Unsaid: A Novel (36 page)

At the same moment, Jannick turns on the few pieces of computer equipment remaining in the lab and then approaches the Cube. He doesn’t appear to notice the warning signs coming from Cindy.

“Dr. Jannick,” the woman with him says, “I’m really not comfortable with this. This isn’t my work and I don’t know Dr. Cassidy’s protocol. Can’t you just do this?”

“I told you. I need a woman and a woman who knows ASL.”

“But I don’t know this animal.”

“That won’t matter.”

“She seems agitated,” the woman says.

“I assure you, she’s been through this hundreds of times. She’ll be fine once the gloves are on her.”

In the courtroom, Mace lobs his next question. “But we do share so much DNA, don’t we?”

“Dr. Cassidy is absolutely right that we have huge amounts of DNA in common. But there’s also no doubt that it’s the small disparities that are found throughout the genome that have made all the difference between us. Those minute fractions of DNA that Dr. Cassidy appears to dismiss as insignificant are why we humans have Shakespeare, Einstein, Clarence Darrow, Rembrandt, Lincoln, Kant, and the primates don’t have even one example of a brilliant mind. There’s a reason no one has ever found a poem by a chimpanzee. All of the achievements of modern humanity lie in that one or two percent divergence in our genetic code that represents millions and millions of years of evolution.

“I’m not saying chimpanzees are inanimate, but so far as we know, complex language is unique to humans. This skill has allowed us as humans to process profound amounts of information, and this, in turn, has resulted in a remarkable amount of knowledge acquisition in a minuscule period of time. Just look at the last hundred years, or even the last fifty. Look at how far we’ve come. But not any other species. Why is that? Because our ability to communicate in the way we do has propelled us in so many ways. Humans are unique. Period.”

And then I am back in my home. Clifford watches as Joshua listens to Skippy’s heart. After a few moments, Joshua looks at Sally and shakes his head. “No!” Clifford shouts. The sorrow in his voice momentarily cuts through all the other noise in my head. “Please,” he begs. “Not yet.”

Sally reaches for her son. “I wish I had the power to make him live forever,” she says. “But the only power I have is to be there for you when he doesn’t. I think Skippy is telling us he’s ready.”

Clifford pulls away from her and starts to pace with Skippy locked in his arms.

I’m not ready. Not yet.

And then I see Jannick open the Cube. “It’s okay, Cindy,” Jannick says in his most soothing voice as he signs. “I have a friend who wants to meet you.” Jannick reaches into the Cube and takes Cindy’s hand. In the process, her doll gets knocked to the floor of the lab. Cindy becomes still, her eyes wide.

Cindy’s fear takes me back to the courtroom. “But Dr. Cassidy certainly seems convinced of the merit of her own work, doesn’t she?” Mace asks.

“No doubt,” Vartag answers. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“So, you’ve had experience with Dr. Cassidy’s work before this?”

“Quite a bit, actually,” Vartag says.

Before David knows what is happening, and before he can stop it, Vartag launches into our shared history at Cornell. When Vartag describes for the jury how Jaycee and I had killed Charlie, there is no place I can hide. David repeatedly objects, but Allerton doesn’t stop her. When Vartag is done, the jury looks at Jaycee with a new skepticism—the type people specifically reserve for hypocrites.

“… and so I don’t know where along the way Dr. Cassidy became so concerned about the long-term well-being of research primates,” Vartag says, “but that certainly was not evident to me from her conduct during our prior work together.”

The phrase
our prior work together
echoes in my head as Jannick begins to slide one of the gloves over Cindy’s fingers. She struggles against him, and Jannick grabs her hand to keep it still. He accidentally twists her thumb. Cindy shrieks and bites into his forearm. He screams and tries to pull his arm away, but Cindy won’t let go. The blood pools around her mouth.

The woman with Jannick screams for help as she tries to pull Cindy off him. “Call security,” Jannick yells. The woman jumps for the nearest phone and dials. “We have an emergency in lab three!”

And then Clifford stops pacing and turns toward his mother, his face contorted in anguish. Beads of sweat suddenly materialize on his forehead. His hands begin to tremble and then he vomits on the floor near his mother. “I think I am dying, Mommy,” he gasps.

“No, honey,” she says as she leads him to a chair. “You’re just feeling.”

