Degree of Guilt (49 page)

Mary smiled. It was surely not her place to say what instinct told her: that Teresa Peralta was falling in love with Christopher Paget, husband or no, and whether or not Terri would ever permit herself to face that. ‘Chris and Terri can still be friends, you know. It doesn’t have to be passion.’

He gave her a wry look. ‘Now you sound like Dad. Listen to him sometimes, and sex doesn’t matter at all. Especially for me.’

Mary laughed. ‘That’s not how
I
remember Chris.’ The thought stopped her, and then other images ran through her mind – a night in Washington, an afternoon in Paris – much more bitter and more lasting. She stifled them, recaptured her smile. ‘We were a disaster as a couple,’ she said. ‘But when it came to picking a father for you, I did pretty well.’

Carlo raised his water glass. ‘Then here’s to all of us.’ He paused, then added, ‘I know you’re going to win, Mom.’

What she could not tell him, Mary thought, was that winning and losing had many faces. That when she had awakened the night before, sweating yet cold in a room that at first she did not recognize, her nightmare had been not of prison or disgrace but of Carlo Carelli Paget, listening to the tape they must never find.

Mary touched her glass to Carlo’s. ‘To all of us,’ she said. ‘And, most of all, to you.’

The room service waiter was a dapper Hispanic in his mid thirties, Paul Aguilar, with a black mustache, slicked-back hair, and a confident smile. The act of testifying before the world seemed not to bother him at all.

‘Can you identify,’ Sharpe asked, ‘the woman you saw with Mr Ransom?’

Her manner was relaxed; Paget guessed that she had worked with Aguilar extensively, and that he made a good witness.

‘The defendant, Miss Carelli.’ Aguilar straightened in his chair, pointing at Mary. ‘Even without seeing her on television, Miss Carelli would be hard to forget.’

‘How gallant,’ Mary murmured to Paget. On the other side of him, Terri watched Aguilar intently; Paget sensed that he already concerned her.

‘Once Mr Ransom let you in, what happened next?’

‘The usual thing. I asked him where to place the champagne bucket, and he said the coffee table. So I put it there in front of Miss Carelli.’

‘At that time, did Ms Carelli say anything to you?’

‘Nothing, except to thank me.’ He smiled, as if in pleasure at this brush with the famous. ‘She seemed very nice.’

‘Was there anything unusual in her manner?’

‘No. She was just like I’d expect her to be.’

‘And how was that?’

‘Classy.’ Aguilar seemed to wrinkle his nose at the word. ‘That’s not exactly what I mean. Very poised, very relaxed, like someone who always knows what to do.’

Sharpe, Paget realized, was asking Aguilar to paint a word picture of a woman at ease, self-possessed and unconcerned. He made the snap judgment not to object.

‘Did she seem worried about anything?’

Aguilar’s shrug said that the thought had never occurred to him. ‘Not that I saw.’

‘Or unfriendly to Mr Ransom?’

‘No.’ He gave a smile of bemusement, as if still deciphering Ransom’s death. ‘She didn’t look hostile at all. I thought they were friends, spending a few hours alone.’ He smiled again. ‘In my business, you see that a lot.’

On the bench, Masters frowned. ‘He’s making this seem like a date,’ Mary whispered to Paget.

Paget turned to her slightly, still watching Masters. ‘I’d make it look worse by complaining,’ he whispered back. ‘Let’s hope that this guy hangs himself.’

‘Did Mr Ransom say anything?’ Sharpe was asking.

Aguilar nodded vigorously. ‘I said something to
him
about how much I liked his books. So he told me that compliments like that were what kept him writing. He made me feel good I’d spoken up.’ He gave a sheepish smile. ‘I’m a room service waiter, you know. It’s not my place to push myself on people.’

With one innocuous question, Paget thought, Sharpe had made both Ransom and Aguilar seem more human. He felt Mary tense beside him.

Sharpe paused for a moment, as if preparing some ultimate thrust. ‘During this time,’ she asked, ‘did you happen to notice whether the sitting room blinds were closed or open?’

‘Open. Definitely.’

‘And how are you so sure?’

Aguilar smiled. ‘Because I remember Mr Ransom had a nice view of Berkeley, across the bay. So I looked out, imagining I could see my cousin’s old house.’ He turned, explaining to Masters, ‘I used to spend a lot of time with him. My cousin, I mean.’

Caroline Masters nodded. To Paget, her expression said that Aguilar’s charm was lost on her; quickly, Paget adjusted his impression of how far he could go on cross.

