Degree of Guilt (52 page)

‘We have no objection,’ Sharpe responded.

‘Nor,’ Paget said, ‘does Ms Carelli.’

‘I would think not,’ Judge Masters said dryly. ‘How do you wish to proceed, Ms Sharpe?’

‘By playing this tape, Your Honor, which
does
speak for itself.’ Sharpe glanced at Paget. ‘I will say only that it is a tape of Ms Carelli’s psychoanalytic session with a Dr William Steinhardt; that we found it in Mark Ransom’s home in Key West; and that we are prepared to authenticate should the court deem it admissible.’

‘And I,’ Paget responded, ‘will say only that the tape is so obviously privileged that the prosecution’s sole purpose is to prejudice the court. Once the court has listened to it, that damage is done.’

‘I’m going to have to hear it, Mr Paget. And then I’ll hear your argument. You’ll just have to trust my mental discipline.’

‘Thank you, Your Honor.’ Paget’s response was formulaic; once Judge Masters heard the tape, her perception of Mary and her lawyer might be changed beyond repair, the contest for the judge’s mind and sympathies lost.

As she switched on the tape, Sharpe seemed to wear a secret smile. At that moment, Christopher Paget hated her; what he felt was not the adversarial passion of a defense lawyer, Paget realized, but the visceral anger of the guilty at the prosecutor’s pleasure. He sat back, trying to keep the shame and apprehension from his face.

‘I keep having this dream,’ Mary said.

As before, her voice sounded naked, haunting; repetition did not lessen Paget’s dislike of listening. ‘It’s as if I shut it off by day, but at night I lose control.’

Staring at the cassette, Judge Masters’s face had none of its usual hauteur. It appeared that she did not wish to look at anyone.

‘I’m in Paris,’ Mary went on, ‘at the church of St Germain-des-Prés.’

Her voice echoed in the room. With its dark wood paneling, the window admitting one square of light, the chambers seemed charged by Mary’s words with the character of a confessional. The lawyers were quite still.

‘Why are you there?’ Steinhardt inquired.

Mary’s voice was quiet. ‘To ask forgiveness for my sins.’

The voices went on: Steinhardt querying, Mary responding; both speaking softly, as if afraid they might be overheard. Caroline Masters looked away.

‘Are they forgiven?’ Steinhardt was asking.

‘At first, I have no sign.’ As she described the dream, Mary sounded tired. ‘Then I go outside,’ she finished, ‘and receive His answer.

‘Carlo is gone.

‘In his place are two empty glasses. One for me, and one for Chris. And then I know.’

‘What do you know?’

‘That Chris has taken Carlo, and that I must let him.’ Her voice was defeated. ‘That my sins are past redemption.’

In silent inquiry, Masters looked up at Paget. He met her gaze, nodding. She studied his face a moment; then, with a self-conscious fixity, resumed watching the tape as the voices went on. At the corner of his vision, Paget sensed Sharpe interpreting the silent exchange.

‘Who is Chris?’ Steinhardt asked now. ‘And what are your sins – in the dream, that is?’

A long silence. ‘Do you know Christopher Paget?’

‘I know
of
him. The young man who testified at the Lasko hearings.’

‘Yes.’ Mary paused. ‘Chris has Carlo now.’

For a moment, Paget imagined that Terri’s eyes shone. Then he remembered that she had never heard the tape.

‘And your sins?’ Steinhardt was asking.

‘In the dream, or in real life?’ Mary’s voice became as cool as Paget remembered it. ‘Because in real life, sin has little meaning to me.’

Caroline Masters’s face was stone. In those few words, Paget thought, Mary had defined herself.

‘The dream, then,’ Steinhardt said.

‘You can’t understand,’ Mary answered, ‘without some background. Did you actually watch the hearings?’

‘Yes,’ Steinhardt said. ‘Like millions of others, I was fascinated.’

‘And did you watch my testimony?’

‘With great interest.’

‘Then we need to start with one essential fact.’

‘What is it?’ There was yet more silence, and then Mary’s flat voice echoed in Judge Masters’s chambers.

‘I lied.’

Masters’s eyes narrowed: to Paget, the effect was that of a contemplative woman putting the pieces together. But watching her face seemed better than living with his own thoughts. Helpless, he saw her listen to Steinhardt ask more questions, to Mary’s answers.

