The officer was no rookie. He weighed his options and chose the one most damaging to me. He turned to Justice McKenzie and spoke directly to His Honor.
“Sir,” he said, “I believe the defense is putting words into my mouth. I ...”
“Withdraw that question, Mr. Portal,” the judge commanded without hesitation. Turning his gaze on the twelve, he instructed, “You are to disregard Mr. Portal’s last query. Move on with your cross, Counselor.”
“Thank you, Your Honor,” I said. Always thank ’em. I glanced at Nicky, who smiled faintly. It is impossible for the jury to ignore a dramatic and apparently logical statement. They would remember that no fingerprints of Stow’s were found on any vial related to the so-called murder long after they had forgotten the judge’s instruction.
On the third day of the trial, my son Jeffrey was there. I was pleased that he was interested enough in a display of family rivalry to take time off from his duties at the apartment building and as a new father. He sat beside his mother and whispered in her ear from time to time. I had limited opportunities to observe them, but I resented that Jeffrey distracted Anne’s attention from Ellen and me. I mean, who were the stars here?
Immediately after lunch, two security officers escorted Stow back from the cells and into the prisoner’s box. He was still shackled, a humiliation generally reserved for the violent or the mentally disturbed. Angry, curious, I stepped toward the prisoner’s box to ask why he was being treated in such a manner. Before I even reached Stow, however, I caught sight of Jeffrey and Anne now sitting only a few yards away from the prisoner.
Anne was distraught and weeping. Jeffrey was comforting her. Stow was completely uninterested or unaware of the disruption behind him.
A second later, Ellen breezed in, followed by her coterie of police witnesses. Anne appeared to compose herself. Jeffrey removed his arm from his mother’s shoulder. Stow gazed off into space. The fascinating little drama ended as quickly and as mysteriously as it had begun.
Ellen examined more police witnesses, and Nicky conducted routine cross-examinations. The case was slow in getting off the ground, but then I have always felt that way at the beginning of a trial. Many lawyers believe it is necessary to carefully and firmly establish the crime scene and its effects in the minds of the jury before proceeding. I don’t disagree. I just find the prelims excruciatingly boring. The jury, however, was alive and alert.
“How was it today? Did you speak? Were you afraid? Surely not...”
She has a cocktail waiting for me, but hasn’t made one for herself. There’s a startling new idea going around: that a baby in its mother’s womb can feel the effects of alcohol. I don’t make the connection. Not at first.
“I’ve an announcement, ” she murmurs with uncharacteristic coyness. I’m in my armchair, and she sits on the corner of our couch, facing the room. I see her alabaster face in profile, her skin translucent, her radiance arresting.
“What?”
Before she makes her revelation, I hear a squeal of delight. The most beloved voice I know cries out my name—“Daddy!”
Ellen, a toddler with untameable energy, bounds through the door, crosses the living room in a leap and lands in my lap. She throws her pudgy arms around me and squeezes my neck so hard that I can’t breathe, until she releases me with a peanut-butterscented kiss on my cheek.
“We’re going to have a new baby, Daddy!” Ellen declares. My eyes fly to Anne’s face. Is this coming event a good thing?
“Ellis, ” she says softly, “it’s true. And I hope you’ll be as happy as I am. ”
A small smile curves her perfect lips. I’m tempted to say, quite truthfully, that such a perfect woman should have many children, but I can’t quite buy her supposed bliss. Nor can I contain my surprise that our infrequent and perfunctory sex has resulted in a miracle. I reach out and stroke her face, grateful and touched. Anne gives me all her love, while I play with the fire outside. Does she know that cocaine is more important to me than family?
“What do you say, Counsel?”
Shocked, I realized Justice McKenzie had addressed me. As if emerging from a deep sleep, I struggled to focus my attention. What had he asked me?
I looked around. My eye fell on the clock. It was nearly four. “I note the time, Your Honor,” I said. “I realize it’s early, but perhaps with the court’s indulgence, we could break until tomorrow and I can address the matter then.”
