Lies of the Heart

by Michelle Boyajian

  “Good morning, Carly,” Richard says. He stays seated, elbows on the table.

  Carly just stares.

  “First of all, I want to tell you how sorry I am about yesterday. And I want you to know that nothing like that is going to happen again. Okay?”

  Carly sucks her teeth and rolls her eyes in the direction of the defense table. The hushed laughter dissipates as soon as Judge Hwang reaches for her glasses and aims a sour look at the benches behind Jerry. Jerry peeks up from his yellow pad, squints around the room; Donna pushes her shoulder gently into Jerry’s, and he lowers his head again, puts pen back to paper.

  “Carly, do you remember that day on May fifth of this year when you were playing basketball with your friend Nick Burrelli?”

  Carly shrugs. The court reporter looks past Carly and up at Judge Hwang and mumbles something. The jurors to her right strain forward to hear, and Carly spins around to stare at her, too. Judge Hwang nods at the court reporter and leans forward toward Carly.

  “Miss,” she says, “you’ll have to speak up so the court can hear you. Can you answer Mr. Bellamy’s question?”

  “Yah, okay,” Carly says.

  Judge Hwang nods at Carly. “Go ahead, Mr. Bellamy.”

  “Thank you, Judge,” Richard says, and folds his hands together. He gives Carly a gentle smile. “Do you remember that last day when you got to play basketball with your friend Nick?”

  “Little bit.”

  “Okay, good. Now, I know you talked to a whole bunch of people on that day and that you told them some things about what happened. Right?”

  “Yup.”

  Richard rises, holding a piece of paper. “May I approach, Your Honor?”

  “With caution, Mr. Bellamy.”

  Judge Hwang doesn’t try to stifle the small pockets of laughter this time. Richard smiles good-naturedly at the jurors, then steps over to Donna and hands the paper to her. She examines it briefly, hands it back, and Richard walks it over to the court reporter. Carly strains backward in her chair, away from Richard, but he pretends not to notice. He keeps his hands locked behind his back while the court reporter attaches a circular red sticker to the reverse side.

  “Your Honor, the state offers Exhibit One.”

  Judge Hwang lifts her glasses at Donna. “Does the defense have any objections?”

  “No, Your Honor.”

  Richard glances at the report, then at Judge Hwang. “Permission to hand the witness State’s Exhibit One?”

  “Careful, Mr. Bellamy.”

  “Of course.”

  Richard keeps his body as far away from Carly as possible; he stretches forward, places the paper on the banister, takes a step back. “Do you recognize that piece of paper, Carly?”

  Carly leans forward and scrunches her face over it.

  “You can pick it up, if you’d like.”

  Carly snatches it up, her tongue pushing through her lips. She looks over at Donna, at Richard.

  “Do you know what that is?”

  “Nope,” Carly says. “Some words.”

  “Are there any words, or anything on it at all, that you recognize?” Richard asks.

  Carly holds the paper a few inches from her face. After a moment she slaps the paper against her forehead. “Oh, yup, right there.” Pointing, she holds the paper up.

  “And what’s that you’re pointing to?” Richard asks.

  “My name,” she tells him.

  “You signed that piece of paper, Carly?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Richard smiles. “Is that how you write your name?”

  “Yah.”

  “Your Honor, would you let the record show that the witness is pointing to her signature at the bottom of State’s Exhibit One, which is a report from the Warwick Police Department.”

  “Noted.”

  “Carly, can you read this statement to the jurors?”

  “Who?”

  “To our friends here, beside you,” Richard says, fanning his hand out at the jurors.

  The jurors watch Carly staring at them, amused eyes flicking from her to Richard. She raises the paper in her hand. Lips pursed, she pulls it close to her face.

  “Wwwwwwwwww. Wwwww.” Carly puts the paper down on the banister, locks her arms around her body. “I don’t read good.”

  “That’s okay,” Richard says. “Would you like me to read it for you?”

