Degree of Guilt (65 page)

Caroline’s face was hard, her voice incisive. ‘But the man is dead; his family survives.
Their
pain is worth considering. And I’m equally appalled by the use of Laura Chase’s most painful and private moments, her confession to a psychiatrist, in the name of “truth.” That not only hurts the living – Ms Caldwell comes to mind – but even the dead deserve better.’ Caroline paused. ‘Laura Chase was used quite enough in life. No one asked her if she would also like to be used in death. Her entitlement to dignity did
not
die with her, and this court will not kill it.’

Abruptly, Caroline stopped herself. Looking at Terri, she spoke more quietly, ‘I don’t fault the defense for arguing relevance. If I agreed, none of what I just said would matter. And if the sexual acts described on the tape were similar to those Ms Carelli attributes to Mr Ransom, I
might
agree. But they aren’t, so I don’t.

‘I feel much the same about Ms Rappaport. To testify regarding her marriage to Mark Ransom would be to humiliate herself in public.
If
the acts Ms Rappaport described were the same as those described by Ms Carelli – rape, as in the case of Ms Linton – I would agree with the defense that it might suggest that Mr Ransom was prone to rape. But the heart of Ms Rappaport’s humiliation is that her actions were consensual. Which is the precise reason that her humiliation is irrelevant to Ms Carelli’s defense. At least as a matter of law.’

Caroline stopped, folding her hands. ‘And then,’ she said slowly, ‘we have the matter of Ms Caldwell. Each of us may have our private view on whether Ms Caldwell did anything “wrong.” Hopefully, our understanding of sexuality is broader and more humane than it was twenty years ago; certainly a nineteen-year-old can’t be held accountable for the suicide of someone as complex and tormented as Laura Chase. But, absent extraordinary circumstances, that private matter should remain Ms Caldwell’s to live with, in private. Without becoming “the woman who killed Laura Chase.”

‘She is willing to forgo that right. I will not ask her to. I agree that her testimony suggests that Mr Ransom’s feelings about women were lamentable. But misogyny and blackmail do not prove rape.’ Pausing, she turned to Terri. ‘Indeed, they may even suggest a motive for murder.’

That was right, Terri knew. She watched as Caroline Masters leaned back in her chair, as if to finish. ‘Finally,’ Caroline said, ‘there is fairness to the prosecution. It is hard to listen to Ms Rappaport and Ms Caldwell without developing a certain feeling about Mark Ransom. However, we are not in the business of deciding whether murder victims deserve to die, but simply whether murder was committed. I’ve tried to put their testimony out of my mind. It will not be part of the record on which I determine “probable cause.”

‘That’s all. On the question of whether Ms Carelli has proven her affirmative defense, I’ll make my finding based solely on the testimony of Ms Carelli and Ms Linton.’

Terri turned to Paget, the disappointment washing over her. He gave a small shrug: you’ve done your best, it seemed to say – we’ll have to win without them. But, to Terri, the gesture did not quite cover the worry he felt.

Sharpe was leaning forward, as if to seize the moment. ‘Given that the defense has rested,’ she said in tones of confidence, ‘the People ask the court to enter a finding of probable cause without further proceedings. If the court needs argument, I can make it now.’

‘I
will
set a time for argument,’ Masters responded. ‘But you mentioned a possible rebuttal witness. You’ve decided not to call anyone?’

Pausing, Sharpe looked openly concerned. ‘Is that really necessary, Your Honor? I’m confident we’ve shown probable cause on the ample record which exists. Whether Ms Carelli and Ms Linton raise a reasonable doubt should be reserved for the jury at a subsequent trial.’

Masters raised an eyebrow. ‘You
do
have a witness ready, correct?’

Sharpe hesitated. ‘Yes. One.’

‘But you’d prefer not to give Mr Paget a preview of the utter devastation he or she will cause at trial. Is that it?’

Slowly, Sharpe nodded. ‘Not unless the court is in doubt on the issue of probable cause.’

‘I won’t say
what
, if anything, the court is in doubt on. And I ask you not to read anything into my suggestion, other than my preference for a complete record on which to make whatever mistake I’m about to make. But that’s up to you.’

The dry remark reminded Terri that Caroline, too, faced political consequences, however she ruled; unlike traffic offenses or disorderly conduct, it was the kind of case that could cost her reelection. But it was the consequence to the district attorney that seemed to have struck Marnie Sharpe; her face was somber.

