Secrets So Deep eBook

by Secrets So Deep [Bella] (mobi)

  “Sleep with me . . . hold me all night.”

  A wave of relief washed over Charlotte. “If you’ll let me hold you, I won’t ever you let go.”

  Chapter 19

  Maintaining a neutral expression was harder than it sounded, Glynn was finding. Michael had explained that a constant visage of seriousness and respect was necessary, but nothing that showed anger, doubt or even satisfaction. And she was never to make eye contact with anyone in the jury.

  Eight women and four men would decide her fate. Michael was generally happy with the composition, except for the woman who had raised fourteen foster children. She would likely be overly sympathetic to Sebby, and more dismissive of Glynn’s claims of innocence.

  “All rise! The Superior Court of the District of Columbia is now in session, the Honorable Rebecca Bower presiding.”

  Glynn came to her feet alongside Michael and watched as the stately woman entered from a side door. She was all business, apparent from her tough scrutiny of jurors’ attempts to shirk their duty and her admonitions to both Ferrin and Michael to restrict their questioning to appropriate topics. She began the trial this morning by throwing back Michael’s last-ditch request for a change of venue based on a new survey that showed practically everyone in the District was familiar with the case. She was happy with this jury, whether the legal parties were or not.

  “We’ve wasted enough time this morning, gentlemen. Are you ready to begin?”

  Both attorneys responded in the affirmative, and Ferrin rose first to lay out his case to the jury.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a very serious case before us today, an unusual case, if you will. It isn’t often we go to trial to prove a murder that has gone unpunished for eleven years. And it’s even less often we go to trial based on the eyewitness testimony of a five-year-old. Some people might think that’s unreliable. But we’re going to convince you otherwise. We have what’s called corroborating evidence—evidence that supports the claims of a child who saw his mother murder his father eleven years ago.”

  Ferrin was poised and personable as he walked in front of the jury box, talking with his hands to invite agreement with his story. As Michael had predicted, he turned often to face the gallery, probably not for any strategic reason having to do with his case, but to ensure his face would be seen clearly on the cameras positioned at the rear of the courtroom.

  “Congressman Sebastian Wright was murdered in cold blood as he soaked in a tub. A person he trusted”—he swung his arm dramatically in Glynn’s direction—“his wife, in fact, caused his electrocution when she pushed a live television into the water where he sat.”

  Glynn fought the urge to glare at him in defiance. Michael had coached her to watch Ferrin’s shoulder instead of his face so as not to give away emotion.

  “Today, her son has come forward with the true story of that crime. He was five years old when he watched his mother do that terrible thing, something so horrifying he buried the memory until only a few weeks ago, when it was uncovered during extensive psychotherapy by a psychiatrist trained to peel back the layers of trauma that caused this boy, now sixteen years old, to try to take his own life to escape the horrible memories.” Ferrin turned again to face the gallery, striking a pose that almost caused Glynn to roll her eyes.

  “Over these next few days, you’ll hear a remarkable story. The police detective who investigated the scene will tell you how they struggled to balance the evidence of a crime with the story they heard from the only other adult at home, Glynn Wright. He’ll tell you how a confused little boy explained what had happened, but using the words his mother told him to say. And he’ll show you the evidence that proves beyond a reasonable doubt the eyewitness testimony you’ll hear from a boy who sees things more clearly now, a boy who now remembers the truth.

  “You’ll hear testimony from two psychiatrists, one who will show you the depth of this boy’s denial, the other, the light of his awakening.”

  Glynn wondered who had written such a hokey line. “And you’ll hear from the boy himself, who will tell you the heartbreaking story of how he watched, hidden from view, as his mother killed his defenseless father. And how afterward, she told him what to say to police to absolve her of the crime.” Ferrin took up a new position beside the jury box and pointed at her, as though standing alongside her fellow accusers. “By all accounts, Glynn Wright had the perfect life. She had a loving husband who was respected across the nation as a member of the United States House of Representatives. She had a beautiful, healthy son and a fine home in Woodley Park. What more could a woman want? For Glynn Wright, the answer is simple. She wanted another woman.”

