“What are you feeling right now?” Una asked.
“Our worse day yet.”
“I thought it went okay, but we have had better ones.”
“I could have screamed. If only Susan had been there.”
Una took my hand and squeezed it. “We’re there with you.”
“I know, Una, I fear the worst, but there’s no more than two or three days until the verdict. It will be guilty, a humiliating verdict, then I’ll lose Susan forever.”
“Christian, you can’t think like that,” she pleaded. “Susan of all people knows it was The Family of Truth. Let me get you something to help you sleep and then you need to get to bed.”
She left and brought me back a crystal tumbler of warm bourbon a few minutes later. I drank it back at once. “You’re pale, dear,” she said. “I’d like you to take a halcyon too and go to bed at once.”
I looked at the tiny white pill and swallowed it with water. “I know that I sound pathetic, Una,” I whispered, “but it’s been so bad, that stuff about Sally and me. God, I’ve had to relive it so many times in my life. I could tell the jury thought me a vile creature.”
“It wasn’t incest, Christian, you mustn’t think it. Gayle mishandled it, and when it happened in the hotel, you were both willing adults unrelated by any direct blood. There are far worse sins.”
“The world doesn’t see it that way. And the jury didn’t believe the conspiracy theory about the Family either. Burch kept referring to them as a religious commune, gentle puritan folks. Good God, they killed Rick Edwards! They didn’t really like Fats either, they thought he had sold out the police department for us, that we paid him off! And poor Anna too. I’m afraid for her. I think she’s dead.” I began to cry. “I’m so sorry.”
“Go to bed, dear.”
I slept for six hours, and at five a.m., awoke with a self-consuming anxiety. “Where’s Susan?” I said to myself, “I need her so badly.” Close to open panic, I knew I wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep. “She still loves me though,” I whispered. A low grunt-like whisper escaped me. “No, she doesn’t!” I wrung my hands.
I knew I wouldn’t be able to do anything to revenge myself from inside a prison cell; The Family of Truth were going to win; to steal my life even though I had never wanted anything to do with them. I lay in bed and my mind rolled back and forth. I rose and shaved, looking, it seemed, once again, at a stranger in the mirror. My hands trembled uncontrollably. Once more I began to cry. I was falling in love just at the time Susan would be wondering if the story about me and Sally was true. Why hadn’t I told Susan straight off about Sally and I? She knew now and would think that if I omitted telling her the whole story, then I might be lying about the murder. It would certainly place doubt in her mind no matter what she thought of The Family of Truth. For the first time since charges had been laid, fleeing came to my mind; however, not just running away, but complete utter escape. I pictured my body falling through the air and smashing on the pavement, my mind in a million pieces. I’m sorry to say that this thought brought me some comfort. Life can beat you down only so far. If I could have run to The Family of Truth at this moment, and killed as many as I could, evil or not, I would have. Fearful that I was free-falling, any anchor would have done, even blind revenge. I studied my thin frightened face. My brown hair stood thrashed up on my head and I looked too thin, almost absurd. I glanced down the length of the long bathroom counter, and saw on the far wall, a picture of Sally and me together as children. We were both smiling happily.
I dressed and quietly left before anybody in the house woke, driving the streets of New Jersey. In under an hour, as though coming out of a dream, I pulled up in front of The Grand Hyatt. I gave the car-attendant my keys, and walked inside of the hotel unfocused and vaguely lost. Without anyone seeing, I took the elevator to the top floor and immediately tried to access the roof. I found the door bolted. I returned to the lobby and asked for a room on the top floor. Without a word, I gave my credit card to the attendant, a thirty-year-old employee in a crisp navy-blue suit. “Will you be staying long, Mr. Tappet?”
I shook my head without looking at him. After what was to me an unbearable delay . . . an embarrassment that stretched out into minutes, as though he knew what I was contemplating, he passed me a room card. “You have no bags, sir?” he asked. I shook my head again. “Are you okay, sir?”
