“No kidding,” Joan said sardonically. She took Dana by the arm and steered her into her office. “Coat,” she said, and waited until Dana undid the buttons. Then she peeled the filthy garment off her partner, and tossed it aside. The gray suit was untouched. “Come on,” she said.
“Where?” Dana asked.
“To the bathroom, of course. We have to wash that stuff out of your hair.”
Dana allowed herself to be propelled down the hall and into the bathroom, and did not protest when Joan stuck her head under the faucet and ran water and then soap all over it. Angeline purloined a towel from Paul Cotter’s private bathroom, and Dana permitted Joan to dry her hair. The two attorneys were back in Dana’s office for less than a minute before the intercom buzzed.
“May I see you in my office, please,” the managing partner said, in a manner that required no response other than dispatch.
Dana rolled her eyes at Joan. “I think I feel just like the lamb does who’s heading off to the slaughter,” she said.
Straightening her shoulders, she marched down the corridor, and knocked on the solid mahogany door at the far end. There was no visible copy of Probe in Paul Cotter’s office, he was far too sophisticated for that, but Dana knew it was there, somewhere.
“Charles tells me the trial is going well,” he said as soon as she was seated across the desk from him.
“I would say it’s going as well as we expected,” she concurred.
“He also tells me you and Latham appear to have become especially close.”
“We’ve become professionally close, yes,” she amended.
“That might make things a bit awkward.”
“What things?”
He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment. “Look, I’m not going to beat around the bush with you on this,” he said. “I’ve seen the tabloid that came out today. I assume you know what I’m talking about?”
“I do.”
“Well, my personal feelings about the matter aside, I’m very much afraid this… revelation, whether there is any truth to it or not, may present a major roadblock to your continuing to first-chair this trial.”
“Why is that?”
“I think it should be obvious,” he suggested. “If the media frenzy over you is even half what I believe it’s going to be, just the distraction alone could considerably lessen your effectiveness, and I think you’d have to agree that would not be in the best interests of the client.”
“Not saying whether I agree with you or not at the moment, what do you see as an option?” Dana inquired, wondering whether Joan would be able to handle Corey on the witness stand.
“I think there may be a reasonably uncomplicated solution,” Cotter replied. “We could simply slide Charles up to first chair, allow you to stay on in second chair, so there’s at least the appearance of continuity, and move Ms. Wills down to third.”
Dana blinked in surprise. “You want to put Charles Ramsey in charge of the defense, knowing what you know about him, about what he did?”
The managing partner shrugged. “What do we know about him?” he asked. “Other than some off-the-wall allegation I can’t seem to find anyone able to corroborate, all I know is that he’s been a first-rate attorney, with a spotless reputation, since before you were born.”
“Is that why Craig Jessup got a letter terminating his services?” she asked. “Because he stumbled onto something that could tarnish Ramsey’s image, and by proxy, this firm’s?”
“Jessup acted irresponsibly,” Cotter barked. “He was retained to investigate certain matters pertaining to the trial itself, and he chose to go far afield of that. I will not have employees overstepping their bounds.”
“He didn’t overstep, he was acting on my instructions,” Dana informed the managing partner. “I asked him to look into the jury list issue. When it backfired on us, I thought it might be relevant down the road.”
“Well, I may have overreacted,” Cotter conceded.
“I’m glad you feel that way,” she said, “because I’ve already rehired him.”
He frowned. “Perhaps we should leave that decision to Charles,” he suggested.
“Oh?” Dana said. “I thought we were just talking possibilities here. Are you saying a decision’s already been made?”
“Well, I naturally assumed, under the circumstances, that is, that you…”
Defer to him as the head of her firm, she would. Give up without a fight, she would not. “You assumed what?” she asked, her voice neutral. “That I’d just roll over and relinquish the reins? Why would I do that? As you may recall, you begged me to take this case, when I made it perfectly clear I didn’t want it. But now it’s mine, and frankly, I think I’m doing a damn good job of it.”
“This is not a commentary on the quality of your work,” he reminded her. “It’s not your competence that’s at issue here.”
“My current personal discomfort notwithstanding, I have no reason to think I can’t continue to do a good job,” she told him. “Furthermore, the key to this case is going to be, and always has been, Corey’s own testimony. And I have serious reservations about Charles’s ability to handle him effectively on the stand. He doesn’t know him. He’s barely said two words to him in court. He’s never even bothered to go up to the jail and meet with him. On top of that, he hasn’t sat in on so much as one of the preparation sessions. On the other hand, Joan has done all these things. So if you’re really serious about replacing me, she’s the one you should consider.”
Cotter scowled at her. “May I remind you that you’re speaking about a respected senior partner in this firm,” he said. “And while I appreciate your loyalty to Ms. Wills, I happen to be confident that Charles would handle the defendant’s testimony without the slightest difficulty, and is the proper choice.”
“And you’re prepared to make that decision right here and now?”
“Is there any reason not to?”
