“Miss Burton, I asked if Mr. Clarke hurt you very much.”
“Yes. Very much. I … he … he didn’t care about me. He just … he just …” The tears flowed slowly down her face and it was as though she were talking about someone else, not Ian, not a total stranger who had raped her. Why would he care about her if he were raping her? “He didn’t care if I got pregnant, or … or anything. He just … just left.” And now the tears turned to anger again. “I know this type, they play with poor girls like me! Girls with no money, no fancy family, and then they … they do what he did … they leave …” Her voice sank back to a whisper then as she looked blindly into her lap. “He left, and went back to her.”
“Who?” The judge looked confused, and Miss Burton looked up again, with a slightly dazed look on her face. “Who did he go back to?”
“His wife.” She said it very plainly, but without looking at Jessica.
“Miss Burton, did you know Mr. Clarke from somewhere, from before this? Had you ever been romantically involved with him before?” So the judge had also picked up on that—a faint suggestion that Ian was not a stranger after all.
“No. Never.”
“Then how did you know about his wife?”
“He looked married. And anyway, he told me.”
“I see. And he just left you at the hotel afterward?” She nodded again. “What did you do then? Call the police? Go to a doctor? Call a cab?”
“No. I walked for a while. I felt confused. And then I went home and washed up. I felt awful” Now she was believable again.
“Did you see a doctor?”
“After I called the police.”
“And when did you do that? It wasn’t immediately, was it?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I was scared. I had to think about it.”
“And you’re sure of your story, now, Miss Burton? This is the whole truth? The story you originally told the police was a little different from this, wasn’t it?”
“I don’t know what I told them then. I was confused. But this is the truth now.”
“You’re under oath now, Miss Burton, so I hope this is the truth.”
“It is.” She nodded expressionlessly, her eyes dead.
“There’s nothing you want to change?”
“No.”
“And you’re certain that this was not a misunderstanding, an afternoon fling that went sour?” And then suddenly the hatred blazed up in her eyes again, and she squeezed them tightly shut.
“He ruined my life.” She hissed the words into the silent room.
“All right, Miss Burton. Thank you. Mr. Schwartz, any questions?”
“Only a few, Your Honor. And I’ll be quick. Miss Burton, has anything similar ever happened to you before?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, have you ever been raped, even in fun, as a sort of game, by a lover, a boyfriend, a husband?”
“Of course not.” She looked incensed.
“Have you ever been married?”
“No.”
“Engaged?”
“No.” Again there was no hesitation.
“No broken engagements?”
“No.”
“Any serious, broken-off loves?”
“None.”
“A boyfriend now?”
“No.”
“Thank you, Miss Burton. What about romantic interludes? Have you ever picked up a stranger before?”
“No.”
“Then you agree that you picked up Mr. Clarke?”
“No! I … he offered me a ride, and …”
“And you accepted, even though you didn’t know him. Does that seem wise to you, in a city like San Francisco?” His tone was politely concerned, and Margaret Burton looked angry and confused.
“No, I … it … no, I’ve never picked anyone up before. And I just thought that … he looked like he was okay.”
“What do you mean by okay, Miss Burton? He was drunk, wasn’t he?”
“A little tiddly maybe, but not bombed. And he looked, well … like a nice guy.”
“You mean rich? Or fancy? Or what? Like a Harvard grad?”
“I don’t know. He just looked clean-cut.”
“And handsome? Do you think he’s handsome?”
“I don’t know.” She was looking at her lap.
“Did you think he’d get involved with you, maybe? Fall in love? That’s a fair assumption. You’re a nice-looking woman, why not? A hot summer day, a good-looking guy, a lonely woman … how old are you, Miss Burton?”
“Thirty-one.” But she’d fumbled.
“You told the police thirty. Isn’t it more like thirty-eight? Isn’t it just possible that—”
“Objection!” The district attorney was on her feet, her face furious, and the judge nodded.
“Sustained. Mr. Schwartz, this is not a trial, and you might as well save the pressure tactics for later. Miss Burton, you don’t have to answer that. Are you almost through, Mr. Schwartz?”
“Almost, Your Honor. Miss Burton, what were you wearing on the day of your encounter with Mr. Clarke?”
“What was I wearing?” She looked nervous and confused. He had been pelting her with difficult questions. “I … I don’t know … I …”
“Was it something like what you have on now? A suit? Or something lighter, more revealing? Something sexy, maybe?” The prosecuting attorney was frowning fiercely again, and Jessica was beginning to enjoy the situation. She liked Martin’s style. Even Ian looked intrigued, almost pleased.
“I … I don’t know. I guess I must have worn a summer dress.”
“Like what? Something low-cut?”
“No. I don’t wear things like that.”
“Are you sure, Miss Burton? Mr. Clarke says you were wearing a very short, low-cut pink dress, with a hat—were you wearing that same hat? It’s a very nice hat.” Suddenly she was torn between the compliment and the implication.
“I don’t wear pink.”
“But the hat is pink, isn’t it?”
“It’s more a kind of neutral color, more like beige.” But there was a pinkish cast to it. That was obvious to all.