  “Okay, yup,” she says. She thrusts it out toward Richard, who steps right up and takes it; their hands almost touch, but Carly doesn’t seem to notice, just nods in relief at him. “Thank you,” she blurts out suddenly, and Richard smiles.

  “My pleasure.”

  Richard reads each detail from top to bottom—case number, people present, time of arrival. He pauses for a moment, scratches at his forehead like he’s uncomfortable; he takes a deep breath, and the jurors zero in on him, Carly completely forgotten now.

  “‘ Witness reports that her friend Jerry came into the gym. She says he pulled a gun out of his jacket and held it up. Witness says that she tried to say hi to Jerry when he got close, but he didn’t look at her. Witness says Nick said hi and that Jerry told Nick it was “time to go.” Witness said that Jerry was smiling, then shot her friend Nick. Witness says she was scared at the loud noise at first but then she laughed because she thought Jerry and Nick were playing a game.’” Richard stares at the paper for a moment, then looks up at Carly.

  “Do you remember telling the police that?”

  “Little bit.”

  “Do you remember why you thought Jerry and Nick were playing a game?”

  “Jerry was happy.”

  “Objection. Goes to state of mind,” Donna says, half rising out of her chair.

  “Sustained.”

  “He was,” Carly insists. “He smiled happy.”

  “Your Honor,” Donna says.

  “Move along,” Judge Hwang tells Richard.

  “Yes, Judge,” Richard says. He walks back to the table, sits down. “Carly, do you remember who else was there the day Jerry walked into the gym to shoot Nick?”

  “Objection!”

  “Sustained.”

  “Okay, well, Carly, do you remember who else was in the gym when you were playing basketball with Nick?”

  Carly looks up at the ceiling, counts on her fingers. “Um, was me and Joey, and Billy Z, too. Three people.”

  “And Nick, too, right?”

  “Oops! Yah, and Nick. Four,” she says, and bends back her ring finger. “Four.”

  “And you were all playing basketball?”

  “Um, nope, not Billy ’cuz of he is our janitor.”

  “So Billy didn’t play with you that day?”

  “No, stupid, ’cuz of he’s the jan-i-tor.”

  “Miss, I’m going to have to ask you not to call Mr. Bellamy names.”

  “Oops.”

  “That’s okay, Judge.” Richard smiles sheepishly. “Unfortunately, it’s not the first time I’ve been called a name.”

  Judge Hwang frowns at Richard, but some of the jurors give him appreciative grins.

  “Okay, Carly, so what was Billy doing that day?”

  “He was, um, he was—he sweeps and cleans,” she says. “Spiders live in Billy’s beard.”

  Richard laughs, and Carly leans forward, defiant. “It’s true. He eats them for snacks.”

  “I believe you,” Richard says respectfully, and Carly sits back. “So Billy was cleaning, and he wasn’t standing near you on that day?”

  “Yeah-huh.”

  “Can you show us how close he was to you?”

  “um, this far,” Carly says, and stretches out her arms.

  “That’s pretty close.”

  “Yah.”

  Donna scribbles on the pad in front of her.

  “Carly, have you ever seen Jerry smile before?”

  “Course.”

  “Do you know how many times?”

  Carly looks at Richard like he’s crazy. �
��Only about a gazillion.”

  “That’s a whole lot, I guess.”

  “Yup.”

  “So you know what it looks like when your friend smiles.”

  “Duh.”

  “And he was smiling on that day in the gym?”

  “Yup.”

  “Thank you, Carly, that’s all the questions I have. Thank you for coming in again today. You’ve been very brave. No further questions, Your Honor.”

  “Defense?” Judge Hwang asks.

  “Thank you, Your Honor,” Donna says. She rises out of her chair, rests a hand on Jerry’s shoulder. “Only one question, Your Honor.” She squeezes Jerry’s shoulder, and he folds his hands together on top of the table. “Carly, are you afraid of Jerry?”

  “No way.” Carly emphatically shakes her head back and forth, the little ringlets flying.

