The One Who Got Away (31 page)

‘Objection!' said Tucker, nearly falling over his own boots as he pushed back from the defence table.

‘And then,' said Sandy, ignoring the banging of my gavel, ‘he threw the third case over the edge of your ship, and watched while it sank to the bottom of the deep blue sea.'

* * *

‘Your Honour, I call David Wynne-Estes.'

David got to his feet and moved towards the witness box. Every eye in the courtroom followed him.

From my position up high on the bench, I said: ‘Are you a Christian, Mr Wynne-Estes?'

David said: ‘I most certainly am.'

The clerk of the court rushed forward with a Bible. David closed his eyes and clutched the book to his chest, before placing his palm flat upon it, and taking the oath.

‘Thank you,' I said.

‘Thank you,' he replied.

I took careful note of David's stance. His shoulders were back. He stared straight ahead, towards where Tucker was standing. His hands were clasped loosely in front of his groin.

‘The first thing I'd like to do is to thank you for being here, David,' said Tucker warmly. ‘I know in my heart that the jury will be pleased to meet you, and to get to know you. You know, and I know, and I guess everyone knows that you don't have to be here, in the witness box. You don't have to testify. Our friend, the District Attorney, has to convince these good folk on the jury of your guilt, and to my mind, while she's made a big old song about this, that and the other, she's well short of producing any evidence that you did anything wrong. And you don't have to help her. You're innocent until that jury there says you're not, and I don't believe they can do that, not with the evidence – or lack thereof – that we've heard to date. So I thank you for stepping up. You don't have to be here, but as I understand it, you have something that you'd like to say?'

‘I do,' said David. He was speaking far more softly, with much less cockiness than he had done in his TV interview with Liz Moss. He looked directly at the jury, and continued: ‘I'm charged with the murder of my wife,' he said gently, ‘but I'm not guilty.'

Tucker stepped forward so aggressively that at least one juror jumped. ‘You did cheat on her, though,' he said gruffly.

David hung his head. ‘Yes, I did,' he said, his face full of remorse. ‘I did, and I'm sorry for that. I … well, I guess I was weak. I was tempted, and I gave into my temptation, and that was sinful, and that was wrong. I prayed for strength, and yet I was weak. I should've prayed harder, been stronger.'

I could just imagine Cecile's response to that. She would be maddened that Lyric Morales was twenty-five years old yet
apparently capable of bringing not only David but many a rich, grown man to his knees with desire.

‘The way they paint this woman, it's disturbing,' Cecile would say. ‘Like she's a temptress. A tigress. A vixen! Why don't they just say she gets on all fours and waves her hindquarters about and that's the end of any commitment that any man has made to his wedding vows. Why don't you just say she had the power to make men crumble before the power of her coochie-hoo-ha, and that she had to be stopped!'

I must say, it disturbed me, too.

‘Very well,' said Tucker, ‘now, I won't keep you here for long. But one thing I thought we should deal with straightaway is the matter of these suitcases. Let's talk about them. What can you tell us about the suitcases?'

David rubbed his forehead. It was exactly the gesture he had employed on television.

‘My wife, Loren, she loved to
shop
,' he said. ‘She was excited by the idea of bringing exotic presents home for our girls. She had promised them the world, of course. It wasn't uncommon for her to take an extra case when she went on holidays for shopping, and she'd normally fold it up and stick it inside her big case. That's the point of having one of those collapsible suitcases: you can fold them up when you don't need them and you can expand them after you've been shopping.'

Tucker said: ‘So she put that collapsible case in her Samsonite, for shopping?'

‘Yes. And then, after the … the … incident with Lyric, I dragged the collapsible case out of the closet and threw Loren's clothes she had been wearing at Lyric's into the collapsible case, and checked it onto the flight.'

‘And yet, when you boarded the
Silver Lining
, you had only two cases?'

‘Right,' said David, rubbing his forehead again, ‘because by then I'd gotten rid of Loren's clothes.'

‘And where did you do that?'

‘In Cabo.'