“I see. And what about the dress? Did that have a kind of beige cast to it too?”
“I don’t know.”
“All right. Do you go to Enrico’s often?”
“No, I’ve been just a couple of times. But I’ve walked by it.”
“Had you seen Mr. Clarke there before?”
“No. I don’t remember seeing him.” She was regaining her composure. These questions were easy.
“Why did you tell him you were a topless waitress on Broadway?”
“I never told him that.” Now she was angry again, and Martin nodded, looking almost preoccupied.
“All right, thank you, Miss Burton. Thank you, Your Honor.”
The judge looked questioningly at the assistant district attorney, who shook her head. She had nothing to add. He indicated that Margaret Burton could step down, then spoke the words Jessica had dreaded. “Mr. Clarke, please take the stand.”
Ian and Margaret Burton passed inches from each other, their faces without expression. Only moments before, she had said that he had ruined her life, yet now she looked right through him. Jessica felt more confused than ever by the woman.
The oath was administered, and the judge looked over his glasses at Ian.
“Mr. Clarke, would you please give us your account of what happened?” The judge looked excessively bored as Ian launched into his version of that day’s events. The lunch, the drinks, picking her up, the seductive way she was dressed, her story about being a topless waitress, the drive to Market Street to an address she had given him but which he could no longer remember. And finally her invitation to her room, where they had had a drink and made love.
“Whose room was it?”
“I don’t know. I assumed it was hers. But it was kind of empty. I don’t know. I’d ha
d a lot to drink at lunch, and I wasn’t thinking very clearly.”
“But clearly enough to go upstairs with Miss Burton?”
Ian flushed. He felt like an errant schoolboy called to the principal’s office … Ian, did you look up Maggie’s dress? Tsk, tsk, tsk! But it wasn’t like that at all. The stakes were too high for this to be child’s play.
“My wife was away, and had been for three weeks.” Jessie’s heart was pounding again. Was it supposed to be her fault, then? Was that the implication? Was that what he thought, what he wanted her to feel? She was responsible for his feelings of inadequacy?
“And what happened after it was all over?”
“I left.”
“Just like that? Did you intend to sec Miss Burton again?” Ian shook his head.
“No. I didn’t intend to see her again. I felt guilty as hell for what had already happened.” Martin was frowning at his answer and Jessie cringed. The judge had picked up on it too.
“Guilty?”
“I mean, because of my wife. I don’t usually do that sort of thing.”
“What sort of thing, Mr. Clarke? Rape?”
“No, for God’s sake, I didn’t rape her!” He had bellowed his denial and small beads of sweat were glistening on his forehead. “I mean, I felt guilty for cheating on my wife.”
“But you did force Miss Burton upstairs at the hotel?”
“I did not. She took me upstairs. It was her room, not mine. She invited me up.”
“What for?”
“A drink. And probably for exactly what she got.”
“Then why do you suppose she claims you raped her?”
“I don’t know.” Ian looked blank and exhausted, and the judge shook his head and looked around the room.
“Ladies and gentlemen, neither do I. The purpose of this hearing is to determine if there was a misunderstanding afoot, if the problem is one that can be simply resolved here and now, to determine in effect if a rape did take place, and if the case merits further judicial attention. It is my job to decide to dismiss the action or send it on to a higher court to be tried. In order for me to make the decision to dismiss the action, I have to feel quite certain that this was clearly not a rape.
“In the event that I am unable to decide, that the matter is not clear, then I have no choice but to send it on to a higher court, and possibly to a jury, to decide. And it would appear that this is no simple matter before us now. The stories of the two parties are widely divergent. Miss Burton says rape, Mr. Clarke says not. There is no evidence in either direction. So I am afraid this matter will have to be handled by a higher court, and presumably given a jury trial. We cannot simply dismiss the matter. Serious allegations have been made. I move that the matter be referred to Superior Court, and that Mr. Clarke be arraigned in Superior Court two weeks from today, in the court of Judge Simon Warberg. Court is dismissed.” And without further ado, he got up and walked out of the room. Jessica and Ian rose and looked at each other in confusion as Martin shuffled papers for a moment. Margaret Burton was whisked away by Inspector Houghton.
“Now what?” Jessica spoke to Ian in a whisper.
“You heard the man, Jess—we go to trial.”
“Yeah.” She looked for a last moment at the retreating back of the Burton woman, fresh hatred filling her soul for this woman who was inexplicably destroying their lives. She knew no more now than she had three hours ago. Why?
“Well, Martin?” Jessica turned to Martin now. He looked very serious. “What do you think?”
“We’ll discuss it in my office, but I smell one thing I don’t like. I can’t be sure, but I had a case like this once years ago. Crazy case with a crazy plaintiff. It had to do with vengeance. Not against the guy she said had raped her, but against someone who actually had raped her in her late teens. She had waited twenty-two years to get revenge against an innocent man. I can’t tell you why, it’s just a gut feeling, but this reminds me of that case.” He had spoken in a barely audible whisper. Jessica leaned toward him to hear, and was intrigued by his idea. She had had a strange feeling about the Burton woman too. Ian still looked too shaken to react to much of anything. He looked at Jessie then with irritation in his eyes.
