The Ophelia Cut

by John Lescroart

  And now, suddenly—with Hardy not sure what she would do, still feeling he needed more time to convince her that he was right, that in this case, it wasn’t a betrayal to tell the truth, that she should not lie—it was upon them.

  Stier had used his own witness list as a blunt instrument, including in it the names of almost anyone with whom Brittany had any kind of relationship, although somehow Rebecca (possibly because she was Hardy’s daughter) had not made the cut. Among these friends and acquaintances, Stier had found several people to contradict Brittany’s testimony and thereby help confirm Moses’s motive.

  Now it was no longer conjecture. Stier called Brittany as his first witness. So he would lead off with motive, which Hardy thought was the obvious strategy, which did not make it a bad one. Without it, the case against Moses made no sense.

  Hardy turned in his chair to look as the bailiff escorted her in from where she’d been waiting out in the hallway. For an instant, he almost didn’t recognize her. Beside him, Moses grabbed his arm and whispered, “Mother of God.” He heard Amy Wu release an involuntary and pained moan that seemed to echo throughout the courtroom.

  Brittany had hacked off every inch of her long, beautiful hair.

  NO LIPSTICK, NO makeup of any kind. She wore brown men’s brogues, a pair of brown slacks, a pale yellow pullover, and a white shawl over her shoulders.

  In spite of Stier’s success at the pretrial hearing, Hardy knew that the prosecutor would have to tread carefully. Brittany was a hostile prosecution witness. She was testifying against her own father, a terrible and uncomfortable situation. Although it was perhaps irrelevant, Hardy was fairly sure that Stier believed she was also a victim of rape; most if not all of the jury would come to believe that, too. They would feel sympathy for her. Stier probably was not immune to the feeling himself; at least he would try to convey that so as not to seem an unfeeling bastard to the jury.

  There was also the simple fact that Brittany was going to perjure herself. On top of conveying his sympathy for and understanding of Brittany’s plight, Ugly would have to lead the jury to that obvious and unavoidable conclusion, in spite of the words that came out of his witness’s mouth.

  Finally, Hardy knew that Stier must be shaken by Brittany’s appearance, as they all were.

  After taking the oath and getting settled into the witness stand, Brittany shot a brave look across the courtroom to her father, tried a buck-me-up smile that found little traction, then settled back in the seat. In contrast to the way he’d bounded enthusiastically out of his corner to take on Dr. Paley, Stier rose from his table and, in slow, measured strides, made his way in front of the witness stand.

  “Ms. McGuire, good afternoon.” In the opening moments, as he needed to be, Stier was deference itself. He had Brittany introduce herself to the jury, state her relationship to Moses, admit her reluctance to testifying. Setting up an easy, almost conversational rhythm, letting her get to some kind of comfort level.

  And finally beginning to explore the meat of things. “Did you know the victim in this case, Rick Jessup?”

  This was a delicate point, and Hardy, Gina, and Amy had debated it at great length. On one hand, Hardy felt that there was a good chance Gomez would stick to the letter of her ruling: Stier would be permitted to ask only if Brittany had told her father about the rape and his reaction to it. They could probably get the judge to keep out everything else about the relationship between Brittany and Jessup as irrelevant or covered by the rape victim privilege. On the other hand, that might leave the jury with the impression that there had never been any rape, that the murder was the result of some crazy woman and her violent father, and that poor Rick Jessup—the handsome up-and-coming politician—had been the innocent victim of these lunatics.

  In the end, once they knew Stier was going to get his motive in front of the jury, they decided it was much better that the jury knew the rape really happened. It was all coming in.

  “Yes, I knew Rick Jessup.”

  “How did you know him?”

  “We went out one time. It didn’t work out, and we stopped seeing each other.”

  “And when was that?”

  “I’m not positive of the exact day. Early in February, I think.”

  “When you say you stopped seeing each other, do you mean you stopped dating?”

  “Yes.”

  “But did you see Mr. Jessup again? Back in February?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what were the circumstances of that meeting?”

  “He came in to where I worked, at Peet’s coffee shop. He said he wanted to see me again, and I told him I wasn’t interested.”

  “Did you have an argument?”

  “Not really, no. It was a disagreement, and I went into the back room, and my manager asked him to leave.”

  Hardy caught his niece’s—his goddaughter’s—eye and gave her a small nod, telling her she was doing fine. She was coming across to the jury as honest, well spoken, and sympathetic.

  “After this meeting at Peet’s, still back in February, did you see Mr. Jessup yet again?”

  “Yes. He met me another day after work in a shortcut alley while I was walking to the bus stop for home.”

  “Did you have an argument at that time?”

  “Yes. I told him I didn’t want to see him. I wanted him to leave me alone.”

  “And what happened then?”

  “I tried to walk past him, to go by, but he grabbed me.”

  “He put his hands on you?”

  “Yes. He shook me and pushed me up against a building. And then my face had started to bleed, so he was immediately all apologetic. I was scared, and I tried to get by him again, but he grabbed me a second time and threw me down on the ground.”

