Kane

by Jennifer Blake

  At the witness stand, she mounted to the chair inside the railed box. She took the oath, then seated herself and waited tensely for Melville to begin his questioning.

  But it was Kane who rounded the end of the plaintiff’s table and walked toward her. Kane who placed his hands on the railing of the witness stand, leaning toward her, regarding her with dispassionate consideration. Kane was the man who had deliberately called her today when her guard was down.

  Kane was the lawyer for the plaintiff who faced her as if he’d never kissed her, never held her, never fitted his body into hers as if providing the key piece to an intricate, interlocking puzzle. It was Kane who glanced toward the jury, then looked back at her with the chill gaze of an executioner.

  “You are Miss Regina Dalton, resident of New York?”

  “Yes.” Her voice was almost nonexistent and she cleared her throat, reaching up at the same time to clasp the amber oval at her throat. It offered no comfort. She released it.

  “Until recently, you resided with the defendant, Gervis Berry, at the following location?” He reeled off the address of the 72nd Street apartment.

  “That’s correct.”

  “Did anyone else live there with you on a regular basis?”

  She gave a stiff nod and supplied Michael’s name and occupation as houseman before adding, “There was also my son, when he wasn’t at school.”

  “Your son. Is he in court with you today?”

  “He is.”

  “Point him out to us, if you will.”

  Regina did as she was requested, though her hand trembled. Stephan, she saw, didn’t care for public notice any more than his mother. He slumped in his seat, staring white-faced at his feet while Betsy circled him with a plump and protective arm.

  “You say that your son was in school when he was not with you. Can you tell us the name of this school?”

  Regina gave it, though her head swam as she tried to figure out what Stephan had to do with the case at hand. Apparently, Gervis’s lawyers felt the same doubt, for they demanded to know where the testimony was headed. After a brief consultation before the bench, however, the judge ruled that Kane could continue.

  “You call this a school,” he said when he stood before her once more, “but I don’t believe that’s quite correct. In fact, it’s an institution for problem children, isn’t that so?”

  “My son isn’t a problem child. It was all a mistake.”

  “I must ask you to confine your answers to the questions at hand. Was this, or was this not, an institution?”

  She replied that it was, staring at him with active dislike. If he felt it, he seemed able to ignore it. Mr. Lewis was not quite so sanguine. He motioned for Kane to approach him at the table and the two of them exchanged brief comments accompanied by mirroring frowns.

  That consultation made no difference. Seconds after it was over, Kane returned to the attack.

  “Was it your idea, Miss Dalton, to have your son live apart from you?”

  “No, never,” she answered, searching his face for some idea of what he was doing. The only thing she saw was that the small scar beside his mouth was white.

  “Then the initiative for that came from someone else. Would you tell the court who arranged for your son to be institutionalized?”

  She told him, then answered a number of questions intended to establish her exact relationship to Gervis.

  “So this man is not now, nor has he ever been, a blood relative. More than that, he has no blood relationship to your son. Is that correct?” Kane paced in front of her as he formulated his questions.

  “That’s right.”

  “Yet he took it upon himself to consign your son to what amounts to a permanent hospital.”

  She agreed.

  “Tell the court, if you will, how that was done.”

  She complied as briefly as possible since her voice wasn’t too reliable.

  “Gervis Berry manipulated you into allowing your son to be removed from your care,” Kane said in summary. Swinging toward her, he added, “Is that the reason you decided to betray him?”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. It seemed she was damned as a traitor no matter which way she answered.

  “Remember, please,” Kane warned with exacting grimness, “that you’re under oath to tell the exact truth.”

  She looked at him and felt as if she were drowning in the intense sea blue of his gaze. He wanted something from her, she thought in momentary distraction, but she couldn’t tell what it might be, couldn’t quite understand the significance of the caution he had given her. What did it matter anyway? It was all over—her stay in Turn-Coupe, her brief part in its affairs, her even more brief relationship with Sugar Kane. There was no point in holding anything back, no need to conceal a thing.

  She moistened her lips before she said, “I don’t consider what I did a betrayal. Gervis forfeited all right to loyalty when he sent my son away to suit his convenience. Or if not then, when he sent me here to spy for him.”

  “You spied for him?” The question came with such promptness she was certain her answer was exactly what he expected.

  “Yes,” she admitted with a twisted smile. “At least, I tried. I wasn’t very good at it.”

  “That’s debatable, I believe. You arrived in Turn-Coupe with no advance preparation, nothing except an introduction, and wormed your way into a lot of places, a lot of…hearts.” With the briefest of pauses, he demanded, “Were you in any way responsible for the accident that injured Mr. Crompton?”

  “No! I would never do such a thing!” She stared at him, aghast that he would even suggest it. Was this what he was after? Was she to be pilloried for everything that had happened, including the attempt to injure his grandfather?

  “Then who was responsible?” The question rang like the crack of doom.

  “That was Slater. Dudley Slater. He admitted—”

  “Who is this Slater?”

