Whenever he did a job, he was careful to not disturb anything in the safe. If he had to move some stuff to get to the piece he had selected, he put it back exactly where it was. Most people never even reported to the cops that a diamond necklace or a pair of earrings was missing. They kept hoping they’d misplaced it and it would turn up.
Some of the lucky ones had insurance coverage for “mysterious disappearance.” They just don’t know that I’m “Mr. Mysterious Disappearance,” Tony thought.
He looked ten years older than his age, which was thirty-seven. His medium brown hair was already streaked with gray and leaving his forehead rapidly. His shoulders were stooped and his light brown eyes were bleary even when he wasn’t drinking.
He again counted all of the emeralds and diamonds in the bracelet. A fence once had told him he could get thirty thousand dollars for it. Of course it was probably worth a lot more than that, but thirty thousand was nothing to sneeze at. Tony had told the fence that he’d think about it. But something had warned him to hang on to it. And the initials on the clasp didn’t help. “BG and TG.” How cute, Tony thought.
Now that the Betsy Grant trial was coming up, would it be worth his while to get in touch with her and tell her what he knew about the night her husband was murdered?
The trouble was that if he produced the bracelet, he’d have to explain how he got it, and as sure as God made little fishes, he’d end up in prison.
8
The offices of Robert Maynard occupied three floors of the gleaming tower that was the newest and most expensive building on the Avenue of the Americas.
When it was obvious that the prosecutor was treating her as a suspect in Ted’s death, Betsy had asked her estate lawyer Frank Bruno to recommend a criminal defense attorney to her. It was only later that she realized that Bruno was convinced that she had murdered Ted. That was why he put her in touch with a seventy-five-year-old who had the reputation of being one of the best criminal defense lawyers in the country. And one of the most expensive.
Betsy stepped off the elevator on the forty-ninth floor, where a receptionist in a black suit and pearls received her with a gracious smile. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Grant. Mr. Maynard’s associate will be right down to escort you to the conference room.”
Betsy knew that Mr. Maynard’s associate was a young lawyer whose fee was eight hundred dollars an hour. She also knew that a second associate would be in the conference room and that after she was seated, Robert Maynard would grace her with his presence.
This time he kept her waiting for ten minutes. During that time the young lawyer who escorted her in . . . what was his name? Oh, yes, Carl Canon . . . tried to make small talk.
“How was the trip in from New Jersey?”
“The usual. It’s seldom bad in the middle of the day.”
“I’m from North Dakota. I went to NYU for both college and law school. The minute the plane landed at Kennedy Airport the first time, I knew I was home.”
“My guess is that North Dakota can be pretty cold in the winter.” More meaningless conversation.
“North Dakota was trying to figure out a way to attract more tourists. Someone came up with the bright idea that they rename the state North Florida.”
He is a nice young man, Betsy thought, even though he is costing me eight hundred dollars an hour and the clock is ticking as we discuss the weather.
She turned in her chair as the door of the conference room opened and Robert Maynard, accompanied by his other shadow, Singh Patel, walked in.
As usual Maynard was impeccably dressed, this time in a gray suit with a faint pinstripe. His white shirt, cuff-linked sleeves and subtle tie, a blend of deep blue shades, gave off the appearance of well-groomed success. His rimless glasses enhanced chilly gray eyes. His expression was usually dour, as though someone had asked him to carry an impossibly heavy load on his back.
“Betsy,” he began, “I’m so sorry to keep you waiting but I am afraid I have to ask you to make an important decision.”
What decision? Betsy asked herself frantically. Her lips could not form the words to ask that question.
Maynard did not help her. “You have met Singh Patel?” he asked.
Betsy nodded.
Maynard sat down. Patel laid the file he had been carrying on the table in front of him, then took his own seat. Maynard looked at Betsy.
His voice was now measured, as though to let every word sink in. “Betsy, I know we have discussed this many times, but now that we are on the eve of trial we must address this one final time. You have always insisted on going to trial, but I ask you to listen to what I am going to say. The evidence against you is very strong. There is no doubt that the jury is going to sympathize with all that you endured, including that your husband cursed you and assaulted you at the dinner table the night before he died. But we can’t escape the fact that the six people who were there heard you scream and sob that you ‘can’t take it anymore,’ you ‘can’t take it anymore.’ These people are going to testify for the prosecutor.”
“He hit me because of the Alzheimer’s,” Betsy protested. “That didn’t happen too often. It had just been a very bad day.”
“But you did say, ‘I can’t take it anymore’?” Maynard persisted.
“I was so upset. Ted had been doing comparatively well. That’s why I thought he would enjoy seeing some of his friends from the office. But it only enraged him.”
“Be that as it may, Betsy, after the guests left you were alone in the house with him. You claim you may have forgotten to turn on the alarm system, which could be construed as a way for you to suggest that an intruder might have entered the house, but the caregiver is going to testify that the alarm was on the following morning. The caregiver suddenly became ill and had to go home. In the morning she was fine. What caused her too convenient illness? Financially, you stood to greatly benefit by your husband’s death. You were also seeing another man while your husband was still alive.”