  “Thank you, honey,” Donna says, and starts to lower herself back into the chair. She stops midway, leaning on Jerry for support.

  “Oh, one more thing. Carly? Do you have a nickname for Jerry?”

  “Who, Jerry right there?” Carly says, pointing.

  “Yes, this same one.” Donna smiles, and her other hand comes up to Jerry’s shoulder.

  “Yah.”

  “Can you tell us what it is?”

  And there it is, the rare, sneaky grin that Katie has seen only a handful of times. Always unexpected, it’s almost a shock, this silly happiness that shines in Carly’s normally sullen face, how the dimples magically appear and her eyes become crescents of laughter.

  “Jerry Bear.” Carly giggles. Both hands come up to muffle her mouth.

  “Is that sort of like a big teddy bear?” Donna looks down at Jerry affectionately. Even Katie knows that this question is leading, but Richard doesn’t move an inch.

  “Yup,” Carly says through her fingers.

  “And is he still your Jerry Bear?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Carly says, “you bet.”

  Billy Zahn looks strangely out of place without his blue work jumper on. As he hooks his middle finger underneath his starched collar and pulls, Katie realizes why he looks so different: for the first time, his thick, wild brown hair and long beard have been neatly trimmed. Hey, it’s Grizzly Adams, Nick would tease, and Billy would chuckle and stroke his beard with satisfaction.

  “So you’ve worked at the Warwick Center for how many years, Mr. Zahn?” Richard says.

  “Going on about fifteen.”

  “In all those years I guess you get to know a lot about the way things run there.”

  “You could say that,” Billy says stiffly.

  “Your Honor, may I approach?”

  Richard walks to the front of the courtroom, picks up a large cardboard placard. He walks it back to Donna, who looks at it briefly and nods; Richard takes it to the court reporter, and she tags it.

  “Your Honor, the state offers Exhibit Two for illustrative purposes only.”

  “Defense need to be heard?” Judge Hwang asks Donna.

  “No, Your Honor.”

  One of the bailiffs moves forward with a tripod and sets it up next to Billy and facing the jury.

  “Mr. Zahn, will you take a look at State’s Exhibit Two, which is not drawn to scale, and tell the court if you recognize what is represented here?”

  Billy’s eyes travel around the placard. “Looks like the Warwick rec center.”

  “And would you say this diagram is a fair and accurate representation of the recreation building at the Warwick Center on May fifth?”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “And do you think you could use this diagram to help illustrate your testimony about the layout of the building on that day?”

  Billy nods, pulls at the back of his collar. “I think so.”

  “Here you go, sir,” Richard says, handing Billy a pointer.

  Richard walks Billy through the diagram, has him identify the gymnasium and the figures of Carly, Joey, Nick, Jerry, and himself. Richard has his own pointer, asks endless questions about windows, doors, where the small kitchen and coatroom and back office are located in the building; just about every time Richard points to something on the board and tries to name it, he gets it wrong.

  “So then this is the doorway that leads to the kitchen,” Richard says, tapping the board with his pointer.

  “No, that door,” Billy says poking, “leads to the coatroom.”

  “Oh. So then this is the window between the kitchen and the small office.”

  “Right.”

  Some of the jurors appear bored, and even Donna looks like she’s scribbling listlessly on her pad, but Katie watches Billy, notes the way his shoulders are straighter now, how his voice is less defensive, even mildly patronizing as he corrects Richard or points out another seemingly insignificant detail of the recreation building. He looks Richard in the eye, strokes his beard from time to time.

  “So you were standing just inside this closet while Nick and the two clients played basketball nearby?” Richard asks.

  “Yeah, right there,” Billy says, pointing.

  “So you didn’t see the defendant walk into the gym?” Richard’s voice, which had taken on a rhythmic drone before, is noticeably louder.

  Billy checks on Donna, pointer raised.

  “Mr. Zahn?”

  “No.”

  “From your position you couldn’t see the defendant or the raised gun, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mr. Zahn, in your statement you said that the defendant did not smile before he shot Nick. Is that also correct?”

