Claim of Innocence

by Laura Caldwell

  “What does that mean? Like Botox?”

  She nodded. “And a few other things.” She looked at Charlie and me, and I could see she was nervous for our reaction.

  “Have at it,” I said. “I’m in full support.”

  Charlie spoke up. “I’m not.”

  My mother studied him. “Charlie. You’re judging me? You?”

  We both knew what she meant. For one thing, Charlie was just about the least judgmental person we knew. For another, he had milked a worker’s comp settlement into two years of sitting around and doing mostly nothing, which my mother and I never judged him for.

  Charlie looked confused, as if he, too, was surprised to find himself saying this. He eyed my mom. “I just think you don’t need to do anything. Aging is a natural process, and you’re gorgeous.” He put his hands to his face and patted the skin under his eyes. “I’m getting lines, too. They’re natural.”

  My mother and I burst out laughing.

  “You don’t have lines!” I said.

  “None!” my mother agreed. She turned and looked in the mirror. “You have no idea what it’s like to age physically. Especially when you’re a woman. It’s such a strange thing. In my mind, I’m smarter, more aware than I’ve ever been, but this shell that I wear I’m…well, it’s disintegrating. That’s the only way to say it.”

  “And that’s natural,” Charlie said.

  “So what if it’s natural?” She sounded annoyed. “Does that mean I shouldn’t address it? Diabetes occurs naturally, and if it does, you take insulin. If you get heart disease naturally because you eat too much steak or you have high blood pressure because you eat too much cheese, they treat it with medication or surgery. If your teeth are dirty, naturally, from eating, you brush them.”

  I said nothing, surprised at what was essentially an outburst from my normally sedate mother.

  “But you don’t have diabetes or heart disease,” Charlie said.

  “If I did, I would take something. What I do have now is aging, so why shouldn’t I do something about it?”

  “I don’t know,” Charlie said, sounding less sure of himself now. “You always said you would never have anything done. And I just think you’re beautiful already.”

  My mother smiled and laughed, a particularly happy, tinkling laugh she’d always had yet rarely used. She walked to the bed and kissed Charlie on the forehead. “Thank you,” she said simply.

  “Where are you all?” we heard Spence call.

  He entered the bedroom a few seconds later, looking surprised to find us there. “Why aren’t you in the kitchen?”

  “We were just chatting,” my mother said.

  “Yes, but…” Spence seemed to falter. It was true; he wouldn’t have usually found Charlie and me in my mother’s room. “I have things ready,” he said simply. I could picture the bay window in the kitchen downstairs, the table loaded with snacks and wine.

  “I was just telling Charlie and Izzy how much I dislike getting older,” my mom said.

  Spence’s eyebrows drew together. He ran a hand through what was left of his graying hair. He looked entirely…what was the word? Disquieted.

  And indeed, this was a new side of my mother we were seeing. Was the therapy making her open up, making her change? Was it my father’s appearance in town, and back in our lives, that was causing her to have a tougher time with aging?

  “Well, I…” Spence shifted back and forth, looking distinctly uncomfortable in his own bedroom.

  “Let’s all go downstairs,” my mother declared, striding across the room to kiss him on the cheek.

  “Yes, let’s,” I said, standing, wanting to make Spence feel better.

  “Yes, let’s,” Spence said, echoing me. But his words sounded hollow.

  39

  “State your name for the record, please.”

  “Xavier Miller.”

  “And your address?”

  Zavy shifted forward in his seat toward the microphone, stating an address in downtown Chicago.

  Ellie Whelan, dressed in a pale blue suit, looked up from her notes. “And how long have you lived there?”

  “Eight years.”

  “Who do you live with, sir?”

  “Generally, my two daughters. My stepdaughters. But they’re staying with their aunt for a while.”

  “Why is that, sir?”

  “Because of…” Zavy Miller picked up a hand and trailed it around the courtroom. His eyes landed on Valerie’s, then went back to Ellie Whelan. “Because of all this.”