“I told you to wait outside.”
“I couldn’t.”
“Yeah. I had a feeling you’d wind up in here. Fun, wasn’t it?” He sounded bitter and tired. They were the only people left in the courtroom, and he looked around as though he’d just woken up from a bad dream. It had been a grueling session, and even Jessica felt as though she had aged five years in the course of the morning.
“When will the trial be?” she asked Martin. She didn’t quite know what to say to Ian: there was so much to say; too much.
“In six weeks. You heard the judge say that the Superior Court arraignment is in two. The trial will be four weeks after that. And we’re going to have to do some very fast work.” Martin was wearing a look of intense sobriety, and Jessica found herself aching to ask how that other client had come out, the one who had been accused of rape by the woman seeking revenge, but she was afraid to know. Ian hadn’t asked the question either, and Martin hadn’t volunteered the information. “I want Green on the case night and day, and I want you both available for meetings whenever I call you.” His voice was stern.
“We’ll be available.” Jessie spoke first, trying to keep the tears out of her voice. “We’ll win, won’t we, Martin?” She was still whispering, but she wasn’t sure why. It was no longer necessary.
“I think it’ll be a tight one. It’s her word against yours, Ian. But yes, we ought to win.” He didn’t sound sure enough for Jessie, though, and the full weight of the situation settled on her heart again. How had it all happened? Where had it all started? Was it really just a matter of her having been in New York for too long? Had he just been horny? Was it bad luck? Was the Burton woman some kind of lunatic who’d been gunning for anyone, or had Ian been singled out? Whose fault was it? And when would it all go away?
“Will they revoke Ian’s bail?” That had been her constant terror. And Ian’s.
“They can, but they won’t. There’s no reason to, as long as he keeps making his court appearances, and the judge didn’t mention it. Just don’t either of you go off on any trips just now. No business trips, no disappearing acts, no visits back east to your family. Stick around; I’ll be needing you. All right?”
They nodded solemnly and he walked them slowly from the courtroom as Jessie thought of what he’d said. Family? What family? As old and frail as Ian’s parents were, they would be the last people to turn to. She and Ian had already agreed on that. His parents were so proper and so gentle, and much too old to understand any of this. He was their only child, and truly it would have killed them. Besides, why tell them? It would all work out. It had to.
Ian and Jessie shook hands with Martin and he left them outside the courtroom. It had been an endless morning.
“Do we have a minute to stop at the john?” Jessica looked at Ian nervously. She felt strange and uncomfortable with him, as though someone had just told them he had cancer. She wasn’t sure whether to cry or to offer encouragement, or just to run away and hide. She wasn’t even sure what she felt yet.
“Sure. I think it’s down the hall. I have to go too.” Conversation was awkward between them. It was going to be hard to find the way back. But as they walked along the hall, he stopped her suddenly and turned to face her, holding her arm. “Jessie, I don’t know what to say. I didn’t do it, but I’m almost beginning to wonder if that even matters. I can’t stand seeing what this is doing to you. I was a total ass for a couple of hours, and you’re the one who’s paying the price.”
She smiled tiredly in answer. “And what about you? You’re enjoying this maybe? Baby, we’re in it now, and we just have to keep on walking till we’re through it. That’s all. And for Chrissake, don’t give up now.” She was looking at him with a gentleness he hadn’t seen all day. She slid her arms around hi
m as they stood in the long marble hall, and he folded her into his arms without saying a word. He needed her desperately, and she knew it.
“Come on, hot stuff, I have to pee.” Her voice was gruff and sexy, and he smiled at her as they walked on down the hall, hand in hand. There was something very special between them. Always had been, always would be—if they could just survive what was happening to them now.
“I’ll be back in a second.” She pecked a gentle kiss at his neck, squeezed his hand, and disappeared into the ladies’ room.
Inside, she let herself into one of the booths and bolted the door. There were women on either side of her. A pair of red platform shoes and navy slacks on her left, slim ankles and simple black pumps on her right. Jessica straightened her stockings, smoothed down her skirt, and unbolted the door at the same moment that the black pumps emerged to her right. She cast a casual glance in that direction as she headed toward the sink, only to find herself rooted to the floor, staring into Margaret Burton’s face—staring down at it, actually, with the difference in their height—the pale pink hat only slightly obscuring her view of the enemy’s face.
Margaret Burton stood very still and stared back at her, as Jessica felt her insides turn cold. She was right there in front of her … within reach … grab her … hit her … kill her … but she couldn’t move. There was only the sound of a sharp intake of breath as the Burton woman came to her senses and ran toward the door, the hat flying gently to Jessica’s feet. It had taken only a few seconds, but it seemed hours, days, years … and she was gone, as Jessie stood there helpless, tears starting down her face. She stooped down very slowly and picked up the hat before walking slowly toward the door. She could hear someone knocking nervously, frantically. It was Ian. He had seen Margaret Burton fly through the door as he’d come out of the men’s room across the hall. And suddenly he was terrified. What had happened? What had Jessica done?
She emerged silently, the hat in her hand, tears on her face.
Now and Forever Page 14