by Unknown
Finally, Caldwell turned to her. ‘You were good, Terri. She was going to rule against you, I think.’
‘I think so too.’
They got to the underground garage. Caldwell’s limousine, black with opaque windows, was parked by the elevator. The bailiffs stood back; Caldwell’s chauffeur waited on the other side of the car. ‘It seems,’ Caldwell said to Terri, ‘that I’ll leave as I came, anonymously. It’s a luxury I don’t often get.’
Terri was quiet, then she said, ‘I don’t know how to thank you.’
‘You needn’t thank me, and you needn’t feel responsible. Really, I had no choice.’
Terri watched her face. ‘At least Caroline Masters tried to make it easier,’ she said at length. ‘Much more than before, I’m really coming to admire her.’
‘You should admire her – she’s an admirable woman.’ Caldwell paused, and then added softly, ‘But I think there’s something else – a particular sensitivity. Something personal, perhaps.’
Before Terri could question her, Lindsay Caldwell touched her shoulder. ‘I wish you well,’ Caldwell said, ‘with everything.’
Caldwell disappeared into the limousine. Terri watched it drive up the exit ramp, a black car with an unseen passenger, and vanish.
Chapter 2
Television flickering in the background, Christopher Paget poured Mary Carelli a glass of red wine.
‘You still like Chianti, I imagine.’
‘Since even before you knew me.’ Her voice was dry. ‘Of course, I’ve learned to like better Chianti since I lived in Rome.’
To Paget, the remark had a rueful undertone, which mingled pride in what she had accomplished with fear that it would soon be gone: to remember Rome was to acknowledge that she might never see it again.
Paget raised his wineglass. ‘To Rome.’
Half smiling, Mary touched her glass to his. ‘To Rome,’ she said. ‘And to getting through tomorrow.’
They sat in Paget’s library on Sunday evening, the end of four days spent rehearsing Mary’s testimony, while Terri handled Rappaport and Caldwell and then prepared for Marcy Linton. For the first two days, they had crafted Mary’s testimony, confessing error or doubt when necessary; carefully treading through her interview with Charles Monk; designing, editing, and discarding verbal formulas until they found the answers they wanted. And then Paget had devoted the weekend to tearing those answers apart.
Now it was dark outside, and they were finished.
‘You’ve worked hard,’ he said. ‘All you have to do is stay alert but calm.’
Mary’s smile became ironic. ‘“Alert but calm,”’ she repeated. ‘So easy to achieve. And such a perfect approach for a premeditated murderer.’
For Paget, the remark had a surreal quality: a mordant joke from a calculating woman from whom he could not demand the truth, and in whose truthfulness he could not believe. But the most eerie part was that he could hear the comment either as a veiled confession or as understated bitterness that Sharpe – and perhaps Paget – believed her capable of murder.
‘I think Caroline’s ready to listen now,’ he said finally. ‘Whether she lets them testify or not, Rappaport and Caldwell have made an impression. Which means that Judge Masters is thinking about who Ransom was, rather than just wondering who you are.’
Of course, Paget thought, I wonder who you are. But he did not say that: while their preparation was shot through with the fact of Mary’s lies, they had treated that as an intellectual problem, and each other with civility. After four days, the two things Paget knew for certain were how facile and self-disciplined Mary Carelli still was.
As if in counterpoint, her face now appeared on television: first as a young witness before the Senate, then as a woman charged with murder. ‘Tomorrow morning,’ the voice-over said, ‘Mary Carelli faces the most critical moment of the hearing and, perhaps, of her life. The moment when she takes the stand.’
Mary gazed at the screen, and then at Paget. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘I won’t blow this. Whatever else you think, you should know me well enough to know that.’
The remark was matter-of-fact, but there was steel beneath it. ‘Just don’t underestimate Marnie Sharpe,’ Paget answered.
Mary stretched her legs. ‘I’ve been studying her, Chris. I know exactly how she’ll be.’
Paget nodded; he could too easily imagine Mary, removed from all emotion, dissecting Sharpe while she went about her business. That her business was to prove Mary a murderer would make Mary all the more determined.
‘I’m sure,’ he remarked, ‘that Mamie’s every quirk is coded on your brain.’