“Fine,” I grumbled. The floor, an extension of the hotel’s other fine settings, had a concierge station, but it remained unmanned at this hour. I let myself into the room and dropped the card to a small oak retainer on a hall table. From my earliest memories after my adoption, I’d tried to ignore the luxury which had surrounded the Tappets. The one lasting pleasant memory I had retained about the orphanages was a life without it. It always seemed to get in the way of my enjoyment and at some point became a negative value. It obstructed me as a teenager, becoming important to my self-esteem. I’d wealth while others didn’t, and then, I’d to unlearn that evil trait, like giving up a dependency. I made myself a rye and mineral water in a fine glass tumbler, and after checking the time, I threw my Rolex in the garbage can, wondering if I’d see eight a.m. I sat and reflected on how I’d arrived to this position in my life. I’d liked it before Sally had stepped onto that bus, it had been a good thing on the whole, notwithstanding the affair with Sally and the dilemma of being wealthy. “But you don’t really care about the money,” I whispered to myself.
My voice sounded desperate, and besides, I hadn’t escaped my wealth. That’s why the cult had crossed half the country to try and retrieve Sally; she was the daughter of multimillionaires. I rose and splashed cold water on my face in the bathroom. Sally being sucked in by a cult wasn’t enough punishment for one life; no, they’d murdered her and pinned it on me. Then they’d abducted and killed Anna so as to destroy my legal defense. I’d gone from a sort of magical existence to this life I led now with cops, jails, judges, court appearances, news-people, jurors, and, I feared, a guilty verdict.
How could I bare it? I dried my eyes and vigorously rubbed my temple. My headache reappeared and I made another rye and water. I looked out over the city, traffic was building, everybody went on with their normal lives. I used to love this city; no, that wasn’t actually true, I’d always hated it, especially the speeding traffic. I returned to the roof and found it still locked, deciding to smash the padlock, but there was nothing at hand. In the room, nearly everything I could have used to do it was nailed down. A knock at the door disturbed my hunt and I answered it with yet another drink in my hand. I almost jumped back. “Dad, what are you doing here?”
Stan walked in the room and closed the door tightly behind him. “I see that I’ve made it on time,” he said with great relief, almost joy shining in his eyes. “I should at least be happy for that.” Then he flew at me and sucker-punched me in the jaw. I fell to the floor, the glass I was holding flew across the room, smashing. I rose and wiped the blood from my lips even as Stan passed his white handkerchief to me. My heart raced with confusion and fear, but not for a second did I think of striking back.
“It’s okay to feel sorry for yourself, son,” he said in a soft voice, “but not to this point. The trial isn’t over. Nothing is over. Are you just going to let Lloyd Mills take everything from you without a fight and let The Family of Truth destroy you like they did Sally?”
“Lloyd?”
“We aren’t fools, Christian. Mary and I give him the benefit of the doubt, but we can still cut it.” I felt my cheeks burning. Even in this, I’d behaved shamefully. “It’s your mother you should worry about. Sally’s death has devastated her. I know you’re self-occupied, as you should be, but haven’t you noticed? She’s suffering much worse than you. This would have killed her. She loves you; don’t doubt it! There’s news! Peter has discovered a small connection between a Japanese consortium, The Zortichii Group, and Lloyd Mills and The Family of Truth,” he continued. “We’ve nothing solid yet.”
“But I thought Peter–”
“You might be found guilty because appearances have deceived the state, now you are letting appearances deceive you. Why would you want to throw your life away when you’re innocent? Nothing is what it appears. Which do you think is worse, prison or a communist POW camp? For you, it won’t be for so long, if ever. For me, many months of horrible suffering occurred. This is why I love life with every breath, son. I’ve seen death, and more death than you could imagine.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
He reached over and hugged me. I felt my agony passing and wiped away my tears, then followed him out of the room, and when we got home, he flew to Denver to pick up Susan. What Una had told her to drop everything and come to Jersey, I don’t know. I was standing at the door when she arrived. Mary stood beside me. A table near the front door held several lit candles on a silver candelabrum, giving the antechamber a warm golden glow, but making it look as though from another time as well. Mary dressed in a black pair of slacks with a designer mauve sweater, and she had pinned her light hair up into a ball. She seemed much less sad tonight.