Nicky looked startled. And Ellen was frowning at me.
“Not funny, Mr. Portal,” the judge said after a long pause. “I’ll call a ten-minute recess, so Mr. Portal can think about the matter.”
“Order!” the deputy called out, and McKenzie rather majestically sailed down from the dais and out of the courtroom.
“Why did you tell him you need to adjourn until tomorrow to decide whether the heat needs to be turned down?”
“Nicky,” I answered, “I was out of it again.”
He looked at me with a pained grimace. “Get a life,” he suggested.
When we came back, Ellen had yet another police detective on the stand, this one a photographer who had taken a series of shots of the hallway and staircase of Harpur’s floor.
“Is this the door leading to the corridor?” she asked.
The Crown’s resources for the production of court exhibits were practically unlimited. The picture was not a snapshot-size photo, but a huge blowup, at least three feet by four feet. As I approached the exhibit, I had the uncanny feeling of approaching not a photo of a door mounted on foam-core board, but the door itself.
I leave the old lady and her walker. I turn the corner.
I shook my head, focused my eyes on Ellen. She had a laser pointer device attached to the easel to draw the witness’s attention to the exhibit without marking it. Very high-tech. Very Ellen. By the way Nicky was smirking, you could see how impressed he was by this gadgetry.
I approach Harpur’s door. I have something to tell her. Perhaps I need to remind her of something. Over the tinny intercom come those incessant Christmas carols.
I leaned toward the photo of the door and gave it just the right amount of scrutiny. Too little and the jury might think me contemptuous of the Crown’s thoroughness. Too much and they might think I needed to learn from Ellen’s exhibit.
I push open the door and as I do, I brace myself. I have to tell Harpur one more time that the answer is no. I will not help her to kill herself.
Startled at this unbidden recollection, I staggered, bumped into the exhibit and knocked the little laser pen out of its handy holster.
“Mr. Portal,” McKenzie intoned from on high, “if there is no problem with this exhibit, would you please step back and wait until your cross to examine the Crown’s submission?”
I obeyed. “Forgive me, Your Honor,” I responded with as much dignity as I could muster. “I’m merely identifying the location of the photo for reference.”
“Very well, Mr. Portal, but do stand back. Proceed, Ms. Portal.”
I slunk back toward my seat and waited for the last half hour of the day to pass with merciless slowness.
Nicky and I were packing our files into our briefcases when Anne, paler than ever, leaned over the bar and addressed me. Since viewing Stow in shackles, she had sat silent and white-faced during the afternoon’s proceedings. I left Nicky and escorted her out of the courtroom and down three stories into the lobby, where we sat on a bench and gazed at the rapidly diminishing crowd off for happy hour.
“It has to do with Sal,” she began. I almost sighed, reflecting that I didn’t need more problems right now. Jeffrey’s little girl had seemed bursting with health the last time I had seen her. But when had that been?
I glanced around the nearly empty lobby. Nicky appeared, lugging the files and two briefcases. “I’ll be over at the office as soon as I can,” I told him. “I promise I won’t leave you alone to work on all this tonight.” He was the picture of concern as he looked at Anne and me, obviously
distracted. But “Cool” was his only reply. And away he went with the rest of the crowd.
I brought my mind back to Sal. Her mother, Tootie, had been a street kid before she went straight. Could she have passed on some condition that now, more than five years later, had manifested itself in her child? Or was Jeffrey about to flee, aware finally that he and Tootie were a fraying conjunction of misfits?
“Ellis,” Anne said, holding out her hands to me in the sort of motion she used to welcome guests at her frequent dinner parties. But now there was desperation in the gesture.
I took her hands in mine and kissed her cheek. “Let’s take a walk while you explain.”
She agreed and we slipped down to Queen Street.
As we strolled, I found myself inadvertently noting each doorway I’d slept in with Queenie during my street days. On an exceptionally mild March day like this one, we’d have been happy to sleep in the fresh outdoor air. I felt Anne relax at my side, as if she, too, had gained some composure from the warmth.