  Glynn concentrated hard to maintain her dispassionate look as he paused for dramatic effect.

  “Glynn Wright would never be happy as a congressman’s wife, or anyone’s wife, for that matter. A woman inclined to be with other women could never be fulfilled in a life with a man. So why didn’t she divorce Congressman Wright? Again, the answer is simple. She was afraid of losing that perfect life, afraid to walk into a divorce court and have her husband accuse her of affairs with other women, and win custody of their son and freedom from financial settlement.

  “For eleven years, Glynn Wright has not only gotten away with murder, she’s thrived on it. She’s a congresswoman herself now. She took over her husband’s seat on the good faith of the people who put him in office. I wonder if they would be satisfied with anything less than a sentence of life in prison for callously killing their favorite son.”

  “Objection, Your Honor.” Michael was on his feet. “The prosecution is discussing sentencing for a defendant who is still innocent in the eyes of the law.”

  Judge Bowers looked at the prosecutor. “Would it be too much trouble to meet your burden of proof first, Mr. Ferrin?”

  “No, Your Honor.”

  Glynn fought the urge to smirk. Judge Bowers had proven to be an equal-opportunity chastiser, and probably would do the same to Michael before long. Glancing at Michael as he returned to his seat, she caught an image behind her that sent a chill up her spine. Irene Wright was boring through her with angry eyes.

  “What a peacock,” Charlotte muttered to herself as she watched on television. If Michael got up there when it was his turn to talk and strutted like Ferrin, she was going to give him hell. A reasonable jury would be offended by such a phony display. Fortunately, Michael knew better. This was exactly the behavior he had predicted from the prosecutor if the judge consented to allowing the trial to be televised.

  Glynn appeared calm and collected this morning—quite a contrast to last night when she had come home from the jury selection flustered and full of doubts. Michael had arrived soon after to assure her he was pleased with the mix, but Charlotte could tell he was bothered. Later in the kitchen, he related his concerns about the foster mother. If she held out for conviction out of sympathy for Sebby, the jury would hang and they would have to do this all over again.

  At least Glynn was getting her rest. Ever since the night they had made love on the couch, they had slept together, flannel pajamas and all. They had kissed and held each other, but it was clear Glynn was holding back, not yet ready to give herself permission to enjoy intimacy again until she felt able to reciprocate. Charlotte understood that, even if she didn’t agree with it. Her job right now was to keep Glynn upbeat and focused.

  Roy and Tina were handling things at the Capitol, and Randy was holding the angry constituents at bay. It was too soon to tell if even a full exoneration would be enough to quiet the objections of voters back in Indiana. The phone calls coming into the office seemed to suggest most were withholding judgment about the murder charges, but greatly bothered by her admission of relationships with women.

  When Ferrin wrapped up his opening statement, the camera that was situated behind the jury box zoomed in on Glynn. Her eyes shifted from one place to another, finally settling on her own folded hands, and she wore an unmistakable frown. Something she had seen
had rattled her.

  “Do you have an opening statement, Mr. Gattison?” “I do, Your Honor.” He stood and addressed the jury. “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you all for your willingness to serve this court. It is a sacred duty to hold justice in your hands, and I appreciate that each of you has promised to assume my client’s innocence unless the prosecution convinces you— beyond a reasonable doubt—that she is guilty. She is not, and despite the elaborate tale Mr. Ferrin weaves, he cannot prove otherwise.”

  Glynn liked Michael’s voice. Unlike Ferrin, he didn’t sound like a cheerleader for his cause. He came off as a calm authority, a man who respected the wisdom of the jury, and trusted them to steer through the shadows and mirrors and find the truth.

