The Pardon (26 page)

She pulled back and looked into his eyes. Never.

I know you wouldn't, he said as he pulled her close. As he pulled her close, he noticed that smoke and the smell of their burning dinner had begun to seep in from the kitchen. At least not intentionally, he thought.

Chapter
35

The air seemed electric with possibility that Monday morning as the players in the drama of State v. Swyteck assembled for the opening act. The script called for the prosecution to present its version of events first. After Jack's character was thoroughly impugned and his actions given the most sinister interpretation, the defense would come on and try to reverse the brainwashing. It seemed almost amazing, really, that juries so often reached the right result. But the lofty notion that this was the best system in the world was little consolation for an innocent man who might well be put to death.

Call your first witness, Mr. McCue, the judge ordered.

The State calls Cindy Paige, McCue announced.

Jack's heart sank. It was no bluff.

A sea of heads turned in unison toward the rear of the courtroom as Cindy emerged through the twelve-foot swinging doors. She looked nervous, but only Jack could detect just how nervous she truly was. He knew the little signs - the tightness in her lower lip, the stiffness in her walk, the way she pressed her thumb against her forefinger.

She wore a beige skirt and matching jacket, with a powder-blue blouse. Look soft and sympathetic, Manny had told her last night. And she did.

Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth the bailiff said, administering the familiar oath. Jack looked on from across the courtroom, watching Cindy's raised right hand tremble just slightly. It was ironic, he thought, that she appeared so anxious. If ever there was a person who could be counted on to tell the truth, it was her.

Wilson McCue allowed the witness to settle into the old Naugahyde chair, then began innocuously enough. Please state your name, he requested.

Cindy shifted in her chair, as if even this easy question caused discomfort. Cindy Paige, she replied in a soft voice.

Miss Paige, how long have you known the defendant?

A year and a half, she said.

How well do you know him?

She shrugged. Better than anyone, I suppose.

Is it fair to say you two are romantically involved?

Yes. We live together.

You're not married, though, said McCue, sounding more than a little judgmental.

Cindy glanced at the jurors. She saw grandmotherly disapproval from a blue-haired retired schoolteacher in the second row. No, we're not married.

And how long have you two lived together?

About a year. Except for a couple of weeks a while back.

Let's talk about that little hiatus, said the state attorney. When was that?

She sighed, not because her memory failed her, but because it was a time in her life she'd rather have just forgotten. Almost three months ago.

It was right after the trial of Eddy Goss, wasn't it? he asked, sounding a little less friendly now, more like an interrogator. Right after Mr. Swyteck defended him and got him off.

Objection as to characterization, said Manny as he rose from his chair.

Sustained, groaned the judge. I won't tolerate cheap shots, Mr. McCue. The jury is reminded that Mr. Swyteck is on trial for the alleged murder of Eddy Goss, she instructed the jurors, and not because he represented Mr. Goss in another trial.

A few jurors exchanged glances, as if they were torn as to which of the two was the real crime.

The witness may answer the question, said the judge.

Jack and I split a couple of days after the Goss trial, Cindy responded. But that trial had nothing to do with our breakup.

It was your decision to move out, wasn't it.

Yes, it was my decision.

And Mr. Swyteck was pretty upset about that.

She hesitated, surprised at how personal the questions were, and suspicious of where this was leading. She glanced at Jack, then looked the prosecutor in the eye. It was hard on both of us.

Well, let me be a little more specific. The two of you had a nasty fight before you left him, didn't you?

Objection, said Manny. Judge -

Overruled.

Cindy shifted nervously in her chair. We had a disagreement, yes.

McCue smirked. And I suppose the battle of Gettysburg was also a disagreement.

Objection! said Manny.

The judge frowned at McCue. Sustained. I'm warning you for the last time about the cheap shots, Mr. McCue.

McCue was unfazed. Isn't it true, Miss Paige, that the defendant literally threw you out of his house?

He never laid a hand on me. We had an argument. Every couple I know has arguments.

But this wasn't just like any other argument, McCue said, moving closer to the witness. On the morning you left him, Mr. Swyteck really lost control, he said in a low, serious voice. He was a different person. Wouldn't you say?

Objection, said Manny. Your Honor, this line of questioning is getting ridiculous.

The judge glared at the prosecutor. I'd tend too agree.

If we could have a sidebar, said McCue, I think I can explain the relevance.

Make it brief, the judge said as she waved them for ward.

The lawyers stepped quickly toward the bench and huddled beside the judge, out of earshot of the jury.

I've been patient, Manny argued quietly, waiting to see where Mr. McCue is going with this. But lovers' spats between my client and Miss Paige are completely irrelevant to the issues in this case. This is simply humiliating and improper.

It goes right to the heart of the government's case, McCue countered, his expression deadly serious. We have an all-American defendant who looks like the last person on earth who'd kill another human being. But on the inside, Your Honor, Mr. Swyteck is wound a little too tightly. He snapped after the Goss trial. And when he did, he killed his own client. I need the testimony of this witness to prove that he snapped. To prove that stress made him into a different person - someone capable of murder.

Miss Paige is not a psychiatrist, Manny said with sarcasm.

I don't want a medical opinion, McCue fought back. I want to know what this woman perceived - the woman who has lived with the defendant for the last year, and who has already testified that she knows him better than anyone.

The judge wasn't completely persuaded, but she deferred to the state attorney. I'll allow it, she muttered. But not for much longer.

Judge, Manny groaned, I -

I've ruled, she said sharply.

