Sheer Gall (22 page)

I glanced at the clock. Ten minutes to twelve. “Judge,” I said, “could I at least conclude this line of questioning? It shouldn't take long.”

Judge Williams nodded. “Proceed, counsel.”

I turned to Cissy Thompson, who was watching me carefully. “Open that program to page five, Mrs. Thompson.” As she flipped to the page, I noted with satisfaction that Judge Williams had also turned to the same page of her copy. “Do you see that list of committee members for the event? Look in the second column, sixth name down. That's your name, right?”

“Yes,” she said with a trace of condescension, “but that doesn't prove anything. I serve on committees for many worthwhile causes. That doesn't mean I have time to attend every single one of their events.”

“Turn to page three.”

She did, the judge did, and Milt Brenner did.

“You see that list of featured auction items? Do you see the fourth item? What is it?”

She looked up slowly, sensing for the first time that maybe, just maybe, she had taken a detour into dangerous territory. “A silver Corvette.”

I turned to Vincent Contini. “Mr. Contini, could you set Exhibit H up on the easel.”

All eyes in the courtroom followed my client as he walked over to the side wall, where three poster-sized objects wrapped in brown paper were leaning against the wall. The first one was marked in bold black marker EXHIBIT H. He brought it over and set it up on the easel facing the witness box and Judge Williams. Brenner got up and came around to watch.

“Mrs. Thompson,” I said, turning to her, “take a look at what I've marked Defendant's Trial Exhibit H.”

I glanced over at Vincent Contini and nodded. He reached up and tore the brown wrapping off the poster board, revealing the enlarged side-by-side shot of the two cars in the Thompson driveway. I leaned back against the edge of the table, crossed my arms over my chest, and waited.

Cissy stared intently at the photo, her brows knitted in concentration. You could almost hear those neurons firing. Eventually, she shifted her gaze to me.

“I remember now,” she said with a cold smile. “My husband and I attended that function.”

“As a matter of fact, you bought the Corvette there, didn't you?”

She gave me a haughty look. “We didn't simply
buy
the car, Miss Gold. We acquired it in exchange for a very generous donation to a worthy cause.”

I couldn't help but smile. Might as well take a freebie. “A worthy cause,” I repeated as I came over to the witness box and took away the program. As I returned to counsel's table I said, “And what exactly was that worthy cause?”

There was silence. I kept my back to her.

“Objection,” Brenner said, scrambling to his feet. “Irrelevant.”

I turned around. I'd already scored the point, as was clear from Judge Williams's smile. “I'll withdraw the question, Your Honor.”

She nodded.

I turned to my client. “Mr. Contini, could you bring over Exhibit I?”

He walked back to the side wall and fetched the second wrapped poster. This one had
EXHIBIT I
printed in bold black letters on the brown paper.

I turned to the witness. “Do you recall the article on the event in that Sunday's
Post-Dispatch
?”

Cissy glanced uncertainly at her attorney and then back at me.

I sighed patiently. “Okay, let's see if we can refresh that memory again.”

I nodded at Vincent Contini. He tore off the wrapping paper, revealing the blowup of the society column from the Style Plus section of the Sunday, August 16, edition of the
Post-Dispatch
. This one Jacki had found for me. The blowup included the photograph of the two women standing in front of a carousel horse.

I pointed to the caption beneath the photograph. “Do you see this photo credit down here?”

Cissy leaned forward. “Yes,” she said cautiously.

“Charles Morley,” I read. Turning to her, I said, “Do you remember Mr. Morley?”

Uneasy, she shook her head. “I don't think so.”

I turned toward the gallery. “He's out there. Charles,” I called, “hold up your hand.”

Self-consciously, Charles Morley raised his hand.

I turned back to Cissy. “Remember him? He was there that night. For over an hour. Walking around among the guests, taking photographs.” I paused. “
Lots
of photographs.”

Her eyes flickered anxiously between the photographer and me. “I…I don't remember.”

I gave her a look of mild disbelief. “Really? You don't remember him taking
lots
of photographs?”

She looked at Brenner. I turned to look at him, too. He had a forced smile on his face that looked more like gas pains.

