“You stopped to get something to eat, didn’t you?”
“Yes. We went to a drive-through, a McDonald’s or a place like that.”
“But you didn’t scream then either, did you, or try to run away?”
“I told you, he had a knife.”
“Ms. Garrett, isn’t it true that when you ran away from the car that it was because you wanted to call home and Alex didn’t want you to? You had started to cry about your parents?”
“I escaped from his car!”
“Ms. Garrett, you didn’t press charges against Alex, did you?”
“No, I just wanted it to be over. Part of it was my fault. I shouldn’t have become involved with him. I didn’t want to put my parents through the publicity of a trial—everybody knowing all of it.”
“Isn’t it true that you didn’t want to press charges, in fact were uncooperative with the police, because you knew Alex didn’t kidnap you at all? Isn’t that true?”
“I have told the truth.”
“And you weren’t pregnant?
“I was not pregnant and I never said I was.”
Shaking his head as if measuring the credibility of the witness, the defense attorney began to cut carefully. “All right, Ms. Garrett, let’s move on to the events surrounding the allegations you have made against Dr. St. Claire when you again claim he kidnapped you.” McGuiness allowed just enough inflection to the word “claim” that anybody listening would understand the sarcasm. “Earlier you testified that one day this year Alex, Dr. St. Claire, a respected member of the medical community, just showed up behind you out of the blue on the floor of a shopping mall and apologized for what he had done.”
“That’s right.”
“What day was that?”
“It was a Saturday, in the early afternoon. I remember that. In October.”
“Could it have been the twelfth of October?”
“That would probably be right. I would have to look at a calendar.”
“Well, can we agree that it was the same day you called him?”
As they cross examine a witness, skilled trial lawyers all exhibit a measure of a predator’s DNA. But they also have a keen subliminal sense of the reaction of the lawyer at the other counsel table, a heightened awareness that their opponent’s blood is slowly turning icy cold. McGuiness knew what Jamison was thinking, had to be thinking, as he listened to McGuiness’s questions and kept his face expressionless: What call? She said she had no contact with St. Claire.
Jamison would know McGuiness wouldn’t ask the question unless he had something more than St. Claire’s word, just like he wouldn’t ask about a pregnancy unless he could back that up. McGuiness didn’t have to look to know Jamison’s sphincter was beginning to tighten.
Elizabeth’s voice fell to almost a murmur. “I called him at the hospital after I saw him at the mall. I didn’t know how else to get hold of him. I wanted him to stay away from me.”
McGuiness snapped out his next question. “No, Ms. Garrett. Isn’t it true that on the day you saw Alex St. Claire at the mall it was you who called and told him that you wanted to see him?”
“No, it’s not true. I called him later and told him to stay away from me.”
“Are you aware that the hospital keeps a sign-in book for medical staff so they know who is in the hospital?”
Her head moved back and forth as she remained silent. “Miss Garrett, would it surprise you to know that the hospital also logs the calls that come in to the doctors? Let me put the question this way. If I brought in the hospital sign-in book and it showed Alex St. Claire in the hospital between eight thirty-five a.m. and two forty-five p.m. and a call from you at two p.m. would that surprise you?”
Elizabeth looked around the courtroom, her eyes darting to the back, looking for her mother, for somebody. “I called him but not until after he came up to me at the mall. If you have some book that says differently, then it’s wrong.”
“I see, so the hospital log would be wrong?” McGuiness paused. “Never mind. Let me ask another question. On the night you left your car out by the cemetery, you stopped because you knew Alex was behind you, didn’t you?”
“I saw a red light. I thought it was a policeman.”
McGuiness stepped from behind the counsel table and walked into the well of the courtroom. He looked at Judge Wallace for permission. Wallace nodded, giving the silent approval that attorneys ask for before closing in on a witness. “Ms. Garrett, isn’t it true that there was no red light behind you?”
Elizabeth shook her head emphatically. “I said I thought there were red lights, a red light. There were flashing lights. Why else would I stop?”