Thank you, said McCue. Manny shook his head, then returned to his seat beside Jack. The prosecutor resumed his position in front of the witness, a little closer than before, almost close enough to touch her.

Cindy tried to be ready for anything as she stared back at McCue. She wondered what the judge had said to him. She hoped he'd move on to another topic, but knew from the gleam in his eye that he wasn't finished yet.

How about it, miss? McCue continued. On that morning you left your boyfriend - right after Eddy Goss was acquitted, and right before he was murdered - would you say you saw a side of Jack Swyteck that you'd never seen before?

She looked at Jack, then back at McCue. I wouldn't say that exactly.

He scared you though, didn't he?

Cindy reddened. I don't know. He could have.

Could have, huh? Well, let me clarify a few things. The morning you left him, you didn't bother to kiss him good-bye, did you?

No.

You didn't even shake his hand, did you?

No.

In fact, you didn't walk out on him. You ran out.

Yes, I ran.

You ran out so fast you didn't even have time to dress.

No.

You ran out half-naked, wearing nothing but a T-shirt.

She gulped, her eyes welling. It's what I sleep in.

You ran out because you were scared for your own safety, weren't you?

She was flustered. She licked her lips, but her mouth was desert-dry.

Isn't it true, he said, that you told Mr. Swyteck that the Goss trial had changed him?

Cindy shook her head with confusion. I don't remember anything like -

Miss Paige! McCue bellowed, his voice filling the courtroom like a pipe organ. You thought Jack Swyteck had changed so much, that you told him he was no different from the scum he defended. Isn't that right!

I - Cindy gasped.

Isn't that right, Miss Paige!

No, not exactly. I said, You are the scum you defend,' but -

He is the scum he defended! McCue exclaimed, pouncing on her words for having dared to equivocate. Thank you, Ms. Paige. Thank you very much for clearing that up for us. I have no further questions, he announced as he turned away from the witness and headed back to the prosecutor's table.

She sat limply in the witness chair, her head down and shoulders rounded. Manny approached slowly, to give her time to compose herself before his cross-examination. Good morning, Miss Paige, he said in a conversational tone, trying to put her at ease.

Jack listened as Manny tried to rehabilitate her. She explained that she'd spoken purely out of anger on that ugly morning, that she'd never meant a word of it, and that they were now back together. But Jack couldn't listen. He knew Cindy had told McCue the truth, and nothing could change the truth. The best strategy was to minimize the importance of her testimony, and the longer Manny kept her on the stand, the more important her testimony would seem. Thankfully, Manny didn't keep her long.

That's all the questions I have, said Manny, dismissing the witness. Thank you.

Cindy stepped down and headed for the swinging gate that separated the players from the spectators. As she laid her hand atop the polished mahogany banister, she paused and gave Jack a look that asked for forgiveness.

We got a problem, he whispered to Manny.

It's only round one, Manny said, shrugging it off.

No, you're missing the point, Jack said. It was just me and Cindy in my bedroom that morning she left me. We were alone.

So? Why is that a problem?

If Cindy and I are the only two people who know what went on in that room, how did McCue know how to ask her all the right questions?

For a moment they just stared at each other. Then Jack's eyes shifted from Manny to Wilson McCue, who was seated at the prosecutor's table across the room. The state attorney looked up from his notepad and returned the glance, as if sensing the weight of Jack's stare. He was smiling, Jack noticed, albeit just around his eyes. Jack fought a rising tide of anger. He was ready to leap from his chair and drag it out of him if he had to: How did you know, you bastard? How did you know what to ask her?

Is the State ready to call its next witness? asked the judge.

Jack was so engrossed he didn't hear the words. Then it came to him. Of course McCue had an informant. Who else could it be?

Your Honor, the prosecutor announced to the hushed courtroom, the State calls Miss Gina Terisi.

Chapter
36

The big mahogany doors in the back of the courtroom swung open, and Gina Terisi strode down the center aisle like a model on the runway. Though her dazzling beauty attracted stares, she didn't have her usual seductive air. Her makeup was understated. Her navy-blue suit and peach silk blouse were stylish but conservative.

Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but

Please, God, Jack prayed as the oath was administered. The truth was bad enough, but the whole truth? He wasn't sure he - or his relationship with Cindy - could survive it. Please state your name, the prosecutor began.

Jack watched carefully as she testified, searching for some sign that she resented McCue's questions. A downturned lip, clenched teeth, lowered eyes. But, to his consternation, she seemed articulate, cooperative, willing.

Do you know the defendant? McCue asked.

Yes, I do. Jack listened impassively to the interrogation, trying not to panic as Gina told the jury how she'd met Jack and how long she'd known him.

Now, Miss Terisi, the prosecutor shifted gears, I'd like to turn to the night Eddy Goss was murdered. Did you see Mr. Swyteck on the night of August first?

Yes, I did, she answered. And from that point forward her testimony moved from a wide-angle view to a punishing close-up. Wilson McCue was no longer eliciting bits of background generalities; he had Gina poring over every detail about the night Jack showed up at her door. He wanted specifics, from how Jack looked and what he was wearing, to what he said and how he said it. Jack's fear that he was being stalked by Goss, and his outrage when he discovered that an intruder had broken into Gina's townhouse received particular attention. Reporters in the gallery scribbled down every word as Gina's damning story unfolded and Jack's motive to kill Eddy Goss became clear. Strangely - very strangely, Jack thought - Gina didn't mention that Jack had had a gun in his possession.