  “He’s a good kid, and he—”

  “Objection,” Richard says.

  “Sustained. Witness will answer Mr. Bellamy’s question.”

  “I did not see Jerry smile. No, sir.”

  “Because when you finally stepped outside of the closet, Mr. LaPlante’s back was to you?”

  “No—well, yes, his back was to me, but that’s not why. I could see his face a little.”

  “‘A little.’ Okay. So then by your own phrasing you admit that it was virtually impossible to see any clear facial expressions? Even though you were so close?”

  “I wouldn’t say impossible—”

  “But you did at least clearly hear the exchange between Nick and the defendant?”

  Billy’s eyes dart to Donna, back to Richard. He pulls at the knot in his tie. “Yes.”

  “Well, did he sound angry to you?”

  “No, Jerry wasn’t”—he clears his throat, shoots a look at Jerry—“Jerry isn’t an angry guy.”

  “As a matter of fact, he was great friends with Nick, wasn’t he? Nick was like a father to him, wasn’t he?”

  “He was.”

  “Okay, well, Mr. Zahn, if you know that Jerry isn’t an angry guy and that he didn’t sound mad, is it at least possible that Jerry did smile and you just couldn’t see it?”

  “I guess.”

  Richard steps back to the placard, holds his pointer between his hands. He stares at the placard as if he is confused. “So can you show us again how people enter the recreation building, Mr. Zahn?”

  Billy shrugs, hits the diagram with the pointer. “There’s a door here and here.”

  “So there’s an entrance at the front of the building and one in the back?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who normally uses that back door?”

  “I do. Sometimes Eddie, the recreation director, and his assistant, Daniel. The shed is out there—” he says, and stops.

  “So most people enter through—” Richard leaves the sentence open, and Billy pokes the board with the pointer.

  “This one,” Billy says, clearly relieved that Richard isn’t going to ask questions about the shed.

  Donna leans over to consult with the two women in the front row. “So why do most people come in through this front door?”

  “If you walk out this door of the gym,” he says, “then you’re facing the side door of the work-program building. There’s a
walkway in between.”

  “And how many feet would you say it is between both buildings?”

  “Thirty, thirty-five.”

  “And how many feet would you say it is from the front door of the work program to this back door of the gym?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Can you estimate?

  “Maybe eight hundred feet or so.”

  “So when you’re working in one building and you’re called into the other, it’s safe to say that you normally use that walkway to get back and forth?”

  “Yes.”

  “And can people see you walking back and forth between the two buildings?”

  “Yes,” Billy says, turning to the jurors, “but we don’t have the windows cleaned very often. The budget gets tight.”

  “But the traffic in between both buildings is still noticeable, even if the windows are dirty?”

  “I don’t know—”

  “Is it fair to say that if you were to walk from the gym to the work building, or vice versa, a number of people would probably see you?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Mr. Zahn, using the pointer, could you show me what door Jerry used when he walked into the gym on May fifth?”

  Billy’s pointer barely touches the placard. “This one.”

  “And you’re pointing to what door right now?”

  “The back door.”

  “So if the defendant left by the front door of the work-program building and used the back door of the gym, is it fair to say that he wanted to travel undetected—”

  “Objection. Speculation,” Donna says.

  “Sustained.”

  Even now Katie can’t picture this—Jerry so methodical, systematically sneaking into the building, but there is relief, too. He must have been capable of it, she tells herself, because he did it. Richard has told her this all along, and Katie finds herself nodding now: capable all along, a darkness hidden inside him that she never detected.

  “Mr. Zahn,” Richard says now, “If you yourself were determined to sneak into the gym without being seen by anyone—”

  “Objection!”

  “Sustained. Move on, Mr. Bellamy.”

  “Mr. Zahn, to your knowledge have you ever seen Jerry, or any of the Warwick Center clients, ever once use that back door in the almost fifteen years that you’ve worked there?”

  Billy’s face flushes a deep crimson. “I don’t think so.”