  Hardy patted Mose’s arm and cast a surreptitious glance at Amy. Brittany testifying about her earlier dealings with Jessup was something he had convinced her to introduce in her witness interviews with Stier. Though not necessarily relevant to the night of the rape, it was powerful stuff, casting Jessup in the worst possible light. In spite of that, Hardy had a hunch that Stier would want it in because it led to Moses beating Jessup, which illustrated his temper and inclinations. More important, from Hardy’s perspective—and perhaps not perfectly appreciated by Stier—was that this was demonstrably a time when Brittany did not go running to her father after she’d been hurt, a point Hardy hoped to exploit during his cross-examination.

  Stier, pursuing his own agenda, continued, “Were you badly injured?”

  “I went to the emergency room, but I was mostly shaken up, with scrapes and bruises.”

  “Did you tell your father Mr. Jessup had assaulted you?”

  “No, I did not.”

  “Never?”

  “Never.”

  This was Stier having it both ways. He was going to argue that Brittany had told her father about the rape, and it was a motive for the homicide. Even if the jury didn’t buy that, he had this other incident where Brittany had not named Jessup but McGuire somehow found out about it and beat up the young man for it. It was possible that even if Brittany had not mentioned the rape, McGuire could have discovered it the same way he’d discovered the beating. Once again, Stier would have his motive.

  Ostensibly feeling Brittany’s pain, Stier paused, walked over to his table, pretended to read from his legal pad, then went back to his place in front of her. “This was not the last you heard from Mr. Jessup, was it?”

  “No.”

  “When was that?”

  “End of March.”

  “How did he contact you?”

  “He texted me and said he was going to file charges against my father for assault unless I met him again.”

  Feigning surprise at this development, Stier took in the jury, then came back to the witness. “How did you respond to this text message?”

  “I agreed to meet him at Perry’s that Saturday night.”

  “Why, in spite of your history and his violence
toward you, did you agree to meet him?”

  “I wanted to know what he was talking about and, if I could, talk him out of harassing my family.”

  “Are you saying you did not believe that your father assaulted him?”

  “I didn’t know. It was the first time I’d heard about it. Rick was politically connected. I thought he could make trouble for us. My dad owns a bar, the Little Shamrock, and Rick worked for Supervisor Goodman, who’d been busting bars all over town over the past couple of months. That’s why I agreed to talk to him.”

  “Ms. McGuire. Would it surprise you to hear that your father has admitted to assaulting Mr. Jessup in the wake of his beating of you?”

  “I’ve heard that by now, yes. I didn’t know about it when I met Mr. Jessup at Perry’s.”

  “You’re saying you didn’t know that your father had assaulted Mr. Jessup?”

  “No, sir. I mean, yes, sir, that’s what I’m saying.”

  Stier knew this was going to be her testimony, but he needed to have the jury hear it and decide if the answer sounded remotely plausible. After hesitating as though thinking of the right question to pose, Stier went on, “Ms. McGuire. Let’s back up a little bit. When you were in the emergency room after you were assaulted by Mr. Jessup, did you contact anyone?”

  “Yes. I called my mom to please come and get me.”

  “Did you tell her what had happened to you?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I didn’t want to get Rick in trouble. I didn’t think it was going to happen again. He’d just lost his temper, so I was going to let it go.”

  “Where did your mother take you from the hospital?”

  “To her apartment. I mean, hers and Dad’s.”

  “And did you see your father there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you tell him what happened?”

  “No. I told him the same thing I’d told my mom. That I’d slipped and fallen down, running to catch the bus.”

  “Did your father believe you?”

  “Apparently not.”

  This brought a titter of laughter to the otherwise rapt and tense courtroom. Stier let it subside, then continued. “All right, then. So you met Mr. Jessup at Perry’s on Union Street?” Walking her through the horrible events of that night, Stier treaded lightly but got her to the point where she woke up in Jessup’s bed, knowing she’d been raped. “What did you do then?”

  “Rick was sleeping, so I grabbed my clothes and got out of there, out of his apartment. I found my car where I’d left it up by Union and then drove to the Shamrock.”

  “Why did you go there?”

  “My first reaction was to go to my father. I thought he’d be bartending, but he wasn’t.”

  “You wanted to see your father?”

  “Yes.”

  “To tell him what had happened?”

  “I don’t know if I was going to tell him or not. I just wanted to be home safe, you know? I couldn’t believe what had happened to me.” She wiped her eyes.

  “But your father wasn’t there?”

  “No. Another friend of mine, Tony Solaia, was bartending. By this time, I was a wreck. It was closing time, and I told him what had happened, and he drove me to my mom and dad’s.”

  “You told Tony that you had been raped?”

  “Yes.”

  “And Tony, did he accompany you to your parents’ home?”

  “Yes. My mom came to the door, and he left me with her.”

  “What about your father? Was he there?”

  “He was asleep. It was about two in the morning.”

  “So you did not see your father?”

  “No.”

  “Did you tell your mother that you had been raped?”

  “No.”

  “Why not? If you had already told Tony?”

  “I don’t know. I just thought . . . I didn’t want to upset her.”

  The tears were glistening on Brittany’s cheeks. Stier looked from her, over to the jury, up to the judge. “Your Honor,” he said, “I’ve got a lot more questions for this witness, but if opposing counsel doesn’t object, perhaps we could take a short break to allow Ms. McGuire to compose herself?”