  “And has anyone else lived in that house with you and your stepdaughters?”

  “Yes. Previously my wife lived there also. Before she died.”

  “And who was your wife, sir?”

  Zavy Miller looked very handsome, wearing a navy suit and a silk tie. He brushed a hand through his blond hair. “My wife was Amanda Miller.”

  “How long were you and Amanda married?”

  “Six years.”

  “So, Mrs. Miller had two daughters from a previous marriage?”

  “That’s correct. But I adopted them after we were married.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Their father had a substance-abuse problem and lost custody of them.”

  We heard someone in the courtroom murmur, Aw.

  Zavy continued. “I became very close with them after Amanda and I met.”

  “And how old are your stepdaughters now, sir?”

  “Tessa is twelve, and Brit is nine.”

  “Brit is Britney?”

  “Yes.”

  Ellie Whelan turned a page of notes and asked a few more questions about Zavy and his stepdaughters.

  I leaned close to Maggie. “He’s a good witness.”

  “Excellent, unfortunately.”

  “Let’s take a step back,” Ellie Whelan said. “How did you and Amanda meet?”

  He smiled. “We met at a theater downtown. We were seeing the same matinee. Tessa was only five at the time. She had wandered away from her mother, and I helped her find her mom.”

  “Jesus,” Maggie whispered. “He’s friggin’ St. An thony.”

  “Which one is that?” I asked.

  “The saint who helps find lost stuff.”

  Maggie’s family was decidedly Catholic, while I hadn’t been raised with any particular faith. I found the saint stuff fascinating.

  The room was silent, the jury paying close attention. “And how long did you and Amanda date before you were married?” Ellie asked.

  “About a year. We were very much in love.” His voice seemed to break a little at the end.

  Ellie shrewdly consulted notes, letting that bit of emotion linger.

  I heard a cough from Valerie, and I looked at her. She wore a black wrap dress with tiny checks of silver, her hair pulled back in a loose knot. She stared at Zavy, her eyes intense.

  Right then the courtroom door opened and someone slipped inside and into the last row. People went in and out of the courtroom all the time, and usually I didn’t pay much attention, but something made me look closer. And then I saw a man with golden hair, a man with olive-colored eyes.

  “Holy shit, there’s Sam,” Maggie whispered. “What’s he doing here?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, my voice holding a tinge of nervousness.

  Sam settled himself on the bench and let his eyes sweep the courtroom. They landed on mine. We both stared intensely. Then he smiled.

  “Everything okay?” I mouthed.

  He gave me a thumbs-up and a big smile. He had come to court to support me, I realized. Just like he used to when I represented Forester Pickett. I had always assumed Sam came back then because he also worked for Forester. But now here he was, far from his office, nothing connecting him to this trial. Except for me.

  I blinked with surprise and pleasure, and turned back to Zavy Miller.

  “Did your wife ever suffer from mental health issues?” Ellie Whelan was definitely a smart litigator. She was “front
ing” the deceased’s depression, knowing from earlier that this issue would rise again.

  Zavy nodded, his eyes sad. “She had some problems with depression. It was recent—just a short time before she died.”

  “Do you know the reason for that depression?”

  “She was trying to figure that out with her doctor. I’m not quite sure how much to say here….” When Ellie Whelan didn’t offer him any help, he added, “They were discussing premenopausal issues.”

  “That’s fine, thank you,” Ellie said. “Was Amanda taking any medications for this depression?”

  “Yes.”

  “And how was that working?”

  “She said it was helping.”

  I stood slightly. “Objection.” Since I would be handling any cross-examination of Zavy, I was the one who was supposed to object. “Hearsay,” I added.

  “The statement was made by the deceased,” Ellie said.

  “And that statement does not exclude it from the hearsay rule.”

  Maggie gave me a tug on my jacket and whispered, “It does in a criminal action.”

  Shazzer. Another difference between civil and criminal.

  I wanted to say, Never mind, but since that wasn’t exactly legalese, I sat and said, “Objection withdrawn.”