‘Before you left,’ Sharpe continued, ‘did Mr Ransom do anything else?’

‘He signed the check, of course.’ Aguilar smiled again. ‘Then he gave me a nice tip, clapped me on the back, and winked.’

‘He winked?’

‘Yes. Like to tell me he was lucky.’ He spread his arms, as if to affirm the pleasure of life itself, the understanding of one man for another. ‘You know, that he’s alone with this beautiful woman and feeling good.’

Masters’s frown had deepened. She turned to Aguilar. ‘Are you sure he didn’t have something in his eye?’

Aguilar looked puzzled, as if Judge Masters did not appreciate this moment of shared humanity. ‘No,’ he said. ‘It was a wink.’

‘I see,’ Masters said in her flattest voice. ‘Go ahead, Ms Sharpe.’

Sharpe gazed at her for a moment. When Terri turned to him, Paget whispered, ‘I don’t think Caroline will be checking into the Flood very soon. At least not without bringing her own champagne.’

But Sharpe was moving closer to the witness, with an air of expectancy Paget did not like. ‘Before you left,’ she asked quietly, ‘did either Mr Ransom or Ms Carelli say anything else?’

Aguilar nodded. ‘Yes. Miss Carelli did.’

‘And what did she say?’

Aguilar turned to Mary, as if Sharpe had trained him to do so. Softly, he said, ‘To hang out the privacy sign.’

Sharpe paused, letting the moment sink in. There was a first faint murmur in the courtroom, and then Sharpe asked, ‘Did Ms Carelli say why?’

‘No.’ A rueful shake of the head. ‘If a woman wants to be alone with a man, I don’t ask why.’

Sharpe nodded, as if he had said something profound. Then she turned to Masters. ‘No further questions.’

Masters was gazing at Mary. As Masters looked away, Paget whispered to Mary, ‘Is that true?’

Mary still watched Masters. ‘Yes,’ she murmured. ‘It is.’

Paget turned from the witness, listening as Johnny Moore bent forward from the first row, whispered his advice. Nodding, Paget stood and then walked toward Aguilar. ‘Good morning,’ he said pleasantly.

Aguilar nodded; the impression was of a relaxed and friendly man in a service business, meeting another member of the public. ‘Good morning, sir.’

‘
Was
it morning,’ Paget asked abruptly, ‘or afternoon when you went to Ransom’s suite?’

Aguilar blinked. ‘Morning, I think. Late morning.’

‘And you worked from seven to five that day, correct?’

‘That’s my usual shift.’

‘That covers breakfast, lunch, and early dinner, correct?’

‘Yes.’

Paget gave him a curious look. ‘Have you any idea how many rooms you visited that day?’

‘No.’

‘A lot?’

Aguilar furrowed his brow. ‘A fair number.’

‘If I told you that my investigator had checked the room service slips with your name on them and counted forty-three, would that seem out of line?’

‘No. I keep busy – it could have been that many.’

‘Other than Mr Ransom’s suite, can you describe the occupants of any other rooms you served that day?’

‘No.’ Aguilar paused. ‘It was fresher then. You know, the first time I talked to the police.’

‘But you also talked to my investigator, Johnny Moore, two days later. Is that correct?’

‘I remember Mr Moore. Yes.’

‘And do you also remember Mr Moore asking the same question I just did: whether you recalled anyone else you served that day?’

‘I guess so.’

‘And your answer was the same, wasn’t it – you didn’t remember anyone else, did you?’

Aguilar folded his arms. ‘I guess I didn’t. These people were celebrities.’

Paget moved close, ignoring the last sentence. ‘Nor,’ he asked softly, ‘did you remember whether anyone else had the shades up or down, did you?’

Aguilar began to look unhappy. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Mr Ransom’s room was the one I remember.’

Paget nodded. In a tone of sudden understanding, he said, ‘Because you recalled looking out at Berkeley.’

Aguilar leaned forward, as if eager to seize on the reason Paget had given him. ‘That’s right.’

‘Do you make it a habit to look out at Berkeley? That is, when you get the chance?’

‘When I think about it.’ Aguilar smiled. ‘The views in the Mission District, where
I
live, aren’t so hot.’

Paget smiled back. ‘Do you happen to recall,’ he asked pleasantly, ‘how many rooms you visited that day that had views of Berkeley from the tenth floor or above?’

Aguilar stared at him. ‘No.’

