Just Take My Heart (11 page)

As Emily watched Courtside in her living room, she sipped a glass of wine. I agree, she thought, as she listened to the comments of the retired judge. My case depends on the testimony of a witness who is as glib as any human being I've ever encountered.

She realized how deflated and down she felt. I know why, she explained to herself. I was so psyched to get at Aldrich. Then Richard managed to drag out the testimony of the neighbor from Jersey City, the secretary, the nanny, who all thought Gregg Aldrich walked on water. I was right to just about give them a pass. If I'd tried to make them look bad, I'd have made a huge mistake.

Leo Kearns, the other agent? Should I have dug into him more? Maybe. Nobody's all that altruistic when he loses a client. Being a theatrical agent has to be a tough business. Kearns made it sound like a tennis match --Love all.

Gregg Aldrich. The pain on his face when he talked about his first wife . . . I'm getting mushy, Emily thought. I was feeling with him the kind of pain I felt when I learned that Mark was dead.

"Way up on the mountain, there's a new chalet. . . and Jean so brave and true . . . has built it all anew." A folk song from her childhood ran through Emily's mind. Gregg Aldrich tried to rebuild his life, she thought. He remarried. He obviously was very much in love with Natalie. Then, when she was murdered, he was not only griev-ing, but had to defend himself against the cops who thought he killed her.

She gulped the rest of the wine. God, what's the matter with me? she asked herself, angrily. My job is to prosecute this guy.

Then, toward the end of Courtside, Michael Gordon came out in support of Aldrich. Knowing that Gordon was considered to be a fair analyst, Emily was shocked.

But then she felt her resolve harden. If he's typical of the people watching this show, and if he's typical of the way the jury may be thinking, I've got my work cut out for me, she thought.

Well, isn't that a surprise?" Isabella Garcia asked her husband, Sal, as they sat in their small living room on East Twelfth Street in Manhattan. She had been engrossed in watching Courtside and could hardly believe her ears when Michael Gordon told the rest of the panel that he now believed that Gregg Aldrich was innocent of the murder of Natalie Raines. But although she was absolutely-shocked, she remarked to Sal that when you really thought about it, what Gordon was saying made a lot of sense.

Sal was sipping a beer and reading the sports page. Except for the news, and baseball or football games, he couldn't care less about watching television and had the gift of tuning both the picture and the sound out when he was reading.

He hadn't really paid attention yesterday when Belle told him to take a look at the clips that they were showing of the crook, Jimmy, on the witness stand. But from his one quick glance, Sal felt as if the guy seemed vaguely familiar for some reason. But he couldn't remember where he might have met him, and anyhow he didn't care.

Knowing that now, with the program over, Belle wanted to talk, Sal dutifully lowered his newspaper. After watching Courtside, she liked to air her opinion of the day's events at the trial. Unfortunately, her elderly mother was on a cruise in the Caribbean with several of her friends who were also widows, and so was not available for their customary lengthy telephone chat.

"I have to say that Gregg came off beautifully," Belle began. "You know, he has a nice way about him. Why Natalie would have left him in the first place is hard to fathom. If she were our daughter I would have sat her down and told her that a very wise man wrote, 'At the end of his life, no one ever said I wish I'd spent more time in the office.' "

"She was on the stage, not in an office," Sal pointed out. You'd think this case depended on Belle's opinion, he thought, half amused, half irritated, as he looked across the room at his wife of thirty-five years. She'd been dyeing her hair for decades, so it was, at age sixty, the same coal black shade it had been when he first met her. Her body was thicker, but not very. The corners of her mouth turned up because she smiled so easily. He always tried to remember to thank God that Belle had such a good disposition. His brother was married to a battle-axe.

"Stage, office, you know what I mean." Belle dismissed Sal's comment. "And Katie is such a pretty girl. I like to see the clips of her that Michael shows on the program."

Belle had a way of referring to people as if they were, or had been, close friends, Sal thought. Sometimes when she was telling him a story, it was several minutes before he realized that she wasn't talking about someone they knew intimately. Michael Gordon, the host of Courtside, was always just "Michael." Natalie Raines was always "Natalie." And, of course, the accused murderer was affectionately referred to as "Gregg."