“You look lovely,” Susan said to mom when she greeted us. It was true. She looked the very image of a woman who suffers and knows nothing but sorrow, but still has culture and refinement in hand.
Stan excused himself. He seemed in a rush. “I’m sure you’re being overly kind,” Mary said, “At my age, as Una says, to get out of the bathroom without resorting to drink or drugs, you’re doing fine.”
Susan laughed and it was wonderful to hear it; I wished Mary had laughed as well, but she didn’t, only cheerlessly excused herself. An old Righteous Brothers’ tune played softly from Stan’s den. I couldn’t remember the title of it. Susan glanced at a large family portrait, an oil on canvass, in the front foyer. “Wasn’t this picture somewhere else before?”
“Upstairs,” I said.
Stan came in from his office. He looked as though he had changed to go to work. Una came down the hallway from the kitchen. “Can I get you some juice or something?” she asked us.
Susan and I agreed to a juice. “Isn’t Una nice?” she said in a soft voice when she’d left.
“Don’t kid yourself,” Stan said. “We say it all the time and few believe us, but she’s a ferocious industrialist who runs the whole Tappet Industrial Complex with a ruthless hand.” He looked at his watch. “She doesn’t give me a minute’s sleep. Gotta go! Bye.”
Susan laughed. “I don’t believe you.”
“No, it’s true,” I reassured her, putting my hand on Susan’s shoulder and wishing Dad good-bye. “Una really does run everything. That’s the one thing they were right about at the trial, the rest is all lies.”
Susan laughed. Una brought our juice, and by that time, Stan had left, then Una excused herself. We headed to the bedroom and soon lay together under covers. I know she tried to cheer me up with her body, but I couldn’t be gentle, and was too rough, too fast, and too insensitive. “You seem angry,” she whispered afterward, “and you were aggressive.”
“I missed you this week. In court, it’s unbearable when you aren’t there.”
“I feel torn.”
“I have my parents, Una, friends, and many supporters, and they all believe in my innocence. Still, the days without you are the worst.”
“I won’t miss another.”
“Thanks for coming tonight,” I said softly. “You’re truly wonderful as well as beautiful.” I hugged her again, then we made love more gently. “I understood that Peter Burgess took holidays in Jamaica after the bombing,” I said when we lay quietly together later, “but apparently that was just a feign.”
Susan drew near and kissed my face. “What happened today? Why is your jaw swollen? Why did Una insist I come tonight?”
“I got crazy Susan,” I said shamefully. “I got extremely depressed, it won’t happen again.”
She sighed, then began to cry. “Don’t you know how much I love you?” she whispered.
Despite how much better I felt on Monday, we had another bad day in court. Our expert on ballistics was contradicted by the prosecutor several times under cross-examination. The next day, I was to take the stand, but it was delayed until Thursday morning. I got little sleep that night and looked like hell. After I was sworn in, I was asked all the questions by Brad we’d gone over together so many times. It was quick, an hour and fifteen minutes or so. This was a calculated attempt to distance me from the murder, by showing my compassion and expressing my love for the Tappets. I could tell by Brad’s reaction that I’d done well.
“Did you ever study acting, Christian?” Denzil Burch asked when cross-examination started. “Desperate men are cunning men. Everyone can see you’re not stupid, but are you a person who will do and say anything to protect yourself?”
“Not stupid at all?” Brad said angrily, rising, “we wish we could say the same of you. I’ve come to know him. He’s brave and intelligent, decent and loving. Your honor, Denzil is masking a speech in the form of a question.”
“I agree,” replied the judge. I’d been told that he’d become evermore sympathetic to our side. “Mr. Burch, do you have any questions.”