‘Thank you, Your Honor.’ Sharpe hesitated, as if making a final decision. ‘We’re prepared to call our witness now.’

Masters glanced at her watch. ‘I’ll hear him at ten o’clock. Meanwhile, we’re on break.’

Terri and Paget were in the hallway outside chambers before they could speak. ‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured. ‘I’d begun to believe we could win.’

‘Maybe you got through to her anyhow,’ Paget said quietly. ‘Hopefully, that’s why she’s making Marnie call Mr or Ms X.’

‘Whoever it is,’ Terri answered, ‘we’re about to find out what it is that Mamie’s always known.’

Terri took an elevator to the first floor, avoiding reporters.

Here, the Hall of Justice broke into a maze of bleak green corridors. She followed one, then turned down another, until she found an empty telephone booth.

Glancing over her shoulder, she ducked inside.

There was a telephone directory, but the overhead light was broken. Terri squinted at the pages under ‘United States Government’; at length, she found the heading ‘Postal Service.’

What did I do for postage?
Mary had asked.

Beneath the heading was a page-long column of telephone numbers – area post offices, express mail, complaints, employment verification. The only one that looked promising was ‘Dead Letter Branch.’

I’m not so foolish
, Mary had said,
as to mail them to myself
.

This
was foolish, Terri thought. But the conversation with Mary would not leave her; Mary’s chilly exercise in logic was either a heartless game, played to no purpose, or designed to trace the rigor of Terri’s thoughts.

They were not very rigorous, Terri knew. But she was certain that her opening premise was the same as Marnie Sharpe’s: that Mark Ransom died in possession of the tapes.

Terri picked up the telephone and dialed.

‘Dead Letter Branch,’ a woman’s voice answered.

Hesitating, Terri formed a vision of her: black, substantial, and middle-aged, phlegmatic from years of inquiries.

‘I have a question,’ Terri ventured.

‘That’s why we’re here, ma’am.’

‘What I wanted to know is what happens if someone mails something but forgets to put the whole address on. Or any address at all.’

‘It depends.’ The woman coughed. ‘Sorry, but I can’t seem to kick this cold. Anyhow, some things we just throw out. It depends on whether we think they have value.’

‘How do you determine that?’

‘We open the parcel. If it’s just a letter, and we can’t tell where it should go from looking at it, we get rid of it. If it looks like something of value, we keep it for a while.’

‘How long?’

‘Usually three months.’

It was about five weeks, Terri thought, since Mary Carelli had shot Ransom. ‘What happens then?’ she asked.

Terri heard the stifled sound of a repressed sneeze. ‘Then we sell it at auction,’ the woman answered. ‘If it doesn’t sell, then we give it away or throw it out. Why, what did you lose?’

Terri paused, trying to envision the fate of Mary’s tape at a public auction. ‘Cassette tapes,’ she said finally. ‘Like for a car stereo.’

‘Yeah, we might keep them.’

The voice was becoming bored and taciturn. Once more, Terri hesitated. ‘If I described them, could you take a look?’

There was silence. ‘Didn’t you already call about tapes?’ the woman asked. ‘A few weeks back?’

Terri was stunned. ‘No,’ she said finally. ‘It wasn’t me. I’ve never called before.’

‘Would there have been postage on them?’

‘I don’t know,’ Terri replied.

‘Well,
this
isn’t the lost and found, ma’am. If it had no postage and you want it, you got to go to the post office and look yourself. You know what zip code this got mailed from?’

‘I know it was Nob Hill.’

There was silence, then a sudden loud cough. ‘I think that’s Station O,’ the woman wheezed. ‘Van Ness Avenue. You might go look there.’

The witness was a round-faced man with thick glasses and a blond fringe of hair. His face was reflective but good-humored; his voice – deep, slow, and authoritative – had the trace of a southern accent. There was something quite gentle about him.

‘Who,’ Terri whispered to Paget, ‘is Dr George Bass?’

Wary, Paget watched him. ‘I don’t know.’

‘And you’re a psychiatrist,’ Sharpe was asking, ‘licensed in the state of Florida?’

Bass nodded. ‘That’s correct.’

Paget felt Mary touch his arm, suddenly tense. ‘What’s
this
about?’ she demanded.

‘Just let me listen,’ he snapped. ‘If this guy’s Ransom’s psychiatrist, I’m about to object.’