At twenty of ten, Belle was still going strong. She was talking about how it had been a good thing that Suzie, the housekeeper who worked next door to where Natalie lived, had been so nosy that she had gone in to check on Natalie and found her dying on the kitchen floor. "I don't know whether or not I would have the nerve to go into that kitchen myself," Belle said.

Oh, please, Sal thought. To Belle, a closed door was an invitation to see what was going on. He stood up. "Well, I'm sure you would have helped if you had had the chance," he said wearily. "That's it for me. We've got an early-morning pickup in Staten Island. People moving to Pearl River."

As he got into bed fifteen minutes later, the name Jimmy Easton popped back into Sal's head. No wonder that guy looked familiar, he thought. He worked for us on and off a couple of years ago.

Not too reliable.

He didn't last.

On Saturday morning, as he did every day, Zach watched through the blinds as Emily ate breakfast. It was already eight thirty. She gave herself a couple of extra hours to sleep, he thought. Yesterday she had left the house at six thirty a.m. Today, she took the time to have a second cup of coffee while she was reading the newspaper. Her dog. Bess, sat on her lap. He hated that dog. He envied her closeness to Emily.

When Emily went upstairs to dress, he felt the familiar disappointment that he could not then see or hear her. He stayed at the window for about twenty minutes, until he saw her getting into her car. It was a warm early-October day and she was wearing jeans and a sweater. She didn't get dressed up when she went to the office on the weekend. He was sure she was going in to work on her case.

He had his day planned until she got home again --the first of the leaves had begun to fall, and he spent the morning raking and gathering them, then putting them into large plastic bags for the town pickup.

Zach was sure that Emily wouldn't be back until late afternoon at the earliest. After he had lunch, he drove to the local nursery and picked up some autumn plantings. He especially liked the yellow mums, and decided to line the walk from the driveway to the porch with them, even though he wouldn't be around long enough to enjoy them.

As he piled the flowers into a shopping cart, he found himself wishing that he could buy some for Emily. They would look nice on her walk, too. With the way she works, she hardly has any time for herself, let alone for her yard, he thought. But he knew if he tried to be nice to her like that, she would take it the wrong way. And then . . .

It really doesn't matter anyway, he decided, as he paid the cashier. She won't be around much longer to enjoy them, either! He still was angry with himself that he'd been stupid enough to be sitting in her enclosed porch when she came home that night a few weeks ago. It had ruined their growing friendship, and now she totally avoided him.

He was glad at least he'd taken that fancy nightgown from her bottom drawer the last day he went through her house. He was sure she wouldn't miss it. She had at least eight of them in that drawer, and from what he had seen in her hamper she usually slept in a long T-shirt.

He drove the short distance home, reflecting that in the couple of weeks since it had been clear that Emily had rejected him, he had begun his preparations to leave New Jersey.

As soon as he had killed her.

His house was a month-to-month rental. He had informed the owners he would be moving out on November 1st. He had also given notice at work that he would be leaving at the end of October. His story to all of them was that his elderly mother who lived in Florida had serious health problems, and he needed to be with her.

Zach knew he had to disappear right after Emily died but before her body was found. He was sure that the cops would investigate all of her neighbors, and that he had undoubtedly been seen walking her dog. And it was always possible that Emily had commented to her family or friends that she thought the guy living next door to her was strange and made her feel uncomfortable. You can bet that they would tell that to the police, he thought.

He thought about how Charlotte, his third wife, had thrown him out of his own house. Afterwards she had told her new boyfriend that he was weird and that she was afraid of him. You were right to be afraid of me, sweetheart, he told himself with a chuckle. I'm only sorry I didn't take care of my former good buddy, who became your boyfriend, at the same time.

In total he bought twenty-six flats of mums. He really enjoyed spending the rest of the afternoon planting them. Just as he expected. Emily came home around five o'clock. She waved to him as she got out of her car, but quickly hurried into her house.

He could see she looked tired and stressed. He was pretty sure that she'd be in for the night and fix her own dinner. He hoped so. But at twenty after six he heard the sound of her car engine starting through the open side window. He got to the window in time to see her backing out of the driveway and caught a glimpse of the silk blouse, pearls, and big earrings that she was wearing.

All dolled up, he thought bitterly. She was probably meeting friends for dinner. At least no one picked her up, so she probably didn't have a date. He could feel his anger growing. I don't want her to have anyone else in her life. Not anyone!

