Silent, Caroline touched Brett’s hand.
“I know this is difficult,” Jackson said, “but could you describe what happened?”
Megan paused, looking away. “James was on top of me. So that I was the one who saw her first.”
“Go on.”
She shook her head, as if in disbelief remembered. “Brett’s eyes were wide and staring. And then she got this kind of crazy smile, but filled with hate.
“I think I screamed then—I’m not sure. What I remember is James’s eyes becoming frightened, and then him turning to face her.
“At first, she was after me. Calling me a bitch and trying to scratch his face so she could get to me.” As if by reflex, Megan touched her face. “I was so stunned that all I did was pull the sheet up over me….”
Brett’s fingertips, pressed against the table, were white. “Our time’s coming,” Caroline whispered.
“But James was wonderful.” Pausing, Megan shook her head. “I don’t know how he did it, but somehow he got his arms around her so she couldn’t move. She was wriggling, struggling…” Her voice fell off.
“Yes?”
“And then she leaned back, spit in his face, and told him, ‘I’ll kill you for this.’”
Thinking of Brett, Caroline felt her stomach clench.
Megan raised her head. “I’ll never forget it,” she said with new clarity. “James with her saliva on his face, her eyes so green and scary. And then, very softly, she said it again. To be sure he didn’t miss it.
“ ‘I’ll kill you.’”
Megan touched her forehead. “Suddenly, she was gone.”
The last words, slightly tremulous, carried their own resonance: Brett was not gone, the words said. Because she had killed him.
“It’s all right,” Caroline murmured.
But Jackson let the moment linger—in Towle’s subdued, unhappy look, in the reporter, writing furiously, who could not take her eyes off Megan. And, most of all, in Megan herself—so suddenly still, so clearly elsewhere. It was easy to see how she had stolen Jackson’s case.
Gently, he asked, “How did that affect your relationship with James?”
“He kept on seeing her.” Megan sounded drained now, reciting a tragedy she knew by heart but whose end she could not change. “She’d threatened to kill herself, you see.”
Brett leaned forward. “Jesus…”
“Objection.” Caroline stood again. “Once more, hearsay. And whose state of mind are we talking about now?”
“The victim’s,” Jackson said curtly. “As my next question will show.”
Towle nodded. “Go ahead.”
Jackson turned to Megan. She waited there, her posture patient, courteous, dispirited: to Caroline, her manner was meant to suggest that she was not taking revenge but keeping faith with a man she loved.
“Did this affect, Ms. Race, the way you and James went about seeing each other?”
Slowly, Megan nodded. “What James said was that he wanted to be rid of her but that he felt so responsible. I think he really believed that if he broke off with her, Brett might harm herself.” Megan steepled her hands in front of her. “So we entered this phase which seemed endless to me then and now seems so short—where I was almost like James’s mistress, a secret who couldn’t be known, and we spent our nights alone at my place.
“We saw absolutely no one—it was like we were safe within our secret. Part of me hated it. But now I remember how he read me poetry, or acted out scenes for a play, and I realize we’d discovered that we needed no one else. That what we had, emotionally and as lovers, was enough to turn my small apartment into a world.” Her head rose again. “We didn’t need anyone.”
Yes, Caroline thought, this is who I expected. For the first time, Jackson looked faintly disconcerted. “But you stayed together,” he said.
“Oh, yes. Sometimes I thought I was being foolish.” Megan gave a faint, fond smile. “But then at the end, I knew I had been right to wait.
“The night before he died, James came to me.
“We made love, beautiful love. It had such a desperate quality that part of me was afraid of losing him. That he had come to say that we were over, and it hurt him so much that he needed, one last time, to be as close to me as he could be.”
Caroline saw Brett wince; the description must sound enough like James to her to make her wonder if this was true. The tragedy of Megan, Caroline thought, was a certain ruined sensitivity; her comprehension of others was uncanny, but incomplete. So that her version of these final days had the feel of reality.
Megan turned to Brett now. “But I was wrong,” she said softly. “James had come to ask me to go away with him. To California.”
Brett’s lips parted, silent. “What did you say?” Jackson asked softly.
“That I loved him. But that I had an obligation to my mother, and to my father’s memory. And that before I tried to pull all that together, he needed to put us together.” Her voice grew firm. “To go to Brett. To tell her what he had asked me and that he would never see her again.”
“And what did he say?”
“That he would.” Megan’s stare at Brett was accusing now, but her voice was soft. “The night he died, Mr. Watts, was the night he promised to tell her.”
Suddenly, Brett’s face was less angry than wounded—as if doubting, as Caroline once had made her doubt, the truth of her own memory. Jackson seemed to approach Megan with diffidence, reluctant to interrupt her grief. “And where were you that night?”
“Alone in my apartment.” Megan’s eyes filled with sudden tears. “Waiting for James, with a bottle of champagne. You see, after he told her the truth, James was coming to me….”
Megan could not seem to go on.