“It hurts, Mama. It hurts right here,” he says, pointing to his chest. “What should I do?”

Sally takes Clifford’s face in her hands. “We need to end his pain,” Sally tells him.

“It’s not time,” he cries. With Skippy nestled between mother and son, Clifford weeps into his mother’s hands.

I want to stay with them, but I’m dragged back to the courtroom just as Mace approaches Vartag with a folder. “May I have this marked for identification?” Mace asks as he hands one of the documents to the court clerk and two copies to David. They are color photographs of a red Jeep Cherokee Laredo. Although the occupant of the Jeep is lost in shadow, the license plate on the Jeep is clearly visible—X80 2PM. Mace gives the marked photo to Vartag. “Can you tell us what this is?”

“Yes,” Vartag answers. “It’s a photo taken by one of the new perimeter security cameras installed at the CAPS facility just after I took over.”

“Do you know the date and time the photo was taken?”

“The security cameras are all date-and time-stamped. This was taken on December thirty-first at eleven oh five
PM
.” The answer results in murmuring from the benches.

David looks like he’s going to be ill. This is it. It’s all over. The train is off the tracks now and hurtling straight toward him at inhuman speed.

“Do you recognize the vehicle in the photograph?” Mace asks.

“This is Dr. Cassidy’s Jeep. You can see the license plate number very clearly.”

Jaycee tries to hand David a note, but he ignores her.

“Can you tell where at the perimeter this was taken?

“Yes, it’s from camera three, which is located at the very rear of the facility. I know this view. There was a fairly well-known gap in the perimeter chain link right about here. We repaired it and installed the surveillance cameras after Dr. Cassidy’s arrest.”

“Is there any legitimate reason why Dr. Cassidy would be at the perimeter of the CAPS facility at that date and time?”

“To the contrary,” Vartag says, “she’d already been told that she was not permitted to return to CAPS without specific written authorization.”

I can almost feel the blow. In the lab, Jannick hits Cindy hard in the face and she finally releases his arm. He crumbles to the floor next to the doll, his arm bleeding profusely. Two security guards run into the lab with their guns drawn. When they see Jannick, they point their weapons at Cindy, waiting for her next move.

Cindy’s hands start moving so fast that I can only make out some of what she is saying. I don’t need ILP or her gloves to recognize the words
No, go away, hurt,
and
sorry
. It is precisely the type of spontaneous, context-appropriate communication that Jannick, in his testimony, said did not exist.

Jannick must see what I do because his eyes become wide with realization. I think he tries to tell the guards to stand down, but instead it comes out as an unintelligible, mournful croak. The guards can’t understand him; they must assume Jannick is pleading for them to shoot because their hands tighten around their weapons. Jannick struggles to lift his hands to wave the guards away, but he can’t seem to get his arms to do what he wants. He is as helpless in the face of impending violence as the animals that had been in his charge. In the end, it is Jannick’s words that have failed, not Cindy’s.

Cindy begins to sign something else.
Not like…,
but I can’t make out the last part of it. She repeats the phrase—
Not like…
Then I get it. From the look of horror on Jannick’s face, I think he understands it the same second that I do. She’s finger-spelling.
M-I-C-H-A-E-L
.

Not like Michael
.

Cindy leaps out of the Cube. I know with every fading atom of sentience that Cindy just wants to retrieve her doll, but the doll is too close to Jannick. The guards only see another attack coming. They are blinded by the limits of their language.

I want to squeeze my eyes shut against what is coming and instead I see David open Jaycee’s note. The note says, “Please don’t let her die.”

“Your Honor,” Mace says as he reaches for another document, “I have Dr. Cassidy’s bail-bond agreement. It specifically prohibits her from leaving Manhattan without the court’s permission.”

“I’m aware of that, counselor,” Allerton says, giving Jaycee a disapproving look. “Continue.”

“Did Dr. Cassidy seek your permission before coming—”

In the moments before David rushes to his feet, I abruptly feel his mind fill with my own confused and disjointed images—of the video clip of me playing with Cindy, of me in my hospital bed waiting for him to say good-bye, of Skippy and Clifford, of Sally and Arthur, and perhaps a dozen others. The scenes come too fast for me to keep them separate. These are the reflections of David’s life—or, perhaps more accurately and generally, just of life. They culminate in a single word, and David now shouts it out:
“Objection!”