  GINA ROAKE WAS the first one up, coming forward with a stash of Kleenex. Brittany had her elbows on the front of the witness box, her hands to her forehead. Stier had evidently surprised her with his offer to recess, and whether in gratitude or the simple release of tension, she was shaking with emotion.

  Gina put her arms around her. “Hey hey hey. It’s all right. You’re doing fine.”

  Brittany took a Kleenex and wiped her face. “I’m such a baby. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Really. This happens all the time.” Gina leaned in and kissed the top of her head. “Nice ’do, by the way. Quite the statement.”

  Brittany managed a note of laughter through the tears. “I’m just so sick of it all.”

  AT THE DEFENSE table, they spoke in whispers.

  Moses said, “I’m going to go up there and hug her.”

  “Move away from this table, and the bailiff will kill you,” Hardy said.

  “She’s breaking my heart.”

  “Mine, too. But she’s doing fine. She’s tough.”

  “I don’t want her to be tough. She’s gone through enough, don’t you think?”

  “More than enough, but it’s a long way from over, here. Ugly’s just making points, being a good guy for the jury, giving her this little break. He comes back, it’s going to get serious in a hurry. You watch.”

  Moses looked across the room at his daughter, with Gina’s arm still around her, the two women talking, head to head. “I never wanted her to have to do this,” he said. “Or any of us, for that matter.”

  Hardy started to say that it was a little late for that sentiment, that Moses should have thought things through a little more clearly back when it would have made a difference and he could have saved everybody all this grief. But in the end, he bit his tongue. What the hell was a lecture going to accomplish?

  All of them were committed to their positions. There was nothing else any of them could do.

  “MS. McGUIRE.” STIER’S voice had taken on a slight edge, as though his patience was wearing thin. In fact, he was well into the second hour of Brittany’s testimony, having taken her from her arrival at Susan and Moses’s—where she told Susan only that she’d drunk too much and wanted to walk back and get her car near the Shamrock in the morning—to her visit to the Rape Crisis Counseling Center at seven-fifteen A.M. Now, according to her testimony, she was back at her parents’ place at about ten-thirty that Sunday morning, and they were having breakfast in the kitchen. Stier had clearly decided it was time to turn up the heat. “Do you mean to tell the jury that when you came back to the house that morning, your father did not ask where you’d been and what had happened the night before?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Was it a common occurrence for you to stay over at your parents?”

  “Not very, but it happens.”

  “And on that morning, having just returned from reporting your rape at the hands of Mr. Jessup, you mentioned nothing about it to either of your parents?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You did not?”

  “No.”

  “To be precise, I’d like you to tell the jury specifically. Did you tell your father that the victim had put a date rape drug in your drink at Perry’s?”

  Amy Wu was up as though shot from a cannon. “Your Honor, objection! The witness has already answered this question.”

  “Overruled.”

  Stier: “Ms. McGuire?”

  Brittany: “No, I didn’t.”

  “Did you tell him that you woke up in Mr. Jessup’s apartment and knew that you had been raped?”

  “Objection!”

  “Overruled.”

  “No.”

  “Did you tell your father that the victim
had sexually assaulted you?”

  At this point, Hardy himself could take it no more. “Your Honor, if the court please . . .” He was aware of the frisson of energy flowing through the audience behind him, but he didn’t care.

  Gomez, slamming her gavel, glared first at him, then over his head at the gallery. “The court will not please, Mr. Hardy. Counsel will approach the bench.”

  Hardy and Wu got to their feet and came around either side of their table. Stier fell in beside them in front of the podium. Gomez leaned down so they could hear her fierce whisper. “I’m not going to tolerate this tag-team approach. As to any given witness, either you, Ms. Wu, or you, Mr. Hardy, will address your objections to the court, but I will not allow both of you—”

  “Your Honor,” Hardy said, “meaning no disrespect—”

  Gomez held up her index finger, cutting him off. “I’d advise you to exercise great care in what you say next, Mr. Hardy. It’s my experience that lawyers who start off with ‘meaning no disrespect’ often follow it up with statements that can get pretty offensive. If that happens here, there will be immediate and serious consequences. Have I made myself clear?”

  Swallowing his bile, Hardy said, “Yes, Your Honor. But Mr. Stier is clearly badgering this witness, who is a victim. She’s already said that she didn’t tell her father she’d been raped.”

  “He is having her clarify her position so the jury knows exactly what she did or did not do. I made it clear that I would permit him to ask her what she told her father. You made it clear, as did Ms. McGuire’s attorney, that she was prepared to testify about the entire incident. Now, all of you, let’s get the show back on the road.”

  Hardy and Wu returned to their table. No sooner were they back in their seats than Stier had the court recorder reread his previous question. “Did you tell your father that the victim had sexually assaulted you?”

  Brittany, tight-lipped, shook her head. “No.”

  Stier went on. “Did you tell your father that you felt violated and hated the victim, after which your father became angry?”

  “No.”

  “In fact, wasn’t his reaction to your situation so violent that you feared he would do something drastic?”