“The trouble’s really with Tootie,” she said, “but there are implications—uh—things that we need to know for lit-de Sally’s sake. Tootie has been very cooperative, very frank and forthcoming. There was a time when she was quite heavily involved in drugs, you know.”
“I admire Tootie,” I replied. “You can be sure I know quite a bit about her. She’s forsaken her past.” I felt defensive about my erstwhile landlady.
Anne nodded.
“Are you saying that Tootie’s drug use has affected Sal?” I prompted. “How can that be? Tootie stopped using drugs a long time ago.” A new fear suddenly hit me. “Didn’t she?”
“Oh, Ellis,” Anne said, reaching for my hand to illustrate that we were two grandparents with a common concern. “Tootie is a devoted mother, straight as an arrow. But the fact is that drugs can damage a woman’s body long after she has ceased using them. The pediatrician wants to test Sal for genetic damage.”
“That doesn’t sound like a big deal to me.”
But apparently it seemed like a big deal to Anne. She gave me a tentative glance. “Part of the procedure is to have the parents’ DNA tested.”
“That’s nothing to worry about, Anne,” I said, exhaling abruptly in relief. “DNA testing is done on a regular basis by the police these days. It only involves a small sample of blood, or even just saliva, from Tootie and Jeffrey.”
“It’s not just Tootie and Jeffrey,” Anne said, impatience at my seeming lack of concern in her rising voice. We had had a lot of disagreements in our long and bumpy marriage, but all the voice-raising had been on my side.
“They don’t just want DNA from the parents. They also want DNA from the grandparents. That means me and you.”
Like the rest of the world, I valued my privacy. I wasn’t keen to submit myself to a permanent record. But on the other hand, I no longer had anything to hide. If a mere pinprick, a mere mouth swab, could prevent future difficulties for my son’s child, I was not unwilling to undergo a bit of physical discomfort, even a large invasion of my privacy.
“Why do we have to do it?” Anne interrupted, her voice strident. “It’s not fair. Tootie has no parents. Why do we have to provide samples when they can’t test her parents? How can they force us to give our DNA samples?”
“No one can force you, Anne.” Her overreaction reminded me that she was an aging woman who felt her lack of control. I thought about her declared predicament, weighing my own level of involvement. “Shall I speak to the pediatrician?”
Once again I reflected that when a crisis appears, it is always at the wrong moment. This was absolutely the worst time for me to be distracted from Stow’s case. However, my generous offer appeared to make Anne more agitated. “No,” she said. “No, please, Ellis. I’ll talk to the doctor. I mean, just forget about this conversation. Really. I’ll take care of it.”
Not wishing to disturb her fragile composure, I hailed a cab and after seeing her into it, walked the short distance down Queen to my office.
When I got there, I remembered how the day had begun—with that odd document that had come from Aliana in the middle of the night. She’d asked me what to make of it, but I wondered what her own thoughts were on the matter. I opened the drawer and pulled out the courier’s envelope. I reached inside. It was empty.
I phoned Nicky at once. “Did you take a document from my drawer?” I demanded, barely concealing my ire.
“Ellis,” he said, immediately angry himself. “Either you trust me or you don’t. If you think I’m pulling something in the office when you’re not there, why don’t you just come out and say what it is?”
I recalled the last time we’d had this conversation. Demanding to know what Nicky was up to was no good. What did I expect? A confession that he was on Ellen’s side because he kept making moony eyes at her? If there were sabotage in my ranks, I was not going to get to the root of it by asking possible perpetrators to tell me what they were doing. I made up my mind to watch Nicky more carefully, much as it broke my heart. Besides, I needed him. I couldn’t handle the case by myself and there was no one else who could help. “Sorry,” I told him. “Forget it.”
I was so upset that I completely forgot the neurotic encounter with Anne. In fact, when a “Family Diagnostic Laboratory” called me the next day, I insisted they had the wrong number until they explained that they required me to submit a mouth swab. Not needing any further aggravation, I complied.
