“Did you have any contact of any kind with Dr. Hofstra after you returned to school for the fall term?”
“No, I didn’t!” Robin says even more vehemently.
I let her step down, certain she hasn’t killed us. Beside me, Dade is wideeyed at Robin’s testimony. It is clear she didn’t give a speech in communications class about what she had done during summer vacation.
“I call Joe Hofstra,” I say, feeling my stomach tighten with anticipation.
Sporting a beard he didn’t have when I went to his office almost two weeks ago, and wearing a black suit and black wingtip shoes, he looks as if he has dressed for his own funeral. I don’t waste any time trying to bury him.
“How many times did you have intercourse with Robin Perry?”
He looks helplessly at Binkie, and puts his hand to his mouth. For a moment I think he will be sick right on the witness stand.
“Six, six, I think,” he stammers.
“Who, Dr. Hofstra, in your opinion, initiated the relationship between you and Robin?” I ask, realizing I will enjoy making this guy sweat.
Hofstra hesitates, knowing this is an important question. His career as well as a sexual harassment suit may hang in the balance.
“She began dropping by my office a couple of times a week,” he says carefully.
“She was smart and an excellent student, and I enjoyed talking to her. After my class ended the first semester of summer school, I called her. She agreed to see me, and I began getting a room for us at the Ozark Motel.”
“Did you ever go to her apartment that summer?”
Hofstra looks pained but says, “I went there three or four times.”
This is news to me, but it shouldn’t come as a surprise that Lauren didn’t know everything. If Hofstra weren’t such a sleaze, I might feel sorry for him. In addition to his miserable expression, his voice exudes the right tone of contrition, the perfect note of guilt. He is letter perfect in his role as erring husband and teacher. I realize his wife will probably forgive him and nothing will happen to him. For all I know, some of his male colleagues may be secretly envious when this case is all over.
“While you were there, did you ever see Robin’s roommate Lauren Denney?”
“She came in once while I was at the apartment,” Hofstra admits.
“I think Robin thought she was gone for the weekend. I got up and left.”
Grudgingly, I realize that Binkie has done a great job of wood shedding this guy. It couldn’t have been easy.
“Who ended the affair, in your opinion?”
Hofstra tugs at his collar.
“It was a mutual decision.”
This is a departure from the party line, but if he wants to save his marriage, he had to say it.
“Do you recall what was said by each of you to end your relationship?”
Hofstra winces.
“We both acknowledged we felt guilty because of my family. We agreed that we would think about it over the break after summer school. That was the last time we spoke. I haven’t seen or talked to her until today.”
This last comment seems false. Either she is protecting him, or he is protecting her. Even if he is telling the truth, one of them would have wanted more closure than that. I glance over at Judge Franklin to see how much of this he is buying. His expression, detached but alert, tells me nothing.
“You’re asking the court to believe,” I say, pre tending incredulity, “that neither of you said a word to the other after you agreed to go home and think about it for almost two weeks?”
He shifts uncomfortably in the witness chair.
“There was nothing left to say.”
I make a show of wrinkling my nose at this answer but decide to let it go. Franklin surely has gotten the point by now that I think his answer stinks.
“Dr. Hofstra, did Robin tell you at any time during the summer that she was in love with you or that she loved you or words to that effect?”
Hofstra swallows hard.
“Yes.”
“And you, sir, did you tell Robin that you loved her or words to that effect?”
Hofstra studies his hands but says in an audible voice, “Yes.”
I stand by the lectern, feigning more amazement. I know what I’d be saying on closing argument to a jury:
Ladies and gentlemen, can you really believe that after a gloriously exciting summer of twice a week office visits, sneaking off to a motel on six separate occasions and a mutual declaration of love, these two just ended it and never even said another word to each other?
“Your witness,” I tell Binkie.
Binkie, to my surprise, declines to question Hofstra, who sighs audibly as he leaves the witness box. I say more dramatically than I intend, “I call Lauren Denney.”
Lauren, who practically swaggered out of the restaurant when I met her less than two weeks ago, seems considerably less sure of herself today and walks almost on tiptoe to the witness box. Rehearsing her story earlier this morning at Barton’s office, I had sensed she was nervous, but now she won’t even look me in the eye. Judge Franklin tells her twice to speak up, and I have a terrible premonition she is going to change her story. Wearing a red skirt that comes down to her ankles, and her hair in a French braid down her back, Lauren looks about twelve.
Where is the sexy vixen who seemed so eager to testify?
As a Razorback cheerleader she has pranced around in front of a national TV audience; today she looks like Little Orphan Annie. I have no choice but to act as though I don’t have a care in the world as I take her back through the summer.
“Did you ever have an occasion to meet Dr.
Joe Hofstra?” I ask after I have gotten through some preliminary questions.
Her voice tight, she says, “I met him last summer once in our apartment, but he left almost immediately.”
Lauren timidly recites her story more or less as we have rehearsed it twice now, and finally, about to burst, I ask her, “Did you have a conversation with Robin after the football season began about Dr. Hofstra?”
Lauren stares right past me.
“No.”
No? Damn it to hell! I want to walk up to this girl and grab her by the throat. Judge Franklin is practically falling out of his chair to hear her.
“Didn’t you tell me again just two hours ago that Robin Perry had admitted in October that she was still having intercourse with Joe Hofstra?”
“Yes, but that’s not right. She never told me that,” Lauren says, her voice trembling.
I feel like the biggest idiot on the face of the earth.
“It’s not right?” I repeat stupidly.
“Wasn’t that the second time in less than two weeks you told me about Robin Perry and Joe Hofstra?”
“I don’t know,” she says in a little girl’s voice, looking directly at Binkie.
“All I know is Robin didn’t tell me she was still having an affair with him after summer school ended.”
Somebody has been applying the screws to Lauren.
“Have you been talking to somebody to make you change your story?” I ask, barely able to keep my voice under control. I have begun to sweat profusely. I take a wadded up tissue from my pants pocket and wipe my face. I’ve never had a case blow up this badly. I look back at Dade, who has a confused look on his face. Join the club, I think, as I wait for this girl’s answer.
“No,” Lauren replies, breathing hard now.
“I just realized how wrong it would have been to say that. I took an oath to tell the truth, and that’s what I’m doing.”
If this girl has had some kind of attack of scruples, then I’m Billy Graham. I grip the lectern to keep my hands from shaking.
“So your testimony is that absolutely no one has approached you about your appearance here today?”
“I talked to Mr. Cross on the telephone after Christmas,” Lauren says.
“He just told me to tell the truth, and that’s what I’m doing.” Lauren has begun to recover her composure.
“What else did he tell you?” I ask.
“Nothing,” she says.
“He just wanted to know what I was going to say today. I told him I couldn’t talk to him right then, but mat I’d call him back, but I never did.”