Within Reach

by Barbara Delinsky

  Slowly, reluctantly, his thoughts turned toward the future. They dressed more somberly. Both faces were grim by the time Michael dropped her at the airport.

  “Take care, sweetheart, and remember that I love you,” he said, memorizing her features with soft, sad eyes.

  “I will,” she said through gathering tears. She knew that the joy of the afternoon would linger with her, but she was already missing him. She also knew that there was no escape from what lay ahead. Turning, head down, she walked stoically toward her plane.

  nineteen

  tWO DAYS LATER THE TRIAL BEGAN. MICHAEL followed the proceedings on television and in the papers, but the calls Danica made to him every night were what he waited for.

  “How do you feel?” he asked on that first night.

  “Tired. I hadn’t realized jury selection would be so slow. Two jurors picked out of eighteen interviewed. It could take as much as a week to get the full jury.” Which would make it one week longer before she was free.

  “But it’s critical, sweetheart. You don’t want a juror who’s already made up his mind as to Blake’s guilt or innocence. More subtle biases, well, I’m sure Blake’s lawyers are looking for those. They’ll want to stack the jury with professionals, for one thing, people who’ll be able to identify with him.”

  “Mmmm. The foreman of a factory would identify with Harlan. A person from a lower socioeconomic bracket may resent Blake’s wealth. On the other hand, the same person may be more awed by Blake’s status, so it could go either way. I don’t envy Jason and Ray. It’s hard.”

  “How about the press? Does it bother you?”

  “It was bad when we got to the courthouse this morning. They were all waiting, like vultures, ready to dive in for the kill.”

  “This is the first trial of the lot,” Michael reasoned, “and since Blake is in such a prominent position…”

  “Jason says that it’ll get better as time goes on, that they’ll lose interest.” She sighed. “I hope so. It’s bad enough going through the trial itself, but to have to deal with media questions and those microphones being stuck in our faces…”

  “Were they questioning you?”

  “They tried. They didn’t get any more from me than they got from Blake, though.”

  “I saw the television clip and there you were,” Michael quipped on a lighter vein. “Your dress was perfect—just enough of a hint of your pregnancy.” As for himself, he had simply to close his eyes to see the added weight of her breasts, the thickening of her waist and the faint, faint rounding of her stomach. “You were the prettiest thing on the screen all night.”

  She moaned. “I would have rather stayed in the background, but Blake insisted that I be right there by his side when we met the press. You can’t believe how difficult it was to sit in court all day looking calm and composed, and this was only the first day of the trial.”

  “It’ll be better once the actual trial begins. There’ll be plenty to think about then.”

  “I’m not sure if that’s good or bad.”

  It was bad. After five working days the jury was complete. Immediately after that the prosecution opened its case.

  “Tell me you’re discouraged,” Michael offered.

  “How did you know?”

  “I heard reports on two of the networks. I know enough about trials to imagine what you’re feeling right about now.”

  “It’s so nerve-racking having to sit there quietly while the other guy stands up and says all kinds of condemning things. For whatever differences Blake and I have had, I’ve never known him to be a ‘ruthless hustler.’ Did you hear that opening statement?”

  “Just excerpts of it.”

  “It was powerful, Michael.”

  “I’m sure it was. But that doesn’t mean Fitzgerald’s won’t be as good. Things only sound bad now because you can’t rebut them.”

  “I hope that’s true. Blake is really down. He barely ate dinner.”

  “Did you?”

  “Some. For the baby’s sake. I’ll be damned if I’ll let this child suffer for things it has no part in.”

  “Shhh. You’re a good mother already, Dani. That baby’s a lucky kid.”

  Luck had little to do with the events of the succeeding days. Everything Danica did was carefully planned and as carefully executed. She maintained her poise in the courtroom, never once wavering while document after document was introduced into evidence and witness after witness took the stand.

  The Assistant United States Attorney prosecuting the case painstakingly detailed Blake’s involvement with Eastbridge Electronics, then the licensing procedure that preceded the shipment in question and the fact that the items being shipped were restricted by the government. He brought in witnesses to testify that the high-speed integrated circuits had indeed been packed at and shipped from Eastbridge, then other witnesses—mercifully not Jeffrey—to outline the investigation that had traced the shipments back from the Soviet Union to Eastbridge.

  Listening each day, Danica grew more and more discouraged. Back at the house she forced the healthiest of foods into herself and made sure she got the proper amount of sleep—well, rest, at least, because there were nights when, even after talking with Michael, she remained tense and sleep eluded her. The only thing that seemed to help during those late night hours when she lay awake in bed was when she put her hand on her belly and projected her thoughts to the future. She pictured her baby, newly born, perfectly formed, and Michael by her side, smiling, holding her hand, telling her how much he loved her, how much he loved their child. She wondered if it was a boy and tried to think of masculine names, then switched and considered the feminine possibilities. She and Michael discussed it from time to time, but for the most part their conversations revolved around the trial.

  With Christmas fast approaching, Danica grew more restless. “It’ll be several more days before the prosecution rests,” she told Michael on the twentieth of the month.

