testimony was worth little more than dog food.
"Ms. Dingle, given all you now know about recent events between the defendant wife and her daughter Pippa, is it still your recommendation this court order the husband to uproot Pippa from the home she's lived in for the past year, abandon her friends, and relocate back to Brisbane where she'd had a nervous breakdown while under the care of the defendant mother?"
Roberta Dingle looked to where I assumed Adam sat, her expression apologetic. She phrased her next words very carefully.
"My recommendation is that Pippa live with Adam Bristow, but live close enough to her mother so Eva can visit her as often as she likes."
"I have no further questions," Adam's barrister said.
Going, going, gone… Sold to the man from Caboolture Stockyards. Adam's barrister just put a bullet through the brain of Robert Dingle's credibility.
Why didn't I feel a sense of victory?
"Thank you, Ms. Dingle," the judge said. "You may step down." He scribbled down some notes, and then he looked from one party's table to the other. "Do you have any further witnesses?"
A tall, black-robed man with a white powdered wig stood up from the chair next to Maynor Jackson. He was tall, and gangly, with a fake orange suntan which can only come from a tanning-bed, serpentine eyes, and a cruel slash of a mouth that twisted up into a sardonic sneer. It was striking how much he looked like the Troll-Knacker from Truganina Abattoir, the one who'd told Pippa he'd skin Luna alive. Cold chills clawed up my spinal column before the bastard even called my name.
"The wife calls Rosamond Xalbadora."
Adam stood up; a tall, golden, stallion, breathtakingly professional looking in his navy designer suit. I rose to my feet, hemmed in by the two pinstripe-clad goon handlers, and walked up the chute into the auction ring where a judge would decide my fate. Adam looked worried, but not surprised. Linda Hastings must have tracked him down before Maynor's goons had driven me here from Nutyoon.
"Adam." I shot him a look that said 'please help me.'
"It's okay, Rosie," Adam said. "Just tell the truth."
The fop-wigged barrister shot me a false smile that, while he had all of his teeth, still reminded me of the Troll-Knacker's rotted maw. He directed me to sit in the kill pen and raise my right hand. I glanced over to where Eva Jackson sat looking beautiful and professional, a coy smirk playing upon her lips, while her father sat at her back, literally, with the best legal counsel money could buy. A magistrate stepped forward and asked me to put my hand on the bible.
"Rosamond Xalbadora, do you swear that the testimony you're about to give is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"
My voice warbled. "I swear."
I closed my eyes and focused on something my Gitano grandmother had once said, terrifying old witch that she was. Clear your mind. A gypsy uses senses beyond the normal five to anticipate the other person's move. Watch carefully and listen to your intuition.
I leaned back and crossed my arms, tapping my finger on my bicep as if to tell Eva's barrister to 'bring it on.' For two years my parents had savaged one another in court, and they'd put me in the kill box many times to tear each other down and make the other parent bleed. But I had learned a thing or two about how to handle myself in the auction ring they called court. No matter how painfully they poke you, don't spook.
"Miss Xalbadora," Eva's barrister's mouth parted in an insincere grin. "Isn't it true you have a prior juvenile record
?"
I gave the brown snake my sweetest smile.
"That's a leading question, Sir. And since you subpoenaed me here today, that means I'm your witness."
First point … mine.
Adam's barrister jumped up. "Objection."
"Basis?" the judge asked.
"Leading."
"Sustained."
I gave Adam's barrister a grim look. You'd better be a lot quicker on the draw than -that- buddy, because Eva's barrister intends to eviscerate me.
"I'd like to draw your attention to…"
I crossed my hands in my lap, real docile-like, and said yes, no, or I can't recall to every single date Eva's barrister rattled off. One by one, he read through the entire roster of how many times my mother had hauled me into juvenile court and tried to draw out of me why. After a while, he began to realize he couldn't spook me into volunteering any information, trying to explain or defend myself so he could trip me up. His body language shifted from the fake congeniality all knackers use to herd an animal into the kill pen and became more agitated, angrier, his questions more brutal, which gave Adam's barrister opportunities to object. I pictured the pretty little palomino pony who'd escaped the doggers. The angrier Eva's barrister got, the more sweetly I smiled and acted like a docile, well-behaved mare.