At the same moment, miles away, Jannick screams “No!” Then the roar of gunshots.

“Grounds?” Allerton asks with one eyebrow raised. “I’ve already ruled this is relevant.”

“Lack of foundation,” David says.

In the courtroom, David tackles Allerton’s doubtful stare. “Specifically, there is absolutely no evidence that Dr. Cassidy was the person in the car.”

Mace looks like he wants to leap on David. “This is a preposterous attempt to obstruct my examination of this witness!” he shouts.

“May I approach, Your Honor?” David asks. Allerton motions for counsel to join him at the bench. After a moment’s hesitation,
Max, perhaps sensing that David may need a friendly face, meets him at the front of the courtroom.

David starts in immediately. “There’s been no testimony that the driver of the vehicle was Dr. Cassidy. This is rank speculation and it is extremely prejudicial before the jury.”

“Oh, do get serious, Mr. Colden,” Mace says. “It is her car. Who was driving? Santa going back to the North Pole? It is exactly the location that she broke in the first time.”

“You didn’t ask her whether she had lent her car to anyone or whether it was constantly within her control that night.”

“She already testified that she had not been to the facility.” Allerton turns to Mace. “Do you have any other photographs suggesting it was her driving?”

“We’re still checking security tapes, but the occupant never got out of the Jeep.”

“I guess,” Allerton says, “it’s possible that someone took her car and drove it all the way to the CAPS facility late at night for reasons not yet disclosed, Mr. Colden, but that sure seems unlikely to me.”

“Unlikely or not,” David answers, “that in fact is what happened.”

“And how do you know that precisely?” Mace sneers.

David’s face is a mask. “Precisely because I was the person she loaned the car to,” he says. “It was me in the car.”

“Come again?” Allerton says.

“It was me,” David repeats. “We were prepping for her testimony at my house on New Year’s Eve. I wanted to see the CAPS complex before the trial to get a feel of the place, and I wanted to do it without attracting a crowd. I used her car because I wanted the four-wheel drive to make the trip. There was snow on the ground.”

Max coughs into his hand, but I can still see his smile.

Allerton examines David with evident skepticism. “I see,” he says finally.

“I request that the court put Mr. Colden under oath,” Mace demands.

“Do you have any other evidence that puts Dr. Cassidy at the facility at that time, Mr. Mace?” Allerton asks.

With great reluctance, Mace answers, “No. But Mr. Colden’s story makes no sense. A middle-of-the-night run? On New Year’s Eve, no less?”

“Perhaps, Mr. Mace,” Allerton says. “But I suspect, depending on their particular circumstances, people have done more bizarre things on New Year’s Eve. I’m not here to judge Mr. Colden’s behavior. Mr. Colden is an officer of the court,” Allerton continues, now staring directly at David. “When he speaks to the court in his official capacity as he is now, he is effectively speaking under oath, isn’t that correct, Mr. Colden?”

“Yes sir.”

“And Mr. Colden has made a factual representation to this court. If Mr. Colden had lied to the court, he knows I would seek to have him disbarred, isn’t that correct, Mr. Colden?”

“Yes sir.”

“He knows I would show no leniency, regardless of the circumstances—personal or otherwise, right, Mr. Colden?”

“Yes,” says this man who teaches young lawyers the importance of the oath, the man who has always been so afraid of tarnishing his reputation for truthfulness, the man who has consistently chosen directness over dishonesty.

“Well then,” Allerton continues, “Dr. Cassidy already has testified under oath in a manner consistent with Mr. Colden’s representation. You have no contrary evidence. And I think we all can
agree that the inference raised by the question is prejudicial to the defense; you are accusing Dr. Cassidy of breaking her bail agreement. If true, that allegation would throw her in jail. Absent some evidence—”

“But the photo…” Mace’s protest trails off.

“Is not evidence of anything to the contrary. So I don’t think it will be necessary to make Mr. Colden actually put his hand on a Bible at the moment.”

“But,” Mace stammers.

“But nothing, Mr. Mace,” Allerton says. “Please step back, gentlemen.”

The attorneys return to their counsel tables, but not before Allerton catches David’s eye.

When David takes his seat, Jaycee tries to whisper to him, but he twists away.