“Perfect,” Caroline murmured.
Twelve
Caroline stood, a half smile on her face, gazing at Megan in silence. Megan seemed to square her shoulders, waiting for Caroline to come forward. But Caroline did not move from the defense table.
“Hello, Megan.”
Caroline’s greeting, soft and a little sad, seemed to straighten Megan in her chair. Warily, she answered, “Hello.”
For Caroline, there was no sound, no audience, no one else but the girl in front of her. “This incident you described, when Brett found you and James in bed together. When did it occur?”
Megan folded her hands. “April.”
“And how often did you see James after that?”
Megan’s mouth tightened. “As I said, once or twice a week. At my apartment.”
“Did the two of you ever socialize with anyone else?”
“No. We needed time alone.”
“Or go anywhere?”
“No.” Megan’s voice was harsh. “I already testified that James was worried about what Brett might do.”
Caroline tilted her head. “Were you frightened?”
A delayed nod. “I couldn’t help it.”
“Did you ever talk to anyone about it?”
“James. Of course.”
“Anyone else?”
A slight pause. “No. It was very painful, and emotional.”
Caroline nodded her understanding. “Is it fair to say that, at least to this point, James was the love of your life?”
Megan raised her head, prideful again. “Yes, it is.”
“Then would you also say that when he died, he was the person you were closest to?”
“Yes,” Megan said promptly, and then amended this. “Except for my mother.”
Caroline nodded again. “How many times a week do you talk to your mother?”
Megan paused a moment. “Two or three times a week. Sometimes more, sometimes less.”
“Did you ever mention James to her?”
Megan’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“I mean his existence.”
Megan seemed to flush. “Of course.”
“How many times?”
Megan hesitated. In a quiet voic
e, she answered, “Two or three.”
“Two or three? What did you tell her about him?”
Megan’s mouth compressed. “I don’t remember, exactly. I’m sure she knew that I was seeing him.”
“Not that you were in love with him?”
Megan gave her a long stare of annoyance. “I really don’t remember what I said. My mother and I talk about a lot of things.”
“You must. Did they happen to include that Brett had threatened James?”
Megan hesitated. “I don’t think so.”
“Or was following you?”
“I don’t remember.”
Caroline raised an eyebrow. “After this incident in April, did you mention James to your mother at all?”
For the first time, Megan looked toward Jackson. “I’m over here,” Caroline said softly. “And Mr. Watts can’t help you. Because he knows exactly why I’m asking these questions.”
Jackson rose at once, to buy his witness time. “Rather than lecture the witness, Ms. Masters, perhaps you can repeat the question.”
Caroline did not look at him. “Megan,” she asked quietly, “after Brett found you in bed with James, did you ever again mention James to your mother?”
Megan gazed at her lap. “I don’t remember. As I said, the place I was in with James was embarrassing.”
“Didn’t you think your mother could help?”
Megan frowned. “I didn’t want to upset her.”
Caroline looked astonished. “Surely you must have talked to someone about him. Given how important James was in your life.”
Megan hesitated. “I really don’t remember. Being with James was more important than talking about him.”
Caroline was quiet for a moment. “So am I correct in understanding that after this incident in April, you never mentioned James Case to anyone?”
Megan gave Caroline a quick, hostile look. “I don’t remember.”
“After April, did anyone see you together?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you and James ever leave your apartment?”
“No.”
“Did you ever invite people over when he was there?”
“No.”
“When did he come over? Weekends, or weekdays?”
Megan’s face was stiff. “Weekdays. At night.”
“Any particular nights?”
“No. Just when he could, and I could.”
“What did you do, exactly?”
“That’s private.” Megan’s voice was brittle now. “I don’t see why I have to answer private questions.”
Caroline’s voice remained quiet. In the precise same tone, she asked again, “What did you do, exactly?”
Glancing at Jackson, Megan seemed to gather herself. “We made love. We were just with each other, and it was beautiful.”
“Did you talk?”
“Of course.”
“What about?”
“Everything. We were each other’s best friends.”
Pausing, Caroline felt the door shut on her compassion, the complete and deadly coldness come into her again. In a voice of bored politeness, she asked, “Where was James from?”
Megan put her hands on the rail of the witness stand. “I don’t remember, exactly.”
“Where did his parents live?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Do you know where he was born?”
“No.”
“Or whether he had brothers and sisters?”
“No.”
Caroline looked curious. “Would you describe James as a closed personality?”
Megan mustered the prideful look. “Maybe with other people. Not with me.”
“Did he happen to mention to you that he was an orphan?”
Megan’s fingers, Caroline noted, clasped the edge of the rail. “No.”
“Or that he had lived in a series of foster homes?”
“No.”
Next to her, Caroline saw Brett’s eyes widen with surprise that Megan knew so little. “Well,” Caroline said softly, “I’m sure those subjects were painful for him. Tell me, then, where were you and James planning to live in California?”
