Silent Witness

by Richard North Patterson

  That night, Tony slept badly. At first dawn, he awakened, sweating, from his strange new dream of Alison, his image of himself that of an invisible camera, her delphic question driving him from bed.

  Restless, Tony ordered room service—toast and black coffee—and spent an hour at the hotel gym, sweating feverishly as he punished the exercise bike. Then he showered, dressed, and presented himself at the courtroom of Judge Leo F. Karoly, a lawyer with a client to defend.

  EIGHT

  Taking the witness stand, Ernie Nixon wore a gray pinstriped business suit, a yellow tie with a geometric design, a crisp white shirt, and a look of cool self-possession, which, for a moment, he turned on Tony Lord. Next to Tony, Saul Ravin eyed Ernie with wary interest. “He’s no Donald White,” he murmured.

  The sardonic remark, Tony found, touched his conscience. “He never was.”

  Briefly, Stella Marz glanced at Tony; today it seemed that the lawyers had a heightened awareness of each other. Even the jury seemed to feel it; waiting, they were silent and attentive, without the small smiles and whispered asides that characterize twelve people settling in with one another.

  Somewhat stiffly, for her, Stella led Ernie through his first eighteen years in Lake City; his college education; his decision to come back; his five years as recreation director. Ernie’s answers were precise, soft-spoken, and revealed nothing about the complexity of his feelings: listening, Tony imagined Ernie’s return as the last nostalgic reel of that Frank Capra movie, the homecoming of a goodhearted man to the warmth and comfort of the place he loved most. All that was missing, Tony thought with irony, was the girl.

  “Yeah,” Sam said sarcastically, under his breath. “It’s all been great, hasn’t it.…”

  “Could you tell us,” Stella asked, “how old Marcie Calder was when you first met her?”

  “Thirteen, I’d say. I coach a girls’ track team, eleven to fourteen.” Ernie paused. “Marcie was best friends with another girl on the team, Janice D’Abruzzi, whose dad was my best friend. I guess Janice sort of brought her around.”

  “What was Marcie like then, would you say?”

  Ernie seemed to consider this. “Shy—never any trouble. But you could see her watching, and thinking, like there was a lot going on inside her. So I’d say thoughtful, too, and sort of private. Like it took her a while to trust people.” Pausing, Ernie finished softly, “I don’t think that part ever changed.”

  It was already starting, Tony knew; Stella’s portrait of a shy, inward girl whose mistake, terrible in its consequences, was to trust the wrong adult. “Over time,” Stella asked, “did you come to know her better?”

  Ernie nodded. “Little by little,” he answered, and permitted himself a small smile. “About a year after she came out for the team, Marcie had a growth spurt. Most kids that makes kind of awkward. But what it made Marcie Calder was fast. All the sudden, she was the fastest kid on the team.”

  “How did she react to that?”

  “I guess you could say she was ecstatic. She couldn’t get enough of running, or winning. Talked a lot more too—it was like I became a hero just for giving her the chance, even though, like I always told her, she’d provided all the talent.” Abruptly, Ernie’s voice softened, and for the first time, he looked at Sam Robb. “Marcie needed attention, I could see. I think she’d have been attached to any adult who gave her that. Someone who made her feel important to him.”

  This was getting close to the line, Tony thought, but he made no move to object. “When Marcie turned fifteen,” Stella queried, “and couldn’t run for you anymore, did you do anything to help her?”

  Ernie folded his hands again. “I encouraged her to go out for track in high school. And then, just to make sure she did, I called the girls’ track coach. Sam Robb.”

  Beneath these few soft words, Tony heard the bitter sense of good intentions gone wrong. The first mention of the name Sam Robb had made the jury still, attentive.

  “And what did Sam Robb say?”

  “That he’d ‘watch out for her.’ ” Ernie paused, gazing at Sam again. “Yes, I think those were his words: ‘I’ll watch out for her.’ ”

  Sam’s returning stare seemed emotionless, Tony thought, without feeling or expression. Stella let the moment linger.

  “After Marcie left your team,” she asked, “and joined Sam Robb’s, did she keep in touch with you?”

