“As far as you know, did anyone else hear him ask you to dial the phone?”
“I really don't think so. The bar was very noisy. I didn't know any?body else who was there. Easton came up with this outrageous lie two years later. I wouldn't even know who to call to ask if they re?membered anything.”
“By the way, did Mr. Easton ever tell you that he was a career-criminal and that he was having a hard time finding a job?”
“Absolutely not!” Gregg replied.
“On Friday, March 13th, two and a half years ago,” Moore con?tinued, “you went to see Natalie in her final performance of A Street?car Named Desire. Witnesses have stated that you sat in the last row, stone faced, and did not join in the standing ovation. How do you explain that?”
“I had not intended to see the play, but I heard so much about her performance that I could not resist going there. I deliberately bought a ticket in the last row. I didn't want Natalie to see me be?cause I was afraid it would upset her. I didn't jump up to applaud because I was emotionally spent. I think at that moment I realized once again what a magnificent actress she was.”
“Did you receive a phone call from her the next morning?”
“I received a message from her on my cell phone, saying she had gone up to Cape Cod, that she would be at our scheduled meeting on Monday, and asking me not to call her over the weekend.”
“How did you react to that call?”
“I certainly admit that I was upset. Natalie had previously hinted to me that she had met someone else. It was very important to me to know if that was true. So, I made the decision to drive to Cape Cod. I made up my mind that if I saw her with someone else, I would have to accept that our marriage was over.”
Ask him why he didn't hire a private investigator to check this out, Emily wrote on her pad.
“Why did you rent a car, a green Toyota, to drive to the Cape when your own vehicle, a Mercedes-Benz, was in the garage of your apartment building?”
“Well, of course, Natalie would recognize my car. The license plates on it had both our initials on them. I didn't want her or any?one else to know that I was checking on her.”
“What did you do when you got to the Cape, Gregg?”
“I checked into a little motel in Hyannis. We know a lot of people who live on the Cape and I didn't want to bump into any of them. I just wanted to see if Natalie was alone.”
“You drove past her house several times?”
“Yes. Years ago, the garage was converted into a recreation room and no one ever got around to building a new one. There was no garage that another car could have been in. When I drove past the house, I saw only her car in the driveway, and I knew she was alone.”
Suppose she had picked someone up along the way? Emily wrote on her pad. How could you assume she was alone just because there wasn't another car there?
“What did you do then, Gregg?” Moore asked.
“I drove past her house Saturday afternoon and late Saturday eve?ning, and three times on Sunday. Her car was always the only one in the driveway. It was overcast both days and there were lights on in?side the house, so I assumed she was there. Then around eight o'clock Sunday evening I started back to Manhattan. There was a nasty storm predicted and I wanted to get home.”
“At that point, had you made any decision about continuing your efforts to reconcile with Natalie Raines?”
“On the drive home, I remember that I thought about something I had read. I'm not sure if it was written about Thomas Jefferson, but I think it was. Anyhow, the quote was 'Never less alone than when alone.' ”
“ 'Never less alone than when alone.' Did you decide that was true of Natalie?” asked Moore.
“Yes. I believe that on the drive home that Sunday evening, I re?signed myself to that reality.”
“What time did you arrive home?”
“About one a.m. I was exhausted and I went right to bed.” “Monday morning, what did you do?”
"I went for a jog in Central Park. Then I returned the rental car.
“What time did you go out to jog?”
“About 7:15 a.m. or so.”
“And you returned the rental car at 10:05 a.m.”
“Yes.”
“Was that an unusually long amount of time for you to jog?”
“Usually, I jog for about an hour and sometimes after that I just keep walking. Sometimes, especially when I'm thinking things through, I lose track of the time.”
Sure you do! Emily thought.
“How often does it happen, Mr. Aldrich, that you may lose track of time when you're jogging or walking?” Richard Moore asked, his voice sympathetic.
“There's no pattern. But when I have a lot on my mind, it can happen.” Gregg remembered that it had happened just this morn?ing. I left the apartment before five thirty and got back at seven thirty. I had to rush to shower and change to be here on time. I won't tell the jury that, he thought to himself. They'll think I'm nuts.
There's no pattern. But it happened the morning Natalie died, Emily thought. How convenient.
Richard Moore's next questions were about Gregg Aldrich's reac?tion when he received the call saying that Natalie was dead.
“I couldn't believe it. It seemed impossible. I was devastated.”
“What did you do when you got that news?”
“I left my office immediately and went to see Natalie's mother.” Gregg looked directly at Alice Mills who was seated in the third row. Although the witnesses were sequestered, she had been permitted, once her testimony was finished, to watch the rest of the trial. “We were bewildered and shocked. We cried together. Alice's first thought was of Katie.” His voice grew strained. She knew how much Katie and Natalie loved each other. She insisted that I go right away to break the news to Katie before she heard about it from someone else."
It was getting close to four o'clock. Moore's going to drag this out so that he can leave the jurors feeling sorry for Gregg over the week?end, Emily thought.
Intensely disappointed that she would not be able to start cross-examination until Monday, she was careful to maintain her impas?sive demeanor.