  I glanced at Sam, who gave me another thumbs-up, as if my objection had been a brilliant legal maneuver rather than a bust. I couldn’t help but smile again. Strange how natural it was to have him there. For a moment, I replaced him in my mind with an image of Theo—tattooed, long-haired, sexy-as-hell Theo—sitting in the courtroom instead. But that didn’t seem natural at all. Theo felt completely removed from my professional life, and it was hard to imagine him playing a part the way Sam always had.

  Ellie moved a little closer to Zavy Miller. “Sir, you mentioned your wife said the medications were working to alleviate her symptoms.”

  That wasn’t exactly what he had said, but I didn’t want to object again.

  “Correct.”

  “Sir, based on your intimate knowledge of your wife and what you knew about her condition, was she depressed enough to take her own life?”

  “No, certainly not.”

  Ellie Whelan nodded, then walked to the podium and put her notes down. She looked at her witness. “I need to ask a personal question, sir. How was your relationship with your wife?”

  “Wonderful. We were very happy.” Again, his voice had a crack in it.

  I looked at the jury. Most appeared sympathetic. One woman blinked her eyes and squinted like she might tear up.

  Zavy cleared his throat as if embarrassed. He lightly put his fist to his mouth while he did so. Then he looked up at Ellie.

  “Do you need a minute, Mr. Miller?” Ellie asked.

  “No. Thank you. I’m fine.”

  “Sir, directing your attention to the night of December second of last year. What were you doing on that night?”

  Zavy stared straight ahead, but it didn’t look as if he were focusing on anything in particular. He almost seemed to shudder, then he looked back at Ellie. “That night I had dinner with Amanda.”

  “And where did you have dinner?”

  “At home.”

  “Were your daughters there?”

  “No, they both had playdates. They were with friends.”

  “Did you and Amanda make dinner together?”

  “No. She wanted to surprise me with Mexican food because it’s one of my favorites.”

  “So your wife prepared the meal?”

  “Yes. Well, she and…” His voice stopped. His eyes went to Valerie. This time they stayed there.

  “Sir,” Ellie prompted, “did anyone else prepare the meal with your wife?”

  “Yes. Valerie Solara.”

  “Do you see Ms. Solara in the courtroom today?”

  “Yes.” His eyes still hadn’t left Valerie.

  “Can you point her out, Mr. Miller?”

  Zavy lifted his index finger and pointed to Valerie.

  “Sir, can you stand and do that again so that the entire courtroom can see?”

  Next to me, I heard Maggie growl, then she said under her breath, “The Point. Again.”

  I whispered back. “Should I object? It’s not like he saw her stab his wife or something. It’s probably not appropriate.”

  She shook her head no.

  Zavy Miller stood, pointing to Valerie, then sat down again. I looked at Valerie. She tugged on a silver rope necklace around her neck. I tried to give her a message with telepathy. Don’t do that. You look uncomfortable. You look…guilty.

  As if she’d heard me, she dropped her hand, but still she looked straight at Zavy and he back at her.

  “Now, Mr. Miller, how do you know that Valerie Solara assisted Amanda in preparing the Mexican meal that night?”

  His eyes went back to Ellie Whelan. “Because I came home that afternoon from work and I saw them.”

  “You knew Valerie Solara before that time?”

  “Yes, I’d known her since I met Amanda.”

  “And how would you characterize Amanda’s relationship with Valerie Solara?”

  He raised his eyebrows and exhaled. “Well, they were good friends.”

  “What do you mean by that, sir?”

  “Well, she killed her, so…”

  I stood. “Objection!”

  “Sustained,” Judge Bates said.

  Once again, Ellie Whelan didn’t blink. “Do you know how long Amanda and Valerie have been friends?”

  “Maybe fourteen, fifteen years.”

  I leaned toward Maggie. “Can I switch places with you so I can be near Valerie?”

  She nodded and slipped from her seat, letting me take it.