  “It’s taking longer than we thought.” In the back of his mind, as in Danica’s, there had been the vague possibility that they would be reunited for Christmas. That possibility was now dashed.

  “Since the burden of proof rests with the prosecution, every little thing has to be spelled out. At least that’s what Jason and Ray say. It seems to me that only a moron wouldn’t be able to move faster, and as far as I know there are no morons on the jury.”

  “It’s the system of justice, sweetheart. One step at a time.”

  “One quarter-step at a time.”

  “You’re impatient. So am I. We’ll get there, though. Slowly, but surely.”

  The final witness the prosecution brought in was a surprise, and a shock. He was a man who had been employed at Eastbridge at the time of the shipment, a man who claimed he had been present during a conversation in which Blake had specifically referred to the high-speed integrated circuits, hence proving that he knew of their existence. On cross-examination Jason was able to tarnish the man’s credibility, pointing out that the witness may have confused the point of the conversation in question and, more importantly, that he had been dismissed from employment at Eastbridge for reasons of alleged incompetency shortly before Blake had left.

  Still, the testimony hurt.

  That Christmas was one Danica wanted to forget. Though she and Blake had agreed not to exchange gifts, he presented her with a gold watch—a “thank you,” he called it, for her support. She felt cheap, and it wasn’t because she hadn’t bought anything for him.

  They had dinner with her parents, but there was little to talk about that wasn’t depressing, and because talk of the baby was embarrassing, given that William didn’t know the truth, Danica avoided it. More than anything, she had wanted to be with Michael, who, along with Cilla and Jeff and Corey, whom Danica hadn’t yet met, had gone to Gena’s for the day. Her only solace was in talking with him later that night.

  “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

  “You, too.” She knew she wa
s about to cry and she didn’t want to do that, so she savagely bit on her lower lip.

  “How did it go?”

  “Okay,” she managed, but sniffled. “Cheer me up. Tell me about yours.”

  He did, in great detail, and she loved every minute of it because she was imagining how things would be the following year when she and the baby would be there.

  “Gena sends her love. So do Cilla and Jeff, and Corey, even though he said that you’ll probably think him that much more of a lecher than you already do.”

  She laughed. Corey was the publisher of his own magazine, which was about as far to conforming with the other Buchanans as he went, since the magazine was a sophisticated version of Penthouse. Danica had seen it at Michael’s house and had thought it inspiring.

  “I don’t think he’s a lecher. I can’t wait to meet him.”

  “I don’t know,” Michael teased. “He’s still a bachelor. Maybe I should put off this meeting till we’re married. By the way, he swore that our secret was safe with him.”

  Thoughts of the present tumbled in on her. “I wasn’t worried,” she said softly. “It won’t be long now anyway.”

  “Another two weeks?”

  “At most. Then we’ll be…together…” Her voice broke and the tears she had tried so hard to stem defied her.

  “Don’t cry, sweetheart.” But he wanted to cry himself. As lovely as Christmas day had been with his family, a vital part of him was missing. “Soon, it’ll all be over.”

  “It’s just that I wanted to be with you t-today.”

  “There’ll be other Christmases for us, Dani. The future is ours. Keep telling yourself that. I do.”

  “The future i-is ours. I know. The future is ours.” It was to become a litany that she would repeat many times each day.

  The trial resumed immediately after Christmas with the defense’s opening statement, then the presentation of its case. Indeed, it was easier for Danica to listen because things now sounded good for Blake.

  Jason went into a history of Eastbridge, tracing a record which had been spotless for twenty years. He produced an independent accountant to state that, by his study, Eastbridge was neither in financial trouble nor had it benefited monetarily from the alleged sale. To the contrary, he claimed, the computers had been sold at a price in keeping with the older units in which the circuits had been housed, and Eastbridge had actually taken a loss on the deal—all suggesting that Blake had not known of the presence of the higher priced circuits in the computers as the prosecution contended.

  Numerous witnesses testified to Blake’s good character. Others testified that a corporate head such as Blake might well not be in immediate touch with what was happening at the production and shipping levels.

  On the third of January, Blake took the witness stand on his own behalf.

  “He was excellent, Michael. I have to hand it to him. Even after three days on the stand he wasn’t ruffled under cross-examination.”

  “So I heard in the news. Are his lawyers optimistic?”

  “Yes, but guardedly so. It’s hard to judge the jury’s reaction. They looked sympathetic when Blake was being questioned, but then, they looked sympathetic during parts of the prosecution’s presentation.”

  “Closing arguments begin tomorrow?”

  “Mmmm. I’m not looking forward to that. The prosecution goes last. That’s what’s apt to stick in the jurors’ minds.”

  “No. The judge’s charge goes last. If he’s worth his salt, and I think you lucked out with Bergeron, he’ll give a fair charge. Once the jury is locked up, they’ll be looking at the evidence. That’s what they have to base their verdict on—the evidence, not the theatrics of the lawyers.” He knew he was taking the simplistic approach, knew that jurors were indeed often swayed by the antics of one lawyer or the other, but he sensed that Danica needed all the bolstering she could get. “From where I sit, the media coverage has been relatively unbiased.”