Lowering his voice just enough so that the jurors would have to strain to hear it, but clear enough so they could hear the bite of his question, McGuiness asked, “You stopped because you planned to meet Alex. Isn’t that the real reason?”
“I had no intention of meeting the defendant. I was afraid of him.”
McGuiness’s head and body bent forward. It reminded Jamison of a cobra sizing up his victim. “You called Alex after you left the Packing Shed, didn’t you?” The tone of his voice had lost any conciliatory pretense.
“No, I told you I didn’t have his number.”
“Are you sure that’s what you want to testify to?”
“That’s what happened. I didn’t know it was him. I would never have stopped if I knew it was him.”
Abruptly switching to the evidence at the farmhouse, McGuiness asked, “Miss Garrett, you are aware that the police found no physical evidence of you being on that steel table in Alex’s garage, aren’t you?”
“Yes, but I was there. It was a metal table. There are pictures of it.”
“Isn’t it true, Ms. Garrett, that Alex showed you that room and told you that is where he worked sometimes when he just wanted to be alone? You never were on that table, were you?”
“He put me on that table, and then later I woke up on the bed where Investigator Garcia found me. Your client kidnapped me and he tied me to that bed.”
McGuiness shook his head, drawing his face into an expression of regret at what the witness was forcing him to do. “Ms. Garrett, I am sorry to have to ask this, but isn’t it true that you asked Alex St. Claire to tie you to that bed? Isn’t it true that you and Alex had once made that part of your sexual activity?”
Elizabeth’s mouth curled with revulsion. “That’s not true. I never asked him to do that to me. We had no relationship. How many times do I have to say that?”
Turning again toward the jury with a resigned expression on his face as he slowly walked back to the counsel table, McGuiness reached into a file folder and withdrew two sets of photographs, handing one set to Jamison. “Your Honor, perhaps Mr. Jamison should have a moment to look at these photographs before I show them to the witness? I was hopeful it would not come to this but Ms. Garrett has left me little choice. While the prosecutor is looking at them, I request that they be marked for identification as Defense Exhibits A through E.”
After looking at the first photograph, Jamison barely glanced at the others, sliding them over so O’Hara could see them as well.
Jamison only heard the almost imperceptible whisper of “Shit” that came out of O’Hara because he was sitting right next to him. Jamison fought to retain his composure. There was no objection to be made. McGuiness was under no obligation to show them to the prosecution before the trial and he had waited for the right moment like a lion stalking its prey.
His stomach churning, Jamison fought to keep his expression impassive. He could object or he could ask to approach the bench. Neither would do any good. Anything he did other than remain seated at the counsel table would give the impression that he was afraid of the evidence or, worse, that he had never seen it before. He felt all of those things but he couldn’t let the jury see it.
He shrugged indifferently; he knew what was coming and he also knew he couldn’t stop it.
“Ms
. Garrett, I am showing you now Defense Exhibits A through E. Do you recognize those photographs?”
Elizabeth’s mouth began to quiver. For what seemed like interminable seconds she couldn’t bring herself to look at the pictures. Instead she looked beseechingly at Jamison as if he were her life raft.
He could see her growing despair and helplessness. There was nothing he could do. He had warned her to tell him everything and what would happen if she didn’t. At this point he had to think about damage control because he knew how the jury would react. Jamison couldn’t let the jury think this was unexpected. He could scarcely look at her as he tried to maintain his own strained composure.
Elizabeth turned her face to look directly at St. Claire. “Why, Alex? Why would you do this to me?” All eyes were on St. Claire.
St. Claire’s eyes were filling with tears. Jamison couldn’t help cynically thinking that the tears almost made St. Claire look like he cared. Then he realized that the jury couldn’t tell the difference. To them it looked like he cared a great deal. Jamison then felt the chill that came with his own momentary flash of doubt that maybe St. Claire really did.
