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Degree of Guilt

Page 61

by Unknown


  ‘And that persuaded Brooks?’

  Sharpe smiled without humor. ‘There was more. Caroline had two choices, she told us. The first was to throw out the case and take the risk of being reversed on probable cause, thereby looking like a bad judge. The second – which she claimed to like better for her own sake – was to reopen the hearing and allow Rappaport and Caldwell to testify. But after that, the electorate might return Mac to private practice.’ Sharpe’s voice became a sardonic mimicry of Caroline’s. ‘Of course, she told Brooks, that was sometimes the price of pursuing a case one believed in. But she was giving him a third choice: dismiss the case, and she would help him look like a statesman.’

  Paget pondered that. ‘It’s not a bad suggestion, you know. Between Linton, Rappaport, and Caldwell, a jury would have hated Ransom. Mac might have ended up wishing Caroline had thrown out the case.’

  Sharpe glanced back over her shoulder; Brooks and Terri were still talking. ‘He knew that,’ she said quietly. ‘And there was something else. The tapes. He didn’t want the Laura Chase tape out, given the impact on James Colt’s family. That’s why he was willing to let Mary’s tape go.’

  ‘A prudent career move, I would think. What with James Colt junior running for governor.’

  Sharpe nodded. ‘Mac could imagine the next D.A. walking over his grave. He spent some time wondering which choice Caroline would make if he refused her, then decided to take her up on it. The right decision, I suppose.’

  Paget nodded. ‘If Mac hadn’t bitten, I wonder which choice she would have made.’

  ‘Oh, I always knew – I’d seen her with those women in chambers. I just didn’t tell Mac.’

  ‘Will you tell me? Now that it’s over.’

  Sharpe considered him for a long time. ‘Caroline was bluffing,’ she finally answered, ‘She’d have thrown out the case and taken her chances. But she’d never have put those two women through testifying in public – especially Caldwell.’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘I’m sure so.’ Pausing, Sharpe gave the wintry smile again.

  ‘Caroline said that to kill the case, that’s all. She just wanted to be sure about those tapes.’

  Chapter 8

  That evening, Christopher Paget watched himself on television for the last time.

  The news began with McKinley Brooks on the courthouse steps, poised and in command, explaining how he had weighed the evidence against the importance of the issues. The story quoted Caroline Masters as calling Brooks’s decision ‘courageous’ and ‘appropriate.’ As Paget had wished it, his own time on camera was brief: he thanked the district attorney, expressed his admiration of Judge Masters, and was finished.

  ‘As for Ms Carelli,’ the newswoman went on, ‘her comments were uncharacteristically subdued.’

  Mary appeared on-screen. Her face showed relief but no elation, and she looked too tired to smile. Microphones jabbed at her from every angle. Carlo stood next to her.

  ‘I would like to thank Christopher Paget,’ she began, ‘who gave to my defense more than I ever wished to ask.’

  She paused there; as the camera zoomed in, she seemed to search for words. ‘I would also like to thank all those who supported me,’ she finally said. ‘Especially those women who came forward to testify – Marcy Linton most of all. In a case like this, regrettably, it seems that there is no other way to defend yourself.

  ‘As for me, I’m relieved. I will always think about Mark Ransom’s death, but I hope that you will forgive me if I don’t wish to talk about it, except for the issues it raises. For me, it’s done.

  ‘In three days, I intend to fly back to New York and resume my life.’ She paused again, voice lower. ‘But when I do, it will be with special thoughts of my son, Carlo Carelli Paget. Thoughts too private to share, and too deep not to acknowledge. Like his father, he is more than I could have hoped for.’

  Watching, Paget saw the smile on Carlo’s face. Mary glanced at him, then softly finished: ‘That’s all I have to say.’

  She had been true to her word. The crowd had parted for her; she had stepped into the limousine without looking back.

  Now, hearing the doorbell, Paget knew that it was she.

  She stood in the doorway. The black limousine was double-parked outside. ‘Is Carlo ready?’ she asked.

  ‘Almost. He’s just out of the shower, I think.’ Paget hesitated. ‘Would you care to come in?’

  ‘Do you mind?’

  Paget looked at her for a moment. Then, slowly, he shook his head.

  They walked into the library.

  Mary studied the palm tree for a moment. ‘Carlo told me about that tree,’ she said. ‘Before, I couldn’t imagine why you didn’t cut it down.’

  Paget shrugged. ‘I was waiting until he went to college.’

  She turned, studying his face. ‘Are you going to tell him?’

  ‘No. I’m not.’

  She paused. ‘Why?’