Maynard adjusted his glasses. “Betsy, I have to tell you that the prosecutor called me this morning and offered you a very generous plea agreement which I strongly advise you to accept.”
Betsy felt her mouth go dry. Her body stiffened. “You strongly advise me to accept?” Her voice was a hoarse whisper.
“Yes,” Maynard answered firmly. “I have managed to persuade the prosecutor to allow you to plead guilty to aggravated manslaughter with fifteen years in prison. You would have to serve about twelve years before parole. I know how difficult that would be. But if you are convicted of murder, your minimum sentence is thirty years without parole. And the judge could give you up to life in prison.”
Betsy stood up. “Twelve years in prison for something I didn’t do? I am not guilty of my husband’s murder. I would have taken care of him until he died a natural death.”
“Betsy, if you are truly innocent, then of course you must go to trial,” Maynard said. “We will present the best possible defense that we can. But please be aware that you will be gambling with very grave odds.”
Betsy struggled to keep her voice calm. She and Robert Maynard had been on a first-name basis, but now she did not want that suggestion of warmth to be in what she was about to say. “Mr. Maynard,” she began, “I have no intention of saying that I killed my husband. I loved him dearly. I had eight wonderful years with him before the Alzheimer’s began and there were still many good days in the early years of his illness. As you may know, the younger a person is when it sets in, the more likely he is to die within ten years. Physically as well as mentally, Ted was slipping rapidly. The doctors felt that it was time to put him in a nursing home. I didn’t do that. I kept him home because in his few lucid moments he was so happy to be with me.”
The words crowded her throat. “I believe I can convince a reasonable jury of that fact. I have already paid you an enormous amount of money to defend me. So do it! And don’t convey to the jury that you believe that they will come in with a guilty verdict.”
She wanted to slam the door on her way out but did not. Instead she went down in the elevator to the lobby and out to the sidewalk, unaware of the bustling pedestrians going in both directions around her.
It was one hour later before she realized that her seemingly aimless walking had brought her uptown. She was on Fifth Avenue in front of St. Patrick’s Cathedral. She hesitated, then went up the steps. A moment later she was kneeling in the last pew in silent prayer. “I’m so frightened. Please help me” were the only words that went through her mind.
9
Jury selection took five days. Many prospective jurors had been excused because they could not commit to the three to five weeks the trial was expected to take. Others had told the judge that they had already formed opinions about Betsy’s guilt or innocence. Most expressed the view that based upon the extensive media coverage they thought she was guilty. In the end, the final fourteen jurors, seven men and seven women, had all indicated that while they had read about the case, they could start from the beginning without any preconceived beliefs and be fair to both sides. The judge had explained to them during the selection process that fourteen jurors would be selected and at the end of the case, just prior to deliberations, two names would be drawn at random and those jurors would be alternates.
It was 8:50 A.M. on Tuesday morning and the trial was about to begin. Eighteen months had elapsed since Dr. Edward Grant had died. Delaney sat with other reporters in the front row, which was reserved for the press. The court stenographer was already seated at her station.
The door opened and the defendant, Betsy Grant, entered the courtroom, her head held high, flanked by her three attorneys. The lead prosecutor, Elliot Holmes, the chief of the trial section and a twenty-year veteran of the office, was already seated at the state’s table.
Delaney had seen television clips and Internet photos of Betsy Grant, but she was still surprised at how young the forty-three-year-old defendant appeared.
Betsy was wearing a navy-blue suit with a light blue camisole. Her jewelry consisted of a narrow pearl choker and matching earrings. Delaney had heard through the grapevine that Robert Maynard had advised her to dress conservatively and had specifically warned her not to wear the forty-thousand-dollar solitaire diamond that had been her engagement ring. He had told her that it would be appropriate to wear her wide gold wedding band, telegraphing to the jury that she was loved by her husband and was in deep mourning for him.
Next Delaney studied Robert Maynard. He carried his seventy-five years well, she thought, with his silver hair and military carriage even while he was seated. His two associates looked to be in their early thirties.
The visitor pews were already packed, not surprising because of the notoriety of the case. Two sheriff’s officers stood at opposite ends of the courtroom.
Exactly at 9 A.M., the clerk proclaimed, “All rise for the court,” and Judge Glen Roth exited from his chambers and stepped onto the bench.
“Good morning, counsel,” he said. “This is the matter of State v. Betsy Grant. We are about to begin the trial. Are you both ready to proceed with your opening statements?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” they both replied.
The judge turned his head toward the sheriff’s officer standing by the jury room door and said, “Please bring in the jury.”
The fourteen jurors filed into the jury box. Judge Roth greeted them and told them that the attorneys would now begin their opening statements. He explained that whatever the attorneys said to them was argument, and not evidence. He told them that because the prosecutor has the burden of proof in a criminal case, the prosecutor would proceed first with his opening statement. Then he looked toward the prosecutor and said, “You may begin.”
“Thank you, Your Honor,” Elliot Holmes said as he rose from his chair and walked toward the jury box.