‘It is.’ Mary’s voice went cold. ‘I won’t let her nail me.’
‘I believe you.’
Her ironic look returned. ‘Yes? About that I suppose you do.’
Paget smiled. But all that he believed in was Mary’s resolve; he was far too skeptical of her innocence not to worry. He wished that he could fast-forward his life to the end of her testimony, find their defense still viable, their secrets safe from Carlo.
The seamed face of a prominent defense lawyer had appeared on Court TV.
‘It’s such a mistake,’ he said, ‘to put her on the stand. But then this whole strategy is a mistake. If Christopher Paget loses here, he’s got no surprises left for trial. To me, this defense looks like a play written by a gifted amateur – flashes of brilliance, but a plot that won’t fly. I think he’s far too close to the case to be objective.’
Paget turned off the sound. ‘We’ve done all we can,’ he said quietly.
Mary turned from the television. ‘We have,’ she said. ‘I should leave in a while.’
She looked suddenly tired, Paget realized, and a little sad. Like a woman with nowhere to go.
When she glanced at the television again, the picture had changed. A much younger woman, she stood in intimate profile with Christopher Paget, in the moments before he testified in the Senate. And then Carlo’s face appeared.
‘Did you see the cover of People?’ she asked.
He nodded. ‘Carlo. But I didn’t read the article.’
‘They don’t have much yet.’ Mary paused. ‘It’s just as well that my parents are dead.’
Paget nodded, lost in thought.
‘Do you ever wonder,’ Mary asked softly, ‘what would have happened to us without the Lasko case?’
Paget gazed at her. ‘Without Carlo? Or with?’
‘With, I suppose,’ Mary looked down. ‘That was a good night, Chris. A good weekend.’
‘It was.’ Paget contemplated his wine. ‘But it’s impossible to project from a single weekend. We’re so very different, after all.’
She raised her eyes. ‘But could my life have been different? Would I have been different?’
Paget thought for a time. ‘I don’t want to sound like a moralist,’ he answered, ‘and certainly not tonight. But by the time we made love that weekend, you’d already committed yourself to helping Jack Woods. Once that was done, the whole thing had an inexorable quality.’ Pausing, he switched off the television. ‘The truth, I think, is that people keep on being who they are and what they want. I don’t think the fact that two people encounter each other truly changes either one. It may change their lives, perhaps, but not their essential selves.’
Mary fell quiet. ‘You and me, you mean.’
He nodded. ‘You and I made each other’s lives wholly different. But that was because we encountered each other head-on, and then proceeded to be precisely who we were. As Malraux observed, “Character is fate.”’
She studied him. ‘Carlo didn’t make just your life different, Chris. He made you different.’
Was that true? Paget wondered. Had Carlo made him any better, any wiser and more loving, than the man Paget’s parents had sent into the world? ‘Perhaps,’ he said finally. ‘But then children are different.’
The thought led him again to Carlo: how this trial might change his view of his own pare
nts and, more subtly, of himself. It took Paget far away from Mary.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said at last. ‘For everything. More than you’ll ever know.’
He looked up at her again. At that moment, fifteen years fell away; he saw her as she had seemed to him in Washington, making love on the weekend before he had learned what she had done. ‘I know you are,’ he answered. ‘I do believe that.’
She searched his face, as if measuring the truth of what he said, hoping for something to take away from all that had happened. And then, very simply, she said, ‘Thank you.’
As they watched each other, something changed.
It would have been possible, Paget knew for an instant, to reach out to her. To put aside their past and suspend all disbelief. To make love for a night, escape from fear. People do these things for different reasons and then, in the morning, leave the moment and their needs behind. He knew that Mary and he could do that. Knew, as he looked into her eyes, that part of Mary wanted to.
He did not know what stopped them. History, perhaps. Perhaps, for him, there were other reasons.
‘The one thing you have left to do,’ he told Mary, ‘is sleep.’
For another moment, she simply looked at him. ‘I’ll call a cab,’ she said.
The courtroom was dense with silence; the extra reporters Judge Masters had admitted to hear Mary Carelli stood at the back of the room. Carlo and Johnny Moore watched from the front row; intent, Terri took notes.
