Degree of Guilt

by Unknown

  ‘I do have emotions, Your Honor. I have been charged with murder. It’s hard to be dispassionate. Or to feel apologetic to Ms Sharpe.’ She paused. ‘But I will try, at least, to be responsive.’

  ‘Responsiveness,’ Masters said dryly, ‘will suffice.’

  The judge’s shift of mood, Paget realized, was meant to signal that she was finished. ‘Might I ask a few questions?’ he inquired.

  ‘Of course, Mr Paget.’ Masters smiled faintly. ‘Ms Carelli is your witness, and I appreciate that my intervention here has been out of the ordinary. But I wanted to keep Ms Carelli on track, and Ms Sharpe from having to object.’

  Mary seemed to gaze at him with the passivity of exhaustion. The effect was far different from that of the poised woman who, unknown to those watching, had lied to the Senate: this woman was more flawed, more human, and, somehow, much more real. It came to him that beneath her seeming discursiveness, and pain, the core of Mary’s responses to Caroline Masters had been as flawless as was possible – every inexplicable act explained as trauma, each inconsistency blurred by shock and confusion. Suddenly Paget saw where he should go next. ‘When the police came,’ he asked, ‘did they offer you a doctor?’

  ‘Yes.’ Mary lowered her head. ‘But I didn’t want anyone touching me. I told them that.’

  ‘Did they then suggest a rape counselor?’

  Mary shook her head. ‘No.’

  Paget was quiet for a moment. ‘When had you last eaten?’

  ‘The night before.’ She paused. ‘That morning, I was too upset to eat.’

  ‘Did the police ask you that?’

  ‘No.’

  Paget nodded. ‘So at the time they questioned you, you hadn’t eaten for almost twenty-four hours.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Paget tilted his head. ‘How does going without food affect you?’

  ‘I feel weak. It makes me impatient.’ Mary looked at Sharpe. ‘To me, that’s how I sound on the tape of the interrogation – hungry and exhausted. I become a one-note person.’

  ‘Is that all you felt – hunger and exhaustion?’

  ‘No. I felt disoriented.’ Her voice fell. ‘I was answering questions to answer them. Even when I didn’t know the answer. By the time I asked for a lawyer, it was the only thing I could do.’

  Paget turned to face the courtroom – the cameras, the reporters standing in the back, the sheriff’s deputies guarding the door. Then he saw Carlo, sitting in the front row, expression soft and focused on Mary, as if to get her through this.

  Paget faced her again. Quietly, he asked, ‘Did you murder Mark Ransom?’

  Mary straightened on the witness stand, raising her chin. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I did not.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘Defend myself. Because he wanted to abuse me. Because I was so terribly frightened. Everything that was happening, everything about who Mark Ransom was and what he wanted from me, scared me to my soul.’ Mary’s voice grew quiet. ‘I didn’t want to lose myself. That was why he died.’

  Paget was silent for a moment, and then he nodded. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘That’s all I have.’

  Sharpe walked toward Mary, her right hand clasping the barrel of Mary’s gun.

  ‘What’s she doing?’ Terri whispered to Paget.

  ‘Psychological warfare, I think. She wants to make Mary hold the gun.’

  Sharpe held the gun out to Mary. ‘This is yours, isn’t it?’

  Mary stared at her. She did not take the gun. ‘It looks like mine.’

  ‘It’s been identified as yours.’ Sharpe thrust the gun toward Mary. ‘Take a closer look.’

  Mary gazed at the gun as if it were a foreign object. ‘It wouldn’t help,’ she said quietly. ‘I don’t know guns. And I’d rather not touch this or any gun, ever again.’

  Sharpe paused. Abruptly, she asked, ‘You’d never owned a gun before, had you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And you didn’t buy this one until after Mark Ransom called you?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘I know so.’ Sharpe walked back to the prosecution table, put down the gun, and then turned. ‘The reason you gave Inspector Monk for buying this gun is that you’d received threatening calls, correct?’

  Paget tensed; Sharpe had immediately headed for one of Mary’s lies. On this, and other points, he had coached Mary to give the minimum answer, so as not to lie further.

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘How many calls were made?’

  Mary hesitated. ‘Two, I think.’

