Picture Perfect

by Fern Michaels

  Andrew was stunned. He knew he hadn’t been a star witness, but he hadn’t thought he’d done badly. And Sara had told him how wonderfully he’d performed on the witness stand.

  “If the judge had let the defense attorney begin his cross-examination, you’d be on the scrap heap by now, my friend. The judge adjourned as a favor to me when he saw how perturbed I was by your attention to your wife.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize . . .”

  “Let’s just hope the jury didn’t notice. If they did, it may jeopardize our case.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say you won’t do it tomorrow. Because if you do, I’ll be forced to ask Mrs. Taylor to leave the courtroom. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “Of course he understands, Mr. DeLuca. He’s not a child,” Sara snapped. “It was your own inept questioning technique that rattled Andrew.”

  Roman DeLuca’s eyes narrowed to bits of chipped ice. “You should know, my dear, what makes your husband tick. I say he behaved like a sophomore, and so does the judge. Instead of giving me his undivided attention, he gave it to you. Why don’t you ask him why?”

  “I don’t have to ask Andrew why. I was there. I saw what went on. You could have put Andrew on the stand earlier, but you didn’t. Why? You deliberately waited till the end of the day before making your move. I want to know why, Mr. DeLuca,” Sara said coldly. “I want to know now.”

  DeLuca smiled wryly. He didn’t like Sara Taylor. Despite being sapling thin she had a ramrod strength. He possessed similar traits, but in Sara Taylor he detested them.

  “Strategy, Mrs. Taylor. I don’t exactly understand what you’re accusing me of, and I don’t believe you do either. I think you’re just trying to turn the question I’m asking away from you.” He gave a sly smile that he knew would irritate her. “For the sake of argument, let’s just put it down to your desire to protect your husband. I’m merely making the point that a witness who continually directs the jury’s attention away from his testimony is of little or no use. I know that Mr. Taylor’s looking to you is merely a loving habit, but it’s one that could lose this case for the State, and I won’t have it.” His tone was smooth, and he waited for the Taylors to digest what he had said before continuing. “Tomorrow is another day, Mr. Taylor . . . or didn’t you say I should call you Andrew? Andrew, I’m here tonight to go over your testimony with you. I’ve studied your written deposition, and I think we’ll work directly from that. If we can get it all together, you should be unwavering in the face of cross-examination.” DeLuca smiled.

  He’s like a snake, Sara thought. She disliked DeLuca intensely, almost hated him. “You’re very confident for a man who was so angry a moment ago,” she remarked.

  DeLuca’s voice was urbane now, charming and suave. “Mrs. Taylor, what you mistook for anger was concern for Andrew, and yourself. As they would say back in New York, this is my turf and I know every blade of grass. I always win, Mrs. Taylor, remember that.”

  Sara’s eyes narrowed. It sounded like a threat, or was it a warning? How dare the man? How dare he!

  Andrew intervened. “Sara, before we go over my testimony, why don’t you show Mr. DeLuca the message that was delivered before dinner?”

  Sara gathered her indignation close about her and walked stiffly over to the desk. She picked up the square of white paper and held it out, eyes cold and hard.

  DeLuca scanned the message. “Well, who was it and what did they want?” he asked, listening closely for her answer.

  “We didn’t call the number. We waited to show it to you,” Sara said. God, how she detested this phony movie-star lawyer.

  “Let me understand something, Mrs. Taylor. You say this message was delivered before dinner, which, I assume, was between six and seven. Am I right?” At Andrew’s nod he continued. “It’s nine forty-five now,” he said, teeth clenched. “Didn’t it occur to either of you that this might be a message concerning your son who is missing, possibly kidnapped?” DeLuca glanced between the Taylors. Andrew looked horrified; Sara looked . . . Damn, nothing got to her. Nothing. He watched her carefully, almost admiring the way she took in his statement and managed to appear unruffled. Was it possible she didn’t make the connection? He opened his mouth to drive it home. “Mrs. Taylor, I feel it is my duty to tell you there’s a possibility that someone associated with the drug syndicate we’re prosecuting may have kidnapped your son.” For one instant Sara appeared to be taken aback. But the heavy intake of breath belonged to Andrew, who sank down onto a chair. “You must believe I care about your son,” DeLuca added in his most sober tone.