Just Take My Heart
26
That evening, Michael Gordon's Courtside panel was in agree?ment that Gregg Aldrich had fared well during direct examination and that, if he could stand up to the prosecutor's cross-examination, he had a reasonable chance of a hung jury, and a fighting chance at an acquittal.
“The verdict in this case hinges on the testimony of a crook,” retired judge Bernard Reilly reminded the panel. “Find some reason?able explanation as to how Jimmy Easton could have learned about that squeaky drawer and this jury will have reasonable doubt. All of the other evidence involving Easton comes down to his word against Aldrich's.”
Judge Reilly smiled. “I've batted the breeze with a guy in a bar any number of times, and if one of them showed up saying that I told him I wanted to kill my wife, it would be his word against mine. And I have to tell all of you, I found Aldrich's explanation of the phone call to Easton quite possible and plausible.”
Michael Gordon suddenly felt a welling of emotion, and he real?ized that a part of him still expected his friend to be vindicated.
“I'm putting something on the table,” Gordon heard himself say?ing. “When Jimmy Easton came out of the woodwork, I honestly believed that he was probably telling the truth, that Gregg Aldrich had committed this crime. I was an eyewitness on many occasions to how crazy Gregg was about Natalie and how upset he was at their breakup. I really thought that he had just snapped and killed her.”
Gordon looked around at the questioning faces of his panel. “I know this is a first for me. It's been my policy to be neutral during a trial, and, if anything, I've overdone it in this case. As I disclosed on day one, Gregg and Natalie were my close friends. I have intention?ally stayed away from Gregg since he was indicted and, hearing him on the witness stand and looking at all of the rest of the evidence, I now intensely regre
t that I doubted him. I believe that Gregg is tell?ing the truth. I believe he is innocent and that this accusation against him is a great tragedy.”
“Then who do you think shot Natalie Raines?” Reilly asked. “She could have walked in on a burglary,” Gordon suggested. “Even though nothing was taken, the intruder could have panicked and fled after killing her. Or it could have been a crazed fan. Any number of people have those fake rocks with hide-a-keys in their backyards. An experienced crook would know to look for one of them.”
“Maybe they should ask Jimmy Easton if he ever looked for one,” Brett Long, the criminal psychologist, suggested.
As they all laughed, Michael Gordon reminded the viewers that on Monday, Emily Wallace, the beautiful young prosecutor, would begin the cross-examination of Gregg Aldrich. “He is going to be the final defense witness. Then, after the attorneys present their summa?tions and the judge instructs the jury on the law, the case will go to the jury. When they start deliberating, we will conduct another poll on our Web site. Be sure to weigh the evidence and cast your vote. Many thanks for watching Courtside. Good night.”
It was ten o'clock. After a few words with the departing panelists, Michael went to his office and dialed the number that he had not dialed for seven months. When Gregg answered, he said, “By any chance were you watching?”
Gregg Aldrich's voice was husky. “Yes, I was. Thanks, Mike.”
“Have you had dinner yet?”
“I wasn't hungry.”
“Where's Katie?”
“At a movie with one of her girlfriends.”
“Jimmy Neary doesn't close the kitchen until late. No one will bother you there. How about it?”
“Sounds good, Mike.”
As Michael Gordon replaced the receiver, he realized his eyes were moist.
I should have been there for him all along, he thought. He sounds so alone.
Just Take My Heart
27
As Emily watched Courtside in her living room, she sipped a glass of wine. I agree, she thought, as she listened to the comments of the retired judge. My case depends on the testimony of a witness who is as glib as any human being I've ever encountered.
She realized how deflated and down she felt. I know why, she explained to herself. I was so psyched to get at Aldrich. Then Rich?ard managed to drag out the testimony of the neighbor from Jersey City, the secretary, the nanny, who all thought Gregg Aldrich walked on water. I was right to just about give them a pass. If I'd tried to make them look bad, I'd have made a huge mistake.
Leo Kearns, the other agent? Should I have dug into him more? Maybe. Nobody's all that altruistic when he loses a client. Being a theatrical agent has to be a tough business. Kearns made it sound like a tennis match —Love all.
Gregg Aldrich. The pain on his face when he talked about his first wife . . . I'm getting mushy, Emily thought. I was feeling with him the kind of pain I felt when I learned that Mark was dead.
“Way up on the mountain, there's a new chalet. . . and Jean so brave and true . . . has built it all anew.” A folk song from her child?hood ran through Emily's mind. Gregg Aldrich tried to rebuild his life, she thought. He remarried. He obviously was very much in love with Natalie. Then, when she was murdered, he was not only griev?ing, but had to defend himself against the cops who thought he killed her.
She gulped the rest of the wine. God, what's the matter with me? she asked herself, angrily. My job is to prosecute this guy.
Then, toward the end of Courtside, Michael Gordon came out in support of Aldrich. Knowing that Gordon was considered to be a fair analyst, Emily was shocked.
But then she felt her resolve harden. If he's typical of the people watching this show, and if he's typical of the way the jury may be thinking, I've got my work cut out for me, she thought.