‘Then let me reassure you,’ Steinhardt was saying. ‘The tapes are for my use only, and only to assist me in your therapy. By state law, they are subject to the doctor-patient privilege, which I would ardently insist on even if there were no such law. So whatever you tell me is as confidential as if there
were
no tapes.’

Masters raised her eyebrows at Sharpe. As though reminding the judge to listen, Sharpe angled her head toward the tape recorder.

As Masters turned, Mary confessed to perjury before the Senate.

To Paget, it seemed that Mary repeated the name of Jack Woods relentlessly, like a curse. Once more, Woods betrayed Paget’s inquiry, sent a witness to his death. The memory of hating Woods returned to him, fresh and keen.

‘All in all,’ Mary finished, ‘I told the truth a good deal of the time.’ She paused. ‘What I didn’t tell Talmadge is that
I
had helped Jack do every one of those things.’

Judge Masters’s eyes showed nothing, looked at nothing but the tape recorder. Paget could not read her thoughts.

‘You wanted to protect yourself?’ Steinhardt asked.

As before, Mary sounded amused. ‘I wanted to stay out of prison. Even without that, the life I had worked so hard for would have ended if I had told the truth.’ She paused, voice softer. ‘And of course, I was pregnant.’

Paget inhaled. He felt Terri stir next to him, moving closer.

‘Did Chris know about you?’ Steinhardt asked.

In the silence, Masters glanced at him. Paget saw that she instantly understood the implication: whether Paget knew about Mary’s complicity and, more damaging, whether he, too, had lied to the Senate.

‘Know what?’ Mary answered.

The tape ended.

Without speaking, Masters went to the door and motioned in the stenographer. A round woman in her forties, she set up her machine in a far corner of the office, trying to be unobtrusive. As she did that, Masters settled back in her chair, still silent.

Sharpe broke the quiet. ‘This tape reveals Ms Carelli’s motives,’ she said. ‘And it suggests, regrettably, that Mr Paget has a serious problem of ethics stemming from his own involvement in the Lasko matter and in the Senate hearings. Obviously, there is a second tape, which discloses much more regarding Ms Carelli
and
Mr Paget.’ She turned to Paget. ‘But
we
don’t know where it is.’

Paget said nothing. Masters waited until Sharpe looked back at her. ‘There’s only one thing
I
want to know,’ she answered. ‘And that’s what this tape is doing in a court of law.’

Sharpe stared at her. ‘To listen to this tape,’ she rejoined, ‘is to know why Mary Carelli killed Mark Ransom. No one can say this tape isn’t relevant to motive.’

‘Oh, it’s relevant, all right. And if some court lets this into evidence, your chances of convicting Ms Carelli go up about a thousand percent.’ Masters paused, stressing each syllable. ‘But there’s just no way that
I
will. No way at all.’

Sharpe sat straighter. ‘Without this tape, the court’s proceedings are the shadow of truth. And determining truth is, or should be, our ultimate purpose. If courts become preoccupied with the
means
of justice, no one will believe that
any
court can serve the
ends
of justice.’

Masters leaned forward. ‘Skip the pieties about “justice,” Counselor. There’s a psychiatrist-patient privilege in this state, and
this
tape falls as squarely within that as anything I can imagine.’ Her voice rose. ‘You’ve had me sit here listening to this woman’s secrets, protected by law, without an argument worth making for getting this tape in. Your obvious and only purpose was to poison the court against Ms Carelli and, it seems quite clear, against your opposing counsel.
That
is grossly unjust to both of them and contemptuous of me. Now do
you
fathom how
this
courts feels about “justice,” or should I spell it out for you?’

Sharpe looked pale. ‘No,’ she said quietly. ‘But I would just remind the court that, in a jury trial, I could ask a trial judge to rule without prejudicing the finder of fact.’

‘I understand.’ Masters’s voice became more level. ‘But in my opinion, any judge who lets this in buys you two things: a guilty verdict at trial and a reversal on appeal. I suggest you try your case without it. As for me, I’ll do my best to put this tape out of my mind.’

There was momentary silence, the reticence of lawyers in the presence of an angry judge. The stenographer finished tapping her machine and sat staring into space. ‘Your Honor,’ Paget ventured, ‘I assume this concludes the prosecutor’s evidence.’

Masters looked to Sharpe. ‘Does it?’

Sharpe paused. ‘Subject to rebuttal witnesses.’

‘In that case,’ Paget said, ‘I intend to move for the dismissal of all charges against Ms Carelli.’