"Your honor," Eva's barrister finally sneered. "I request permission to treat Miss Xalbadora as a hostile witness?"
"We object, Your Honor," Adam's barrister said. "Miss Xalbadora has answered truthfully every single question the defendant has asked. It's not our fault they didn't bother preparing their own witness. The burden lies with them."
Good boy. Now you've got the idea.
I glanced at Eva, who picked at her bright red fingernails, thoroughly bored, and smirked. The Black Widow had no idea I was leading her attack dog on a merry chase.
"Overruled," the judge said. "She's your witness, counselor. You know the rules of evidentiary procedure."
Eva's barrister finished running backwards through the rest of my juvenile runaway arrest dates. Finally he asked the question which was the only one the court might care about. My heart beat faster and my stomach clenched in terror. This was it. The kill-shot.
"I'd like to focus on the events of Thursday, April 2nd, 2006. Can you tell us what happened that day?"
I glanced at the two goons who'd subpoenaed me here as they furiously scribbled down tiny tidbits of questions designed to pry out of me yes/no answers. That Gitano sense of knowing whispered the idiots couldn't possibly have listened to the trial transcripts of the hearing where the juvenile judge had dismissed the charges for assault and battery. I met Adam's gaze. His blue-green eyes were filled with sympathy. He nodded. Tell them…
I looked not at Eva's barrister, but the judge.
"Your Honor, on the afternoon of Thursday, April 2nd, I walked into the stable just as some total stranger lifted a shotgun to my world champion dressage horse's head and blew his brains out. I was sixteen years old. I had no idea what was going on, only that my horse lay on the ground, screaming in agony as a bunch of strangers hit him with a shovel and then aimed the shotgun at him a second time. I thought they were robbers, so I picked up a pitchfork and stabbed the man with the shotgun in the leg."
"Objection!" Eva's barrister lunged at me.
The bailiff stepped between us. "Step back, sir!"
The judge looked at Eva's barrister, a flash of anger in his eyes.
"You object?" the judge asked. "On what basis?"
"Move to strike. She was supposed to answer the question yes or no."
The judge shot up one eyebrow and looked to Adam's barrister.
"She's his witness. It's not our fault if they didn't take the time to find out what their witness was going to say. We knew. It's right there in the audio-recording of the juvenile court trial you unsealed which the juvenile judge referenced when he dismissed the charges."
Adam tried to keep his expression neutral, but from the small smile which played upon his lips, I knew he was proud of me.
The judge's expression was grim.
"Objection overruled."
Eva's barrister sputtered. He'd failed to spook me, and then when he'd tried to make his kill shot, I'd danced away like a champion show horse, not some unhandled mare bound for slaughter.
"We request the right to cross examine?" Adam's barrister said.
"I'll allow it," the judge said.
Eva's barrister sat down amongst the bored stare of Eva Jackson and the irritated glare of Maynor Jackson, who'd litigated enough cases to grasp I'd out-maneuvered them. Adam's barrister was built like a greyhound, average height and thin, with a pointy nose and quick eyes. It was his job to make me dance like a Gitano gypsy pony and reveal the awful truth I'd avoided thinking about for the past six years.
"Miss Xalbadora," Adam's barrister said. "I would like to take you back to the day your champion show horse was killed in front of you. Could you please tell the court what happened?"
I took a deep breath. Even after all these years, it still kicked me in the chest and made it hard to breathe. But until I cleansed this infection from my past, it put Adam and Pippa at risk. It was time to lance the wound.
"My parents went through a bitter divorce," I said. "When my mother was unable to convince me to tell the judge I wanted to live with her, she got the court to declare my horse was a joint marital asset. After the court gave her Harvey, she told me if I didn't come live with her she'd sell him for dog-food, so I went to live with her."
"Objection!" Eva's barrister said.