  Ernie still appraised Sam; something like distaste came over his features, lending him an air of hauteur that, curiously, reminded Tony of Dee Nixon. Then Ernie turned to Stella and, with a casual smoothness that seemed rehearsed, answered. “She did, yes. Sometimes she’d come around the office, sometimes we’d ask her to watch our kids. So, one way or the other, I’d see her maybe two, three times a month.”

  “And from time to time, did she talk to you about how her life was going?”

  “Uh-huh. Sometimes at the office, other times when I’d drive her home from baby-sitting.” Briefly, Ernie paused. “Once in a while, she’d just drop by the house. To talk.”

  “Did she ever give the impression that her enjoyment of seeing you went beyond talking?” Stella paused, adding in a flat voice, “By that, I mean that she had romantic feelings for you, some sort of crush.”

  “Absolutely not.” Ernie’s tone reflected Stella’s, a shared contempt for anyone who would smear this girl—or him—to spare a guilty man just punishment. “What she wanted was an adult who was a friend, rather than a parent. You see this kind of attachment in that age kid a lot—it’s normal, even healthy, and it’s part of growing up. When I was a kid, I wish I’d had more of it.”

  For the first time, Tony glanced at the Calders: Frank Calder raised his head, and his wife nodded with silent vehemence. But to Tony, Ernie’s answer was far more subtle, suggesting the man as he wished to see himself and reminding Tony that Coach Jackson, whom Tony had admired, had seemed to take little interest in Ernie as a human being. Tony sensed that an unspoken gulf lay between the Calders and Ernie, the territory in Marcie’s life that Ernie felt they had left to him, the caring adult he once had wanted and now wished to see in himself.

  “What kinds of things did Marcie talk about?”

  Ernie shrugged. “Everything and anything—grades, school, track, guys.” He glanced at the jury. “Kids that age are remarkably candid. They haven’t closed up yet, like adults.”

  Leaning his head to Tony’s, Saul murmured, “What is this, Adolescent Development 101: all little kids tell Big Bird about busted rubbers?” But there was nothing Tony could do; objecting to Ernie’s generalities, however self-serving, would make Tony look too anxious.

  “Did there come a time,” Stella asked, “when you became worried about where Marcie’s life was going?”

  Ernie nodded. “Yes,” he said firmly. “Very worried.”

  “What were the circumstances?”

  Surveying the jury, Ernie talked to them directly. “Marcie came to see me, at my office. I could tell she was pretty shaken up, even before she said she needed my help.” His tone was subdued, as if the memory burdened him still. “Marcie said she’d begun having sex, and she was scared.”

  The beautician gazed back at him, Tony thought, with unquestioning compassion. Stella waited for a moment. Quietly, she asked, “Did you ever have sexual relations with Marcie Calder?”

  Ernie sat straighter. “Absolutely not. That was never the way I saw her.”

  Stella, Tony saw, was asking his questions, blunting their impact. “Even after your wife left?” she prodded.

  Ernie folded his arms. “That’s not something I’d do, Ms. Marz. It’s not something anyone should do who’s got responsibility for other people’s children.”

  Though this was meant as a jab at Sam, Ernie’s face was set, and his words suddenly sounded defensive, as self-righteous as a political platform and as lacking in any acknowledgment of human weakness, of desires felt but not, in the more complex and more honorable exercise of human decency, acte
d upon. The true Ernie, already revealed to Tony, was hidden now—perhaps because Ernie had begun lying to himself; more likely, Tony guessed, because Ernie knew that most people told themselves convenient lies about their own motives and thus might not forgive Ernie Nixon for the tangle that was his. But something had been lost, and not just from Stella’s case; Ernie was no longer himself, and knew that Tony knew it.

  “When,” Stella asked, “was the last time you saw Marcie Calder?”

  With what seemed a conscious effort, Ernie unfolded his arms. Softly, he answered, “The night she died, when she came to the house. At roughly eight o’clock.”

  As one, the jury stared at him. Even Leo Karoly, stepping from behind his bland bureaucratic mask, seemed rapt.

  “Was that unusual?”

  “Yes.” Ernie’s voice remained quiet. “Except to baby-sit. As soon as I saw her, I knew something was wrong.”

