by Marge Piercy
This cell was too depressing to endure. At least she was by herself. Across the hall was a dormitory with eight women. The men’s side was supposed to be more crowded than the women’s side. She was comforted slightly to think of Sam stuck in there with a bunch of drug traffickers, rapists, child abusers, hit-and-run drivers and guys who had broken up the local bar. That would teach him to open his mouth and start telling her secrets to other greedy kids. That would show him the importance of being quiet about what he ought to keep to himself.
The best thing would be if she could talk to him and get him back under her supervision. Figure out how to cut her losses, what he should say, what story they should put out. Damage control. It was frustrating to know he was in the same building and yet might as well be in the next state. She simply could not get to him. They didn’t even have the same lawyer. Tommy had gotten her a guy he said was the best criminal lawyer in New Bedford. Tommy said he was expensive. She told Tommy that once she was free and collected the insurance money, she could pay him back and her parents, no problem, so don’t shortchange her now.
Sam’s uncle had hired some lawyer from Boston that Tommy said was even more expensive than Robert Green. Robert Green was an older man who was kind of weird-looking, tall and skinny with a funny, spotty forehead, but she liked the way he got right to the point. He told her the weak aspect of the case the state was closing around her was that they lacked direct evidence connecting her with the murder. Sam was linked by the pawning of the objects from the robbery. But as long as Sam didn’t break, only gossip linked Becky to Sam.
Helen told the police nothing. Helen steadfastly defended her and claimed to disbelieve that Becky had been sexually involved with Sam. She was fiercely proud of Helen. That was how a friend should act, stonewall them. Maybe she herself had a better instinct with women, because she had surely screwed up with men. Still, if only she could put her hands on Sam, she could make him do anything. Maybe when they both were bailed out, she could get to him. She could work him around, she knew she could.
Green came to see her that afternoon. Her family could visit only twice a week. It was depressing not to be able to see them more often. Especially Tommy. Tommy made her feel safer just to look at him. But her lawyer could come pretty much when he wanted to. She didn’t have to meet Green downstairs, where she saw her family. That was a dreary room with a stupid flimsy grill and a smell of despair. Everybody lined up, the women on one side in old chairs and their visitors on the other side and the guard in the middle with the sign-up book bored while everybody tried to wring some intimacy out of the couple of feet they had to themselves with the dirty counter and the low grill in between.
But Green could meet with her upstairs in the women’s section, in the day room, where women went to get away from the TV, to write letters, to be alone. She liked him because she sensed he really wanted to win this case. She liked men who wanted to win. She tried flirting with him, giving him the look under her lashes and leaning forward the right way, but he stopped her cold. “Save that. And don’t do it in front of the jury, ever. You hear me?”
She did not bother again. After all, she was just trying to please, to motivate him further, and if he didn’t want that, she didn’t need to make the extra effort.
To her question about progress on bail, he frowned. “Your family isn’t about to come up with the money. They’re going in hock to pay legal fees, you must know that.”
She was silent a moment, clutching herself. Weeks in this holding pen. “What about Sam? Is he going to get out?”
“His mother has no money. They won’t go the bail bondsman route, but his uncle, who’s paying for their lawyer, is trying to raise the money in a loan on his practice or a mortgage. That’s a slow way to raise the bail, but he’ll get the money together eventually. Therefore, yes, Sam will be out, although not for a while.”
“It’s not fair for him to get out and me to be stuck in here where I can’t do anything.”
“The less you do, the better. You aren’t thinking of trying to reach the boy, are you?”
She didn’t answer him. He didn’t understand that if she could get her hands on Sam, she could make him say or do anything. The problem had arisen from not being safe to spend a lot of time with him while the police were on her back. The problem came from not staying on his case.
“Because if you’re thinking about that, don’t. It’s suicidal. Now, Helen and Sam have both said that your husband beat you. Did he?”
Green wanted that to be true for some reason. She acted as if she were ashamed. “He did hit me sometimes. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“If the boy starts talking, and you can count on that, then we might try using that in our defense. We’ll see. It’s hard, because you were supporting him and there are no children. The question then is why you didn’t leave.” He rose. “You think about every instance of brutality and make notes for me. I’ll see you Friday, if I get out of court in time. Otherwise, Tuesday.”
She sat in her cell with her face pushed into her hands. She was polite if someone spoke to her. She didn’t want to talk to any of the women. The only people she wanted to see were all on the outside and she was inside, looking out. Robert Green didn’t understand, she had to get at Sam to protect herself. If she didn’t get to him and work on him, his family and his lawyer would turn him against her, she knew it.
Someone was throwing up in the bathroom next door. It made her nauseous. The women in here were a sorry lot. They reminded her of kids she’d gone to grade school with. They were caught for shoplifting, taking or selling drugs, prostitution, drunk driving. They hadn’t an ambition among them. She sighed heavily, looking at her chipped nails. There was only one other woman in the place who was facing anything like heavy charges, and that was a joke by comparison. She’d driven a car when her boyfriend robbed a convenience store.