Just Take My Heart
28
Well, isn't that a surprise?" Isabella Garcia asked her husband, Sal, as they sat in their small living room on East Twelfth Street in Manhattan. She had been engrossed in watching Courtside and could hardly believe her ears when Michael Gordon told the rest of the panel that he now believed that Gregg Aldrich was innocent of the murder of Natalie Raines. But although she was absolutely-shocked, she remarked to Sal that when you really thought about it, what Gordon was saying made a lot of sense.
Sal was sipping a beer and reading the sports page. Except for the news, and baseball or football games, he couldn't care less about watching television and had the gift of tuning both the picture and the sound out when he was reading.
He hadn't really paid attention yesterday when Belle told him to take a look at the clips that they were showing of the crook, Jimmy, on the witness stand. But from his one quick glance, Sal felt as if the guy seemed vaguely familiar for some reason. But he couldn't remember where he might have met him, and anyhow he didn't care.
Knowing that now, with the program over, Belle wanted to talk, Sal dutifully lowered his newspaper. After watching Courtside, she liked to air her opinion of the day's events at the trial. Unfortunately, her elderly mother was on a cruise in the Caribbean with several of her friends who were also widows, and so was not available for their customary lengthy telephone chat.
“I have to say that Gregg came off beautifully,” Belle began. “You know, he has a nice way about him. Why Natalie would have left him in the first place is hard to fathom. If she were our daughter I would have sat her down and told her that a very wise man wrote, 'At the end of his life, no one ever said I wish I'd spent more time in the office.' ”
“She was on the stage, not in an office,” Sal pointed out. You'd think this case depended on Belle's opinion, he thought, half amused, half irritated, as he looked across the room at his wife of thirty-five years. She'd been dyeing her hair for decades, so it was, at age sixty, the same coal black shade it had been when he first met her. Her body was thicker, but not very. The corners of her mouth turned up because she smiled so easily. He always tried to remember to thank God that Belle had such a good disposition. His brother was married to a battle-axe.
“Stage, office, you know what I mean.” Belle dismissed Sal's com?ment. “And Katie is such a pretty girl. I like to see the clips of her that Michael shows on the program.”
Belle had a way of referring to people as if they were, or had been, close friends, Sal thought. Sometimes when she was telling him a story, it was several minutes before he realized that she wasn't talk?ing about someone they knew intimately. Michael Gordon, the host of Courtside, was always just “Michael.” Natalie Raines was always “Natalie.” And, of course, the accused murderer was affectionately referred to as “Gregg.”
At twenty of ten, Belle was still going strong. She was talking about how it had been a good thing that Suzie, the housekeeper who worked next door to where Natalie lived, had been so nosy that she had gone in to check on Natalie and found her dying on the kitchen floor. “I don't know whether or not I would have the nerve to go into that kitchen myself,” Belle said.
Oh, please, Sal thought. To Belle, a closed door was an invitation to see what was going on. He stood up. “Well, I'm sure you would have helped if you had had the chance,” he said wearily. “That's it for me. We've got an early-morning pickup in Staten Island. People moving to Pearl River.”
As he got into bed fifteen minutes later, the name Jimmy Easton popped back into Sal's head. No wonder that guy looked familiar, he thought. He worked for us on and off a couple of years ago.
Not too reliable.
He didn't last.
Just Take My Heart
29
On Saturday morning, as he did every day, Zach watched through the blinds as Emily ate breakfast. It was already eight thirty. She gave herself a couple of extra hours to sleep, he thought. Yesterday she had left the house at six thirty a.m. Today, she took the time to have a second cup of coffee while she was reading the newspaper. Her dog. Bess, sat on her lap. He hated that dog. He envied her closeness to Emily.
W
hen Emily went upstairs to dress, he felt the familiar disap?pointment that he could not then see or hear her. He stayed at the window for about twenty minutes, until he saw her getting into her car. It was a warm early-October day and she was wearing jeans and a sweater. She didn't get dressed up when she went to the office on the weekend. He was sure she was going in to work on her case.
He had his day planned until she got home again —the first of the leaves had begun to fall, and he spent the morning raking and gathering them, then putting them into large plastic bags for the town pickup.
Zach was sure that Emily wouldn't be back until late afternoon at the earliest. After he had lunch, he drove to the local nursery and picked up some autumn plantings. He especially liked the yellow mums, and decided to line the walk from the driveway to the porch with them, even though he wouldn't be around long enough to enjoy them.
As he piled the flowers into a shopping cart, he found himself wishing that he could buy some for Emily. They would look nice on her walk, too. With the way she works, she hardly has any time for herself, let alone for her yard, he thought. But he knew if he tried to be nice to her like that, she would take it the wrong way. And then . . .
It really doesn't matter anyway, he decided, as he paid the ca?shier. She won't be around much longer to enjoy them, either! He still was angry with himself that he'd been stupid enough to be sit?ting in her enclosed porch when she came home that night a few weeks ago. It had ruined their growing friendship, and now she to?tally avoided him.
He was glad at least he'd taken that fancy nightgown from her bottom drawer the last day he went through her house. He was sure she wouldn't miss it. She had at least eight of them in that drawer, and from what he had seen in her hamper she usually slept in a long T-shirt.
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