"Objection, speculation."
"Sustained."
Gina thought she'd try again. "Bethany, when you gave this first interview, did you remember that you'd seen the license plate at that time?"
Now Bethany threw a quick worried glance at Abrams. "Well, yes. Of course. You mean, did I remember at the time Inspector Juhle asked me that first day if I'd recognized the license plate the night before?"
"That's right, Bethany, that's what I'm asking."
"Yes."
"And yet when Inspector Juhle asked how you knew this was Mr. Gorman's car, you answered that you didn't know how, you just knew, is that right?" Bethany's eyes were glued on Abrams behind her and so, without pause, without turning around, Gina looked up at the judge. "Your Honor," she said sharply, "would the court please instruct Mr. Abrams not to give nonverbal cues to the witness during my cross-examination?"
Abrams nearly screamed. "Your Honor, it is unprofessional and highly unethical for Ms. Roake to make an accusation like that when she knows there is no basis for it."
"Your Honor," Gina shot back, "I object to Mr. Abrams telling me what I know or don't know."
Toynbee pointed, his glare now a constant feature. "And I object to the two of you treating my courtroom like a nursery school. That's a hundred bucks each, and it gets much worse very fast."
Gina gladly accepted the fine. It was worth it because it gave her just what she wanted. The acrimony and confusion of these battling adults had dissolved any sense of security that Bethany might have built up over the lunch hour. Now Gina went back to her desk, took a drink of water to calm herself down, then came back at the witness. "You didn't know how you knew about the car, Bethany, you just knew. Wouldn't you have known it was Mr. Gorman's car because you recognized the license plate?"
"I guess so. Yes."
"And yet you didn't mention that to Inspector Juhle?"
"Objection. Asked and answered."
"Sustained."
She pressed on. "Bethany. Do you remember the first time you mentioned the license plate to Inspector Juhle, specifically?" "Not exactly. I'm not sure."
"Because I've looked through all the transcriptions of your interviews with both him and Mr. Abrams, and you've had five of them. Did you realize that?"
"I didn't know it was that many."
"And I bet you've talked to your mom about this a lot, too, haven't you?"
"Yes."
"And you never mentioned the license plate in any of those conversations, did you?" Silence.
"When was the first time you mentioned the license plate to anyone, Bethany. Do you remember?" "I said I didn't exactly."
"Your Honor!" Abrams again. "Counsel is badgering the witness."
"I don't think so," Toynbee said. "Overruled."
"So do you remember, Bethany, the exact time? Was it, for example, after you came to believe that Stuart had threatened you?"
"No! I knew it before then. I knew it right away."
"Then why didn't you say anything about it?"
"I don't know. I guess I didn't know how important it would be."
Gina paused to compose herself. Despite her best efforts, she found herself enraged. "Bethany," she asked, forcing a pleasant expression, "I read in the newspaper this morning that you've got a grade point average of four point two, one of the highest in your class, don't you?"
"Yes." Perking up a bit.
"And Inspector Juhle asked you specifically how you recognized the car, didn't he?"
"Yes."
"And you knew it was an important question, didn't you?" "Well, not exactly."
"Well, you knew that you recognized the car because of the license plate, right?"
"Yes."
"And you were telling the whole truth, right? Not holding anything back?"
"Yes." Her voice smaller.
"But Bethany, isn't it true that right up until today in court, you never said during any of your other taped interviews that you remembered the license plate? Isn't that true? How could a smart girl like you not recognize the importance of that information?"
"Your Honor!" Abrams called out in outrage. "This is badgering heaped upon insult!"
Damn right it is, she thought. And every word on purpose.
But as Toynbee sustained the objection, Gina nodded meekly. "I'll withdraw the question, Your Honor."
Without Kymberly Gorman available as a witness to refute Bethany's testimony on the alleged threat, Gina didn't think she could make any points revisiting the subject. Clearly, whatever words Bethany had heard, she'd interpreted as threatening. That was her reality, reinforced by her mother's acceptance of it, steeled in the forge of yesterday's attack on Stuart, and Gina couldn't really see any point in trying to change it. Without having accomplished much with Bethany, Gina reluctantly dismissed the witness.
She very much expected Abrams to call as witnesses the two neighbors who'd testified about the fights at Stuart's house, as well as some or all four of the officers who'd responded to the domestic disturbance calls. All of these people were already waiting outside the courtroom. As was Debra Dryden, whom Abrams presumably was going to question regarding her five-day idyll with Stuart up in the mountains.
But evidently Bethany's unambiguous testimony that it was Stuart's car at the murder scene, and Gina's inability to shake that, had convinced Abrams to quit while he was ahead. Certainly, Bethany's eyewitness identification of Stuart's car seemed to put him at the house at the time of death. Since he denied being there, the only reasonable explanation was that he had killed his wife. That having been established, Abrams clearly decided that he wanted to save the remaining witnesses for trial, so he'd have something to show Stuart's defense team next time around that it hadn't already seen and analyzed.
So, much to Gina's surprise, when Bethany had left the courtroom, Abrams rested the People's case. Judge Toynbee asked Gina if she would be ready to begin calling her witnesses after lunch. She told him she would, and he brought down his gavel and called the recess.
Thirty-five
When Gina finally got home that evening, it was at a little after seven o'clock. She walked into her bedroom and changed out of her court clothes. Normally, she coped with enervation and mental fatigue by putting some miles on her running shoes, and she reached almost automatically for her sweats, but then stopped herself. There was very little that was normal about the bone-weariness she was experiencing now.
At last, feeling guilty about the lazy slug she had become, nevertheless she changed instead into some baggy chinos and a black tank top.
Catching sight of herself in the mirror on the closet door, she brushed a wisp of hair off her forehead and tried to smooth away the darkness under her eyes. Sighing, she went barefoot out to the kitchen and ran hot water over a washcloth, which she applied to her face, then made it a few more steps onto the living room rug before she all but collapsed, folding upon herself down to the floor.
Now, pole-axed from the rigors of the day, she lay flat on her
back, awake but nearly unconscious, her chest slowly rising and falling, the tepid washcloth folded over her eyes.
The afternoon session had been grueling and frustrating, which she would have gladly endured had it been effective as well. But it had not been; it had been a disaster.
She'd known that she had to try to get PII somehow into the record, and she'd called Fred Furth, thinking to have him elucidate Caryn's connection with the company, her concerns over the clinical trials data, her professional relationship not only with Furth himself, but with Bill Blair and Kelley Rusnak. Abrams, his objections perhaps numbering close to fifty, had been a bulldog. In the end, having never established a rhythm or even the tiniest objective relevancy to whatever had happened to Caryn, she'd had to excuse Furth without her theory gaining much traction.