  “A man employed by Gervis.”

  “Explain the exact nature of their working arrangement as you know it.”

  She tried, though it wasn’t easy. Kane was relentless in his pursuit of details, firing questions at her one after the other so quickly that she had little time to think, no room for doubts or half-truths. The opposing lawyers, in evident disarray over the introduction of this new line of questioning, talked with their heads together. They emerged from their councils on several occasions to object, particularly when it involved her knowledge of the business and accounting practices of Berry Association, Inc., but were overruled more often than not. Even when they were successful, Kane merely rephrased the question and continued.

  Regina was required to spell out every single detail she knew, each incident and piece of information, to the letter. The interrogation went on and on until it seemed she had been in the stand for hours, a lifetime. Kane wanted, it seemed, exactly what the oath she had been given demanded: the truth, and nothing but the truth.

  As that realization sank in, she caught a fleeting, prescient glimpse of where he was headed. Goose bumps prickled her skin and panic clutched at her throat. No, surely not. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t, not in here in a public courtroom. Not in front of so many witnesses and in the midst of such important proceedings. It was impossible.

  Surely he wouldn’t expose everything that they had been to each other, all the things that they had done? He didn’t dare use the tender, wanton desire they had shared to prove the perfidy of the man who had tried to ruin his grandfather. There was no way to bring it up without laying himself open to censure.

  But if that wasn’t it, she couldn’t begin to guess what he required from her. There was nothing else. And why should she think he would hold that sacred? Just as there was nothing she wouldn’t do for Stephan, there was also nothing Kane wouldn’t do to help his Pops.

  “You may be innocent of causing bodily harm, Miss Dalton, but isn’t it a fact that you used your position as an appraiser of an
tique jewelry to gain the confidence of Lewis Crompton? That you did this in order to discover information that would blacken his character?”

  “Yes,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “You undertook this campaign on the instructions of Gervis Berry. Is that right?”

  “That was what he said he wanted, yes.”

  “And did it work?”

  “No.”

  He halted in midstride, lifting a brow as he turned slowly to face her. “No? Why not?”

  “Mr. Crompton changed his mind about selling the jewelry.” She added with strong irony, “I believe it was on the advice of his lawyer.”

  “So that avenue was cut off,” Kane said with a sardonic smile. “Then what did you do?”

  “I told Gervis what had happened. Someone else, Slater apparently, informed him that Mr. Crompton’s grandson might be interested in me. I was directed to concentrate on him instead.”

  A wave of comment moved over the courtroom. Kane lifted his voice to be heard above it as he clarified, “You were told to concentrate on the grandson instead of Mr. Crompton?”

  “Yes.” The word was husky.

  “And did you?”

  She searched his face, trying to see behind the stern lines of his features. It was impossible. She didn’t deserve this. Or did she? Here in this public place, the whole charade seemed far more sordid and contemptible than when it was taking place, and it had been bad enough then.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, I did.”

  “With what result?”

  Did he really want her to spell it out in plain words? “We became—close.”

  “You pumped him for information, is that it?”

  She made a small, helpless gesture. “I tried.”

  “You weren’t successful?”

  “I think he was suspicious. I’ve come to believe that…” She stopped, not quite sure she should go on.

  “What did you believe?”

  She looked away. “That he had reasons of his own for spending time with me.”

  “Even so, you continued this relationship?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  The word was bald and carried hostility behind it. Stung, she answered in kind. “Because I had no choice!”

  “You had no choice? I find that hard to believe, Miss Dalton. Everyone has a choice of whether they will do right or wrong.”

  “No, they don’t! Not when a child’s well-being is at stake.”

  He swung to face her. “A child’s well-being? Your child?”

  “My son,” she answered. “The only person I—” She stopped as her throat closed, choking off the words.

  “Your son, Stephan Berry, who was with Gervis Berry in New York while you were occupied in Turn-Coupe?”

  “Yes.” She managed to force out the answer though salt tears burned in her throat.

  “In what way was the child involved in this situation?”

  “Please,” she said as moisture gathered in her eyes. “I can’t—”

  Kane did not relent. “Just answer the question.”

  She looked toward Stephan, seeing through a blur of unshed tears the scowl on his small face. She thought that he was upset over the way she was being treated, rather than what was being said, though she couldn’t be sure. In desperation, she sought for words to explain that might mean nothing to him, yet would be intelligible to the court.

  Haltingly, she said, “Gervis told me that he would outline to my son, in detail, the—the criminal attack that occurred nine months before his birth and that was its cause. That is—”

  “He was threatening you, holding the mental well-being of your child over your head.”

  “Objection!” the head of the defense team shouted.

  “Yes,” she said on a rush of relief at not being forced to put the humiliation of her date rape into plain terms, though she thought, from the muttering in the courtroom, that it was understood well enough. For a single instant, she even felt wild gratitude toward Kane for the reprieve he had given her in spite of all that had gone before.