  “Did she tell you what it was?”

  Slowly, Ernie turned to Sam. “Marcie was pregnant.”

  “Did she tell you who the father was?”

  Ernie kept watching Sam. “Only that it was the man she’d been seeing. The older one.”

  The jury, Tony saw, had begun to follow Ernie’s gaze. “How did Marcie seem to you?” Stella asked.

  “Upset, and in need of understanding. But not hysterical.”

  “Did she say what she meant to do?”

  Now Ernie turned to Stella, his voice cool and clear. “Yes. Marcie said she was meeting the father, as soon as she left my house. To warn him, she said.”

  Stella was quiet for a moment. “Did she mention the possibility of marrying this man?”

  “Not at all.” Ernie’s tone became soft again. “In fact, she said that the father couldn’t help her, and that she’d never ask him to come forward.”

  It was a devastating answer and, as Tony recalled, an incomplete one. But the jury could not know this. “Did you offer to discuss her alternatives?” Stella asked.

  Ernie drew himself up. “I mentioned abortion. Marcie just sat there on my couch and said, ‘But it’s a baby—my baby. How can I kill it for being my mistake?’ ”

  As before, Tony thought, Stella had anticipated him. “Did Marcie suggest who would care for the child?” she asked.

  Ernie nodded. “She would, Marcie told me.”

  Stella allowed herself a sad and knowing smile. In a tone of quiet skepticism, she asked, “During this entire conversation, Mr. Nixon, did Marcie Calder seem in any way suicidal?”

  “Objection.” Tony stood slowly, taking his time in order to break the damning rhythm of questions and answers. “Ms. Marz has not qualified this witness as a psychologist. What Mr. Nixon is, obviously, is someone who was quite attached to Marcie Calder and now wants to place all blame for her death on this defendant. But the answer to whether Marcie Calder was suicidal is not to be found anywhere in this witness’s expertise—or in his wishes.”

  Assuming a posture of exaggerated patience, Stella Marz waited Tony out. “We can surely understand Mr. Lord’s sensitivities on this point, Your Honor, seeing how he planted the notion of suicide himself. But Mr. Nixon has spent his entire career among children and young adults. More than almost anyone in this courtroom, I suspect, he has a valid lay opinion to offer.”

  Karoly tented his hands in front of him. “Perhaps you could ask it another way, Ms. Marz.”

  Stella nodded briskly. “Gladly,” she said, and turned to Ernie Nixon. “Tell me, Mr. Nixon, did Marcie Calder do or say anything to suggest to you that she was considering suicide?”

  “Absolutely nothing,” Ernie said quickly, his tone firm. “To the contrary, the things she said and did all suggested the firm intention of keeping this baby alive.”

  Stella put her hands on her hips. “And did she ever say she couldn’t face her parents?”

  “No. Only that she couldn’t tell them who the father was.”

  “She also told you she hadn’t eaten for a while, correct?”

  “Yes. So I offered her a tuna sandwich.” Ernie gave a helpless shrug. “It was all I could do.”

  “Did she eat it?”

  “She did. She was eating for two now, she said.”

  Stella paused for a moment. “But she didn’t quite finish it, did she?”

  “No. Suddenly Marcie looked at her watch and said she had to meet him. The father.”

  As Stella moved closer, the jury followed her. “Did you try to stop her?” Stella asked.

  “Not stop her. Talk to her. It felt as if she hadn’t thought things through. That she’d come to me for that, and now she was running off.” Ernie paused. “It didn’t feel right, Ms. Marz. And it didn’t feel right that this father was older, and a secret. Except for me, the girl was all alone.”

  “But she wouldn’t stay with you, would she?”

  Ernie studied his folded hands, fingers twisting, his look of pain almost physical now. “No. She wouldn’t stay.” His voice fell, as though he were speaking to himself. “She just got in the car and drove away.”

  The sense of loss was palpable now: Tony could hear it in the utter silence; see it in the faces of the jury.

  “After that,” Stella asked softly, “did you do anything?”

  Ernie looked up. “I followed her.”

  Stella tilted her head. “And why was that?”