  Sara was the first to rally. “Your concern is most appreciated, Mr. DeLuca, but neither Andrew nor I owe you any explanations concerning our son or our private life. Experts, Mr. DeLuca, are handling matters back in New Jersey,” she said stiffly, not liking the look in Andrew’s eyes. “Andrew is here to do a job, and I’m here because I choose to be here. Do we understand each other? There’s nothing in this case to suggest kidnapping. Davey has merely wandered off.” Sara hadn’t told Andrew about the corpse that had been discovered near where Davey had been playing. And she wasn’t about to tell him now, not with DeLuca standing there ready to spring on her like a cat.

  “But, of course, my dear. I understand everything you’ve done and said since our first meeting. I was merely thinking of you and your family. However, I must warn you—if the media gets hold of this . . . Why, I can’t be responsible. They tend to start off with the term ‘unfit mother’ and from there it’s usually a quick slide to a ‘philandering, alcoholic husband. ’ I’m not saying any of it’s true, or that I condone it—I’m just pointing out the possibilities to you. If my information is correct, Mrs. Taylor, Mr. Sanders urged you to take the next plane home. I would second that. Your husband, believe it or not, is perfectly capable of speaking for himself.”

  Sara was visibly shaken but she recovered quickly. She grabbed the message out of DeLuca’s hand, picked up the phone and dialed for an outside line. Seconds later she replaced the phone and turned to face the two men. Her voice, when she spoke, was neutral. “It was a recording. Some insane person says he has our son and, if Andrew testifies, we’ll never see Davey again. Obviously, this person is demented. Davey has just wandered off and is temporarily lost. If it was anything more serious, my sister would have told me. There are some people, Mr. DeLuca, who enjoy trying to make other people miserable. In spite of your seconding Mr. Sanders’s suggestion, I’m standing by my decision to stay with Andrew. My son’s escapade is in capable hands.”

  “Is that what you call it? An escapade?” Roman DeLuca questioned, his tone rising with disbelief. What a cold bitch she was.

  “In my opinion, Mr. DeLuca, this matter is closed. Andrew, what’s your feeling?”

  Andrew looked from his wife to the attorney. “I quite agree, Sara. Why don’t we get down to business, Mr. DeLuca? It’s after ten now, and we have an early day in court tomorrow.”

  “Can I order something for either of you from room service?” Sara asked as if nothing had happened. Both men shook their heads. “Well, then, I think I’ll leave you alone.” Regally, she left the sitting room to go into the bedroom.

  It was twelve forty-five when Andrew tapped on the door. “Mr. DeLuca is leaving now, darling.”

  “One moment, dear,” Sara said, retying the sash of her peach-colored dressing gown. She opened the door and studied her husband’s appearance. “Oh, Andrew, you look terrible. Take a shower, a nice hot one. It’ll do you a world of good. Stand under the spray for at least ten minutes. I can see how tense you are. Relax, darling, this is almost over. By this time tomorrow it will be nothing more than a bad memory. You go along now and I’ll see Mr. DeLuca out. I’ve laid fresh pajamas out for you in the bathroom. I’ll even pour us a nightcap.”

  Sara moved past Andrew, her scent circling above and around her. Andrew sniffed, liking it. Was it new, or were his senses exceptionally keen tonight
?

  “Mr. DeLuca, I’ll see you out,” Sara said formally.

  The attorney dropped all pretense. Lowering his voice, he said curtly, “Mrs. Taylor, I want you on the morning plane back to New Jersey.”

  “I won’t do that. My place is here with my husband,” she answered tightly.

  “Then let me put it to you another way. If you aren’t on that morning plane, certain friends of mine will not be responsible for your son’s safety. Now do we understand one another?”

  Sara’s world was turning upside down. She knew DeLuca would not repeat himself, nor would he ever admit to saying what he had just told her. “Certain friends” he called them; he obviously meant the syndicate against whom Andrew was testifying.

  “Why?”

  “It’s not important for you to know why. Just be on that plane.”

