As Time Goes By

by Mary Higgins Clark

  “I have no further questions, Your Honor.”

  The judge turned to Holmes and said, “Sir, you may cross-examine.”

  Elliot Holmes was a very experienced prosecutor. He knew that there was nothing to be gained in attacking these kinds of witnesses. He formulated his questions carefully and in a respectful tone. He questioned the monsignor in the same manner as he had questioned the other witnesses.

  “Monsignor Quinn, you have testified that you visited the home every few weeks during the last couple of years of Dr. Grant’s life. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, sir. I did.”

  “And Monsignor, how much time did you ordinarily spend at the home during these visits?”

  “Usually about a half an hour.”

  “And Monsignor, is it fair to say that you have no personal knowledge of what went on in that household between your visits every few weeks?”

  “That is correct, sir.”

  “And is it fair to say that you were not at the birthday gathering the night before the doctor died?”

  “Yes, that’s correct.”

  “So respectfully, Monsignor, you have absolutely no personal knowledge about the events of that evening or the circumstances surrounding Dr. Grant’s death?”

  “Other than what I have read in the paper, I do not.”

  “Thank you, Monsignor, I have no further questions.”

  • • •

  It was now close to the lunch recess. Judge Roth directed the jurors to go back into the jury room and said that he would be with them shortly.

  “Mr. Maynard,” the judge said, “does the defendant intend to testify?”

  “Absolutely she does,” he replied.

  Judge Roth then addressed Betsy Grant. “Mrs. Grant, do you understand that you have a constitutional right to either testify or not testify in your case?”

  “Yes, Your Honor, I do.”

  “Do you understand that if you testify, both attorneys will question you, and the jury will consider your testimony in the totality of the evidence as they consider their verdict?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Do you understand that if you do not testify, I will instruct the jury that your decision not to testify cannot be considered in any way in reaching their verdict?”

  “Yes, I do, Your Honor.”

  “Finally, have you had enough time to discuss your decision with your attorney, Mr. Maynard?”

  “Yes, Judge, I have.”

  “Very well, Mr. Maynard. We will begin her testimony after lunch.”

  “Your Honor,” Maynard replied, “it is now Thursday at nearly lunchtime and we are not scheduled to be here tomorrow. Mrs. Grant’s testimony will undoubtedly go into Monday morning anyway. I ask Your Honor to allow us until Monday before this critical testimony begins.”

  Clearly annoyed, Elliot Holmes briefly objected, knowing that the judge would probably grant the request.

  Judge Roth spoke. “I recognize we are at a very important point in this trial. There is almost no doubt that even if we began this afternoon, this witness would not finish until well into Monday or Tuesday. I will grant the defense request.”

  The judge turned to the sheriff’s officer standing by the jury door. “Bring out the jury and I will let them know.”

  40

  Lisa Clifton began to survey the furniture, bric-a-brac, boxes and rugs she had brought with her when she married Scott.

  “Since we’re buying a new house, I’d just as soon keep everything separate,” she had told Scott three years ago when they were making wedding plans. “My grandfather needs to go into a nursing home and he wants me to clear out anything I want from his house. He was a careful collector and had some very nice things.”

  Scott had readily concurred. “My ex, Karen, went on a buying spree the year before we split up. I swear she knew that we were washed up and wanted to stick me with all this modern stuff. There isn’t a comfortable chair left in the house.”

  They had laughed together. That was when I thought I was going to live happily ever after, Lisa thought. We were for one year, maybe a little longer, and then it changed. He changed. She would have to get new furniture for a living room and bedroom, but otherwise she would be ready to start in her new place when she moved out.

  She made a list of everything that she’d stored in the attic, then went downstairs and phoned a moving company. The earliest they could take her was one week. “That will be all right, but I insist you come around ten o’clock. I’ll be looking for an apartment around Morristown. If I don’t find one immediately, I’ll have to leave everything with you in storage.”

  “That will be fine.”

  Lisa could not know that as the clerk disconnected the call, he was thinking, Another messy breakup. Wonder if there’ll be a fight about the stuff she’s grabbing. Well, no matter what, breakups are good for our business!

  Scott got home at five thirty. His kiss was warm, his hug tight.

  “How’s my little girl?” he asked heartily.

  His little girl, Lisa thought. Oh, please. I’m nobody’s little girl, especially not yours.

  She forced a smile. “I’m fine.” She doubted that he caught the sarcasm in her tone of voice.

  As usual, Scott took off his jacket and reached in the foyer closet for his sweater. “What kind of cocktail may I fix for the lady of the house?” he asked.

  My God, how many clichés has he got in him tonight? Lisa wondered, even as she began to realize that her love for her husband had changed to profound hurt and scorn. “Oh, just a glass of wine,” she said. “We can have it while watching the six o’clock news. I’m dying to see what Delaney Wright has to say about what went on in court today.”

  Scott frowned. “I really don’t want to see or hear anything about the case.”

  “Well, then why don’t you wait in the living room while it’s on?”

