Part 41 (2/2)
”And therefore, Mrs. Zide,” I said, with as much righteous anger and conviction as I dared-since it was all speculation-”you got up from the backgammon table and went outside before any shots were fired?”
”Objection!”
”On what grounds, Ms. Suarez?” the judge asked.
”Argumentative, and when he says 'therefore' he's a.s.suming a fact not in evidence.”
”I don't think so. Overruled. She can answer yes or no.”
A couple for you, and now one for you, the judge seemed to be saying to Muriel and me. No prejudice in my court. He smiled benevolently at Connie.
”No,” Connie said to me. ”Whatever you say happened, that didn't happen.”
”Isn't it a fact, Mrs. Zide, that you came outside in your bathrobe and saw Darryl Morgan on the lawn or on the terrace?”
Connie waited for Muriel's objection, but none came. Muriel played by the rules. I didn't intend to do that. I had more at stake than Muriel had.
”No, it's not a fact,” Connie said.
”You didn't see Darryl Morgan?”
”I saw two men. I didn't know then that one of them was Darryl Morgan.”
”Isn't it a fact that you saw the other intruder, William Smith, kick one of the puppies as he ran away toward the beach?”
”No,” Connie said. ”I didn't see anything.”
”Are you telling us that a puppy wasn't taken to the vet later that morning by one of your servants, a woman named Martina Vargas?”
Terence had told me about this, but Martina was long vanished to her native Len, and Gary hadn't been able to find her. And when Terence was on the stand, I'd forgotten to ask him about it. I was tired; I'd managed about an hour's sleep on the plane from Newark. There was nothing I could do now except try and jam it through.
But Connie couldn't afford to lie blatantly; she didn't know what other pieces of paper I might pull out of my conjuror's hat.
”I'm not sure,” she said, placing her hands protectively across her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. ”It's hard to remember.”
”Try, Mrs. Zide.”
”I can't remember.”
”Did the puppy live?”
”Oh, yes.”
”So you remember that. Were any of its ribs broken?”
”I don't remember.”
”Any of its legs?”
”I don't know.”
”Either of its shoulders?”
”Objection!” Muriel tried. ”Badgering the witness!”
”Overruled,” the judge said. ”He's just asking questions.”
”Mrs. Zide,” I continued, ”what's the name of the vet who takes care of your dogs?”
Her scalp was rivering perspiration over her forehead, causing her to rub both palms over her eyes. She didn't know if I knew the name of the vet or not. If I knew, I might have checked with him.
”Dr. Merrill,” she said. ”I remember now. Harry Merrill. He's still my vet. I have a black Labrador now, and two golden retrievers. One of the puppies was hurt that night. Broken leg, I seem to recall. Yes, he was probably kicked by one of the men when they ran away. How foolish of me not to remember it.”
It was a small point, but it loomed large. She had lied about the pistol and now about the kicked puppy. She could have admitted the story of the puppy at the very beginning and then could have disclaimed having seen what happened. It wouldn't have hurt her at all. But she didn't know what I knew or didn't know. Didn't know where each lie would lead. Didn't know what was coming next. She and Neil had woven a tangled web; now it was coming undone. She hadn't been in any real danger, but she had let herself stumble and appear counterfeit. She looked beseechingly at Muriel, but there was nothing Muriel could do ... and maybe by then, for all I knew, nothing Muriel really wanted to do.
Connie looked quickly up at Judge Fleming. He was studying her with great curiosity.
I rose from the counsel table and moved two steps closer to the witness stand. I wasn't in Connie's territory, but I must have loomed larger to her, as if suddenly she'd trained a telescopic sight on me. But she was not the hunter, and I was not the hunted. And she could see the look in my eyes. There was none of the mercy she was looking for. Pity was there, but no mercy.
The courtroom was completely silent. No one coughed.
”Mrs. Zide,” I asked, ”what happened to the Smith and Wesson thirty-eight Chief Special you carried in your handbag fourteen years ago?”
”The what?” She seemed confused. ”You keep changing the subject, Ted.”
I knew that.
”Your pistol, Mrs. Zide. You told us about it earlier, don't you remember? I ask you: What happened to it?”
”I don't know.”
”Do you still carry it?”
”No.”
”Do you still own it?”
”No.”
”Do you carry another pistol?”
She hesitated. ”Yes. This is a dangerous city. I have a permit.”
”What kind of pistol do you carry now?”
<script>