“Well, don’t you think you might be jumping the gun just a little bit?” Dana wondered.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, wouldn’t it be more appropriate to wait and see whether the media influence becomes the distraction you envision,” she suggested, “before you leap to the conclusion that it’s going to be, and pull me off the case, perhaps prematurely?”
Cotter cleared his throat. “Well, yes, I see your point,” he allowed. “All right, I’ll get in touch with the executive committee, and we’ll all plan to meet here on Sunday, say at two o’clock, and assess the situation then.”
Dana smiled with a lot more sanguinity than she felt. “That sounds reasonable to me,” she said.
Over the past several weeks, Rose Gregory had grown so fond of Dana McAuliffe, and her valiant efforts to defend that nice naval lieutenant, that when she saw the tabloid at the checkout counter in the Queen Anne Safeway, she just didn’t know what to think.
“The woman never claimed to be a paragon of virtue,” her granddaughter tried to tell her.
“She never came out and said she wasn’t, either,” Rose countered.
“Did she have to?” her granddaughter argued. “She was hired to do a job, to defend Corey Latham, whatever her personal beliefs were. Well, that’s exactly what she’s doing, and I have to tell you, I admire her for it.”
“But she seemed such a fine young woman,” Rose said. “I trusted her. She seemed to have the right moral values.”
“She’s exactly the same person you liked this morning.”
“Maybe,” Rose said with a sigh. “But now I’m so disappointed, I just don’t know what I’m going to do. I certainly hope this isn’t going to affect the way I feel about the defendant.”
Although she never dared admit it to anyone, Allison Ackerman got some of her best story ideas from the tabloids. The murders were always depicted as being so gory, and the circumstances, real or imagined, were so bizarre. During the trial, she had studiously avoided looking at any newspaper, or at any television new
scast or commentary that concerned itself with the case. It wasn’t only because the judge had admonished the jury not to, although that was reason enough. It was more that she really wanted to make up her own mind, without any outside influence.
But the latest issue of Probe changed all that. It stared at her from across the counter in the pharmacy, and Allison grabbed up a copy without a second thought, stuffing it into her handbag after she had paid for it, so the deputy who accompanied her wouldn’t see it.
Once safely inside her house, she pulled the tabloid out and proceeded to read the article about Dana McAuliffe, word for word, without even taking off her coat.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” she muttered when she got to the end, a big smile spreading across her face. “I knew I liked that lady.”
It was true. During the course of the trial, Allison had come to admire the defense attorney for her competence, her conduct, and her quiet confidence as a woman in what was still considered a man’s profession. Now, she admired her even more.
TWENTY-ONE
Dana drove home automatically, her mind not on the road. It had taken four associates to get her through the media mob outside, Smith Tower, and safely into her car.
She had been so immersed in the trial that it never occurred to her that there would be members of the media who were so desperate for something to report that it didn’t matter whether it was about the Hill House bombing or not.
She was certain the whole thing would blow over in a few days, as all things tended to do, but she wasn’t so certain that it would be soon enough for Paul Cotter.
“That son of a bitch,” Joan had muttered, when Dana relayed the gist of the conversation with the managing partner. “If he takes you off the case now, it’s as good as a conviction.”
“You don’t have confidence in Charles?” Dana inquired.
Joan gave her a look that said it all.
“Are you upset because he skipped over you?”
“I’m upset because I want an acquittal here,” Joan replied. “And I don’t think Charles Ramsey has a prayer of getting it.”
“Why would you say that?”
Joan shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s a feeling I get. I’m not saying he’s senile or anything like that. It’s just that he doesn’t really seem to care about the case. He’s not on top of it like you are. You know, he’s never once looked at the files.”
Dana nodded slowly. “So, what do you suggest I do?”
“Put a statement together,” Joan replied. “Shrug the whole thing off, flat out deny it, fall on your sword, do whatever you like. But get it over with. And as quickly as possible. Tonight, if you can, because you’ve got the weekend for it to blow over. In any case, the sooner you deal with it, the sooner it’ll be behind you, and the better your chances of getting Cotter off your back.”
Although Dana would have preferred never having to deal with the issue at all, she had to agree that Joan had a point, and the two attorneys spent the next several hours preparing just such a statement.
Now, as she turned the corner onto 28th Avenue, and saw the swarm of humanity trampling across her lawn, Dana was even more convinced that Joan was right.
She climbed out of her car, walked resolutely up the front steps to her house, and turned to face the crowd. Immediately, a dozen lights blinded her.
“Ms. McAuliffe, do you have any comment to make about the article that came out in Probe today?” someone up at the front asked.
“Did you have an abortion?” someone shouted from the back.
Dana took a deep breath. “I happen to feel that one’s private life ought to be just that—private, and that it should have no bearing on the conduct of one’s professional life,” she said in a soft voice. “But clearly, there are those of you who have no respect for others, or their privacy. Those of you whose only interest is in a headline that will sell more copies than the competition, or a lead story that will earn a higher rating than the other networks. Obviously, it’s my turn to provide that grist for your mills.” Here, she paused for perhaps two beats. “The article that appeared in the tabloid is essentially correct,” she continued. “Five years ago, I did indeed terminate a pregnancy at Hill House. I believe it was the proper decision for me to have made at the time, and I made it for what I felt were valid reasons. In any case, it was a deeply personal decision that, right or wrong, I have lived with ever since.”