  If he was saying what she thought he was, Roman DeLuca knew Davey’s whereabouts, which did make it a kidnapping. Yet Stuart Sanders had led her to believe that Davey had wandered off and was having difficulty finding his way back. Or had she just accepted the first thing he’d said? She couldn’t remember.

  Poor Andrew. If anything happened to Davey, Andrew would be devastated. She needed time to think.

  “Can I have my office make your airline reservation, Mrs. Taylor?”

  “No, you can’t. I’m staying. You wouldn’t dare have my son harmed. You’re too respectable for that, Mr. DeLuca. And I understand you’re thinking of running for governor of Florida.”

  “It’s crossed my mind,” DeLuca replied. “I meant what I said about your son. And remember something else—I always win.”

  A chill washed over Sara. Her tone, however, was just as menacing as his. “So do I, Mr. DeLuca.”

  “There’s a first time for everything. You’re out of your depth here. This is my turf, remember?” He smiled down at her. “I’ll have a reservation made just in case you change your mind. I believe the flight leaves at ten after ten.”

  “Why are you doing this?” Sara hissed.

  “Because I don’t want you in the courtroom. Good night, Mrs. Taylor.”

  Sara Taylor stood for a full five minutes at the door after closing it on the attorney. She had caught a glimpse of Sanders’s colleague in the hallway and, furious and frightened, had thought of calling him in to tell him about DeLuca’s threat. But she knew he’d never believe her. Still, perhaps she should tell him about the phone message and the result of her call. Maybe he could trace it . . . But no, still no one would believe her. Who would seriously consider that the upstanding Roman DeLuca would subvert the very laws he had sworn to uphold? He hadn’t achieved his current status by being careless. More compelling still was her own feeling that this was a personal confrontation between the attorney and herself. All she had to do to win was be smarter and faster than he was. As for going back to New Jersey, she would have to do that, too. She was going to have to buckle under to a hoodlum in a thousand-dollar suit!

  “Sara? Where are you, darling?”

  “Right here, dear. I was just turning off the lights. I’ll be there in a moment.”

  Settled in the bed beside Andrew, Sara searched for the right words. She had to be very careful what she said.

  “Andrew, there’s something I want to talk to you about. I’ve been thinking that maybe I should go home after all. That I could be of more use there than here. There’s a flight around ten tomorrow morning. What do you think?”

  “I think that’s a good idea. Mr. DeLuca assured me I would finish with my testimony by noon so I’ll take the one-fifteen flight. I’m pleased you’re going, Sara. I think it’s important that, when Davey finds his way back, you’re there for him.”

  Not for anything in the world would Sara let Andrew know that she was going back because of Roman DeLuca’s implied threat. No, it hadn’t been implied, it had been clearly stated and she had to deal with it. “I’ll go with you to the courthouse and see that you’re settled in, then leave from there. I want to be sure that you’re all right before I go.”

  “That’s not necessary, Sara.”

  “Maybe it isn’t, but it’s what I want to do.”

  “Is there anything else on your mind, Sara? You haven’t been yourself since DeLuca arrived. I know he upset you with all that eye-contact nonsense, but now that you’re going home it’s hardly important.”

  “You always see right through me, don’t you, darling? Yes, something has been bothering me. It’s about your testimony this afternoon. I can’t be certain, but I think there’s a small problem we’ve overlooked. Remember when we were in school and had to learn the answers to a long list of questions? I don’t know about you, but I always had the answers down pat as long as the questions were asked in order. Once the questions were out of sequence, I failed miserably. I heard Mr. DeLuca going over your testimony with you. Everything was in sequence, and you had all the facts down perfectly. But what would happen if those questions were asked out of sequence?”

  “By whom?” Andrew asked.

  “Anyone. The attorney for the defense—anyone. It could rattle you, Andrew. It could rattle anyone!” she added, touching his shoulder lightly. “Darling, I have every confidence that you’ll be wonderful. But perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to have our own rehearsal. I’ll go over the questions with you, just like Mr. DeLuca did, only I’ll mix them up so you’ll be prepared for any eventuality. Darling, in an hour or so, you’ll be letter perfect. Remember that old saying, ‘Anything worth doing is worth doing well’? Andrew, you’ve put too much time and effort—and, yes, sacrifice to yourself and our family—not to be the best possible witness you can.”