As the days went by, I began to realize that my inability to get into Riverside Hospital was a serious stumbling block to Stow’s defense. He was no more forthcoming than ever; in fact I seriously considered having him examined to detect mental illness. Perhaps I could put an application before Judge McKenzie requesting that Stow be declared unfit to stand trial. But when I considered the implications of that, the certain ruin of his future, I backed off. Notwithstanding that he was going to be ruined anyway if I failed to defend him successfully, which would ruin me, too.
If I could just see the place where Harpur had died, even the lobby, the corridors or the elevator, maybe I could find one fact I could use to make it seem ridiculous that Stow had been sneaking around there intending to kill his wife. Maybe I could find the witness that Ellen couldn’t find—the person who really knew what had happened in that room.
Nicky and I had once again patched up our differences, but I never mentioned Ellen’s signature on the trust document again. I didn’t ask Aliana, either. Maybe I was embarrassed that it had gone missing before I could figure out what it meant.
There were no further suspicious disturbances in the office, but one night, I decided to hide out in the corridor, after making a rather noisy show of turning off the lights and locking the door. I crouched painfully in the shadows for what seemed like an eternity, before I heard the downstairs door open and slow steps ascend the stairs from the street. Startled out of a half doze, I peeked out to see an old drunk lumber toward the door, shake the handle, then shake it again. Had someone paid a street person to burglarize my premises? I was ready to confront the man when I realized he was headed for the next door in the corridor. He wasn’t interested in my office, just in any open door that might afford him shelter. I’d shaken a few doorknobs myself in my bad days. I left the man alone.
The next day, Aliana accosted me on the way from my car to the courthouse. I felt like she was stalking me, but when I took a good look at her, I decided against reprimanding her. I marched down University Avenue, daring her to keep up with me. Of course, she did. She wore slim blue jeans, a tight little purple leather jacket and stiletto heels in a bright shade of green. Her hair, misted by the rain of March, fell in lush waves against her olive-skinned face.
“Amazing endorsement on the front page of the World!” she shouted. The roar of rush-hour traffic on University nearly drowned her out. I didn’t know what she was talking about, as usual.
“Aliana, I’m a little busy right now—”
“Oh, quit trying to shoo
me away as if I were a bug or a groupie. The whole legal world is holding its breath to see whether you’ll be a judge again.”
“Give me a break. I don’t think so.”
“Did you even see the paper this morning?” She waved her copy in front of my face. I took a step out to cross Dundas. A car honked sharply, forcing me back on the curb.
“You’re going to get us killed,” I complained.
She ignored me. “You probably don’t even know that one of the Supreme Court Justices ‘heavily favors’ your candidacy.”
“What?”
I stopped in the middle of the crowded sidewalk. A well-dressed man bumped me from behind, uttered a profanity and hurried off. I grabbed the paper from Aliana’s hand and read it as fast as I could. Much as I liked seeing my name in print, the piece was disappointing. “It’s totally meaningless,” I told Aliana, shoving the paper back into her hand. “The justice didn’t endorse me for the judgeship. She just endorsed the Attorney General of Ontario for suggesting me. These people tend to pat each other on the back. This isn’t news.”
“It is and—”
“And you want to interview me again? Get off it, Aliana. You’re becoming a pest. Like I said, I’m busy.” We’d reached the courthouse. I hoped I wasn’t being too hard on Aliana, but I wished she’d leave me alone. I found her distracting for more reasons than one.
She grabbed my arm. “Ellis, give it up! I’m going to write about you whether you want me to or not. I’ve written about you for years now. I’ve made you famous. You might as well cooperate. It would save us both the hassle.”
I shook her off, found Nicky and headed into the courtroom, where Ellen was soon regaling the jury with more dramatics.
“By now,” she said, “you are beginning to have a clear idea of the scene of this horrendous offense.”
I couldn’t see her face, but I imagined she wrinkled her nose slightly when she said “horrendous.” It was one of her favorite words for anything she didn’t like.
Red Mass Page 17