Not waiting for the barrage of questions that were bound to follow, she nodded once, and then stepped quickly out of the glare and through the front door, locking it securely behind her.
The house was dark and silent. Only one dim light shone from the kitchen. No ten-year-old came rushing into her arms. A chill ran down Dana’s spine that was so gripping that she gasped. During the past eight hours the only thing she had thought about was the impact the disclosure of her abortion would have on the trial. She hadn’t allowed herself to think of the impact it would have on her husband and daughter.
Dropping her briefcase, she stumbled toward the kitchen, hoping for a note that would tell her where they had gone. Instead, she found Sam sitting quietly on a stool, his eyes cast down, his hands folded on the counter in front of him.
“You are here,” she gasped in relief. “There were no lights. I thought you were out somewhere. Where’s Molly?”
“I took her to Port Townsend this afternoon,” he said, his voice dead. “She’s with your parents.”
Dana was surprised for a moment, and then the wisdom of his action sank in. “That’s probably best,” she said, and searched her brain for something else she could say. “Have you had dinner?”
“I wasn’t hungry.”
“Do you want me to fix you something?”
“… no.
“Sam…?” she began. But he wouldn’t look at her. He just sat there, with his head down, everything gone out of him. She shut her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I am so… sorry.”
And then he did look at her and she wished he hadn’t, because his eyes were as dead as his voice. “That’s just not good enough,” he said.
“They were about to offer me a partnership,” she tried to explain. “I know that firm. If there’d been a baby, they would never have given it to me. I’d have been shunted aside, and the offer would have gone to some guy who wasn’t half as good as I am. I would still be an associate—still second chair, five years later. I worked hard. I deserved that partnership.”
“And what did I deserve?” he asked.
“I thought you understood,” she said. “About me, about my work.”
“Is that all our marriage is about,” he wondered, “understanding you?”
Dana blinked. “You’ve always supported me, in whatever I did,” she said slowly. “I guess I just came to expect it.”
“But you see, I wasn’t just supporting you, Dana,” he told her. “I was supporting us, our marriage, our family. At least, I thought I was.”
“But you were, Sam,” she said, wondering why it suddenly felt like she was standing on quicksand. “The only reason it worked at all was because of you.”
He shrugged. “Well, it doesn’t matter now,” he said.
“What do you mean?” she asked, alarmed. “Of course, it matters. We need to fix this. I need to fix it.”
“No,” he said. “I wanted to wait until you got here, but I’m going now.”
He got up from the stool and started out of the kitchen. Dana felt her heart stop.
“Going? Going where?” she managed to ask.
“I’m not sure,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll have to find a place. I’ll let you know when I’m settled.”
He walked out to the foyer, and she watched as he picked up a suitcase by the front door she hadn’t noticed on her way in.
“Sam, oh God, Sam, don’t leave,” she cried. “We can work this out. I know we can. I’ve said I’m sorry. I am sorry. So terribly, terribly sorry.”
His hand was on the door
knob. He stopped and looked back at her. “Yes, I believe you are,” he said, his voice weary and full of pain. “But ask yourself why you’re sorry, Dana. Is it because you killed our baby… or because I found out about it?”
And then he was gone.
TWENTY-TWO
It was as though a thousand pounds had been lifted from Elise Latham’s fragile shoulders. Her testimony was over, she had done what she could for Corey, and now she was free. When a taxi dropped her two blocks from Steven Bonner’s Mercer Island house on Friday night, it was as though she were entering a new life.
“I’m a new woman,” she announced. “The old Elise is history. From now on, I do what I want.”
“Then let’s celebrate,” he said.
“How?” she asked breathlessly.
“Let’s hop down to Cabo for the weekend.”
“Really?” she squealed, her eyes opening wide. “Cabo San Lucas? Like in Mexico?”
“It’s the only Cabo I know,” he said.
“Tell me you’re not kidding. Tell me we could really go there.”
“Why not? I’m free. You’re free. What’s stopping us?”
“Absolutely nothing. All I have to do is go home and pack something.”
“That’s your old life,” he said. “There’s a plane leaving at nine o’clock. Whatever we need, we’ll buy when we get there.”
It was at the airport that she first saw the news, and heard the statement that Dana McAuliffe gave to the media.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” she said.
“Probably,” Steve told her with a chuckle.
“No, it’s the hotshot who’s defending my husband.”
“What about her?”
“She had an abortion. Just like I did. I knew there was something about her. I just didn’t figure on that.”
Through the long hours of the night, Dana alternately stared out the window and lay across the bed, wanting sleep, but not wanting to get undressed and crawl under the sheets, because Sam wasn’t there to hold her, and warm her, and protect her from the world.
The telephone rang repeatedly, and thinking each time it might be Sam, she answered. It wasn’t. It was only a string of awful people, who didn’t give a damn about the time or about what she was going through, but just wanted her to know how they felt.
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