To everyone’s utter surprise, he shook his head and we were adjourned to the next day, Friday, June 17, what turned out to be a warm and breezy day. That morning I could tell Brad was nervous. His closing was our last chance at pulling us out of the hole. He rose and walked out in front of our table. He was tanned and appeared well rested. His flawless facial features had a hardness to them but his eyes still could be cordial. Anna Chapati’s disappearance had become a murder investigation in Lakewood. Susan told me that the police had found the clothes she’d been dressed in when abducted in the backwoods of Lakewood. Brad had told me this would help. He also told me that there were three sympathetic jurors: A big man in the back row of the jury who was a truck driver and had a family of his own; A young single black woman in the front who was a teacher, and an older man beside her with the bulging lump of a nose who was an oil rigger. Why they were responsive, I’d no idea, but Brad believed it was because they were all atheists and gave the cult story credence.
“Good morning ladies and gentlemen,” he said in an assured voice, “Mr. Burch will provide you with all your options tomorrow on how to deal with Christian.” He walked over to me and put his hand on my right shoulder looking at them with warmth. “But this morning, I want you to think of the concept of ‘reasonable doubt.’ My friend Christian Tappet is innocent. That’s the first thing you should know.”
He returned to the front of the table. “Mr. Burch will tell you that the burden of proof for guilt beyond a reasonable doubt has been met. He’ll say that he doesn’t have to prove to you Christian’s guilt beyond all doubt. If all shadow of a doubt had to be met in court, even the most silly, then it would be impossible to ever get a conviction. So when Mr. Burch tells you all this, just remember, proof beyond a reasonable doubt is proof as close to the point of knowing a thing as absolutely as we can get, given the type of imperfect creature we are. Some of you are thinking that Christian is probably guilty and some of you are thinking that this conspiracy theory of the defense’s, is a stretch. You are saying to yourself that I’ve been around the block and know how to muddy the water.” He took a step back. “Remember though, ‘probably guilty,’ does not translate into ‘Guilty beyond a reasonable doubt.’ However, some of you have asked yourself genuinely, ‘What of the theory that some organization set up Christian?” He stepped up beside me again. “You’ve listened to Detective Cramer,” he said. “You heard the moving testimony of Mary Tappet, followed then by Stan Tappet, Christian’s mother and father. These are people of principle. They’ve been in this courtroom with Christian every single day. They know their son didn’t kill their daughter. So, you’re wondering, ‘Maybe it’s true. Perhaps, after all, some organization framed Christian.’ This then, is ‘reasonable doubt.’”
He returned to the defense ta
ble and looked at his notes, stopping to smile at Mary and Stan. “Reasonable doubt is something like asking this question: ‘If Christian is guilty, why has he passed three police tests. Why would he be so cooperative with the police? Why would some of them think he’s innocent? Why did he take the stand to give you his heartfelt testimony? Why has he not taken flight as the prosecution predicted?” He turned and faced me. I thought he was doing sensationally and was emotional, but held back my tears. “The man to whom you sit in judgment has become a friend of mine. I’m proud to say this. Anyone not thinking that Christian hasn’t suffered at the death of his sister, Sally, isn’t looking at the same man as I am. For the rest of his life, a long shadow has been cast over his road and over his fine moral character. Reasonable doubt is the glue that holds the jury system together. Justice is not served if you saw all the available facts and said to yourself, ‘I know that he’s not guilty, but the hard evidence is so overwhelming.’ This is still a reasonable doubt and you must find him, Not Guilty.”
I grew more and more confident as he continued. He reviewed the incident with Anna Chapati, the former Love Israel of The Family of Truth, the accident that killed Nakamura, and the missing or dead executives such as Graham Roberts and Cheryl Garland. He talked of a Japanese and Swiss consortium with corrupt ties to the South Korean government who had plans to buy Tappets at the current, extremely reduced, market price, should my parents sell it with Sally and I out of the picture; that it could have meant sixty billion dollars difference in the final price. He asked them to imagine anyone so stupid as to kill their own sister in a manner and time so inimical to my own interest. The speech lasted the four hours to which both sides had agreed and in the end, I’d felt we’d won.
I slept well that night, feeling at last we had a chance, but the next day, after Denzil Burch finished his closing statement, I wasn’t so sure. He made me look like a cunning conniving person who raped my only sister, lied to my parents about my incestuous longings, and did so because I was afraid I’d lose my inheritance. It was absurd, but on the face of it, the facts did fit the theory.
Stealing Flowers Page 30