Masters’s expression said that this trial balloon, floated to test the judge’s early sentiments, would get very short shrift. ‘On what ground?’

‘That the prosecutor’s case, standing alone, does not support probable cause.’

‘You must be dreaming, Counselor. As
People v. Souza
put it so succinctly, probable cause means simply “more evidence for than against.” Don’t embarrass yourself by filing a motion.’

How much of Masters’s vehemence, Paget wondered, was the residue of the tape. ‘I’ll certainly forgo the motion,’ he answered politely, ‘though I’m tantalized by the specter of victory.’

For the first time, Masters seemed to consider smiling. ‘Don’t let it keep you up,’ she said. ‘Anything else, anyone?’

‘There is,’ Sharpe cut in. ‘I’d like to ask Mr Paget if he intends to put Ms Carelli on the stand.’

Paget hesitated. With each day of trial, the risk of exposing Mary to cross-examination seemed to grow exponentially; the night before, he and Terri had debated for an hour the merits of keeping Mary silent. But now that the prosecution had carried its burden on direct, Mary’s only hope was to build an affirmative defense, close to impossible without Mary herself. ‘My current intention,’ he said, ‘is to have Ms Carelli testify.’

‘In that case,’ Sharpe rejoined, ‘there’s some unfinished business with respect to this tape.’

Masters looked curious. ‘Such as?’

‘Such as whether we can ask Ms Carelli if she visited Dr Steinhardt; or if a tape existed; or if Mr Ransom had it; or why she didn’t tell the police about any of this. None of which topics, it seems to us, are privileged in the least.’

‘Perhaps not,’ Paget replied. ‘But Ms Sharpe is attempting to evade the privilege by tricking Ms Carelli into saying something about the tape – and thereby waiving the privilege against its disclosure – or by creating the aura of an undisclosed tape whose contents are unspeakably damaging.’

‘As the court has already suggested,’ Sharpe said mildly, ‘it’s hard to imagine anything more damaging than the
actual
contents of Ms Carelli’s tape – unless it’s her
missing
tape. And the law is clear: only the communications themselves are confidential, not the
fact
of the communications
or
the existence of the tape.’

Once more, Paget was forced to admire Sharpe’s preparation: for every point she lost ground, Sharpe had a second and third approach, and now had added a softer tone to mute the judge’s anger. If Judge Masters ruled in her favor now, Mary’s cross-examination would be even more brutal and dangerous, with the disclosure of the tape itself at risk with every answer.

‘You can explore those areas,’ Masters replied. ‘But questions like, “Did you perjure yourself before the United States Senate,” or
any
question derived from the
contents
of the tape, simply will not do.’ She paused, looking from Sharpe to Paget. ‘If this tape gets into evidence, it will be because Ms Carelli waived the privilege by blundering on the witness stand. Understand?’

‘In other words,’ Sharpe pursued, ‘if Ms Carelli testifies regarding the contents of the tape, or misrepresents them in any way, the People can play her tape in open court.’ She shot a glance at Paget. ‘Or the
next
tape – if we find it.’

Paget’s voice was clipped. ‘I’m sick of Ms Sharpe’s insinuations. As for her suggestion, it’s impossible to make a ruling in advance. Whether there’s a waiver depends wholly on what’s said.’

‘That’s correct,’ Masters responded. ‘But if
I
think any statement by Ms Carelli fits the formula that Ms Sharpe has just proposed, there’s a waiver. Because – and I must stress this before Ms Carelli takes the stand – the law protects privileged communications, not the fact of perjury.’

‘Forgive me, Your Honor,’ Paget said. ‘But it seems that Ms Sharpe has accomplished precisely what she set out to do: to plant the tape in this court’s mind and to put Ms Carelli at maximum risk.’

Masters shrugged. ‘I’ve already reprimanded the prosecutor. But you
did
ask for this hearing, Mr Paget.’ She turned to Sharpe. ‘What I
will
do is take this tape into the custody of the court. For everyone’s sake.’

‘That’s virtually unprecedented,’ Sharpe protested. ‘Our office can take precautions to protect this tape.’

‘So can I. Anything else?’

Sharpe hesitated. ‘No, Your Honor.’

‘Mr Paget?’

‘No, Your Honor. Thank you.’

‘Then we’ll adjourn until tomorrow.’ Masters paused. ‘I don’t know about all of you, but I’ve had quite enough.’