  He swung from her to look at the head of the defense team who, suddenly detecting the lethal nature the interrogation had taken with respect to his client, was yelling about character assassination, precedents, and a half-dozen other legalities. In even tones, Kane said, “I withdraw the question.”

  The judge signaled for quiet, delivered a short homily on procedure, then indicated that Kane could continue.

  He approached the witness stand once more and braced his hands on the railing in front of Regina, staring down at the floor for a long moment. When he looked up, his clear blue gaze held trenchant contemplation. “According to your testimony, then,” he said evenly, “you were actively seeking information to be used by Gervis Berry to counter the suit that had been filed against him. Then you suddenly stopped and left Turn-Coupe to return to New York. Why was that?”

  “He sent for me.” Her voice, Regina discovered, was firmer. At least the distraction had given her the chance to regain a little control.

  “Did he give a reason?”

  “He felt I wasn’t being as effective as I might have been.”

  “Was he correct?”

  “I—Yes, I suppose so.”

  “Why was that?”

  She avoided his gaze, noticing instead the faintly arrogant tilt of his head, the slope of his strong neck into the width of his shoulders, the careless familiarity of the way he wore his suit, as a soldier might wear a uniform. She said finally, “I was disturbed by the tactics he was using, particularly as carried out by Dudley Slater. Also, I had begun to grow fond of—of Mr. Crompton. It made me ashamed of what I had been doing.”

  He pushed away from the rail. “But you didn’t remain in New York. In fact, you arrived back in Turn-Coupe again within forty-eight hours. Why was that?”

  “I needed help. I thought I might exchange personal services or information I had about Berry Association, Inc. for aid in freeing my son from Gervis’s control.”

  “Was this exchange made?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” she affirmed, though her voice turned traitor again, almost disappearing. “I was helped to physically remove Stephan from New York and bring him to Louisiana.”

  “After which, in spite of your own exhaustion, you spent hours at the side of the man who was injured during the course of this rescue. Why did you do that?”

  “Gratitude,” she said with a helpless gesture, though she refused to look at him.

  “And is that all?” he demanded, swinging closer again to add in warning, “Remember that you are under oath to tell the exact truth.”

  She saw what he wanted. It was simple, really. He wasn’t going to be satisfied with anything less than her complete confession.

  Fine. The trial would be over soon, and she would be gone. What would anything matter then?

  It could even be argued that she owed him this pound of flesh. He had saved Stephan for her and been hurt in the process. He had nullified Gervis’s threat. He had even prevented Slater from attacking her before sending the little man packing. He had been there when she needed him, had given back to her more than he had taken. If he wanted public restitution, then he would have it.

  In fact, he was going to get more than he bargained for.

  “Well?” he demanded as she hesitated.

  “No,” she said, her voice tight, “that isn’t all.”

  “What else?” His gaze was intent, his mouth set in a straight line as he watched her.

  She squared her shoulders and gave her head a defiant tilt. Speaking distinctly, she said, “I fell in love.”

  “With whom?” he demanded above the whispering from the crowd behind him. “Whom did you love?”

  Her lips curled upward at one corner. “Lewis Crompton’s grandson, Kane Benedict. I fell in love with you and will never care for another man in the same way as long as I live.”

  For a single instant, hea
t flared in his eyes, then his lashes swept down, wiping away all expression. Ignoring the tide of conjecture that washed around them both, he looked toward the judge. In firm tones, he said, “I have no more questions for this witness.”

  Turning on his heel, he walked away.

  The verdict in the trial was reached a week later. It was for the plaintiff, Lewis Crompton.

  Regina was not in court when it came in, but caught the news on television in her Turn-Coupe motel room where she had retreated from the stares and whispers. She immediately turned up the volume, then sat perfectly still as the familiar faces of Melville Brown and the other lawyers flashed on the screen. Melville was in fine form, calling the decision a consumer victory as well as one for his client. He also pointed out that it said good things about race relations in the South that a jury made up primarily of African-Americans could decide in favor of a white man against Northeastern interests.

  Gervis’s team of lawyers was not so complimentary. Its leader claimed he and his team had been placed at a disadvantage by the archaic and unique Louisiana judicial and legal system and blindsided by the tactics of the plaintiff’s team of counselors. He maintained, as well, that the jury had failed to understand the broader implication of open-market competition between rival funeral service operations.

  The jury foreman, a black computer engineer who had lived for years in Detroit before moving back to his grandmother’s home in Louisiana, returned that disdain in kind. The high-powered lawyers from the East, he said, had miscalculated. They had expected to overawe the small Southern law firm ranged against them with the weight of their importance while using race politics to obscure the issues and conceal the crimes of their client. By the time they’d discovered their mistake, it was too late.

  Gervis had no comment to make on the case, but was shown flapping his hand at the cameras and microphones in his face, then jumping into a limousine and being whisked away. Lewis Crompton said a courtly few words, giving full credit to the perspicuity of the jury and praising his law team.