  She caught Scott’s surprised expression. Be careful, she warned herself. Don’t let him suspect that you’re planning to leave him. She forced a smile. “Oh, Scott, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to sound brusque. It’s just that I’m so sorry for Betsy and I keep hoping that something will turn up to exonerate her. I don’t see how anyone in his right mind could believe Betsy murdered Ted. I mean I didn’t get to meet them until Ted was pretty sick, but the way she treated him was so tender, so loving. Even that night when he slapped her, she wasn’t angry at him. She was sad.”

  “That’s not the way some people see it,” Scott snapped as he stomped upstairs, forgetting about a cocktail.

  When the segment came on, Lisa watched and listened intently. Her impression was that Delaney Wright was trying to be objective, but when she reported the damning testimony that Dr. Grant could have lived as long as five more years, she did it almost reluctantly. She can’t say so, but I think Delaney Wright absolutely believes that no matter what comes up to make it seem as if she’s guilty, Betsy could not and would not have killed Ted. Delaney seemed deeply moved by the heartfelt testimony of the character witnesses who had fervently attested to the goodness of Betsy as a human being.

  When the broadcast was over at six thirty, Scott came downstairs. “Sorry to have been so crabby. But you know how hard it is for me to hear any new stories about poor Ted.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “All right then. You made a reservation at the club, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, for seven o’clock.”

  “Good, but let’s get there a bit early and take two cars. I have to check on some patients at the hospital.”

  Or one patient in your love nest, Lisa thought. “That’s fine with me,” she said agreeably.

  41

  Betsy Grant, accompanied by Robert Maynard, walked out of the courthouse. She was trying to emotionally absorb the testimony that Ted could have lived several more years. She knew that this testimony had been damaging. She hoped that the character witnesses had helped.

  She turned to avoid the multiple cameras a
s she hurried straight to the car. Almost since the beginning, Richie Johnson was the driver who had been bringing her to the courthouse in the morning and taking her home at the end of the day. She had told Robert Maynard that it was absolutely unnecessary for him to drive all the way from Manhattan to Alpine and then back to Hackensack.

  Maynard had arranged for him and Singh and Carl to meet her at the curb each morning and walk her into the courthouse. What Betsy had not said to him was that she needed to keep her head clear, and that his tiresome reassurances were distracting and unwelcome.

  Tonight as usual she had begged off her friends’ dinner invitations or requests to come over and visit for a while. “I need the sound of silence,” she had said apologetically. “My head is spinning.” They had all understood, but she also knew that they were very worried about her.

  I’m very worried about me too, she thought despairingly. She knew that Richie sometimes glanced in the rearview mirror to see how she was doing, but if she did not initiate conversation, he didn’t either.

  When she arrived at the house, Carmen, as usual, was preparing dinner. No amount of persuasion could keep her from being there all day Monday through Friday. Only Betsy’s promise to be with friends on the weekend had kept her from being on the job on Saturdays and Sundays as well.

  Before Ted’s death, Carmen would have his dinner ready for him early, Angela would serve it, and I’d sit with him, Betsy remembered. When he was finished, he usually went to bed. Then she would often go out to the gym or a movie or have dinner with people at the club.

  Or with Peter. But at the most, that was twice a month.

  “Miss Betsy, make yourself comfortable. I’ll have a glass of wine ready for you in the den when you come down.”

  Carmen said the same thing every night, but it was oddly comforting to hear it. Someone to watch over me, Betsy thought. And I can’t talk to Peter. After that impassioned phone call the day he had been on the stand, she had begged him not to call again until the trial was over. “Peter, for all I know my phone is tapped,” she had said, “and maybe yours is too.”

  She felt chilled. When she took her jacket off, instead of pulling on a long-sleeve top, she chose a warm, knee-length bathrobe to wear. Betsy tried to push from her mind the terrifying realization that next week she herself would be on the stand.

  Carmen had the den ready for her. The lights were on, the thermostat turned up, and a glass of wine was waiting on the cocktail table.

  The six o’clock news was coming on. It was hard to concentrate on the local news—a traffic accident on the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge, a mugging in Central Park, a scam by a landlord.

  Then Delaney Wright came on camera. With a sinking heart Betsy listened to what she already knew. That Dr. Bevilacqua had testified that Ted could have lived another few years or even longer.

  I’m going to be convicted of murdering Ted, she thought. That can’t be. That simply can’t be. When I go to prison for the rest of my life, will everyone completely forget about me? Or maybe twenty years from now will the Innocence Project help them figure out that I didn’t do it, and they’ll let me out with a sincere apology? Twenty years. I’ll be sixty-three.

  She turned off the television after Delaney Wright was finished. The face of the young reporter filled her mind. When she was summarizing Dr. Bevilacqua’s testimony, it looked to Betsy as though she was trying to hide her own distress at the damning answers he had given.

  Carmen called her in to dinner, a lamb chop and vegetables. Betsy forced herself to eat. I can’t be fainting in the courthouse, she thought. It would probably make me look even more guilty.

  As she was pouring coffee, Carmen brought up the subject of the missing bracelet. “Miss Betsy, there isn’t a place anywhere in the house I haven’t looked for it. It’s just not in the house. Do you think you ought to report it now? When I picked up the mail, I saw a bill from your insurance company. Isn’t that bracelet still insured?”

