Leap Year (24 page)

The Jackson trial begins next week. For exclusive photos of the love nest, and a DID HEATH DO IT? readers’ survey, see page 46.

Heath replaced the paper on the desk. “Is this really as bad as it sounds?” he asked.

“I can’t know,” said Colette. “I haven’t seen his actual testimony yet. And speaking of testimony, the prosecutor’s alerted me that Anton Shawangunk has left town. We can subpoena him if we want, but I think it would be better to go after Amanda.”

“They’re both liars,” said Heath.

“But Anton’s better at it,” said Colette. “Let’s concentrate on Amanda.”

“What’s the good news?” asked Heath.

“The good news is that David Parish has agreed to testify on your behalf.”

“He has? You talked to him?”

“Several times. And given this doorman garbage, his statement will be very helpful.”

“What’s he going to say?”

“He’s going to say he had a love affair with you that began in December of 1987 and lasted through July of 1988. Which is exactly the same time the prosecution contends you were involved with Mrs. Shawangunk.”

“Who will the jury believe?” asked Heath.

T
HE PROSECUTING ATTORNEY
was a short man named Ned Best who chain-ate Tic Tacs. His first witness was Amanda Paine. She was wearing a maroon schoolmarmish wool dress that made her look to Heath a little like Hester Prynn.

“Please raise your right hand,” the clerk told her, once she had assumed the witness stand. “Do you swear that the testimony you are about to give this court and jury is the truth and the whole truth, so help you God?”

“I do.”

“Please be seated. State your full name and spell your last name.”

“My name is Amanda Paine. P-A-I-N-E.”

Ned Best stood up. “Thank you, Ms. Paine. Could you begin your testimony by telling the jury something about your education and present occupation?”

“Certainly. I have a bachelor’s degree in art history from Harvard University and an M.B.A. from Columbia University. I am presently the director emeritus of the Gallery Shawangunk. I was until recently director.”

“How long have you been associated with the Gallery Shawangunk?”

“For five years. I began working there in 1983.”

“And tell us, Ms. Paine, what kind of artwork does the gallery exhibit?”

Amanda laughed. “That’s not an easy question. Let me see. Our stable is eclectic. I endeavor to show art that challenges the viewer by questioning the notion of aesthetics while at the same time making either veiled or pointed references to the historical spectrum in which it exists.”

“Tell me, Ms. Paine, are you acquainted with Heath Jackson?”

“I am.”

“In what manner?”

“Mr. Jackson is a photographer who recently had a show at the gallery.”

“Was this show your idea?”

“It was not. The owner of the gallery, Solange Shawangunk, told me to mount a show of Heath’s photographs.”

“Would you have exhibited Mr. Jackson’s photographs had it been your decision?”

“I would not have.”

“Tell me, what is your opinion of Mr. Jackson’s art?”

Colette stood up. “Objection. On the grounds of irrelevancy, Your Honor.”

“Your Honor, the question is very relevant. I’m trying to determine the circumstances under which Mr. Jackson came to show at the Gallery Shawangunk.”

“I’ll allow it.”

The question was repeated.

“I wouldn’t really call it art. It’s amateurish, visually illiterate, and derivative.”

Although Heath had been instructed by Colette to remain expressionless, he couldn’t help wincing at this pronouncement.

“Thank you,” said Ned Best. “Now, getting back to the matter at hand. When was Mr. Jackson’s show?”

“The show opened on July thirteenth, 1988, and closed on August twenty-seventh, 1988.”

“Was there an opening reception for this show?”

“There was. On July thirteenth, from six p.m. to nine p.m.”

“Could you tell us what transpired during those hours?”

“Well, I was at the gallery most of the day, working out the details of the show, with my assistant, Margot Geiger. The caterers came in around four and began setting up.”

“When did Mr. Jackson arrive?”

“Mr. Jackson made his entrance about six-thirty. I greeted him and introduced him around.”

“To whom did you introduce him?”

“Well, let me think. I remember introducing him to some media people. Then Heath and Solange went into the office together.”

“How many doors does this office have?”

“It has one door. Well, it has a closet door as well.”

“How many windows does it have?”

“It has two windows. One looks out onto the backyard and the other looks onto the gallery floor.”