  “Mr. Ferrin has told you an interesting story . . . a fictional story, his own conjecture of what had to happen in order for these charges to be true. Every piece of his fictional tale depends on the assumption that all the other pieces are true. That, ladies and gentlemen, is what we call a house of cards. You’ve seen such a thing. If only one card from that house is removed, the whole structure falls. And in this case, if only one piece of his fictional story is disproved, you have reasonable doubt to believe the rest of his story is true.”

  She barely caught Michael’s wink as he returned to the table to pick up a yellow pad and his glasses.

  “I made a few notes while the prosecutor was spinning his tale. Please allow me to straighten out some of the curves. He claims the police had doubts all along about the guilt of my client.” Looking over his glasses to the jury, he asked, “Does that sound as convenient to you as it does to me? Please think about it. If the police truly had doubts about the circumstances surrounding the death of someone as important as a U.S. congressman, would they not have investigated further? Kept an open file? They didn’t do either, and now, I have to wonder if perhaps these recent doubts have been manufactured to bolster Mr. Ferrin’s case.”

  He checked his notes again and returned the tablet to the table. Glynn peeked over to see arrows and asterisks among the scribbled words, a code only Michael understood.

  “He’ll put his expert witness on the stand to testify as to how forgotten memories are recovered. As you listen to that, ladies and gentlemen, please keep in mind that psychotherapy is not an exact science. There are differing opinions among the experts on how best to recover memories, and the method one chooses can influence the outcome. Our expert witnesses will cast reasonable doubt on the validity of the memories that were supposedly recovered in this case.”

  Glynn fidgeted uncomfortably, knowing Michael would go next after the testimony of her son. They had talked about it ad nauseum, how to attack Sebby’s story without attacking him. It was understood by all that she had the final say. If she thought at any point Michael’s questions were hurting him, she would signal him to back off—even if it meant hanging herself out to dry.

  “And you’ll hear from a five-year-old boy. Yes, Sebastian Wright is sixteen now, but his memories are those of a child, things seen through a child’s eyes that can be distorted, misconstrued or even imagined. I believe the evidence we show will convince you beyond a reasonable doubt that Glynn Wright loved her husband very much, that theirs was, in fact, the perfect life Mr. Ferrin was mocking earlier. We’ll prove to you the defendant wasn’t a political climber, that as an expert in early childhood education, she already had a respectable career with the United Nations. In fact, only two days before her husband’s death, she returned from five months in Bosnia, where she had served war-torn communities of children. And while she slept on Saturday morning to recover from jet lag, a horrible accident happened. A five-year-old boy was the first to discover the gruesome scene, and he has spent eleven years trying desperately to understand why such a terrible thing happened.”

  It was all Glynn could do not to watch the faces of the jurors as Michael summed up the case. He wanted them to doubt Ferrin’s evidence before they ever heard it.

  “You’re going to like Sebastian. He’s a nice young man, and he loves his mother very much. She loves him too, but as you can imagine, there is a gulf between them of gigantic proportions. Convincing you she didn’t do this is the smallest part of her battle. For Glynn Wright, it’s more important to convince her son she didn’t do it. Because, you see, the only possible way she could have done the things he claimed he saw her do”—he paused for effect—“is if she did them while she was asleep and totally unaware of her actions.”

  That covered all the bases. She didn’t do it, and if she did do it, she didn’t realize it because she was sleepwalking. Now all they had to do was make their case better than Ferrin made his.

  “Thanks to all you’ve seen on television, you probably know how this works. Mr. Ferrin gets first crack at proving his case. That means for the next few days, you’re going to hear all of his evidence against Congresswoman Wright. You’ll be tempted to believe it because you’re hearing only one side of the story. I’m asking you not to draw conclusions until you’ve heard both sides.” He smiled warmly and started back to the table, but stopped abruptly and turned. “Unless, of course, you want to conclude that Mr. Ferrin doesn’t have a case.”

  “Where did you find Michael?” Charlotte asked, kicking off her shoes to join Glynn on the couch. This was the most relaxed she had seen Glynn in weeks, and she gave all the credit to Michael for how he had handled their first day in court. “He’s a major league ass kicker.”