  “Yes, it is. Thank you, Carmen. I’ll take care of that. It seems silly to pay to insure jewelry and then not use the insurance when we know we’re never going to find it.”

  I’ve barely looked at the mail since the trial started, Betsy thought. I can’t ignore everything else. Another task that she wanted to accomplish went through her mind. Years ago, when they started their practice, Ted, Kent and Scott had each bought a set of medical books. When Kent was moving into his new office, he had left his books and other personal effects in storage while it was being renovated. There had been a fire in the storage place and his books had been destroyed.

  He had never asked her, but she knew that he would be happy to have the original set that had been Ted’s. As she sipped the coffee, Betsy reflected that Kent and his wife, Sarah, had been tried-and-true friends during this whole ordeal. Certainly when they testified they had both emphasized the care she had given Ted and the tenderness she had always shown him.

  More than that, in his worst moments, Ted had been grabbing these books from the shelves and throwing them wildly across the room. It was a memory she wanted to erase, and she knew that giving the books to Kent would be the first step in softening that memory.

  When she came in to say good night, Betsy said, “Carmen, you know the medical books on the top two shelves of the library?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “After the trial is over, would you please pack them up. We’ll have them shipped to Dr. Adams’ office.”

  “Of course.”

  After Carmen left, it occurred to Betsy that Alan might have wanted the books. She scornfully dismissed the possibility. He’d either throw them away or try to sell them, she thought. This is still my house. Everything in it belongs to me, either to keep or give away.

  If I am found guilty, does Alan take over everything I have? she wondered. For a moment a feeling of all-encompassing loneliness overwhelmed her. She could not call Peter. As it was, the media had gone after him. On page three the headline in the Post had been DEAD DOC’S WIFE AND OLD FLAME REIGNITE!

  It was only a quarter of eight, but Betsy decided to go upstairs. I’m not sleepy, but if I get into pajamas and a robe, maybe I can read for a while in the sitting room, she thought. The room where she and Ted had spent so many quiet, happy hours together.

  Just as she had settled into a chair upstairs, the phone rang. She looked at the caller ID and saw that it was her father. The last thing I need is his cheery words of comfort, she thought, as she said flatly, “Hello, Dad.”

  “Bets, it didn’t go well for you today in court. I mean having Ted’s doctor say that he would have lived another few years didn’t look so good for you.”

  “I know it didn’t.”

  “Gert was saying that I really should be there to support you. She said that the grandkids are old enough to understand that these things happen, and it’s not as though you’re any real relative to them.”

  I don’t believe I’m hearing this, Betsy thought. I can’t believe it. Choosing her words carefully, she said, “I have repeatedly asked you not to call me ‘Bets.’ I don’t want you to come to the courtroom, but you can thank your beloved wife for making the offer. The one person who might have been a comfort, a so-called ‘real’ relative, is the baby you sold for forty thousand dollars. She’s twenty-six years old now and I would love to have her in my corner. Please don’t bother to call me again.”

  She slammed down the phone and closed her eyes before her father could answer. Her overwhelming need for the daughter she had never known wracked her body and soul. She could feel again the brief moments when the midwife had let her hold her newborn infant.

  The feeling passed, and suddenly tired to the bone and soul, Betsy turned off the light and went into the bedroom.

  42

  Like all other witnesses in the Betsy Grant trial, Alan Grant was under an order of sequestration. The judge had instructed that until the trial was completed witnesses could not discuss their testimony with each other, nor could the
y be in the courtroom watching other witnesses testify. Witnesses were further forbidden to read or listen to any newspaper or media accounts of the trial.

  With the exception of going back into the courtroom, Alan Grant broke all of those rules. He read every newspaper article he could find, and every night he surfed the television channels looking for any reports on the trial. And he had been talking to another witness.

  Alan was at the point where he was afraid to check his email or his phone messages. With all the publicity about the disbursements he had received and the inheritance that he would soon get when Betsy was convicted, the pressure was unrelenting. Everybody wanted their money, and they wanted it now. He was able to mollify most of them by telling them that after Betsy was convicted and sentenced, he would be right back in chancery court to get the estate unfrozen and he would quickly get his money. It had also helped when he told each one of them that he would throw in an extra ten-thousand-dollar bonus for all of their troubles.

  That had been good enough for all of them, except one. That person refused to believe that Alan couldn’t come up with any money now, and had angrily told him that he better watch his back.

  In the little sleep that Alan had been getting, his dreams were filled with images of his dearly loved father being smashed on the back of his head with the marble pestle.

  43

  Monday morning Betsy Grant was scheduled to be the final defense witness. Alvirah and Willy had been first on line outside the courtroom door to enter as spectators. They had spoken at length about whether to tell Delaney that Betsy was her mother, and decided to wait until after the verdict was in to break the news to her. They knew how emotional it would be for her, and they understood that once she knew she would have to stop reporting on this trial. When they took their seats in the courtroom, Delaney was sitting in the press row right in front of them.