“Does the window that faces the gallery have a shade?”

“It does.”

“Was the shade raised when Mr. Jackson and Mrs. Shawangunk entered the office.”

“It was.”

“Did it remain raised?”

“It was lowered.”

“Miss Paine, tell us, what did you do while the defendant and Mrs. Shawangunk were in the office?”

“I was speaking with a journalist, Leonora Trumpet. We were talking about Mr. Jackson’s photographs. I suggested she might like to see some of the photographs that weren’t being shown, which were stored in the office closet, and Leonora agreed. We approached the office and I knocked on the door.”

“How much time had elapsed since the defendant and Mrs. Shawangunk had entered the office?”

“I’d say about ten minutes. I’m not exactly sure.”

“What happened after you knocked?”

“There was no answer. I knocked again, and I don’t know, I just sensed something was wrong. I didn’t hear any voices. So I opened the door.”

“What did you see?”

“I saw Mr. Jackson standing, holding a gun. I saw Mrs. Shawangunk lying on the floor, bleeding. I think I screamed. And then I closed the door and yelled for someone to call the police.”

“Did the police come?”

“Within a matter of minutes. They arrested Mr. Jackson and took Mrs. Shawangunk to the hospital.”

“I have no further questions, Your Honor.”

“Does the defense wish to cross-examine?”

Colette stood up. “I have a few questions, Your Honor. Ms. Paine, could you tell the jury how many of Mr. Jackson’s derivative photographs were sold?”

“The show sold out. But the reason they sold—”

“We’re interested in the facts, Ms. Paine, not your interpretation of them. Could you tell us about how much money Mr. Jackson’s art has netted the gallery?”

“Well, I don’t know the exact figures.”

“Would you consider the show to be a financial success?”

“I suppose so.”

“Would you consider Mr. Jackson to be a valuable asset to the gallery?”

“I suppose, yes, in strictly financial terms.”

“Then would you suppose, Ms. Paine, that offering Mr. Jackson a show was an excellent business decision on Mrs. Shawangunk’s part?”

“But when she offered him the show she had no idea what—”

“It’s a yes-or-no question, Ms. Paine. Let me rephrase it for you. In your professional opinion, was Mrs. Shawangunk’s decision to offer Mr. Jackson a show at the Gallery Shawangunk a smart one?”

“It could be seen that way in retrospect.”

“Thank you. I just have one more question, Ms. Paine. Can you tell me why Harvard University has no record of ever awarding you a B.A. degree?”

“Did I imply they had?”

“I believe you did. Would you like me to have your sworn testimony read back to you?”

“No. What I meant to say was that I took several classes one summer at Harvard University. My degree itself is from another institution.”

“What institution is that?”

“Slippery Rock State College.”

“Thank you. Is there any other part of your testimony you’d like to reconsider?”

“There is not.”

“Then I have no further questions.”

“You may step down, Ms. Paine. Does the prosecution wish to call another witness?”

The prosecution called Bernard Zerener. While he was being sworn in, Heath looked around the courtroom. Everyone seemed to be staring back at him malevolently, except his father, who gave him a thumbs-up sign. His mother had her eyes scrunched shut, as if she were at a horror film.

“Mr. Zerener, could you tell the jury what you do for a living?”

“I’m a concierge at Trump Tower.”

“How long have you been employed at Trump Tower?”

“Eighteen months.”

“Do you know the Shawangunks?”

“I know Mr. Shawangunk. I knew the late Mrs. Shawangunk.”

“Do you know the defendant?”

“I’ve never been formally introduced to Mr. Jackson, but I know him by sight.”

“Where have you seen him?”

“In the lobby of Trump Tower.”

“Could you tell us when you saw Mr. Jackson in the lobby of Trump Tower?”

“Several times between January and July of this year.”

“And in what circumstances did you encounter Mr. Jackson?”

“He’d come through with Mrs. Shawangunk. They’d either be coming in or going out.”

“Did they seem friendly?”

Colette half stood up. “Objection, Your Honor. Leading.”

“Sustained.”

“How did Mr. Jackson and Mrs. Shawangunk act toward each other?”

“Friendly. Very, very friendly.”

“Did they touch each other?”

“Yes.”

“Did you ever see them kiss each other?”