Sharpe moved forward. ‘And was Mark Ransom one of your patients?’

Bass nodded. ‘Whenever he visited Key West. He started about four years ago, and our last session was about three months back.’

‘When Mark Ransom first visited you, Doctor, what reason did he give?’

Bass looked faintly sad. ‘At first, it wasn’t any reason he gave, so much as what he talked about.’

‘And what was that?’

‘Women, and his feelings about them.’ Bass frowned. ‘It took me some time to get to know what
he
saw as the root of the matter.’

‘And what was that?’

Bass paused. ‘Impotence,’ he said quietly. ‘Mark Ransom could no longer achieve intercourse with a woman.’

There was a sudden startled buzz. Paget was on his feet abruptly. ‘Objection,’ he called out. ‘Is the witness speaking from personal knowledge? Because if not, his testimony is hearsay, and I request that he be excused.’

‘Your Honor,’ Sharpe responded, ‘Ms Carelli is claiming an attempted rape by a man who, Dr Bass now tells us, was impotent. Surely Mr Paget is not claiming that Mr Ransom lied to Dr Bass about
that
.’

‘I have no basis for knowing,’ Paget responded. ‘Nor does Dr Bass. The court should not hear his testimony.’

Caroline Masters leaned forward. ‘It may seem archaic, Mr Paget, but as a matter of evidence. Mr Ransom’s admissions on this subject are deemed so embarrassing as to be reliable. This witness may help shed light on Mr Ransom’s state of mind, and the question of sexual capacity is important. Overruled.’

Sitting down, Paget could see the fear in Mary’s eyes at Masters’s ruling: Bass already looked like a good witness, and Mark Ransom’s supposed impotence went to the heart of her defense. ‘No wonder,’ Terri murmured, ‘that Johnny couldn’t find any women.’

Silent, Paget wondered how long Sharpe had known this. Before Melissa Rappaport had appeared, he realized, and perhaps even before the indictment. It turned his understanding of the case upside down.

Sharpe was moving closer to the witness. ‘Was Mr Ransom’s impotence the result of some physical incapacity?’

Bass shook his head. ‘Mr Ransom told me that he was capable of having an erection, but that he became flaccid whenever he attempted intercourse. Understandably, Ransom felt that he was not the same man.’

‘And this upset him?’

‘To put it mildly. His chosen self-image was one of virility. It took a number of sessions before he could admit this, even to me.’

Sharpe nodded. ‘And to what do you attribute Mr Ransom’s impotence?’

‘According to Mr Ransom, or my own analysis?’

‘Your own analysis, Doctor.’

Bass nodded. ‘The superficial answer is that Mr Ransom disliked women. But the result of that hostility was guilt and ambivalence. About himself and his own sexuality.’ Pausing, Bass removed his glasses. ‘Mark Ransom wanted to subjugate, and even humiliate, women. But in his subconscious, he felt he had to inhibit himself. The ultimate result was impotence. You can view it as a kind of sexual policeman, dispatched by his conscience.’

Terri leaned close to Paget. ‘Are we supposed to feel
sorry
for him?’

Slowly, Paget nodded. ‘At least see him as human,’ he murmured. ‘Marcy Linton hurt them – if not with Caroline, then with the public. Sharpe means to turn all that around on us.’

‘To what do you attribute Mr Ransom’s hostility toward women?’ Sharpe was asking.

‘In part to his feelings toward Siobhan Ransom, his late mother. She was a domineering woman and seems to have served as an archetype for any woman he perceived as strong and agressive – those of independent accomplishment, or ardent feminists. Women who he believed might dominate him, or criticize him, or simply not think well of him. As I say, Mark Ransom was a frightened and vulnerable man.’

To his left, Paget felt Mary’s rising anger. The testimony regarding impotence was eating through her self-control; she stared at Bass with barely repressed rage. Once more, against his will, Paget wondered what had happened in Mark Ransom’s suite.

Keep your concentration, he told himself. Look for a line of attack.

‘How serious,’ Sharpe was asking, ‘did you consider Mr Ransom’s sexual problem to be?’

Bass looked grave. ‘Extremely serious, and very deeply rooted. At the time of our last visit, he had not been able to have intercourse for nearly four years.’

Paget saw Caroline Masters’s eyes widen. Sharpe waited a moment. ‘And did Mr Ransom specify to you,’ she asked quietly, ‘the last time in which he achieved intercourse?’