Becky was the star here. Everybody had seen her on TV. Nobody tried to hurt her or make her do anything. One big Black woman in a purple tee and sweat pants said to her, “So you killed your old man, big deal. Not one of us didn’t think of that some time. You did it.” The woman gave her a high five. Mostly the women cried a lot or were depressed. A number had kids they kept talking about. She was determined to stay on top. If only she could figure out how to see Sam; he was the key. She had got them to let her have a bleaching kit for her hair. It was important that she keep herself up—although she couldn’t do her hair as well as Belle. She just had to get out of here and work on Sam, and then they would simply ride out the troubles.
SIXTY-TWO
Leila
After the jury selection, when Becky’s trial finally began, Leila canceled all appointments and conferences and one day of classes. Jane would cover for her Thursday. There was no way she could manage to be at the trial every day, but she wanted to observe as much as possible. Zak would attend, and Cathy had closed her studio for two weeks. The trial was not expected to be lengthy. She missed the first day, but got there for the second.
The courthouse was a stone building with a tall imposing white entrance. The inside was old and institutional bleak, until she entered the courtroom itself. It was not a large room. During this trial, it was crowded. It was staid, light, pleasant and well-proportioned. The judge rode the circuit, so Sam and Becky had had to wait until he arrived to hear criminal trials in January.
If Sam had not begun to talk, would the prosecution have had a shot at a conviction? Probably, if they had been able to persuade a jury that Becky was involved with Sam. That alone would seem worth a prison term to most jurors. From where Leila sat, she had a clear view of Becky, dressed in a navy suit and a white blouse with a lace jabot. She looked thin and tiny, delicate. Looking at her, surely the jurors would have trouble believing this petite wisp had bludgeoned her husband to death with a nine iron.
Leila knew now that Becky was never going to talk about the murder. If she was convicted, she would continue to maintain her innocence
. Did Leila believe Becky guilty? Yes. The D.A. was a young man, no more than thirty-two or -three, short and heavy-set. His suit jacket strained at the seams. When the judge spoke to him and Robert Green at the beginning, they looked like a comedy team, Laurel and Hardy. Zak told her that so far the D.A. had concentrated on witnesses who described the body, the brutality of the murder, the behavior of the defendant, the tracing of the goods alleged to be stolen.
Chris was a damning witness, but a two-edged one. He could not speak about Becky without beginning to fume. His intense dislike coated his words. He was so eager to hurt her that he was caught exaggerating. The defense attorney, Robert Green, was deft with him in cross-examination.
“You say that your brother Terrence and Becky Burgess had difficulty with their marriage from the beginning. Yet your parents helped them buy a condominium and co-signed the mortgage. Don’t you think that implied that your parents, at least at that time last year, considered the marriage strong?”
“Yes, but things got worse.”
“How did they ‘get worse’? At what point did you introduce your brother to Heather Joyce?”
And a little later, “So you furnished your brother with forms to change the beneficiary of an insurance policy on himself, which you had sold him. Did he fill out these forms?”
“He was going to.”
“How long did he have the forms?”
“I don’t remember.”
“According to your own office records, you sent him the change-of-beneficiary forms six weeks before your brother’s death.”
“He was going to fill them out. He kept putting it off.”
“To whom were you trying to get him to change the beneficiary?”
“Mother. Our Mother.”
“Are you her heir?”
“We both were.”
“I understand you sold a policy covering Rebecca Burgess also.”
“Identical to his.”
“And did you urge her to change the beneficiary on her policy?”
“I never spoke to her about the matter.”
“Who was her beneficiary?”
“My brother. Terry.”
“And while you advised your brother to change his beneficiary, you did not advise his wife to change hers?”
“No. The matter never came up.”
“Did Becky Burgess often discuss insurance with you?”
“No.”
“Did she ever inquire about policies on her husband?”
“No.”
“Do you in fact know whether Becky Burgess was aware of the policy you had written on her husband Terrence’s life?”
“I assume she did.”
“We’re not asking what assumptions you may have made. Did she, to your knowledge, know about the policy?”
“I don’t know what she knew.”
“Did your brother Terrence say anything to you implying he believed that his wife was having an affair?”
“He said he wished she would.”
“Which would imply that he was convinced she wasn’t. Did he ever mention any other man with jealousy?”
Chris frowned. “Dick Berg. Terry said she flirted with Dick Berg at the opening of a play. He said she was kissing everyone and he was embarrassed.”
“Did you ever see your brother’s wife flirt with anyone?”
Chris frowned again and there was a longish silence. Robert Green repeated the question. “I was trying to think,” Chris said. “I can’t recall. Except once at a party we went to at New Year’s, he didn’t like the way she was dancing.”
“What did he dislike?”
“He thought she was, you know, throwing herself around too much. He thought it was provocative.”
“How did Terrence show his anger?”
“He pulled her off the dance floor and kind of shook her.”
Leila scrupulously did not sit with Zak and Cathy, but by herself. She greeted all the families when she arrived. She alternated eating lunch with Becky’s family and with Cathy and Zak. The two groups never ate in the same restaurant. She would have put in her time with the Burgesses also, except that they made it clear they mistrusted her again. “I don’t know how you could be so friendly with them,” Mrs. Burgess said, turning her frown on Cathy and Zak. “You have to wonder about a mother who brings up a murderer and a thief.”