Outside, groups of women with a sprinkling of men among them chanted and held a banner that read: RAPE IS NOT A RIGHT. Facing them, separated by the width of the concrete walkway leading to the door of the courthouse, a group of counterpicketers carried signs reading: JUSTICE FOR MARK RANSOM; THE VICTIM IS NOT ON TRIAL.; DON’T MURDER THE FIRST AMENDMENT. The doorway was guarded by police; more police lined the rear of the courtroom.
‘And why did you agree to see Mark Ransom?’ Paget asked Mary.
The question was critical – it would determine the course of Mary’s testimony and the line of Sharpe’s attack. Sharpe did not move; even Caroline Masters’s gaze, intent and unblinking, underscored the moment. Only Mary looked calm.
‘He had a tape,’ she answered. ‘Of a session I had with a psychiatrist in Beverly Hills. A Dr Steinhardt.’
At the corner of his vision, Paget saw Sharpe tense with surprise. ‘Why did you visit Dr Steinhardt?’ he asked.
‘Because I was in deep emotional pain.’ Mary paused, but her gaze at Paget did not falter. ‘There were things I had done – hidden things – of which I was deeply ashamed. I had no peace of mind.’
Paget heard whispers exchanged behind him, saw Sharpe half rise in her chair, looking from Mary to Masters. But Masters, staring openly at Mary, did not see Sharpe.
‘And you described those things to Dr Steinhardt?’ Paget asked.
Mary’s face was a mask of shame. ‘In as much detail as I could.’ Her voice fell. ‘I thought it was in confidence.’
‘And why was that important to you?’
She looked down. ‘Because what I told him was so deeply personal.’
Sharpe’s body, Paget saw, was taut with repressed energy – concern that Mary’s fear of secrets might gain sympathy, eagerness to argue that Mary had opened up the tapes herself as evidence. ‘And how,’ Paget asked Mary, ‘did you feel when Mark Ransom described the contents of the tape?’
‘I was devastated.’ The memory appeared to drain her. ‘After he hung up, I went to my bathroom and vomited.’
Paget paused, as if letting her collect herself. ‘Did Ransom say what he thought would happen if he disclosed the tape?’
‘Yes.’ Mary raised her head. ‘He said that it could ruin my reputation and my career.’
‘Did you agree?’
Mary nodded. ‘That was why I saw him,’ she said quietly. ‘To ask him – beg him, if necessary – to leave my past life where it belonged. In the past.’
‘You felt that desperate?’
Mary’s eyes shut. ‘The things he knew tortured me. That’s why I went to Dr Steinhardt.’
Paget turned to Judge Masters. ‘Might we have a bench conference, Your Honor?’
Masters looked surprised, as if still caught in Mary’s testimony. ‘Yes. Of course.’
Quickly, Sharpe and Paget approached the bench. Glancing toward the crowded room, Masters leaned forward, to speak out of earshot of Mary, the reporters, the microphones of Court TV. Paget felt the cameras follow him to the bench.
‘What is it, Mr Paget?’
‘Ms Carelli has said all she intends to about the tape. She’s acknowledged that it exists; that it would damage her reputation and career; and that it was the reason she agreed to see Ransom. Which, we strongly believe, is an adequate substitute for disclosure of the tape itself – both from the standpoint of its impact on Ms Carelli’s actions and from simple fidelity to the truth. And because she’s said nothing about the specific contents of the tape, Ms Carelli has not waived her right to protect her conversation with Dr Steinhardt.’
‘If this is fidelity to the truth,’ Sharpe said in muted tones, ‘then we should replace the scales of justice with Pinocchio. Ms Carelli has finessed the contents of the tape, omitting why it was harmful – that she lied to the United States Senate – while gaining sympathy for Mr Ransom’s exploitation of this nameless secret. For all that appears on the record, Ms Carelli was ashamed of cheating at Monopoly.’
Paget turned on her. ‘Does that end careers, Marnie, and ruin reputations? If you got caught cheating at Monopoly, would you throw up?’
‘Only if I were looking for sympathy,’ Sharpe retorted, turning to Masters. ‘She’s opened up the tapes.’