  Ernie seemed to ask the question of himself. “I wasn’t sure,” he finally answered. “Just that I was worried somehow. I thought maybe if I found out who the father was…”

  “Did you?”

  Slowly, Ernie shook his head. “Not then,” he answered quietly. “Not then. I followed her about three blocks. Then I realized I wasn’t her father. The only way I could help her, I told myself, was to sit back and wait.” He looked up again. “So I stopped the car, turned around, and came home. The last I ever saw of Marcie Calder was a pair of red taillights, one blinking like it had a short. I made a mental note to tell her that.…”

  Pausing, Ernie bit his lip. “I meant to do right, Ms. Marz, and did exactly wrong. ’Cause if I’d only followed her, Marcie would still be alive, wouldn’t she.”

  Stella was still for a moment. Then she turned to Tony and said simply, “Your witness, Mr. Lord.”

  NINE

  Rising with reluctance, Tony glanced at Sue.

  Sitting between her two children, she gazed at him with sadness, worry, affection. Tony gave her the briefest smile of reassurance and then, lightly touching Sam’s shoulder, turned and walked toward Ernie Nixon. Ernie sat back in the witness stand.

  “That night,” Tony asked, “did Marcie Calder say why she’d come to see you?”

  Ernie folded his hands, eyes riveted on Tony’s face. “To tell me she was pregnant. I guess she needed a friend.”

  “She had one—Janice D’Abruzzi. Can you think of any reason that Marcie told you and not her?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe she wanted advice from an adult.”

  Tony paused for a moment. “Isn’t it fair to say, based on what she told you, that Marcie Calder had a troubled relationship with her father?”

  “Objection,” Stella interjected. “Hearsay.”

  Tony shook his head. “This falls under the state-of-mind exception, Your Honor. It’s directly relevant to whether Marcie Calder, under the circumstances presented here, might be capable of suicide.”

  Karoly turned to Ernie. “You may answer, Mr. Nixon.”

  “I don’t know if I’d say ‘troubled.’ ” Ernie hesitated, shifting in his chair. “She said that sometimes they had a difficult time communicating.…”

  “Because he intimidated her, right?”

  “She said that, yes.”

  “And Marcie Calder had no idea, as far as you could tell, about what she was going to do next?”

  Ernie’s eyes narrowed; as Tony watched him try to understand where this was going, the quarry trying to anticipate the hunter, he felt the terrible impersonality of his role. Softly, Ernie answe
red, “She had an idea, Tony. She was going to see her lover.”

  The use of his first name, the pointed response, were clearly meant to disarm him. What they did was to arouse Tony’s anger. With equal quiet, he asked, “Did she mention any idea beyond that?”

  “No.”

  “So if Marcie Calder imagined a future beyond that night, you don’t know what it was.”

  Ernie Nixon sat back. “That she’d have the baby. That’s what she imagined.”

  “Living where?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Tony moved forward. “Based on your experience with kids, Mr. Nixon, would you say that life for an unwed teenage mother in Lake City is difficult?”

  “It depends on the circumstances.…”

  “Such as?”

  Ernie shrugged. “Family support, I guess.”

  For the first time, Tony’s voice had an edge of irony. “And even with family support, scandal is sort of hard to live down in Lake City, Ohio, isn’t it?”

  Ernie gave a faint smile. “I guess some would say that.”

  “What was Marcie’s demeanor during this visit?”

  “It’s like I said—worried but composed.”

  “Did she cry?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did she want you to hold her?”

  Ernie glanced at her parents. Facing Tony, he softly answered, “Yes.”

  “She needed comfort and affection, didn’t she? That was obvious to you.”

  “Yes.”

  “So the girl you saw wasn’t some poised young woman resolved to have a baby, was she? Marcie Calder was tearful, confused, lonely, hungry, very much upset, and—as far as you could see—without any clear vision of her life beyond this meeting with her child’s father.”

  Ernie considered him. “She was some of those things you say, yes. As for the rest, I just don’t know what she was thinking.”

  Tony skipped a beat. “Just like you don’t know whether, under certain circumstances, Marcie Calder would take her own life.”

  Ernie’s voice turned stubborn. “I saw no sign of that.”

  “But you’re not a psychologist, are you?”