Mr. Burgess said shortly, “Her family are scum. Terry was undone by his pity and his good heart, trying to save that slut from herself.”
When Becky saw Leila speaking with Zak, she gave Leila a reproachful look. Becky thought she was aligning herself with Sam’s family. No matter how close Leila might come to Zak, she would never love Sam. The family would close around him, the way an oyster closed on a pearl, taking an irritant and coating it into safety. Sam would remain a member of his family but removed from them.
She was sure Becky’s parents believed in her innocence. Leila was less sure that the siblings did. One or two of Becky’s brothers and sisters attended the trial daily. No day could all of them come; every day a brother and a sister represented the group. They were a tribe that more easily accommodated errors, sins and disasters than the more middle-class Solomons. Belle was the beautician, with dramatic up-and-out hair. She muttered to herself during hostile testimony and crossed her arms, tapped her feet. Tommy, the hulking brother, cowered in his seat as if every witness were attacking him personally. Laurie, who dressed like a grade school teacher, shook her head frequently and sat in a tight knot, rigid against the back of the bench. Gracie, who rarely came because of her children, sagged and sighed and sighed again. She held hands with Becky’s mother, who sat in an old flowered dress with her purse clutched in her lap and her head bowed. Sometimes she seemed to be praying. Sometimes she quietly wept.
Becky’s father mostly glared. He glared at the judge, at the D.A., at the reporters. He glared at the Burgesses, who glared back. The two family groups were not speaking. In fact, none of the three families were communicating with the others.
The prosecution drew its net around Becky, but much of the testimony was circumstantial. Chris had not proved a good witness. Holly Reicher could identify Sam, but was vague as to when she had seen him. The medical examiner testified about the blows to the body indicating two weapons and probably two assailants and also the barbiturates found in the stomach, along with cream of tomato soup and pizza. Detective Beaumont testified that the dishwasher had been used on the lunch dishes, although Becky claimed she had left at once after lunch and rushed back to her office. Dick Berg’s testimony amounted to Becky’s driving Sam home, and a conversation with Sam in which Sam had mainly talked about how wonderful Becky was. Gene and Sam were clearly linked to the stolen property, but nothing really damning to Becky emerged until Sam took his oath.
He was looking pale and boyish. At first his voice shook. Looking haggard and in a voice thickened with tears he told a tale of seduction by an older married woman, her description of the living hell of her marriage, the bruises he had seen on her body, and then her persuasion that they kill her husband together. She feared for her life and Terry would not give her a divorce: that was what she had told him. She could never see him again as long as Terry lived.
Becky sat looking at him with her hands clasped on the table before her, knuckles white. She stared at him unwaveringly, while from time to time, her mouth dropped open, apparently with shock or surprise, and sometimes she shook her head or pursed her mouth. Leila was sure that the distaste Becky was enacting was perfectly honest.
Sam did not look at Becky after that first moment when he was seated as a witness and took his oath. Then he looked straight at her, stared a moment, blinked and looked away. He kept his attention on the D.A. and the judge. Once or twice, he turned to the jury. Mostly he acted ashamed, guilty, overwhelmed. He seemed wounded, almost paralyzed. In cross-examination, Green tried to cast doubt on Sam’s story but also dwelt on the accounts of Terry’s brutality.
Leila kept an ey
e on the jurors. She thought that, for the most part, they believed Sam. The figure he painted of himself was not pleasant or heroic, and he was not claiming innocence. His confession sounded emotionally convincing. It was pretty close to what Leila believed had happened, except that she thought Sam had pushed harder sexually than he was admitting.
Robert Green labored to discredit Sam’s story or to shake it, but Sam was dogged. He was not easily confused. He was a good student and he remembered what he had said, for he had surely been sufficiently rehearsed. Green questioned Sam at length on what he had been promised by the D.A., but on the whole, when Thursday ended and Sam got down from the stand, the prosecution was in good shape. Sam had nailed Becky, Leila was convinced, unless her lawyer had some amazing witnesses to unveil.
All Leila’s classes this semester were Tuesday and Thursday, except for a Wednesday seminar, so she was in court Friday as the defense began.
Becky seemed perked up now, smiling at Helen Coreggio, smiling at the women from her office, who insisted she had not been gone long enough to have done more than pick up brochures. No one in her office could be precise about exactly what times they had seen her. The testimony of the two secretaries did not help her. It was too vague.
Helen Corregio testified that Becky had told her that Sam was pursuing her, and that she herself had seen signs of his pursuit. Helen testified that Becky had confessed she had given in to Sam the weekend her husband was gone, and that she had been very upset. She had said she would make sure it didn’t happen again. Yes, she had believed Becky. Becky was a wonderful wife who was devoted to her husband. In spite of her working full-time and supporting the household, since her husband was out of work and not even particularly looking for a job, Becky came home and cleaned the house. She kept it immaculate. She even cleaned the grout with a toothbrush, Helen testified. She did all her own laundry. Becky had always been extremely kind to her, a widow alone.