Before he asked his next question, McGuiness let Elizabeth hold the photographs in her hands to make sure the image was firmly planted in the minds of the jurors.
“Ms. Garrett, who are those photographs of?”
Elizabeth didn’t respond until McGuiness repeated his question and stood in front of her, waiting for her answer. She had no choice. “They are pictures of me.”
“Do you recall when they were taken?”
“Alex took them when we were seeing one another back when I was in high school. He said that he destroyed them.” Elizabeth looked toward the jury. “I don’t know why I did it. I loved him . . . Alex asked me . . .” Her voice trailed off.
McGuiness’s voice was gentle but firm. “Ms. Garrett, I won’t ask you to describe what is in those pictures.” He turned to Judge Wallace. “I would like the jury to see the photographs, Your Honor, if Mr. Jamison has no objection.”
Jamison had to act as if it made no difference to him. “No objection.”
As he passed the pictures to the jurors, McGuiness stepped back, waiting as he moved toward the counsel table and put his hand on his client’s shoulder.
One by one each juror stared at the photographs. After passing them to the juror next to them, each juror looked at Elizabeth and then at St. Claire. The photographs were of a young woman in a provocative pose with her hands and feet bound. She was nude and very little about Elizabeth Garrett was left to the imagination.
McGuiness waited until the last juror looked at the photographs and handed them back to the bailiff. Standing behind Alex St. Claire, McGuiness began softly, slowly raising his voice as his questions came in rapid fire. “Ms. Garrett, the photographs—you didn’t want your parents to know about the details of your relationship with Alex, did you? You didn’t go forward with any charges because you didn’t want your parents to know what really happened, did you? You knew Alex didn’t do what you accused him of and you were desperately looking for a way to explain why you had run off with him. Isn’t that the truth?”
Jamison was on his feet, objecting in an attempt to disrupt the staccato barrage of questions.
Judge Wallace’s gavel came down. “Mr. McGuiness, allow the witness to answer. And Mr. Jamison, please lower your voice.”
Grabbing at the folds of her skirt, Elizabeth stared at her hands. There was no question in front of her, only the echo of the torrent of insinuation from McGuiness. She didn’t look up as she responded in a voice that was barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want them to know how I’d behaved. I was terribly ashamed of myself.” She raised her head and looked at McGuiness. “I wanted it all to be over. But I told the truth about what Alex did. He forced me go with him when I was still in high school and he did the same thing all over again the night all of this happened. He did and he knows it.”
McGuiness approached Elizabeth, standing close enough so that each juror could watch both of them at the same time, the prey and the hunter. He paused, allowing the tension to fill the space between them. “Ms. Garrett, isn’t it true that you met Alex St. Claire that night by the cemetery as part of a sexual game that the two of you enjoyed?”
“No! That is not true! He knows what he did to me!”
McGuiness let her words hang in the air before he backed up and looked over at the jury, his voice almost a whisper. “Isn’t it true, Ms. Garrett, that everything that happened between you and Alex St. Claire was consensual?”
Tears ran down Elizabeth’s face as she looked around the courtroom. “No, no, he had a knife! He had a knife!”
McGuiness stood, staring at her for almost half a minute before he returned to the counsel table. “All right, Ms. Garrett. I have no further questions, Your Honor.”
Jamison glanced discreetly at his wristwatch. McGuiness had timed the conclusion of his cross-examination to end at three thirty. He knew that Judge Wallace would require him to begin redirect instead of recessing for the evening. Wallace did not like to waste even a half hour of trial time if he could avoid it. Jamison drew in a deep breath, took a sip of water, and rose from his chair. He would have to try to repair the damage or simply let Elizabeth walk off the witness stand and deal with the damage later.
“The People ask that Ms. Garrett be excused subject to recall, Your Honor. We have a forensic witness that we can call or, if it pleases the court, we can proceed in the morning.”