  Paget looked past her. ‘Because we put too much time in,’ he finally said, ‘believing we were father and son. So now we are.’

  Her body seemed to relax a fraction. ‘I don’t know what to say to you, Chris.’

  ‘Trying would be pointless. Everything you could have said was on that tape.’ He paused. ‘I know much more than you ever could have told me. The good, and the bad.’

  She looked down. ‘What about Carlo and me? I’ll want to see him.’

  ‘Then see him. Just arrange it between you and Carlo. You and I are quits with each other, Mary. At last, and as we should be.’

  Slowly, Mary nodded.

  In their silence, Carlo came down the stairs. He smiled at them both, looking happier than he had since Mary had killed Mark Ransom. Perhaps, Paget thought, happier than he had ever been; his mother and father both loved him, and they meant each other no harm.

  ‘You’re very handsome,’ Mary said. ‘You carry yourself like Chris.’

  Carlo smiled again. ‘Can’t help that,’ he told her. ‘But my friends say I look like you.’

  ‘Oh, well,’ Paget said.

  Mary smiled. ‘Ready for dinner?’ she asked her son.

  ‘Always.’

  They headed for the door, Paget following them; Mary looking fondly up at Carlo. She stopped in the alcove, as if seized by a sudden thought.

  ‘Can I talk to Chris for a second?’ she asked Carlo.

  ‘Sure.’

  Carlo went out to the limousine. Mary looked after him, and then turned to Paget.

  ‘Yes?’ he asked.

  She hesitated. ‘Do you remember on the tape, when I told Steinhardt I’d have aborted Carlo if you hadn’t bailed me out?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘That was true.’ She paused again, and then added softly, ‘So when you look at Carlo, and think that you see nothing of yourself, remember that.’

  Later that night, Paget decided to burn the tapes.

  He took them to the library. Then he threw logs in the fireplace, lit the kindling. He had time, he reasoned; Carlo and Mary planned to stay out late.

  For no particular reason, he started by burning the Lindsay Caldwell tape. Tomorrow, perhaps through Terri, he would find a way to tell Caldwell that her secrets now were her own: what she chose to do with them was hers to decide, just as Paget was deciding for himself. He picked up the first tape of Mary.

  He paused for a moment, watching the fire burn. How many times, he thought, had Carlo watched with him, caught by the sinuous dance of flame against darkness. Then he began pulling the tape from its spindle.

  When the front door opened, Paget started.

  It was Carlo.

  He heard his son walk to the library, drawn by the firelight and the crackling logs. By instinct, Paget picked up the second tape. Mary, saying that Carlo was not his son.

  The boy stood in the entrance. ‘What are you doing?’ he asked.

  There was nothing he could say now, Paget knew, but the truth.

  ‘Burning
this tape.’ Paget paused. ‘After this, there’s one more.’

  ‘The one about my mother?’

  ‘No,’ Paget answered. ‘The one about me and your mother.’

  Carlo hesitated. ‘Can you do that?’

  ‘It’s not evidence anymore, Carlo. All that’s left now is a source of pain. I’m free to do as I wish.’

  Carlo looked at him steadily. ‘Then can I hear it? I’m your son, after all.’

  ‘You are, Carlo. But you’re also becoming an adult. And part of that is accepting that your parents are people apart from you, with their own lives and their own failings.’ Paget paused. ‘Yesterday you asked me to help your mother. Today I’m asking you to help us both. By living in the present, and letting us put the past to rest.’

  Carlo looked at him. It was so strange, Paget thought, to face Carlo with the secret of his birth clutched in one hand, asking as a favor for himself the forbearance that, if only Carlo knew it, would keep the boy’s world intact. But he could not tell him: in the end, Carlo’s happiness would rest on his compassion for his parents.

  ‘I’ll always wonder,’ Carlo said.

  ‘Try not to. For you, your mother and I are what we are to you today. Nothing else matters.’ Paget paused again. ‘Unless, of course, you make it matter.’

  Carlo looked pensive. ‘What would you do, Dad? If you were me.’

  Silent, Paget gazed at the second tape. Then he tossed it, underhand, to Carlo. For an instant, the moment reminded him of that first day in Boston, when Paget had thrown this boy a red rubber ball. Except this time, of course, Carlo caught it.

  ‘I’d help me burn this,’ Paget said.

  Carlo gazed at him another moment, then at the tape in his hand. ‘How long has the first one taken you?’ he asked. ‘You were never very mechanical.’

  Paget smiled. ‘It skips generations. My father once built a ship in a bottle.’

  Carlo hesitated. Then he sat on the rug, Paget sitting next to him. They faced the fireplace, backs against the coffee table, as Carlo and Paget unspooled their tapes.