"Basis?" the judge said.
"Relevance?"
"The witness is setting the stage," Adam's barrister said.
"Overruled."
"Go on, Miss Xalbadora," Adam's barrister said. "Tell us what happened the day your horse was killed?"
My lip trembled.
"The minute my father moved back to Spain, my mother tried to force me to sell Harvey, but I told her I'd run away, so she made me get a job at the riding stable mucking out the stalls. I think she thought I'd get sick of it and quit, but I didn't mind working. Every day, as soon as I got out of school, I worked until the sun set, and then I'd get to ride Harvey through his paces. The other people at the stable took pity on me because Harvey was really good, so they chipped in for my competition fees until I qualified for the Elite Team."
I stared at my hands.
"Had Harvey not been killed, I would have gone to the Olympics."
"Go on," Adam's barrister said.
"One day I got a real bad feeling while I was at school." I made eye contact with the judge. "You ever get a feeling like that? You just know in your gut that something is wrong?"
The judge nodded.
"I cut my last two classes and took the city bus to get to the riding stable early. Just as I walked into the barn, I heard my horse whinny as if he was afraid, so I ran towards him, and then…"
I grimaced and wiped the tears from my cheeks.
"…and then, I heard a gunshot. I ran out and saw … I saw … Harvey … fall … onto this big, blue tarp they'd spread out onto the ground, the kind you buy at Mitre-10?"
I held out my hand, seeing that blue tarp in my mind. My face screwed up in horror as I relived the agony of that day.
"They say when you put a horse down, he doesn't feel it. But that's a goddamned lie, because when Harvey fell, he wasn't dead. He kept kicking and screaming, and screaming, and screaming, and there was so much blood spurting onto that big blue tarp. And then the men, I didn't know who they were or why they'd just hurt my horse, they picked up a shovel and hit at Harvey's legs so he couldn't get back up again and shouted for the man with the gun to shoot him again. So I grabbed a pitchfork that was sticking out of a bale of hay and stabbed the man with the shotgun in the leg."
My voice choked up. But I had to tell my tale. I had to. I had to tell it for Pippa's sake. I looked at Adam, and I could see that his eyes filled with tears as well.
"The other men, they grabbed me and got the pitchfork out of my hands, but Harvey, he kept on screaming and trying to get back up. So they took the shotgun and aimed it at Harvey's head, right here…"
I pointed to my head, right behind my ear.
"…and pulled the trigger."
I stared up at the coffered ceiling, unable to breathe because it felt like my chest had been crushed in a vice. But I had to go on. I had to tell my story because the next question would be, 'why did you help Pippa rescue a pony?' I wiped my cheeks with the back of my hand.
"After that, Harvey stopped screaming. But he kept on twitching because it takes a long time after they blow your brains out for your body to get the message that you're dead."
"Why did the men shoot your horse, Miss Xalbadora?" Adam's barrister asked gently.
"Nobody told me until after the police came that my horse had taken a colic and the stable owner called the vet. My mother was furious about the vet bill, so she said she hadn't authorized it and ordered the vet to go home so she didn't have to pay him. Then she found a local butcher who was willing to shoot my horse in the head for free and cut him up into steaks so she wouldn't have to pay to have him euthanized and buried!"
I bent over, sobbing.
"Sometimes, when a horse is really sick, the vet will come up behind them and shoot them in the ear because it kills them instantly and they never see it coming. Only the butcher, he was a cattle butcher, not a veterinarian, so he didn't know what he was doing!"
I crossed my arms and clutched at my sweater, unable to prevent the pain from pouring out. But I had to tell my story, because if I didn't, Eva would do the exact same thing to Pippa's pony.
"Every person in that stable would have given me the money to help the vet fix Harvey," I wept. "It wasn't that serious. He'd eaten some sand and needed surgery to fix it. $1,500 dollars, tops. But my mother hated that horse, because she hated my father for leaving her. So she killed him…"
I jabbed my finger up at the judge.
The Auction a Romance by Anna Erishkigal Page 48