‘Where exactly?'

‘I can't even remember. I walked through the heat until I found a dumpster and I threw them in there, and I watched until a guy from a restaurant came out and flung more stuff on top of it, and that's the truth of the matter.'

‘And, just to be clear, you didn't dispose of those stained clothes in the collapsible case that my colleague, Ms Ruiz, has been going on about?'

‘No I did not.'

‘Although it would be very easy for you to say that you did, because that of course would explain why that case was missing when you boarded the
Silver Lining
.'

‘Yes, but I'm not going to say something that's not true.'

‘And – just so as we don't insult the good people of the jury – that's not because you don't like telling lies. Because you are a bit of a liar by nature aren't you, Mr Wynne-Estes?'

‘I have lied,' said David, sighing deeply, ‘and I'm paying for that now. I'm paying for that in that people don't believe me when I'm telling the truth. But I am telling the truth. I didn't throw that collapsible suitcase away, and the reason I'm not saying I did – although that would be handy – is because when the police said the case was missing, I thought, oh, sure. And they want me to come up with some wild explanation for what happened to it, so they can say, “Well, actually, we found it,” and it was somewhere that I couldn't explain, so
then they could say, “Why did you lie? And what else are you lying about?” So I won't lie. I didn't throw out that suitcase, and I don't know where it is.'

‘If you didn't throw it away at the villa, you must have put it into one of these two Samsonite cases – the blue, or the black.'

‘That's what I thought. But when the police here in Bienveneda asked me to give them that third case, well, I couldn't find it.'

‘You couldn't find it?'

‘No.'

‘And you didn't notice that it was missing when you got off the ship?'

‘I didn't notice anything. I searched Loren's things, for a note. I didn't find one. Then police in Mexico asked me to leave my cases – to take what I needed and to leave my cases – so they could continue their investigation. Maybe this was foolish, but I agreed. I had no choice. I had to get home to my children.'

‘And it was two weeks before the cases came back to the US?'

‘Correct. And I was still grieving. Distraught at losing Loren. Horrified by what had happened to Lyric. I opened Loren's case, and to be honest, I still didn't notice that the collapsible case was missing. I had so much to contend with, what with trying to shield the girls and with Loren's family making accusations. It wasn't until after I got charged that I was asked about it. And I can see how it looks. There's a missing case. That's bad for me. There's no note from Loren, and there's a missing case.'

‘So you never mentioned to police that one case was missing?'

‘No, because I didn't notice. They brought it up, as part of the investigation.'

Sandy stood up. ‘I'm sorry to interrupt,' she said, ‘you just said, you can see how it looks?'

‘That's right,' said David.

‘Just checking,' said Sandy.

Tucker resumed, saying: ‘This is not great for you. This is in fact terrible for you. But it is what it is, and we need to move on. What I'd like you to do now, David, if you could, is explain in your words, how Loren was when you last saw her.'

David cleared his throat. ‘Publicly or privately?' he asked. ‘Because her two faces were very different. Privately, she was a complete wreck. She trembled so badly on our first night in the villa at Cabo … it was like she was freezing cold and she could not get warm.'

Tucker said: ‘And yet, on the last night of her life, she got all dressed up and went out with you to the Captain's Dinner?'

David blanched. ‘Yes, because Loren was doing her absolute best to keep up our charade,' he said. ‘We couldn't stay locked up in our cabin the whole time. That would have looked very suspicious. So we did our best to get amongst it, like two people enjoying their second honeymoon. And Loren was keeping up appearances, but behind the scenes she was a wreck. Yes, you can find photographs of her sipping champagne on the ship. What people couldn't see was what was going on behind closed doors. Every second of every day, we dreaded getting a call about Lyric. It was no secret that I'd had an affair with her. I was sure that the police would call as soon as she was found. We were anxious. We were frightened.