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Elliot Holmes and I am a chief assistant prosecutor in the office of the Bergen County prosecutor. During the next couple of weeks I will be presenting to you witnesses and other evidence in the matter of The State of New Jersey v. Betsy Grant. The judge has already informed you of the charges, but it is appropriate during the opening statement that the prosecutor read to the jury the indictment that has been returned by the grand jury.”
Delaney listened as Elliot Holmes read from the indictment that, on or about March 22nd, eighteen months ago, Betsy Grant did purposely or knowingly cause the death of her husband, Dr. Edward Grant. “This, ladies and gentlemen is a murder charge.”
In a conversational tone, addressing the jury, Holmes said the evidence would show that Betsy Grant had married Dr. Edward Grant, a widower, nearly seventeen years ago. “The state does not dispute that for a very long time it was a happy marriage. Dr. Grant was a successful orthopedic surgeon and the couple lived a very comfortable lifestyle in their home in Alpine. You will hear that the defendant was a high school teacher and took a leave of absence about two years before Dr. Grant died.
“But the evidence will further show that, tragically, about eight years ago, Edward Grant began to display symptoms of forgetfulness and severe irritability which were totally inconsistent with his prior behavior and his prior demeanor. Neurological testing resulted in a devastating diagnosis—early onset Alzheimer’s disease.
“It was devastating for Dr. Grant because it quickly advanced, and within months he was no longer able to function as a surgeon. As the years went by, tragically, he was no longer able to function in any independent way. He lived at his home in Alpine with Betsy Grant and was attended to by a caregiver who in his final years bathed him, dressed him, and fed him.
“This diagnosis and steady decline were also, of course, devastating for Betsy Grant. Again, the state does not dispute that this was a happy marriage for a long time. But the evidence will show that this tragic diagnosis and the ever-increasing decline of Edward Grant resulted in Betsy Grant wanting it to end. And when it ended, she would inherit half of his substantial estate as a co-heir with Alan Grant, his thirty-five-year-old son from his first marriage. And she would also be free to pursue a personal life that had so very much changed while he was ill. You will hear, ladies and gentlemen, that during the two years prior to Edward Grant’s death, the defendant had been quietly but regularly seeing another man.
“The evidence will further show that on the evening before Edward Grant died, Betsy Grant invited Edward’s son and two other doctors, who had been in the surgical practice with him, along with their wives, to have dinner at their home. You will hear from these witnesses that during the evening Edward Grant was agitated and angry and did not recognize his former colleagues. You will hear that as they sat at the dinner table Edward Grant suddenly and without provocation lunged across the table, and as Betsy Grant tried to restrain him, he slapped her in the face. You will hear that Edward Grant was taken to his bedroom by his caregiver and one of the doctors. This bedroom was located on the first floor of the home and the caregiver’s bedroom was adjacent to it. During these last months of acute decline Betsy Grant had also moved to a room on the first floor, rather than sleeping upstairs in the master bedroom. They calmed him down and he was given an appropriate sedative. His caregiver then prepared him for bed and he went to sleep.
“You will further hear that Betsy Grant, bruised and shaken from this forceful slap, remained at the table and sobbed, ‘I can’t take it anymore. I just can’t.’
“You will also hear that the doctors and their wives and Edward Grant’s son, Alan, left soon thereafter. The caregiver will testify that she ordinarily would have stayed overnight in a room adjacent to where Edward Grant slept, but that she suddenly felt ill and left to go to her own home at about 9 P.M. She will tell you that Betsy Grant assured her it would be all right if she left and that she would take care of her husband if he needed any assistance.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the caregiver will tell you that she felt better the next morning and that when she went ba
ck to the home at approximately 8 A.M. the alarm system was on. She will tell you that she immediately went to check on Edward Grant and that he was lying in his bed as if asleep, but was lifeless and cold to the touch. She immediately dialed 9-1-1 and rushed to Betsy Grant’s bedroom to tell her what she had found and that she had called the police.”
Elliot Holmes paused. “Ladies and gentlemen, the events that morning and in the next couple of days revealed that Edward Grant did not die of natural causes. You will hear from the responding police officer, who will tell you that he did not observe any obvious injuries on Edward Grant and that he had been told by Betsy Grant and the caregiver that his physical and mental condition had recently greatly deteriorated. The officer appropriately reached out to Dr. Grant’s primary physician, who confirmed this information.
“You will hear that Edward Grant’s body was picked up by Paul Hecker, the director of the Hecker Funeral Home, and transported there. Mr. Hecker will tell you that as he prepared the body for embalming, he noted that at the back of Edward Grant’s head his skull appeared to be extremely soft, not bloody, but extremely soft, which he recognized as an indication that there had probably been serious injury to that area, possibly from blunt force. This, ladies and gentlemen, was the first sign that Dr. Edward Grant had not died from Alzheimer’s disease, had not died from natural causes.
“The medical examiner will testify that he received the body from the funeral home and conducted an autopsy. He will tell you that in his medical opinion Edward Grant died from blunt force trauma to the back of his head, which in turn caused fatal internal brain bleeding. He will also explain to you that sometimes with this type of injury, there is no actual external bleeding, which is why the injury was not first noted.
As Time Goes By Page 3