  ‘You think? The calls disturbed you so much that you bought a gun, and you don’t remember how many?’

  Mary folded her hands. ‘If that’s a question, my answer is the same: I think there were two calls.’

  ‘You do remember the sex of the caller, I assume.’

  Mary nodded. ‘It was a man.’

  Sharpe placed her hands on her hips. ‘Then please tell us, in as much detail as possible, what this man said in his threatening call or calls.’

  It was what Paget had feared: that Sharpe would ask an open-ended question, requiring Mary to embroider the fictions she had already told. Mary straightened on the witness stand. ‘I don’t recall precisely. But he said something about watching my house. That was why I bought the gun.’

  Sharpe gave her a skeptical smile. ‘He didn’t happen to mention Laura Chase, did he?’

  Paget half stood, thinking to object to the sarcasm. And then Mary said coolly, ‘No, he didn’t. So I’m almost sure that it wasn’t Mark Ransom.’

  There was another murmur from the courtroom, a cough that sounded like stifled laughter. Sharpe stopped, staring at Mary. ‘Did you think it was anyone you knew?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘If you had thought that, you would have reported them, correct?’

  Mary hesitated. ‘I believe so, yes.’

  ‘But you didn’t report the calls at all, did you?’

  ‘No.’

  Sharpe paused. ‘Wouldn’t it have had to be someone you knew?’

  Paget saw the apprehension register in Mary’s eyes. ‘You mean,’ she said calmly, ‘because the telephone isn’t listed?’

  Sharpe looked surprised. Mary had preempted her question and the trap that lay behind it. ‘Yes,’ Sharpe answered. ‘Among other things.’

  Mary nodded. In a tone of sympathetic puzzlement, she said, ‘I can’t explain that, either.’

  Paget almost smiled. What stopped him was the look on Masters’s face; her eyes seemed to narrow, as if she had registered how clever Mary was.

  Terri had seen the same thing. ‘This would be better if we had a jury,’ Terri whispered. ‘Mary should just take her lumps and go on.’

  Terri looked tired, Paget thought. ‘You’re right,’ he murmured back.

  ‘In fact,’ Sharpe was asking Mary, ‘you never told anyone about the calls, did you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Not the police, or friends, or anyone at ABC.’

  ‘No. No one.’ Mary paused. ‘Not even the person who sold me the gun. I didn’t want to sound paranoid.’

  ‘Was that it? Or was it hard to describe calls you never received?’

  It’s not that hard for Mary, Paget thought to himself. ‘The problem isn’t describing them,’ Mary told Sharpe. ‘That’s not the reason.’

  Sharpe gave her a cynical once-over. ‘Didn’t you buy the gun for the specific purpose of confronting Mark Ransom?’

  The answer, Paget knew, was yes. ‘No,’ Mary said firmly. ‘The reason is that the calls reminded me that I was a woman who lived alone. Just as I told Inspector Monk.’ Mary paused, tilting her head. ‘You prosecute rape cases, don’t you? Don’t a lot of your cases come from women who live alone?’ A final pause. ‘Or,’ Mary finished in a soft voice, ‘from a woman who has been trapped alone?’

  Sharpe turned to Caroline Masters with a weary expression. ‘Your Honor, would you again explain to Ms Carelli that her purpose is to answer my quest
ions, not to give speeches or pose questions of her own – rhetorical or otherwise.’

  Masters turned to Mary. ‘There are rules here, Ms Carelli. You should confine yourself to giving Ms Sharpe answers she doesn’t like. So that she can ask more questions that you don’t like.’

  Mary smiled faintly. ‘All right.’

  ‘All right?’ Sharpe repeated in sarcastic tones. ‘If it’s all right with you, Ms Carelli, let’s discuss another matter you never reported to the police – that Mark Ransom had a tape or tapes that were damaging to you. You failed to mention that, correct?’

  ‘Objection,’ Paget interjected. ‘I already asked that question, and Ms Carelli already answered. Imitation may be the sincerest form of flattery, but repetition is harassment.’

  Sharpe turned from Paget to Masters. ‘I can well understand why Mr Paget wants to sweep this under the rug. In fact, the first hour of his examination swept so many things under the rug that he needed a shovel. But he can’t inoculate Ms Carelli against cross-examination – particularly on a foundational question to establish the premise for questions Mr Paget never asked.’