  ‘I’ll bet you planned on doing this without me,’ Carlo said.

  Paget turned to him. ‘Why did you come home early? Nothing wrong, I hope.’

  ‘Nope. But my mom and I are doing something this weekend. We got to the end of dinner, and I just wanted to be with you.’

  ‘Why?’

  Shrugging, Carlo gave Paget a fleeting smile. ‘Who knows?’

  They sat there next to each other in companionable silence, unspooling the tapes of the past. When Carlo was finished, he held the tangle of the tape in front of him. Then he stood and silently tossed it into the fire. The tape seemed to wither with the heat, crackling, and then it disappeared in flame.

  Together, they watched it burn, and with it, the truth of Carlo’s birth. It was right, Paget thought, that this was so. For what Paget had learned from Carlo was that being a parent was not about ties of blood, any more than starting a family can assure love among its members. These bonds are ours to make, Paget knew; we define them, day by day, by who we choose to love and how we choose to love them. And, by these choices, define ourselves.

  Paget glanced over at his son. Perhaps, Paget thought, Carlo might have learned as much from the tape. But the lesson of the tape was for Paget to know; Carlo would learn it in his own way. The capacity to love, he already had.

  Paget threw the first tape after Carlo’s. They watched it vanish in the flame.

  ‘There,’ Paget said. ‘It’s done.’

  That night, for the first time in weeks, Paget slept soundly.

  In the morning, Carlo went out with Mary. Paget stayed home.

  He had a lazy breakfast, avoiding the newspaper. Then he drifted to the deck. There was little on his mind, and that was as he wanted it. It was time, as his friend Larry Colvin once had put it, to let his soul catch up with his body.

  The morning sun was bright. A few sailboats flecked the bay; in the foreground, homes of pink and white stucco glistened in the light. Paget found that he liked San Francisco again.

  But there was much to get used to. In the measure of his life, he had gained Carlo, and much had been lost. He did not yet know what it all meant. In two years, Carlo would go to college; Paget would be happy for him, and their house would be empty.

  The doorbell rang.

  It was a reporter, Paget thought, or a delivery. He debated not answering, then went to the door.

  It was Terri.

  She was dressed in blue jeans and a blouse, and looked wearier than yesterday. Paget smiled at her. ‘The case is over,’ he said. ‘You get to go home. Sleep, even.’

  She hesitated. ‘I’m a little at loose ends right now.’

  Paget nodded. ‘Sometimes that happens after a trial.’ He paused for a moment. ‘I was just out on the deck. Care to join me?’

  Terri still seemed hesitant. ‘Maybe for a while.’

  Something was wrong, Paget thought. He decided not to ask.

  They walked to the deck. Terri went to the railing; she leaned on it with her palms, gazing out at the bay. A light breeze rippled her hair.

  She was quiet for some time. Paget watched from behind; she squared her shoulders, staring intently at the water.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

  Terri did not turn. ‘Yes and no,’ she finally answered.

  Paget moved beside her. He stood there, watching with her. When she turned to him, her eyes seemed large and very grave.

  ‘I’ve left Richie,’ she said.

  The realization washed over him. Terri had not come for his help, or his advice. She had simply come.

  ‘Is this all right?’ Terri asked.

  He struggled to find words. ‘I’m forty-five years old,’ he said at last, ‘with a teenage son. You’re newly separated. And you work for me.’ His voice softened. ‘Any counselor in America would tell you I’m a bad idea, and that you just need time to see that.’

  Terri watched his face. ‘But how do you feel?’

  They looked at each other, each afraid to speak. With his next words, Paget knew, she would stay or go.

  ‘This won’t be simple,’ he said at last.

  ‘I know that. I’ve got a thousand warnings of my own.’ Terri paused. ‘But all that we could ever do, Chris, was wonder. Now we can find out.’

  A moment passed. And then, sudden and warm, the surprise of his good fortune made Paget smile. ‘You’d make me live in Richie’s shadow?’

  ‘Please. As soon as possible.’

  As her grin cracked, clean and white and sharp, Paget laughed aloud.

  ‘All right,’ he said. ‘But first I have a question to ask.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Is this what your mother would have done?’

  ‘No-o-o.’ Terri leaned back, shaking her head slowly, smiling up into his eyes. ‘This one’s for me.’

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  About the Author

  Also by Richard North Patterson

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Degree of Guilt

  Part One: The Killing

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Part Two: The Investigation

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Part Three: The Witness

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Part Four: The Prosecution

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

&n
bsp; Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Part Five: The Defense

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Part Six: The Court

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

 

 

 


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