Chapter 60
Eddie
‘No further questions,’ I said.
Vanessa had done well. She had said nothing.
Yet the jury had gotten the picture. Juries are smart. They understand the subtext, the nuance. They were putting together a picture of what they thought had happened in Molly Green’s apartment.
And it didn’t involve Vanessa.
Riley stood tall, in the center of the court, Vanessa straight in front of him, the jury to his right. He had rehearsed this moment in his mind. This interaction. Each question he was going to ask had been carefully weighed and considered.
Until I’d come along and thrown a hand grenade at him.
I knew by his first question he was way off his game.
‘Mrs. Vanderpool, why did you lie to the police when you told them you had never been to the victim’s apartment?’
To most, this might seem like a good question. It’s completely valid, but utterly ruined by one single word – why.
Cross-examination should be tight, leading questions that demanded a single one-word answer.
He should have said, You lied to the police, didn’t you?
No way out of that for Vanessa. The simple answer is yes. And then right away he’s nailed her as a liar.
By asking her why she lied to the police, he gave her way too much room.
Now she was going to tell him why, and he wasn’t going to like it.
Not one bit.
‘I refuse to answer on the grounds that it may incriminate my husband,’ said Vanessa.
Riley stepped up a gear, raised his voice and spat his next set of questions at Vanessa.
‘You lied to the police because you murdered Molly Green in a fit of jealously because you suspected she was sleeping with your husband, didn’t you?’
‘No.’
‘You picked up the nearest thing to hand, a jewelry box, and you swung it at her so hard that you bashed her head in – that’s what really happened?’
‘No.’
‘Then, realizing your horrible mistake, you took steps to hide your crime. You cut off her head and took it with you, disposing of the evidence linking you to the murder?’
‘No.’
He caught his breath, thought for a moment. What else could he ask that wouldn’t give her an opportunity to implicate her husband? He wasn’t happy. This had been much harder than he had been expecting.
Better to cut his losses. Use the testimony he had gathered already.
‘Nothing further, Your Honor.’
‘Court will reconvene at nine tomorrow morning,’ said Judge Tanner. ‘Mr. Flynn, have your next witness ready.’
The courtroom cleared, the jury silent and unreadable as they left.
We had a chance. It would all come down to Bloch’s work with Raymond tonight. She would be in his lab all night, knowing I would call her to testify tomorrow morning.
We met Lake outside the court building, sitting in the driver’s seat of his shitmobile. The Pontiac Aztek looked even worse than usual. It backfired and sent a plume of black smoke from its exhaust as Harry and Vanessa got in the back. I knocked on Harry’s window and he wound it down.
‘You’re not coming back to the hotel?’ he asked.
‘I need to be ready for tomorrow. I have to think. A walk will do me good. Best if you all stay in the hotel tonight, with Lake keeping watch. The cat is out of the bag now. The way Voss stormed out of court, I’d say whatever threats she’s been secretly making to you, Vanessa, they are going to try to fulfill. ’
‘You knew?’ she asked.
‘I got the impression she had been talking to you on the sly. Making all kinds of threats against you if you decided to accuse Patrick on the witness stand. I’m not stupid. There was no other reason for her to be around.’
‘I took your advice. I did what you told me,’ said Vanessa.
‘I know. You did well, but now is a dangerous moment. Be safe, all of you. And listen to Lake. That goes double for you, Harry.’
The Aztek backfired, startling Vanessa, and me, and a few passers-by. Neither Harry nor Lake flinched. Harry was a war veteran, and Lake . . . well, he was Lake.
‘Apologies about the transport,’ I said. ‘If you do make it to the hotel, call me so I know you’re safe.’
‘I’ll look after them,’ said Lake.
‘I know you will,’ I said.
I watched them pull away, pulled up the collar on my coat and started walking.
Movement always helped me think. There’s something about walking, the rhythm of my feet on the sidewalk, the sound of tires rolling on blacktop, horns, engines, snatches of conversations from people passing by, street vendors hawking pretzels, music and laughter and arguments drifting out of bars, the smell of garbage and exhaust fumes and hotdogs and beer, the chiaroscuro of neon lights burning over dark doorways, the burnished glass skyscrapers catching the last of the day’s sun like a tilted lake of fire, the mottled stone towers of old wealth and power, the sad and happy and terrified and determined faces of people who survive in this city and love it for all its contrasts and contradictions, all of its joy and its heartbreak.
Damn, I love New York.
I don’t know how long I walked, but I found myself in West 46th Street, and my gaze drifted to the window, where I had my old office and apartment.
I stopped and stared, and wondered about all the shit that had happened since I hung out my shingle from this place and started practicing law. I wondered about all the mistakes I’d made, and the people I had helped, and the people that I’d lost.
Something hard bit into the back of my skull.
My vision blurred and dulled.
I was aware I was falling, but I was out before I hit the ground.