  I gave Valerie what I hoped was a reassuring look.

  “And had you become friends with Valerie?” Ellie asked Zavy.

  “I thought I had.”

  This time Ellie didn’t ask what he’d meant by his tone. “Can you tell us about your friendship with Valerie Solara?”

  “Well, she was one of my wife’s best friends. She and Bridget.”

  A couple of jurors looked at the people in the gallery as if searching for Bridget. She wasn’t there because she was expected to testify later.

  “We were all close,” Zavy continued. “I became friends with her husband, Brian. When he got sick, Amanda and I tried to pitch in and help her.”

  I looked at Valerie. Her jaw was set in a straight line.

  “Is that true?” I whispered to her. “Did they help you when Brian was sick?”

  She nodded, not taking her eyes away from him.

  “Do you know what kind of illness Brian suffered from?” Ellie asked.

  “Objection,” I said without standing.

  Judge Bates turned to me. “Basis?”

  “Relevancy.”

  I didn’t really care if Zavy told the jury what illness Brian had. I simply wanted to mess with Ellie and throw her off her rhythm.

  The judge knew it. He paused, giving me a look before he turned to Ellie. “I’ll allow it.”

  “What kind of illness did Brian have?” Ellie asked.

  “Lou Gehrig’s disease.”

  “Returning your attention to the afternoon before your wife died, can you tell us more about what you saw when Ms. Solara and Amanda were preparing dinner?”

  “It was chicken mole. Amanda told me it was a recipe that had been in Valerie’s family, and she wanted to learn how to make it. Amanda did that a lot—cooking lessons and stuff like that.”

  “How much time did you spend with your wife and Valerie while they were making dinner?”

  “Maybe thirty, forty minutes. I sat in the kitchen with them and we all chatted while they cooked.”

  “Did you see anything strange when you first came into the kitchen?”

  “Objection,” I said.

  “Sustained.”

  “Did you see anything out of the ordinary?”

  “Yes. Right when
I walked in.”

  “What was that, sir?”

  “Well, Valerie was by herself then. I guess Amanda was in the bathroom or something. And Valerie had…what do they call it?…a mortar and pestle. She had ground something in it, and she was putting that into one of the dishes.”

  “What do you mean by ‘putting that’ into one of the dishes?”

  Zavy made a gesture, as dumping something out. “It was something blue, kind of powdery, and she was pouring it into one dish and then using her hand to make sure all of it got in there.”

  I stood. “Objection. The witness is making an assumption as to what was in the mind of the defendant.”

  “Granted.”

  “Let’s back up,” Ellie said. “When you said ‘something blue,’ what did you mean?”

  “I wasn’t sure what it was. I asked her, and she said it was blue cornmeal.”

  “Objection, hearsay,” I said.

  “It’s not offered for the truth of the matter asserted,” Ellie said.

  “Overruled.”

  Ellie continued. “Did you have any further conversation about what she said was blue cornmeal?”

  I really wished there was an objection for snotty insinuation by counsel. But since that wasn’t on the books yet, I stayed silent.

  “No. Valerie was an excellent cook. We’d had her Mexican food a number of times, so I trusted her.” He sent Valerie a look that appeared sad, as if to say, Yes, I had once trusted her.

  “And, sir, when you say she was pouring it into ‘one of the dishes,’ what did you mean by that?”

  “They were making one dish, both technically chicken mole, but they said they were doing two versions of it. One would be a little spicier for Amanda. I have some minor digestive issues, so I don’t eat food that’s too spicy.”

  “And did you and your wife often create two versions of a dish for that reason?”

  “Yes.”

  “After you spoke with your wife and Ms. Solara that afternoon, where did you go, sir?”

  “To the gym. And briefly back to my office to pick up something.”

  “What do you do for work?”

  “I’m an investor in various businesses, so I have a small office, and I make my own hours.”

  “When did you return to the house?”

  “About an hour and a half later.”

  “Was Ms. Solara still at your home at that time?”