He felt himself getting very upset. He knew it wouldn't take him a minute to cut out a windowpane and be waiting in her house when she got home. Her alarm would be no problem. It was a cheap basic system. He could easily disarm it from the outside.

Not yet, he warned himself. You're not ready yet. You need to get a different car, and rent a little place in North Carolina. A lot of people were relocating there all the time and with a new identity, he was sure he could blend in easily.

Determined to take his mind off what Emily was doing, he went into his kitchen, took out the packet of hamburger he had bought for tonight's supper, and turned on the television. He liked several Saturday-night programs, particularly Fugitive Hunt, which came on at nine p.m.

Twice in the last couple of years they'd presented a segment on him. He enjoyed watching them and mocking the computer images that they said might look like him today.

Not even close, he had snickered.

Ted Wesley had invited Emily to have dinner at his home on Saturday evening. "We're just having a few friends in," he explained. "We want a chance to be with people we really care about before we move."

He would be starting his new job in Washington on November 5th. Emily knew that the house in Saddle River was already on the market.

It was the first time she had received a dinner invitation from Ted and Nancy Wesley. She knew it was a reaction to the favorable publicity she'd generated in the media during the trial. Ted liked to be associated with people in the limelight. Successful people!

Win or lose, the newspapers with my pictures plastered all over them will be lining next week's garbage pails, she thought, as she drove through Saddle River and turned onto Foxwood Road. If I lose, it'll be an awfully long time before I'm invited back, she warned herself wryly.

Ted's house was one of the largest of the mini-mansions on the winding street. He certainly didn't buy this on a prosecutor's salary. Emily thought. Of course before he became prosecutor, he was a partner in his father-in-law's prestigious law firm, but the real money, she knew, came through his wife, Nancy. Nancy's maternal grandfather had founded a chain of upscale department stores.

Emily parked the car near the house's rotunda at the end of the driveway. The evening had turned cool and as she got out of the car, she inhaled several deep breaths of fresh air. It felt good. I've barely been outdoors often enough to clear my lungs, she thought. Then she quickened her step. She had not bothered to bring a jacket and could have used one.

But she was glad that she had decided to wear the silk blouse with the splashy print. She knew the fatigue, caused by the long hours she was putting in, showed on her face. Carefully applied makeup helped to somewhat conceal it. So did the vivid colors in the blouse. After this trial is over, no matter how much is piled up on my desk, I'm taking a few days off, she decided, as she rang the bell of the house.

Ted answered the door himself, let her in, then said admiringly, "You're looking very glamorous tonight, Counselor."

"I agree," Nancy Wesley said. She had followed her husband to the door. A slender blond in her late forties, she had the unmistak-able stamp of someone who was born to privilege and wealth. But her smile was genuine, and she took Emily's hands in hers as she placed a fleeting kiss on her cheek. "We've invited just three others to be with us. I know you'll enjoy them. Come in and meet them."

Emily managed a quick glance around the foyer as she followed the Wesleys. Very impressive, she thought. Marble double staircase. Balcony. Antique chandelier. And I did dress properly. Like her, Nancy Wesley was wearing black silk pants and a silk blouse. The only difference was that her blouse was a pastel shade of blue.

Three other people, Emily thought. She was afraid that the Wesleys might have invited a single man as a sort of dinner companion for her. In the past year, that had occurred several times in other circumstances. Since she still missed Mark so much, it had not only been annoying, but painful. I hope I'll be ready again someday, she mused, but not yet. She tried to stifle a grin. Even if I had been ready, she told herself, the jokers they've trotted out for me so far have been pretty bad!

She was relieved to see that the three people in the living room were a man and woman, who both appeared to be in their early fifties, sitting on a couch by the fireplace, and another woman who appeared to be in her late sixties, seated in a wing chair. She recognized the man, Timothy Moynihan, as an actor in a long-running evening television show. He played the chief surgeon in a hospital drama.

Ted introduced him and his wife, Barbara, to Emily.

After greeting his wife, Emily, smiling, asked Moynihan, "Should I call you 'Doctor'?"

"I'm off duty, so Tim will do."

"The same with me. Please don't call me 'prosecutor.' " Ted then turned toward the older woman, "Emily, this is another dear friend, Marion Rhodes--and she's a real-life doctor, a psychologist."