Megan glanced at Jackson Watts. “We hadn’t gotten that far,” she said at last. “The first thing was for him to break it off with her.”
“Did James at least have things narrowed down? Like, for example, which city you’d live in?”
Megan sat back, rigid. “Why are you asking all this? It’s like harassment.” Swiftly, she turned, glaring from the judge to Jackson. “Do I have to answer this?”
Towle took off his glasses, gazing at her narrowly. “Oh, yes,” he said quietly. “You do.”
Jackson, Caroline saw, was gazing sharply at his witness. “Which city?” Caroline snapped.
Megan turned abruptly, lips parted. Then she said, “We hadn’t decided yet.”
“What were you going to do there?”
“If I went? Finish school, of course.” Her voice became scornful. “But I wasn’t sure I’d throw everything over for a man.”
“That would be a big decision, wouldn’t it? Did you happen to discuss it with your mother?”
“No. Like I said, it hadn’t gone that far.” She paused, modulating her voice to sorrow. “And then James was dead.”
“And you were waiting for him, at your apartment. With a bottle of champagne.”
“Yes.” It was as if Megan found the question, and her answer, reassuring. “Yes,” she repeated, and then tears welled in her eyes.
“When James didn’t appear, what did you do?”
Megan shook her head. “I kept calling him, all night….”
“Oh? Did you happen to leave a message on his machine?”
Megan’s eyes shut. “I don’t remember. I mean, it was so awful…”
Slowly, Caroline reached beneath the table and took out her briefcase. She laid it in front of her on the table, releasing the latches with a soft click.
At the sound, Megan’s eyes flew open. She stared at the briefcase, then at Caroline. “Tell me,” Caroline asked softly, “how did you learn that James was dead?”
Megan looked disoriented. “On the radio.”
“What did you do?”
Megan went pale. “I cried.”
“Did you call anyone?”
“No. I couldn’t.”
“Or tell anyone?”
“No.”
Caroline paused a moment. “Not even your mother?”
“No.”
“When did you tell her James was dead?”
“I don’t remember.”
Quietly, Caroline asked, “Do you happen to remember when James was buried? Or where?”
The hush in the courtroom had become a pained collective silence. Megan’s voice seemed to tremble. “I couldn’t stand—”
“Did you make any effort to find out?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Or if there was a memorial service?”
Eyes averted, Megan shook her head. “No,” she said in a shrill voice. “Don’t you understand how painful this was—”
“Who did you think had killed him?” Caroline snapped.
Megan hesitated. “It had to be Brett.”
Caroline crossed her arms. “Knowing that must have been awfully hard to live with.”
“Yes.”
“Unbearable, in fact.”
Megan still looked away. “Yes.”
“So when did you go to the police?”
Megan put one finger on her mouth, face frozen.
Caroline’s voice rose. “When did you go to the police?”
Megan shook her head. “I don’t remember.”
“Was it six days after James was found?”
Megan looked up. “I was afraid of her.”
“Brett?”
“Yes.”
“Because she might stalk you?”
“Yes.”
Caroline rested one hand on the table. �
�Did you ever see Brett stalking you?”
“Yes.” Megan’s voice was angry now. “I did.”
“Tell me how she did it.”
Megan swallowed. “She crept up into the shrubbery beneath my apartment.” Her voice quavered. “We could see her in the bushes, staring up at us….”
“What did you do?”
“Nothing. James said she had this violent temper….”
“Didn’t you call the police?”
Megan flinched. “No.”
“Or ask your mother for advice?”
“No.”
Caroline was in another zone now; the questions came swift and sure, one upon the other. “So let me see if I understand you, Megan. James Case and you were lovers, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Brett threatened to kill him.”
“Yes.”
“And to kill herself.”
“That’s what James said.”
“And she stalked you?”
“Yes.”
“Hid outside your building.”
“I just told you that.”
“And so, for over two months, you and James never left the apartment?”
“Yes.”
“But in the end, James chose you.”
“Yes.” Megan clamped the arms of the witness stand. “He chose me.”
“And asked you to go to California.”
“Yes.”
“And on the night of his death, you waited for him to tell Brett Allen and then come to you.”
Megan clasped her hands together, gathering herself again. “Yes,” she said softly. “I did.”
Caroline waited for a moment. “And yet,” she said with equal quiet, “you never told anyone about any of this. Until the day you went to Mr. Watts and accused Brett Allen of murder.”
For a time, Megan simply watched her. “No.” Her voice was barely audible. “I could never talk about it.”
“Not even to your mother.”
“No.”
Caroline paused, then asked, softly, “Despite all those telephone calls you made to her … what was it, at least two or three a week?”
From the stand, Megan seemed to stare at her in desperation, as if trying to read her mind. “I don’t remember now. I already said that.”
“Do you remember whether you called your mother collect or put it on your own phone bill?”
“Objection,” she heard Jackson say. “This is not only irrelevant, it’s petty harassment.”
The Final Judgment Page 40
