The Dragon Griaule (18 page)

‘I don’t understand what you mean.’

‘Look.’ She took his face in both hands. ‘Don’t make me say anything. It’s good between us, it helps. Sometimes I want to say things to you, but I’m not ready. I hope I will be someday, but if you force me to say anything now . . . I’m perverse that way. I’ll just try to deny it to myself. That’s what I’ve been taught to do with things that make me happy.’

‘That says enough.’

‘Does it? I hope so.’

He kissed her mouth, touched her breasts, feeling the nipples stiffen between his spread fingers.

‘There’s something I’d like you to do for me, though. I want you to visit your father.’

She turned away from him. ‘I can’t.’

‘Because he . . . he abused you?’

‘What do you think?’

‘I think there’s some evidence you were abused by him.’

‘Abused,’ she said, enunciating the word precisely as if judging its flavor; then, after a moment, she added, ‘I can’t talk about it, I’ve never been able to talk about it. I just can’t bring myself to . . . to say what happened.’

‘Well?’ he said. ‘Will you see him?’

‘It wouldn’t do any good, it wouldn’t make him any happier. And that’s what you’re after, isn’t it.’

‘That’s one way of putting it.’

‘A visit would just upset him, believe me.’

‘I suppose I’ll have to,’ he said. ‘I can’t force you. I just wish I could get him more involved.’

‘You still think he’s innocent, don’t you?’

‘I’m not sure . . . perhaps. I don’t think you’re sure, either.’

She looked as if she were going to respond, but her mouth thinned and she remained silent for a long moment. Finally she said, ‘I’m sure.’

He started to say something, and she put a finger to his lips.

‘Don’t talk about it anymore, please.’

He lay on his back, watching frail shadows of the mist coiling across the white ceiling, thinking about Lemos; he could accept nothing, believe nothing. That the gemcutter had molested his
daughter seemed both apparent and unlikely, as was the case with his guilt and innocence. He did not doubt that Mirielle believed her father had abused her; but while he loved her, he was not assured of her stability, and thus her beliefs were in question. And in question also were her motives in being with him. He found it difficult to accept that she was anything but sincere in her responses; her reluctance to voice a commitment seemed clear evidence of the inner turmoil he was causing her. Still, he could not wholly reject the notion that she was using him . . . though for what reason he had no idea. He was walking across quicksand, in shadows, with inarticulate voices calling to him from every direction.

‘You’re worrying about something,’ she said. ‘Don’t . . . it’ll be all right.’

‘Between us?’

‘Is that what you’re worrying about?’

‘Among other things.’

‘I can’t promise you that you’ll like what will happen,’ she said. ‘But I will try with you.’

He started to ask her why she was going to try, what she had found that would make her want something with him; but he reminded himself of her caution against pushing her.

‘You’re still worrying,’ she said.

‘I can’t stop.’

‘Yes, you can.’ Her hand slid down across his chest, his belly, kindling a slow warmth. ‘That much I can promise.’

Against Korrogly’s objections, the case for the prosecution was reopened the following morning and Mirielle recalled to the stand. Mervale offered into evidence a sheaf of legal documents, which proved to have been signed by Mardo Zemaille and witnessed by Mirielle, and constituted a last will and testament, deeding the temple and its grounds to Mirielle on the event of the priest’s death. Mervale had unearthed the papers from the city archives and produced ample evidence to substantiate that the signatures were authentic and that the papers were legal.

‘How much would you say the properties mentioned in the
will are worth?’ Mervale asked Mirielle, who was wearing a high-collared dress of blue velvet.

‘I have no idea.’

‘Would it be inaccurate to say that they’re worth quite a large sum of money? A sizeable fortune?’

‘The witness has already answered the question,’ said Korrogly.

‘Indeed she has,’ said Judge Wymer, with a stern look at Mervale, who shrugged, stepped to the prosecution table, and offered into evidence the tax assessor’s report on the properties.

‘Did your father know of this will?’ Mervale asked after the exhibits had been marked.

Mirielle murmured, ‘Yes.’

Korrogly glanced at Lemos, who appeared not to be listening.

‘And how did he come to know about them?’

‘I told him.’

‘On what occasion?’