‘Regrettably,’ Masters answered, ‘you opened this up – when you got my permission in chambers to ask essentially the same questions Mr Paget just asked. He’s simply preempted you. If you want to play those tapes, you’ll have to induce Ms Carelli to say more than she has.’
‘Thank you,’ Paget said quickly. He walked away, leaving Sharpe still staring up at Masters. As Sharpe shrugged, Paget gave Mary a silent nod; one corner of her mouth formed the briefest of smiles. Glancing at Carlo, Paget saw his face relax.
‘Please continue,’ Masters said.
Paget nodded. ‘Let me ask you this, Ms Carelli: why did you bring a gun to Mr Ransom’s suite?’
‘To protect myself.’
‘But why did you feel the need?’
Mary folded her hands. ‘His telephone call to me was filled with sexual innuendo and sexual blackmail.’
‘Could you be specific?’
Mary’s shrug lent the suggestion of a shudder. ‘It wasn’t just the words he used,’ she said quietly. ‘It was his tone – sniggering and systematically degrading. He expected a “private interview.” He was going to “interview” another “famous woman” in Los Angeles. He wanted us “back-to-back,” so that he could “compare notes.” We could even discuss “freedom of choice” and a woman’s “right to privacy.”’ She shook her head. ‘Each word made my skin crawl.’
Paget glanced up at Masters, as if to underscore the connection to Lindsay Caldwell. Then he asked Mary, ‘And what did you conclude from this conversation?’
‘What Ransom so clearly wanted me to conclude,’ Mary answered coolly. ‘That he would trade the tape for sex. And that he would hurt me if I didn’t.’
Sharpe was on her feet. ‘Move to strike that last answer, Your Honor. It’s wholly speculative – the witness is claiming omniscience regarding what Mark Ransom never said.’
‘Sustained.’ Masters turned to Mary. ‘We want the facts, Ms Carelli. Please leave the interpretations to me.’
Slowly, Mary nodded.
Moving forward, Paget asked, ‘Did you intend to trade the tape for sex?’
‘I didn’t want to.’ Her voice fell. ‘I just wanted to talk him out of it. Beyond that, I didn’t really know.’
‘And yet you brought a gun.’
‘Yes,’ Mary looked at Masters. ‘But not to kill him. Because he frightened me.’
‘Then why didn’t you tell the police?’
Mary paused, touching her eyes. ‘Because I didn’t want anyone knowing what was on the tape.’
‘Is that also why, after Mark Ransom died, you still didn’t tell the police about the tape?’
‘Yes. It is.’
‘Didn’t you think that the police would find any tape that Mr Ransom had?’
‘That’s logical, of course.’ Mary turned back to Caroline Masters. ‘But I was in shock.’
Paget nodded, satisfied. By asking the questions a skeptical judge or cross-examiner might ask, he was depriving Sharpe of points while helping Mary restore her credibility. And though Masters understood all this, she was plainly prepared to listen: Terri had done her job, and now Mary was doing hers.
‘Is it your understanding,’ Paget asked, ‘that there are actually two tapes of you and Dr Steinhardt, and that the prosecution has only the first?’
‘That’s my understanding, yes.’
‘Do you know the whereabouts of the second tape?’
Mary looked at Sharpe. ‘No,’ she said emphatically. ‘I do not.’
A slight edge in Mary’s voice hinted anger at the question; if she knew what had happened to that tape, Paget thought, then Mary was a gifted liar. But, of course, she was.
‘In fact,’ Paget said, ‘Ransom didn’t bring any tape, did he?’
‘Not tape of me.’ Mary looked troubled. ‘He did bring a taped session between Dr Steinhardt and Laura Chase. Her death was to be the subject of his next book.’
There was a stirring in the courtroom; until this moment, the press had not known about the tape of Laura Chase.
Now Sharpe was on her feet. ‘Your Honor,’ she interjected. ‘The People request a bench conference.’
The two lawyers met in front of Masters. ‘That tape has not yet been admitted,’ Sharpe said. ‘Mr Paget phrased the question indirectly, so that Ms Carelli could slip in Laura Chase before I saw it coming. I didn’t know that we’d invited her.’