  ‘Speaking of speeches,’ Masters rejoined, ‘your last sentence was sufficient. Ms Carelli can answer the question.’

  Sharpe turned to Mary. ‘Yes,’ Mary answered promptly. ‘I failed to tell the police.’

  ‘And in fact, you led them to believe that your sole purpose in seeing Mark Ransom was professional.’

  Mary paused. ‘By omission, yes.’

  ‘By omission? Didn’t you tell Inspector Monk quite an elaborate story about the news value of the Laura Chase tape, and your interest in the ethics of buying and selling people’s secrets?’

  Mary straightened in her chair. ‘What I said was true,’ she answered quietly. ‘What I didn’t tell Inspector Monk was that the secrets Mark Ransom proposed to buy and sell included my own. Because, as I said, I was deeply ashamed.’

  Once more, Sharpe seemed to slow, and then find another angle of attack. ‘Didn’t you also invent fictional dialogue for Mr Ransom? Such as him telling you that truth is more important that privacy or sentiment, for the dead and for the living?’

  Mary looked at her calmly. ‘He did say that. Laura Chase was the dead. I was the living.’ She paused. ‘Mark Ransom was using Laura Chase’s secret for money, and mine for sex.’

  Sharpe nodded curtly. ‘Which must be why you told Inspector Monk that you were surprised to find Mark Ransom alone. You did say that, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I did.’ Mary paused. ‘As I said, I didn’t want to admit to blackmail.’

  ‘Is that also why you told Inspector Monk that you expected Mark Ransom to bring a publicist?’

  Mary paused. ‘Yes.’

  ‘That wasn’t a mere omission, was it? It was a lie.’ Sharpe paused. ‘A lie, deliberately invented to cover your purpose in coming.’

  Masters turned to Mary, as if awaiting her answer. ‘I don’t know why I said it,’ Mary answered, ‘except that I was frightened and confused.’

  ‘But you didn’t expect a publicist, did you?’

  ‘No, I did not.’ Mary paused. ‘Nor did I go there intending to shoot Mark Ransom.’

  Sharpe turned to Masters. ‘I move to strike the last sentence of that answer as unresponsive.’

  ‘Granted.’ Masters turned to Mary. ‘Again, Ms Carelli, confine yourself to answering the question which is asked.’ She gave a thin smile. ‘After all, this is municipal court. We have higher standards for responsiveness than do presidential debates.’

  There was a ripple of laughter from the gallery. But Paget did not join it; the faintly slighting comment signaled Masters’s resolve to let Sharpe take her shots at Mary unimpeded by verbal sparring. The first flicker of worry crossed Mary’s face. ‘I apologize,’ she said to Masters. ‘Being charged with murder is quite emotional. I’ll try to repress that.’

  ‘Please do try. For your own sake.’ Masters turned to Sharpe. ‘Go ahead, Counsel.’

  Perhaps, Paget thought, he alone felt a new chill in the courtroom. ‘Let’s talk,’ Sharpe said quietly, ‘about Mark Ransom’s erection. Or erections. How many did he have – one or two?’

  ‘Penises?’

  ‘No.’ Sharpe’s voice held a lethal patience. ‘Erections.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘You told Inspector Monk that Mark Ransom got an erection while listening to the Laura Chase tape, correct?’

  Mary nodded. ‘He wanted me to see the bulge in his pants.’

  ‘How long was that before he tried to rape you?’

  Mary looked puzzled. ‘I don’t know when he first got it. I only noticed when he touched my knee.’

  ‘And how long was that before he tried to rape you?’

  ‘Perhaps five minutes.’

  ‘What’s Mamie’s thing about erections?’ Paget whispered to Terri.

  ‘You can forget penis envy,’ Terri whispered back. ‘With Rappaport, as I told you, she was hinting at impotence. She knows something – or thinks she does.’

  Paget nodded. ‘I don’t like this at all.’

  Sharpe moved closer to Mary. ‘And when he dropped his pants, you testified, he also had an erection.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And quite a memorable one, in that you recall him stroking it.’

  ‘I remember that, yes.’