‘He came to the temple.’ She drew in breath sharply, let it out slowly, as if ordering herself. ‘He wanted me to leave the cult, he said that once Mardo tired of me he would drop me and then the family would be without a penny. The shop would be gone . . . everything.’ She drew in another breath. ‘He made me angry. I told him about the will, I said that Mardo had taken care of me far better than he had. And he said that he’d have me declared incompetent. He said he’d get a lawyer and take everything Mardo left me.’

‘Do you know if he ever did see a lawyer?’

‘Yes, he did.’

‘And was that lawyer’s name Artis Colari?’

‘Yes.’

Mervale picked up more papers from his table. ‘Mister Colari is currently trying another case and cannot attend this proceeding. However, I have here a deposition wherein he states that he was approached by the defendant two weeks before the murder with the intent of having his daughter declared mentally incompetent for reasons of instability caused by her abuse of drugs.’ He smiled at Korrogly. ‘Your witness.’

Korrogly requested a consultation with his client, and once
they were sequestered he asked Lemos, ‘Did you know about the will?’

A nod. ‘But that wasn’t why I went to see Colari. I didn’t care about the money, I didn’t want anything that Zemaille had touched. I was afraid for Mirielle. I wanted her out of that place, and I thought the only way I could manage that was to have her declared incompetent.’

The uncharacteristic passion with which he had spoken startled Korrogly: it was the first sign of vitality that Lemos had displayed since his arrest.

‘Why didn’t you tell me this before?’

‘I didn’t think of it.’

‘It seems an odd thing to have forgotten.’

‘It wasn’t so much that I forgot . . . Look.’ Lemos sat up straight, absentmindedly putting his hand to his brow. ‘I realize I’ve given you a hard time, but I . . . it’s been . . . I can’t explain what it’s been like for me. I didn’t think you believed my story. I’m still not sure you do. And that’s just added to the despair I’ve been feeling. I’m sorry, I know I should have been more cooperative.’

Despite his prison haircut and coverall, his unhealthy complexion, Lemos seemed the picture of eager contrition, boyish in his renewed vigor, and Korrogly did not know whether to be pleased or disgusted. Incredible, he thought, more than incredible, the man was impossible to believe, except that somehow his very implausibility seemed believable. As for Mirielle, how could she have hidden this from him? What did that signal as to their relationship? Was her hatred for her father such a powerful taint that it could abrogate all other rules? Had he misjudged her in every way?

‘It doesn’t look good, does it?’ Lemos said.

Korrogly resisted the temptation to laugh. ‘We still have our witnesses, and I’m not going to let Mirielle’s testimony go unchallenged.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘Try to overcome the effects of your despondency,’ said Korrogly. ‘Come on.’

Once back in the courtroom, Korrogly took a turn around
the witness box, studying Mirielle, who appeared nervous, picking at the seams of her dress, and at last he said, ‘Why do you hate your father?’

She looked surprised.

‘It’s not a difficult question,’ Korrogly said. ‘It’s obvious to everyone here that you want him found guilty.’

‘Objection!’ Mervale shrilled.

Judge Wymer said, ‘Limit yourself to proper questions, Mister Korrogly.’

Korrogly nodded. ‘Why do you hate your father?’

‘Because . . .’ Mirielle stared at him, pleading with her eyes. ‘Because . . .’

‘Is it because you consider him a restrictive parent?’

‘Yes.’

‘Because he tried to separate you and your lover?’

‘Yes.’

‘Because you feel he is contemptible in the stodginess and staleness of his life?’

‘Yes.’

‘And can we assume you have other reasons yet for hating him?’

‘Yes!’ she cried. ‘Yes! What are you doing?’

‘I’m establishing that you hate your father, Miss Lemos. That you hate him with sufficient passion to attempt to turn this trial into a melodrama so as to guarantee his conviction. That you’ve hidden evidence from the court so that it could be produced at a particularly theatrical moment. Perhaps you’ve had help in this from the theatrical Mister Mervale . . .’

‘Objection!’

‘Mister Korrogly!’ said Judge Wymer.

‘. . . but whatever the case, you most certainly have been duplicitous in your testimony . . .’

‘Mister Korrogly!’

‘Duplicitous in your intent, in your every action before this court!’

‘Mister Korrogly! If you don’t stop this immediately . . .’

‘I apologize, Your Honor.’

‘You’re on thin ice, Mister Korrogly. I won’t permit another such outburst.’