Emily acknowledged the introduction and in a moment was seated with the group and sipping a glass of wine. She felt herself beginning to unwind. This is so civilized, she thought. There really is life outside the Aldrich case, even if only for an evening.

When they went into the dining room and Emily saw the beautifully set table, she thought briefly about the soup or sandwich at her desk for lunch, or the take-out food for dinner that had pretty much constituted her haute cuisine for the past few months.

The dinner was delicious and the conversation was both pleasant and amusing. Tim Moynihan was an accomplished raconteur and shared stories of what went on behind the scenes of his show. As she listened and laughed, Emily commented that this was even better than reading the gossip columns. She asked how he and Ted had first met.

"We were college roommates at Carnegie Mellon," Wesley explained. "Tim majored in drama, and believe it or not I was in a few plays myself. My parents wouldn't let me become an actor because they thought I would end up starving to death. I was planning on law school, but I do think the little bit of acting I did helped me in the courtroom as a trial lawyer and also as the prosecutor."

"Emily, we were warned by Nancy and Ted that this is your night off from talking about your case," Moynihan said. "But I have to tell you, Barbara and I have been following it closely on Courtside. The clips I've seen of you in the courtroom tell me you could have been a very successful actress. You have tremendous presence and poise and there's also something else --the way you ask the questions and your reactions to the answers you get convey so much to the spectators. I'll give you one example: The withering look you gave Gregg Aldrich several times during Easton's testimony spoke volumes."

"I don't know if Ted will bite my head off if I bring this up," Barbara Moynihan said, somewhat hesitantly. "But, Emily, you couldn't have been happy about Michael Gordon announcing that he thinks Gregg Aldrich is innocent."

Emily could sense that Marion Rhodes, the psychologist, was awaiting her answer with intense interest. And she was acutely aware that while this was a social setting, her boss, the county prosecutor, was also sitting at the table.

She chose her words carefully. "I would not, and could not, be prosecuting this case if I didn't believe strongly that Gregg Aldrich killed his wife. The tragedy for him and his daughter and Natalie Raines's mother is that he probably did love Natalie very much. But I am sure Dr. Rhodes has seen many times over the years that people who are otherwise very decent can do terrible things when they're very jealous or sad."

Marion Rhodes nodded in agreement. "You're absolutely right, Emily. From everything I have heard and read, Natalie Raines probably still loved her husband. If they had gone to counseling, and had really talked out the problems caused by the frequent separations when she was on the road, things really might have turned out differently."

Ted Wesley looked at his wife and, with surprising candor, said. "Thanks to Marion, that's the way it worked out for us. We got the help we needed from her when Nancy and I hit a rough patch many years ago. If we had broken up then, look at everything we would have thrown away. Our boys never would have been born. We wouldn't be about to move to Washington. And after the counseling. Marion became our cherished friend."

"Sometimes, when people experience emotional trauma or con-flict in an important relationship, it can be very helpful to work with a good therapist," Rhodes said quietly.

"Of course not all problems can be solved and not all relationships can be, or should be, sal-vaged. But there are happy endings."

Emily had the uncomfortable feeling that Marion Rhodes was directing those comments at her. Could it be that Ted was setting her up to meet not a man, but a therapist?

Surprisingly, she did not feel resentment. She was sure that Ted and Nancy had told the others about Mark's death and her surgery. She recalled that Ted had once asked her if she had ever seen a therapist to talk about all she had been through. She had responded by saying she was very close to her family and had plenty of good friends. She told him that the best therapy for her, like so many who experienced loss, was work. Hard work.

Maybe Ted has also told Marion that both my father and my brother and his family have moved away, Emily thought. And Ted also knows that with the work schedule I've had, there's been very little time to spend with friends. I know that he has been sympathetic about everything that has happened. But, as I was thinking when I arrived here tonight, if I lose this case there will be plenty of Monday-morning quarterbacking about him assigning it to me. Let's see how much he cares about me if that happens.

The evening broke up at ten o'clock. By then Emily was more than ready to go home. The brief escape she had enjoyed for the last few hours was over. She wanted to get a decent night's sleep and be in her office early Sunday morning. After the favorable impression Gregg Aldrich had made so far on the stand, she was again feeling deep anxiety about the crossexamination.

Or was it more than that? she asked herself as she drove home. Am I really worried about the crossexamination and the verdict?

Or is it that I am terrified that we have made a terrible mistake and that someone else killed Natalie?