  Sara waited, hardly daring to breathe, for his answer.

  “Darling, I think you’re right. You’ve hit the nail on the head. But why didn’t Roman DeLuca warn me? Why didn’t he think of it?”

  Sara shrugged. Because, dear Andrew, Roman DeLuca is part of the syndicate. He’s a hoodlum and a crook, and with the help of “certain friends” he wants to buy himself the governorship. Roman DeLuca knows that without me in the courtroom he can make you appear a fool and your testimony worthless. If the State doesn’t win a conviction for this murder, there will be no connection with the syndicate. And it will all seem as though it’s your fault—the absentminded professor. That’s why I have to go back to New Jersey and rescue our son. But I’ll have both, Andrew darling—Davey and my pride in you. I’ll have won!

  “Sara? You didn’t answer me. Why didn’t DeLuca think of asking me the questions out of sequence?”

  Sara smiled warmly. “Who knows why lawyers do the things they do? Your job is to get on that stand tomorrow and be a credible witness. Now, let’s get down to work. I want you to make me proud. I want to pick up the evening paper and see that you’ve proven yourself to the court. I want no sly innuendoes about my husband being an absentminded professor. Now, darling, here’s the first question.”

  Sara mercilessly drilled her husband, making him word-perfect, unshakable, no matter what tack her questioning took. Hour after hour she pounded away, refusing to hear Andrew’s complaints of weariness. At last, his responses were clear, confident and, above all, honest. None of her grilling had removed his spontaneity. Roman DeLuca was going to be in for a big surprise when Andrew took the stand; he would do an excellent job. Her husband wasn’t going to be intimidated by some glib attorney, not if she had anything to do with it. DeLuca’s mistake had been to underestimate her. He hadn’t realized how important Andrew was to her, or to what lengths she would go to be certain he appeared first-rate in the public eye. Sara smiled in the early morning light. It always paid to know one’s adversary. A pity DeLuca hadn’t applied that rule to her.

  “Enough, darling, you’ve got it down pat. There’s no possibility of becoming mixed up now. Truth is on your side, and you’ve shown me a confidence I hadn’t realized you possessed. Each day, darling, I love you more. I’m so proud of you.”

  Andrew returned Sara’s smile as
he basked in her praise. He did feel confident now, able to handle anything. Sleepily, he reached out to his wife.

  “Darling, you still have time for a short nap,” Sara said. “I’m going to shower and pack for us. I’ll lay your suit out so you can sleep till the last minute. I want you bright and relaxed when you enter the courtroom.”

  “I’ll be so relieved when you get back to Jersey, Sara. If anyone can find Davey, it’s you. You’re so capable. I have every faith you’ll know exactly what to do. All these hours I’ve been thinking about testifying, and I haven’t given Davey much thought. I can’t understand why we haven’t heard anything . . .”

  “Hush, darling, everything will be fine. You’ll see. I don’t want you worrying about Davey, or anyone. You have your civic duty to perform and you’ll make me proud. I know it. Now, close your eyes and don’t think about anything or anyone.”

  “Hmmm,” he answered, closing his eyes obediently and nodding off.

  Poor baby, he looked so tired, she thought. A nap would refresh him then, within a few hours, he’d rock DeLuca back on his heels and the attorney would be powerless to do a thing about it. She would have followed orders by returning to New Jersey, and Andrew would have testified in the service of justice, making himself a hero.

  Roman DeLuca was a loser. He had counted on Andrew making a poor showing, something he must have depended upon from the first because Andrew had been a hostile witness. When Andrew had made his deposition with the State Attorney’s office in New Jersey, it had been too late for DeLuca to do anything other than base his case on Andrew’s testimony. And it certainly would have looked strange if Andrew refused to testify because she or Davey was threatened. No, DeLuca had to go along with appearing to be on the side of the law, while secretly undermining Andrew’s testimony. But he hadn’t counted on Sara, which was why he was forcing her to return to New Jersey.

  But Sara could handle Roman DeLuca. He was nothing more than a scab on a sore, and scabs could be pulled off. In a few hours, that’s exactly what would happen. She leaned back on the pillows, folding her hands primly on her rising bosom. She would sleep now and shower later.