‘I can assure you, Your Honor, it won’t happen again.’ He walked over to the jury box, leaned against it, hoping to ally himself thereby with the jurors, to make it seem that he was asking their questions. ‘Miss Lemos, you knew of the will prior to this morning . . . correct?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you make mention of it to the prosecutor?’

‘Yes.’

‘When did you mention it to him?’

‘Yesterday afternoon.’

‘Why not before? Surely you must have recognized its importance.’

‘I . . . it slipped my mind, I guess.’

‘It slipped your mind,’ said Korrogly, injecting heavy sarcasm into his tone. ‘You guess.’ He turned to the jury, shook his head ruefully. ‘Is there anything else you have forgotten to mention?’

‘Objection!’

‘Overruled. The witness will answer.’

‘I . . . no.’

‘I hope not for your sake,’ Korrogly said. ‘Did your father ever tell you that the reason he wanted to declare you incompetent was to remove you from the temple, to prevent you from being destroyed by Zemaille?’

‘Oh, he said that, but . . .’

‘Just answer the question Yes or No.’

‘Yes.’

‘This will,’ said Korrogly, ‘you knew its contents . . . I mean you were versed in its contents, you knew its exact particulars.’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Now the conversation during which you told your father about the will, it was, I take it, rather heated, was it not?’

‘Yes.’

‘And so in the midst of a heated conversation, a violent argument, if you will, you had the presence of mind to inform your father of the contents of a most complicated document. I assume you filled him in on every detail.’

‘Well, no, not everything.’

‘Oh!’ Korrogly arched an eyebrow. ‘What exactly did you tell him?’

‘I . . . I can’t recall. Not exactly.’

‘Now let me get this straight, Miss Lemos. You remember telling him about the will, but you can’t recall if you informed him of its contents. It is possible then that you merely blurted out something to the effect that Mardo had seen to your future?’

‘No, I . . .’

‘Or did you say . . .’

‘He knew what it meant!’ she shouted, standing up in the box. ‘He knew!’ She stared with fierce loathing at Lemos. ‘He killed him for the money! But he’ll never . . .’

‘Sit down, Miss Lemos!’ said Judge Wymer. ‘Now!’ Once she had obeyed, he warned her in no uncertain terms to restrain her behavior.

‘So,’ Korrogly went on, ‘in the midst of an argument you blurted out some incoherent . . .’

‘Objection!’

‘Sustained.’

‘You blurted out something, you can’t recall exactly what, about the will. Is that a fair statement?’

‘You’re twisting my words!’

‘On the contrary, Miss Lemos, I’m simply repeating what you’ve said. It appears that the only persons who were absolutely clear as to the contents of the will were you and Mardo Zemaille.’

‘No, that’s . . .’

‘That wasn’t a question, Miss Lemos. Merely the preamble to one. Since you are likely to benefit greatly from your father’s conviction, since that will in effect prevented him from initiating a competency hearing, doesn’t that color your testimony the color of greed?’

‘I never wanted anything except Mardo.’

‘I believe everyone within earshot will second your characterization of Mardo Zemaille as a thing.’

‘No need to object, Mister Mervale,’ said Judge Wymer;
then, to Korrogly: ‘I’ve given you a great deal of leeway. That leeway is now at end. Do you understand me?’

‘Yes, Your Honor.’ Korrogly crossed to the defense table, picked up some of his notes, and leafing through them, walked to the witness box and stood facing Mirielle; her face was tight with anger. ‘Did you believe in Mardo Zemaille, Miss Lemos?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘I mean did you believe in what he said, in his public statements, in his theological doctrines? In his work?’

‘Yes.’

‘What was his work? His great work?’

‘I don’t know . . . nobody except Mardo knew.’

‘Yet you believed in it?’

‘I believed that Mardo was inspired.’

‘Inspired . . . I see. Then you accepted his precepts as being the code by which you lived.’

‘Yes.’

‘Then it would be illuminating to examine some of those precepts, might it not?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Oh, I think it would.’ Korrogly turned a page. ‘Ah, here we are.’ He read from his notes. ‘“Do what thou wilt, that is all the law.” Did you believe that?’

‘I . . . yes, I did.’

‘Hmmm. And this, did you believe this? “If blood is needed for the great work, blood will be provided.”’

‘I don’t . . . I never knew what he meant by that.’