  ‘In fact, you now remember more about that erection than you recalled for Inspector Monk – to whom you said something like, “It was an erection. I didn’t stop to notice how special it was.”’

  Mary paused. ‘I was in shock,’ she answered. ‘Days after, some details became clearer.’

  Sharpe’s voice was staccato. ‘Why not how your panty hose ripped? Or why you closed the window blinds? Or what you were doing in the hallway? Or your reasons for wandering around the suite? Why Mr Ransom’s erection?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Pausing, Mary seemed to search her memory. ‘I suppose certain details etch themselves on your brain out of sheer horror, and when the shock wears off, they have this awful clarity.’ She turned to Masters. ‘Mark Ransom stroking his penis while listening to Laura Chase describe her violation was one of those. And it defines him to the core.’

  ‘Move to strike the answer as nonresponsive,’ Sharpe said.

  For a moment, Masters was silent, appraising Mary. ‘Denied,’ she said in a casual tone. ‘At the risk of sounding like far too many men, you asked for an erection, and you got one.’

  Again, there was muffled laughter. But Masters did not smile, and Paget, watching her, did not care for what he saw; something in her words and manner suggested her awareness of Mary’s powers of invention, and the damage that Steinhardt’s tape had already done.

  Sharpe pressed on. ‘Was that the same erection as the “bulge” you described, or a different one? In other words, was Mr Ransom continually aroused from the time that you were sitting on the couch?’

  Once more, Mary hesitated. ‘I didn’t watch that, obviously. But I think so, yes.’

  ‘And between the time you first noticed his erection and the time you shot him, how long was that?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Ten minutes, at least.’

  ‘And during those “at least ten minutes,” you say, Mark Ransom tried to talk you into sex.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And pushed you to the floor.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And struggled with you.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And tugged at your panty hose.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And pinned you under him.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then slapped you.’

  Mary’s voice became tight. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Scratched your throat.’

  Mary nodded. ‘Yes. To all of that.’

  ‘And, after all that, stopped to listen to the voice of Laura Chase.’

  Mary touched her forehead. ‘Yes,’ she said softly.

  Sharpe stared
at her. ‘And during all that time, and all those strenuous and distracting activities, this fifty-six-year-old man achieved and maintained an erection.’

  Mary stared at her. ‘I didn’t think of it that way. I really don’t know how to answer that.’

  Turning from Mary, Masters gave Sharpe a puzzled look. ‘Maybe,’ Terri whispered, ‘Marnie just wants to discredit Mary’s story.’

  Paget shook his head. ‘I don’t think that’s it. She did mention the possibility of a rebuttal witness, didn’t she?’

  A look of concern crossed Terri’s face. ‘Yes. She did.’

  But Sharpe had begun a new line of attack.

  ‘You acknowledge telling Inspector Monk that you shot Mark Ransom from two to three inches, don’t you?’

  Mary nodded. ‘Yes. I’ve tried to explain my state of mind at the time.’

  ‘And you also told the police that Mark Ransom’s blinds were closed when you came to the suite, correct?’

  With Sharpe’s second question, Paget saw with alarm where this was going. Sharpe would force Mary to trace every change in her story to some police discovery.

  ‘Objection,’ he called out. ‘Asked and answered. How many times must Ms Carelli repeat her testimony on direct?’

  As Sharpe started to speak, Masters held up her hand. ‘I’m going to let this go awhile, Mr Paget. Ms Sharpe can make her point.’

  ‘Yes,’ Mary answered promptly. ‘That was what I first recalled.’

  ‘But you heard Mr Aguilar testify otherwise.’

  Mary stared at her. ‘I did.’

  ‘And now, this morning, you acknowledge closing the blinds.’

  ‘The day Mark Ransom died, I was in shock. My recollection comes back in bits and pieces.’

  Sharpe gave her a look of open disbelief.

  ‘And shock, I believe, is the reason you give for the delay in calling 911 estimated by Dr Shelton.’

  ‘As best I understand my own actions, yes.’

  The courtroom was dead silent now. Paget saw Masters’s eyes sweeping back and forth with each question and answer, as if watching a tennis match.

  ‘But when you spoke to Inspector Monk,’ Sharpe pursued, ‘you said you called as soon as possible.’

  Mary hesitated. ‘That’s what I thought at the time.’