‘We returned to the stateroom after the Captain's Dinner, and Loren began to drink. I urged her not to drink too much. She had been drinking every night, and she was already distressed. The alcohol made everything worse. She kept saying: “What does it matter? It's not like you love me.” I was on my knees – in my suit, on my knees – pleading with her, saying: “Please, please, Loren, we have to hold it together.” She drank and drank, and
her head began to loll on her shoulders. I picked her up – gently – and put her into the bed.

‘At some point, I must have fallen asleep. I was exhausted. I had been exhausted for days. I reached out—' here, David spread his fingers to mimic his hand feeling the bed next to him ‘—and Loren was not there. Instantly, I sprang from the bed. I can't say how or why, but I knew that something was wrong. I checked the en suite. I went out onto our balcony. I looked over the balcony, which I think shows that I was already dreading what might have happened. I pulled on loose pants, a loose shirt. I did up one button, and I hurried out of our cabin. And I searched. I searched everywhere.

‘I was in such a panic. But from the moment that I couldn't find her,' David said, ‘I knew. I just knew.'

* * *

Which way would the jury go? That was the question on everyone's mind on the final day of the trial. The
Bugle
had a long piece, ending with a prediction: not guilty. To my mind, they'd have done just as well to flip a coin. Heads for guilty. Tails for not guilty. There was no way to know. It was too close to call.

I spent the morning speaking directly to the jury about the responsibility that lay before them. I summarised some of the evidence, such as it was, and I made the point that nobody could say for certain what had happened to Loren, or to Lyric for that matter.

I went over some of the more obvious points: an adulterer was not necessarily a murderer. David was missing from the surveillance tapes for only a matter of minutes. David had
nothing to gain from making Loren's death look like a suicide, because the policy would not pay out.

The foreman and his fellow jurors nodded, and retreated.

I retired to my chambers to wait. Bored, I went for a wander in the courtyard, outside the main court building. I saw Loren's family sitting at a picnic table, each wearing a splash of yellow: a ribbon, a blouse, a set of earrings.

I hurried past, not wanting them to see me.

The press had gathered in an opposite corner of the same courtyard. They were starting to get twitchy. I have developed a good relationship with some of the older, regular court reporters over the years. They feel free to speak frankly when I pass by.

‘What's happening, Judge Pettit?'

‘I have no more information than you do.'

‘I wish they'd hurry up. We need a verdict by four pm to make the evening news.'

‘I'm sure that's at the forefront of their minds,' I said.

‘They'll definitely find him guilty. Definitely. There's no other verdict they can reach.'

He had no idea. Hardly anyone ever does. What the jury can or will or might or should do – it's all a mystery, until they come back. I returned to chambers. Some of the shelves were empty from when I'd packed up the books in anticipation of Rebecca Buckley's arrival. Her replacement had been announced. Brett Wagner. He's from Bienveneda. He'll do a good job.

I stood and stretched my back. I reached into my top drawer for my wallet, thinking that a bagel or Starbucks might be in order, and then the phone on my desk rang, and it was Cecile, saying: ‘Are they back yet?'

‘No.'

‘Which way do you think it will go?'

‘I wouldn't want to speculate.'

‘Do not think I'm crazy,' she said evenly. ‘Do not think I'm old. Do not think I have dementia. Do not judge me, but I think he's innocent!'

‘I'm not sure I can direct the jury to acquit on the grounds that my wife has changed her mind.'

‘Don't be stupid, Samuel! I'm being serious.'

‘I'm sorry, Cecile,' I said, ‘but I don't see what you want me to do?'

‘You can't do anything. It's up to the jury now, isn't it?'

‘Of course it is,' I said, ‘it's been their decision all along.'

* * *

There is a special telephone in my chambers that rings only to tell me when the jury has returned its verdict.

‘They're back, Your Honour,' said Ben. ‘Thank you,' I said, putting down the phone.

I adjusted my robes over my collar and tie and made my way down to Court Five.

David Wynne-Estes came into the court flanked by two security guards. I asked him to remain standing in the Perspex box and he did. He was nervous and pale, and although doing his best to keep his hands lightly clasped in front of him, I could see that his hands were shaking.