‘Twelve rooms,’ Paget said in the flat voice of authority. ‘And three suites. All with views of Berkeley. Does that sound right to you?’

Aguilar paused, giving him a trapped, wary look. ‘Could be.’

‘Must have been quite a nostalgic day for you,’ Paget observed.

‘
Your Honor
,’ Sharpe called out. ‘That wasn’t a proper question, and this has gone too far.’

‘It wasn’t,’ Masters agreed, ‘and this has. Move it along, Mr Paget.’

The judge did not, Paget saw, look particularly annoyed. ‘Are you still quite sure,’ he asked Aguilar, ‘that
Mr Ransom’s
shades were open?’

‘Yes.’

‘Because it is one of fifteen rooms you saw that day with a scenic view of Berkeley?’

‘No.’ Aguilar’s voice was emphatic. ‘Because of Miss Carelli.’

‘
Miss Carelli
.’ Paget stretched out the name. ‘Yes, she does seem to have captured your imagination.’

Paget lent the last three words a faint sardonic edge. Caroline Masters caught it, he saw; a fleeting smile came and went. But Aguilar did not seem to follow him.

‘Yes,’ he agreed, ‘I remembered her.’

‘How long were you in that room, Mr Aguilar?’

Aguilar shook his head. ‘No way I can recall.’

‘You’re trained, are you not, to get in and out of a room quickly?’

‘Yes. People like their privacy.’

‘And all you had to do in this case was set down an ice bucket and two glasses, is that right?’

‘And have Mr Ransom sign the check.’

‘A simple job, right?’

‘I would say so.’

‘So that if you told Mr Moore that you had been in Mr Ransom’s suite for about a minute and a half, would that still sound right?’

Aguilar paused. ‘I guess so,’ he finally said.

‘So that your testimony for Ms Sharpe this morning is based on roughly ninety seconds in one of forty-three hotel rooms you visited that day. Is that correct?’

Aguilar’s mouth set in a stubborn line. ‘I remember what I saw.’

‘And what you saw, you believe, was that Ms Carelli seemed “relaxed”?’

‘Yes.’ Aguilar nodded. ‘She seemed comfortable with Mr Ransom.’

Paget stared at him. ‘Did they actually say anything to each other?’

Aguilar looked from Paget to Johnny Moore, sitting next to Carlo in the front row. ‘Not that I remember.’

‘Or say anything to you
about
each other?’

‘No. Not that.’

‘Or touch each other?’

Aguilar stared at him. ‘No.’

‘Or even smile at each other?’

‘No.’

‘In other words, each of them
talked
only to you, and
smiled
only at you, and yet you concluded they were “relaxed” with each other.’

‘Mr Ransom did order champagne, sir.’ Aguilar paused. ‘And then he winked at me.’

Paget smiled. ‘Are you sure, Mr Aguilar, that Mr Ransom wasn’t simply attracted to
you
?’

There was a ripple of laughter. Aguilar looked indignant. ‘Of course not.’

‘Really? But he
touched
you too, correct?’

‘He clapped me on the back.’

Paget shook his head. ‘I wasn’t there, Mr Aguilar, but it sounds pretty suggestive to me. Seems like a good thing you got in and out of there in ninety seconds.’

The courtroom erupted in laughter. Sharpe was quickly on her feet. ‘Objection, Your Honor. Mr Paget is badgering this witness.’

‘Really?’ Masters asked her. ‘According to the testimony
you
just elicited, within a couple of minutes Mr Aguilar served some champagne, sized up Ms Carelli, observed the state of the windows, relived a few childhood memories, offered his views on literature, and did a little male bonding with Mr Ransom. I’d love to know what happened in the other forty-two rooms.’

Paget found himself laughing with everyone else. Sharpe waited for the sound to die. ‘With respect, Your Honor; that summary is unfair to this witness. And it misses two central points: that the blinds were open when Ms Carelli
arrived
and that, when Mr Aguilar
left
, she asked him to ensure her privacy.’

Masters nodded. ‘In my fascination with Mr Aguilar’s interpretive powers, I forgot to mention that I was sustaining your objection.’ She turned to Paget. ‘I understand your point, Mr Paget: this witness’s views regarding Mr Ransom and Ms Carelli are merely conjecture. Do you have anything else?’

Paget hesitated, disappointed; Masters’s intervention, as favorable as it seemed, had saved the witness from potential devastation. Now he had to deal with the most difficult point of all. ‘It was your testimony, as I recall, that Ms Carelli asked you to hang the privacy sign.’