“Well?” I repeated.

“I…I don't…I'm not sure.”

I turned to Vincent Contini. “Well, I guess it's time for Exhibit J.”

Vincent walked over to the wall and brought back the final wrapped poster. This one had EXHIBIT J printed on the brown paper. As he set it on the easel, I said to him, “Just a moment.”

Rubbing my chin thoughtfully, I turned toward the dress hanging from the hook. Then I looked over at the shoes and the purse resting on the ledge in front of Cissy Thompson. Her eyes were wide as her gaze kept shifting from me to the wrapped poster on the easel to her lawyer and back to me again.

“Let me move these to a better position,” I said as I walked over to the dress and removed it from the hook. I carried it back to the easel and handed it to my client. “Vincent, could you stand with the dress on this side of the easel?” I steered him next to counsel's table. “There. And hold the dress up.”

“Certainly,” he said with a dignified smile.

Then I walked over to Cissy, who leaned back as I approached, and I picked up the shoes and the handbag. I carried them over to counsel's table and lined them up on the edge of the table near where Vincent was standing. Then I stepped back, like a set designer, to study the arrangement. As I did, I saw the clock on the back wall. Eleven minutes after twelve. Perfect.

I turned back to the judge with an apologetic smile. “Your Honor, I wonder if we could take a break. Before I move to the next line of inquiry, I would like to ask Mrs. Thompson to put on the dress and the shoes.”

Milt Brenner was up like a jack-in-the-box. “Actually, Your Honor, if we're taking a break perhaps we could make it for lunch as well.”

Judge Williams looked up at the clock and then back down at me. There was the hint of a smile on her face. “Very well, Mr. Brenner. The court will be in recess until two o'clock. That should give the plaintiff ample time to eat her lunch and put on the dress and the shoes before she returns to the witness stand.”

With a bang of her gavel, Judge Williams left the bench. As soon as the door closed behind her, Vincent Contini came over and hugged me.

“Oh, Rachel, you were truly magnificent.”

“Wait,” I cautioned. “It's not over yet.” I glanced nervously at the easel. “Excuse me a moment,” I told him and walked over to take down the wrapped poster board marked EXHIBIT J. I carried it over to the bailiff. “I need this locked up,” I told him.

He was an elderly black man with a big paunch and a pleasant moon face. “Oh, that's okay, Miss Gold. We lock the courtroom doors here during the lunch recess.”

I leaned in close. “I can't leave it in here,” I said quietly. “I have to get it somewhere safe.”

He shrugged good-naturedly. “Okay, Miss Gold. We can put it in the vault. Follow me.”

The vault was three floors down, inside the office of the circuit clerk. Once I got Exhibit J safely stowed, I stopped at a pay phone outside the clerk's office to call Jacki, who was no doubt dying of curiosity.

“Oh, my God,” she said, “tell me what's happening.”

I filled her in on the morning's events.

“Oh, my God,” she said, “what if it doesn't work?”

“I'll improvise.”

“Improvise?” She sounded apoplectic.

“I'll have her stand there in that outfit. I'll make sure my witnesses get a good look at her. Maybe it'll jog their memories about what she wore that night. Listen, Jacki, I gotta run. I'll check in later.”

“Rachel, Jonathan Wolf has called five times this morning. He says he has to talk to you.”

I groaned. “Oh, God, I can't deal with that now.”

“Rachel, I promised him you'd call back at the lunch break.”

“Tell him you haven't heard from me.”

“Rachel, just call him.”

I closed my eyes and leaned back against the wall. The whole Sally Wade mess came bubbling back to the surface like a sewage backup. “Okay,” I finally sighed. “Can you conference him onto this call?”

“Hang on.” About a minute later, he came on the line. “Rachel, we need to talk.”

“Please, Jonathan, I'm in the middle of a trial.”

“Then tonight. I'll come by your office after court.”