  Glynn scooted under Charlotte’s arm. “I met him through Saul and Melinda. Their son married his daughter, and as soon as Saul heard I’d been arrested, he called him and he came straight to the jail.”

  “I remember you weren’t too happy with him after having to stay the night.”

  “I got over it. That first day I was here I wasn’t happy about anything.”

  “Talk about understatement.”

  “You were great to me that day,” Glynn said, letting her fingers tickle Charlotte’s thigh. “And every day since.”

  Charlotte squeezed her shoulder. “I was worried about you.”

  They both shifted sideways so that Glynn was leaning backward against Charlotte’s chest. “That’ll teach you to take in strays. You fed me and I never left.”

  Charlotte draped an arm across Glynn’s chest and kissed the top of her head. “I’ll be sure to keep feeding you then.”

  Glynn kissed her shoulder in response. “What time do you have to be at the courthouse?”

  “Ferrin said nine, but I’m not his first witness, so who knows how long I’ll be hanging out.”

  “Where are you supposed to go?”

  “I have to meet someone from his office first and sit in the hallway until they call me.” She nodded toward the growing stack of neglected medical journals. “At least I have plenty to keep me entertained.”

  “You’ll miss the detective’s testimony.”

  “I’ll record it to watch tomorrow night if you can stand to sit through it again.”

  “I can always go upstairs and hide my head under the pillow. Or I can stay at my house.”

  Charlotte squeezed her possessively. “Don’t do that. I like you here.”

  “I like being here too. I hate being at home without Sebby, especially knowing he’s with Irene.”

  “It must be hard to see her turn on you like that.”

  “You should have seen the look she gave me today in the courtroom. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so much hatred from someone in my whole life.”

  “Didn’t you say you’d always gotten along with her?”

  “We’ve had our differences. I’m not sure anyone was good enough for Bas as far as she was concerned, but she accepted me. And when Sebby came along, we got even closer. She’s been an anchor for both of us all these years without Bas.”

  “It’s amazing how fast she turned her back on you, and without even talking to you.”

  “I think she feels like she has to support her grandson. He’s all
she has.”

  “And what’s going to happen when you’re acquitted? When you and Sebby heal things, won’t that leave her out in the cold?”

  “I won’t do that do her, but she might do it to herself. If I know Irene, the lesbian thing isn’t going to go away even if everything else does. She’s always going to think it means I couldn’t have loved her son.”

  “Maybe when this is over, you can talk to her. A lot of people have trouble with the idea of bisexuality. I can get you some resources if you think it would help.”

  Glynn sighed. “I can’t even think that far ahead. I just need my son back.”

  “Which brings us back to Michael. He did a great job today.”

  “Didn’t he, though?”

  “Do you realize this could all be over in a couple of weeks?”

  “Yeah . . . at least this part. Even if it turns out all right, it could take months—years even—to pick up all the pieces.”

  One thing Charlotte knew for sure was that a boy as fragile as Sebby wasn’t going to have a sudden epiphany that washed away eleven years of emotional struggles. No matter how this resolved, he was sure to need therapy for years to come. “Like you always say, the only thing that matters is for you and Sebby to work things out.”

  “That isn’t all that matters anymore, Charlotte. You matter too.”

  It seemed almost selfish to welcome those words, but Charlotte couldn’t help being thrilled to hear Glynn was including her in the picture when she looked ahead. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’ll make it easy, whatever you need.”

  Glynn sat up and turned. “What do you mean you’ll make it easy? I hope you don’t think I’m going to push you back into the shadows.”

  “No, I just mean I’ll give you whatever space you need to smooth things over with Sebby. If it bothered him when you were seeing Stephanie, he isn’t going to like you seeing me.”

  “But it’s not the same thing. Maybe if I don’t treat it like it’s such a big secret, he won’t feel so tense about it.”