“Yes. Once, they were in the elevator, right before the door closed. They started kissing. French.”

“Did you ever speak to Mr. Jackson in the lobby of the Trump Tower?”

“I did.”

“Please describe those circumstances to the jury.”

“It was on the afternoon of July thirteenth. I remember because the Shawangunks had been away, and they had just come back. Mr. Jackson was there waiting around for her. Mrs. Shawangunk came in alone, and he accosted her.”

“What do you mean by ‘accosted’?”

“He was grabbing at her. She was trying to get into the elevator, and he wouldn’t let her.”

“Did they speak to each other?”

“Yeah. I don’t remember the whole thing. But I do remember Mrs. Shawangunk kept saying ‘It’s over,’ and Mr. Jackson was saying stuff like ‘Don’t do this to me,’ and ‘I love you.’ Loser stuff like that.”

“What did you do?”

“At first I tried to ignore it. You know, mind my own business. But then Mr. Jackson, he starts to get rough with her, so I went over there and held him back while she gets on the elevator. And when she’s gone, I let him go and tell him to get lost.”

“Did he say anything to you, Mr. Zerener?”

“Well, he said something, but it wasn’t really to me. It was more to Mrs. Shawangunk, even though she was gone.”

“What did Mr. Jackson say?”

“He said, ‘I’m going to kill you, baby.’ ”

Heath heard everyone gasp, and this time he did not have to turn his head to know that everyone was looking at him.

A
FTER
D
AVID WAS SWORN
in, he looked around the courtroom. He almost didn’t recognize Heath. He had never seen him in a suit before, and his hair, which was usually short but generally disheveled, had been furiously parted and slicked to his head. Heath looked to David like an older, more conservative brother of himself. Behind Heath, in the benches, David saw Loren and Lillian sitting beside each other. He had come downtown with Lillian, but he hadn’t known Loren would be there. Heath, Lillian, Loren—their combined presence unnerved him. He felt a little as if his life, which he had heretofore worn loosely about him, had suddenly shrunk a size or two and was clinging uncomfortably to his skin. He shifted in his seat and returned his attention to Ms. Menzies.

“Mr. Parish, could you tell us how and when you met Mr. Jackson?”

“In December of 1987, my assistant took a four-week vacation. I hired Mr. Jackson through a temporary employment agency to replace her.”

“So your original relationship was one of employer to employee?”

“Originally, yes.”

“Did the nature of that relationship change?”

“It did.”

“Could you tell us how it changed?”

“I could,” said David. He paused and looked around. Heath was looking at him. Loren and Lillian were looking at him. Everyone was looking at him. “We fell in love.” He had intended to proclaim this fact but it sounded rather more like an admission.

“Are you lovers at this time?” Colette asked.

David shook his head. “No.”

“I don’t mean to embarrass you, Mr. Parish, but for the jury’s sake I’d like to clarify the nature of your relationship with Mr. Jackson. You said you were lovers. Did you have a sexual relationship with the defendant?”

“I did.”

“Did you live with him?”

“Not exactly.”

“What do you mean by ‘not exactly’?”

“I mean, we spent a lot of time together but we didn’t…we maintained separate residences.”

“Did you ever spend the night with Mr. Jackson?”

“I did.”

“How often?”

“Quite often, I’d say. Four or five nights a week from January to July of this year.”

“Tell me, Mr. Parish, to the best of your knowledge, was Heath Jackson seeing a woman at the same time he was your lover?”

“To the best of my knowledge he was not.”

“What do you base that answer on?”

“Well,” said David, “Heath once told me he wasn’t bisexual. He told me he had never slept with a woman and had no desire to do so. He never mentioned Solange Shawangunk. And moreover, I—well, my relationship with Heath may not have lasted very long, but while we were together, we had a…I believe we loved each other, and I think because of that I would have sensed if I were being betrayed in the manner you suggest.”

Ned Best stood up. “Your Honor, I move to have that last answer stricken from the record. It hardly qualifies as objective testimony.”

“The answer may stand. Mr. Parish, in the future please limit your testimony to what you know for a fact to be certain.”

Nowadays, thought David, that’s nothing.

“I have just one more question, Your Honor. Mr. Parish, is anyone paying you for your testimony here today?”