I closed my eyes and rubbed my forehead. Actually, seeing him in person wasn't such a bad idea in light of what I had to tell him. The one thing that last night's adventure in the car trunk had convinced me to do was drop out of the Sally Wade investigation ASAP. I wasn't a criminal lawyer, I wasn't a private eye, and in light of my performance in the parking lot I definitely wasn't a ninja warrior. Life was too short to try to run with that crowd.

“Okay,” I said, “but not for long.”

“What time?”

Judge Williams was unlikely to keep us in court beyond five o'clock. At five-thirty I had my self-defense class. After last night, I said to myself, maybe Faith Comp-ton could teach me how to disarm a first-grader with a water pistol. “Seven-thirty,” I said.

“Fine. At your office?”

The class was only five minutes from my house, and I'd be hot and sweaty afterward. I could take a shower and grab a bite to eat before he got there. “No,” I said. “Come by my house.”

“I'll be there. I'll see whether Neville can join us.”

“Neville?” He was the last person I wanted to deal with tonight. “Why him?”

Jonathan paused. “Because he got a call from Tammy this morning.”

I grimaced. “Did he give her my name?”

“He did,” Jonathan said. “And mine as well.”

“Oh.” The case seemed to have a relentless gravitational field that kept yanking me back into its orbit.

“I'll fill you in tonight,” he said.

I hung my head down.

“Rachel?”

“Fine,” I said indifferently.

“Good luck.”

“Pardon?”

“In your trial. Good luck.”

“Oh. Yeah. Thanks.”

I was still in a funk when I got off the elevator on Judge Williams's floor. I checked my watch. It was almost one o'clock. Although I didn't have an appetite, I could hear my mother's voice telling me I had to keep up my strength for the afternoon. Also, she would no doubt add, you have guests: your client, his wife, and their son.

Yes, Mother
.

I headed back to the courtroom to gather the Contini clan and take them to lunch somewhere near the courthouse. As I approached the door I tried to get myself properly focused. The Sally Wade situation was tonight. This was now, and for Vincent Contini this was also one of the most important events in his life.

He jumped to his feet as I came through the door. “Ah, Rachel, hurry. They're waiting for you in the judge's chambers.”

I frowned. “Who's waiting?”

“Her lawyer and the judge. Her clerk told me to send you back there immediately. They need to see you right away.”

Thirty minutes later I emerged from Judge Williams's chambers and found Vincent pacing in the hallway while his wife and son watched from a bench. When he saw me he came dashing over.

“Well?” he asked anxiously.

I smiled. “I have a new settlement proposal from them.”

He straightened, his expression wary. “What is it?”

“Thirty thousand dollars.”

His eyes widened in outrage. “I wouldn't pay that woman a dime.”

I put my hand on his shoulder. “I know that, Vincent. Their original proposal was to drop the lawsuit in exchange for your agreement to keep the settlement terms confidential. I told them you were willing to keep the terms confidential but you expected to be reimbursed for your time and your legal fees. They offered a thousand. I demanded fifty. The judge persuaded them to raise their offer to thirty thousand. I told them to wait while I sought your approval.”

He stared at me in wonder. “
She
will pay
me
thirty thousand dollars?”

I nodded.

“Mama mia,”
he mumbled. Then he stiffened, suspicious. “What exactly are these confidential settlement terms?”

“Simple,” I said with a smile. “We have to destroy all photographs of her, and we can't let anyone know that they paid you money to get rid of the lawsuit.”

Vincent made me repeat the settlement proposal. He nodded slowly as I explained it. There were tears in his eyes when I finished. “Rachel,” he said, his voice filled with emotion, “I told you last Sunday that God smiles down upon you.” He placed his hands on my shoulders and kissed me lightly on each cheek. “And now,” he said, his voice almost a whisper, “I see that God has smiled down upon me as well. Thank you, my dear.”

We drew up the settlement papers right there in the courtroom, and Vincent signed them before we left for a victory lunch at Kemoll's in One Metropolitan Square. At Vincent's insistence, I called Jacki to have her join us at the restaurant.

Milt Brenner promised to deliver a fully executed copy of the settlement agreement to Kemoll's along with a certified check for thirty thousand dollars. Both arrived during dessert. By then we were on our third bottle of Chianti, and I for one was feeling no pain.