  “But they’re gathering round again. They can smell the moment of truth coming.”

  “It’s news, sweetheart. You can’t blame them for it. By the way, you called the doctor, didn’t you?”

  “Uh-huh. He was wonderful. He said he’d fit me in as soon as I could make it to Boston. I made a tentative appointment for next week. With luck, the trial will be over by then.”

  Michael’s voice deepened. “How are you feeling, deep down inside?”

  “Scared. I really want him to be acquitted, Michael. From a purely selfish standpoint, it’ll make things so much easier for me.”

  “Less guilt?”

  “Less guilt.”

  “Well, for what it’s worth, though I don’t think I’ll ever forgive the bastard for what he’s done to you, I’m rooting for an acquittal too. You’ll call me as soon as it’s over, won’t you?”

  “From the courthouse. I promise.”

  “Collect?” he teased.

  She gave a soft laugh of surrender and nodded. “Collect.”

  The closing arguments were dramatic and heated on both sides. The prosecution portrayed Blake as an opportunist, a man so driven by power and greed that he felt himself outside the law. The defense portrayed him as a man who was human, a man whose authority had been circumvented by an employee whose overriding ambition had led to his involvement with the KGB and his subsequent murder by foreign factions.

  As for the judge’s charge, Danica wasn’t sure what to make of it. Blake’s lawyers felt that it leaned toward their side, but all she heard was the oft-repeated “beyond a reasonable doubt.”

  The jury was out for three full days. If Danica thought the earlier part of the trial had been difficult, it was nothing compared to the hell of waiting. Each morning, as they had done now for over a month, she and Blake drove to the courthouse, where they were met by their lawyers and then ushered into the courtroom to hear the judge send the jury off to deliberate. Late each afternoon they returned to the courthouse to hear the judge dismiss the jury for the night when no decision had been reached. In the hours between, Danica and Blake sat in the offices of Fitzgerald and Pickering, saying little to each other. From time to time either Jason or Ray joined them to offer encouragement, but as the days passed, their words were more of a rationalizing nature.

  Ideally, the jury would have been so convinced of Blake’s innocence that it would have returned a verdict to that extent within hours. Realistically, as Jason pointed out, there was no way the jury could have reviewed the mountain of evidence offered in four weeks of testimony so quickly. Yet, as the days passed, minute by minute, hour by hour, Danica and Blake both began to wonder about the serious doubts the jury apparently had.

  It was late on the third day when the call finally came. Jason, his features tense, came into the conference room where Danica and Blake had been sitting alone.

  “The jury reached a verdict,” he announced quietly. “They’re waiting for us.”

  Danica’s heart thudded. Her gaze flew to Blake, who was pale and hollow-eyed.

  “Do you know anything, Jason?” he asked, his voice a shadow of its former confident self.

  Jason smiled sadly and shook his head. “No more than you do. We’ll have to hear it together in court.”

  Blake nodded and stood. He straightened his suit, but the rest of him was as immaculately groomed as ever.

  For a split second Danica swayed when she rose from her seat. Her knees felt rubbery, her arms and legs weak. But she steadied herself, and when she clutched Blake’s arm, it wasn’t for her own sake. Rather she was remembering the Blake she had first married and the better days they’d had together. Her facial expression said that in spite of all that had come later she didn’t wish him ill.

  Blake met her gaze, studied it for a moment and gave her a rueful smile of thanks. Then, taking her hand in his, he led her after Jason.

  They entered the courthouse through the back door, having to work their way through the media crowd only for the short distance from the elevator t
o the courtroom. Once inside, they took their familiar places, Blake at the defense table flanked by Jason and Ray, Danica directly behind Blake in the first row of seats.

  The courtroom was packed, its air rife with expectancy. Danica took slow, deep breaths to steady herself, but it seemed futile because she began to shake when the jury slowly filed into the room. As a group they looked grim, which could very well have been from fatigue, Danica reasoned, though she had hoped for a smile or two in the direction of the defense table.

  Everyone in the courtroom rose for the judge’s entrance. When he was seated, he nodded to the clerk, who faced the jury.

  “Madame Forelady, has the jury reached a verdict?”

  The woman who had served as forelady of the jury since the start of the trial stood. “We have.” She handed him a piece of paper. He carried it to the judge, who read it, nodded and handed it back.

  Clutching her hands in her lap, Danica wondered how such a small piece of paper could hold such weight. Years of work by Blake at Eastbridge, months of investigation by the government, weeks and weeks of trial preparation, then the trial itself, not to mention Blake’s future—all hung in the balance of the words written on that paper.

  The clerk’s flat voice filled the courtroom. “Will the defendant please rise.”

  Blake stood, as did both Jason and Ray. Danica could do nothing more than press her fingers into the wool of her dress and hold her breath as the clerk slowly went on.

  “On indictment number 85-2343, is the defendant guilty or not guilty?”

  The forelady spoke clearly. “Not guilty.”

  A murmur went through the courtroom and Danica swallowed.