A former trial lawyer himself, Judge Wallace evidently sensed that Jamison had been blindsided and was doing his best to keep himself under control. Wallace softened. “The court will recess for the evening.” Wallace admonished the jury once again to keep an open mind and not discuss the case. As the wooden symbol of judicial authority rapped the bench Jamison felt a small flicker of relief.
Jamison didn’t move from the counsel table. His eyes were fixed on the empty judge’s bench. He needed to have a better sense of what was going on before he allowed Elizabeth to be questioned further by anyone, including him. He needed time. And time was something he had very little of.
He heard all too clearly the growing silence as the courtroom emptied and the jurors left their seats, moving slowly through the fog of emotion shrouding the courtroom. None were looking at Elizabeth Garrett, who remained alone on the witness stand.
Chapter 25
Jamison entered his office, threw his briefcase down on his desk, and sank into his chair. The plan was for O’Hara to bring Elizabeth up by the back elevator to avoid any reporters lurking around asking questions. Ernie wasn’t back yet so he had no idea what more Gupta had to say.
Needing a few minutes to calm down as well as think clearly before talking to her, Jamison walked down the hall to the men’s room and splashed cold water on his face. When he returned to his office, Beth and O’Hara were sitting in front of his desk.
Before Jamison could say anything the words tumbled out of Beth. “I know what you’re thinking, but it isn’t true.”
He hesitated a moment before carefully framing his response. “Beth, I have questions. I don’t have answers.”
“I can explain.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about the phone call and the pictures?”
“The pictures were a long time ago. They were the reason I didn’t want to press charges. Well, at least part of the reason. I didn’t want my parents to know about all of that. At that time, I would have done anything Alex asked. I did do anything Alex asked. I didn’t tell you about the pictures because I knew if I did you would never believe me that when he stopped my car by the cemetery he forced me to go with him. I can see it on your face right now.”
His normally impassive demeanor with witnesses shattered as Jamison snapped, “If you can see it on my face, then don’t you think the jurors have the same questions? Look, if I had known about the pictures I would have brought it out. I would have prepared the jury for it. I w
ould have been prepared for it. You need to tell me the truth no matter how bad you think it sounds. I can’t try this case unless I know the truth.” His voice softened. “Beth, I have to ask. Did you tell St. Claire that you were pregnant and is that why he took you to Los Angeles? Tell me now.”
“I never told Alex or anyone that I thought I was pregnant. Never.”
He could feel the first throb of a monstrous headache as he rubbed his temples. “And the phone call? You called him and you didn’t tell me? Just like you didn’t tell me about the pictures?” Jamison’s voice rose in barely controlled anger. He knew he needed to calm down or she would shut down.
“I called him just like I testified. I called him after he came up to me at the mall. Not before. I didn’t know where he was working until he told me.”
“But you didn’t tell me.”
“All I did was tell him to stay away. I didn’t think that would be used like it was. I know how it looks but I really didn’t think I was keeping something from you. I’m sorry, but that’s the truth. I didn’t see him again until that night by the cemetery and I never called him. I don’t know what his lawyer is talking about.” Elizabeth looked at him, her eyes wide and pleading.
There was no point in saying anything more to her right now. It wouldn’t change anything. Jamison wondered how much else she hadn’t shared. “All right. I’m going to have one of our investigators drive you home. Investigator O’Hara and I need to talk. One of our people will pick you up tomorrow at eight thirty and bring you down here. Get a good night’s sleep. I’m not sure I’m going to put you back on the stand until maybe later, but we have to be ready.”
Jamison rose and walked around his desk, placing his hand on her shoulder. “Get some rest. I’ll deal with it.” He made his voice sound more confident than he felt.
After arranging a ride for Elizabeth, O’Hara returned to Jamison’s office. He sat down heavily, his face reflecting his mood, which wasn’t good. O’Hara trusted his own instincts and his instincts would have led him to ask Elizabeth more questions, probing questions, on redirect to explain or rehabilitate her after the damage McGuiness had done. But that was because he was used to interrogating people and Garrett was a victim, not a suspect.
Fractured Justice Page 21
