Degree of Guilt (61 page)

There was a ripple of laughter from the gallery. But Paget did not join it; the faintly slighting comment signaled Masters’s resolve to let Sharpe take her shots at Mary unimpeded by verbal sparring. The first flicker of worry crossed Mary’s face. ‘I apologize,’ she said to Masters. ‘Being charged with murder is quite emotional. I’ll try to repress that.’

‘Please do try. For your own sake.’ Masters turned to Sharpe. ‘Go ahead, Counsel.’

Perhaps, Paget thought, he alone felt a new chill in the courtroom. ‘Let’s talk,’ Sharpe said quietly, ‘about Mark Ransom’s erection. Or erections. How many did he have – one or two?’

‘Penises?’

‘No.’ Sharpe’s voice held a lethal patience. ‘Erections.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘You told Inspector Monk that Mark Ransom got an erection while listening to the Laura Chase tape, correct?’

Mary nodded. ‘He wanted me to see the bulge in his pants.’

‘How long was that before he tried to rape you?’

Mary looked puzzled. ‘I don’t know when he first got it. I only noticed when he touched my knee.’

‘And how long was
that
before he tried to rape you?’

‘Perhaps five minutes.’

‘What’s Mamie’s thing about erections?’ Paget whispered to Terri.

‘You can forget penis envy,’ Terri whispered back. ‘With Rappaport, as I told you, she was hinting at impotence. She knows something – or thinks she does.’

Paget nodded. ‘I don’t like this at all.’

Sharpe moved closer to Mary. ‘And when he dropped his pants, you testified, he also had an erection.’

‘Yes.’

‘And quite a memorable one, in that you recall him stroking it.’

‘I remember that, yes.’

‘In fact, you now remember more about that erection than you recalled for Inspector Monk – to whom you said something like, “It was an erection. I didn’t stop to notice how special it was.”’

Mary paused. ‘I was in shock,’ she answered. ‘Days after, some details became clearer.’

Sharpe’s voice was staccato. ‘Why not how your panty hose ripped? Or why you closed the window blinds? Or what you were doing in the hallway? Or your reasons for wandering around the suite? Why Mr Ransom’s erection?’

‘I don’t know.’ Pausing, Mary seemed to search her memory. ‘I suppose certain details etch themselves on your brain out of sheer horror, and when the shock wears off, they have this awful clarity.’ She turned to Masters. ‘Mark Ransom stroking his penis while listening to Laura Chase describe her violation was one of those. And it defines him to the core.’

‘Move to strike the answer as nonresponsive,’ Sharpe said.

For a moment, Masters was silent, appraising Mary. ‘Denied,’ she said in a casual tone. ‘At the risk of sounding like far too many men, you asked for an erection, and you got one.’

Again, there was muffled laughter. But Masters did not smile, and Paget, watching her, did not care for what he saw; something in her words and manner suggested her awareness of Mary’s powers of invention, and the damage that Steinhardt’s tape had already done.

Sharpe pressed on. ‘Was that the same erection as the “bulge” you described, or a different one? In other words, was Mr Ransom continually aroused from the time that you were sitting on the couch?’

Once more, Mary hesitated. ‘I didn’t watch that, obviously. But I think so, yes.’

‘And between the time you first noticed his erection and the time you shot him, how long was that?’

‘I’m not sure. Ten minutes, at least.’

‘And during those “at least ten minutes,” you say, Mark Ransom tried to talk you into sex.’

‘Yes.’

‘And pushed you to the floor.’

‘Yes.’

‘And struggled with you.’

‘Yes.’

‘And tugged at your panty hose.’

‘Yes.’

‘And pinned you under him.’

‘Yes.’

‘Then slapped you.’

Mary’s voice became tight. ‘Yes.’

‘Scratched your throat.’

Mary nodded. ‘
Yes
. To all of that.’

‘And, after all that, stopped to listen to the voice of Laura Chase.’

Mary touched her forehead. ‘Yes,’ she said softly.

Sharpe stared at her. ‘And during all that time, and all those strenuous and distracting activities, this fifty-six-year-old man achieved and maintained an erection.’

Mary stared at her. ‘I didn’t think of it that way. I really don’t know how to answer that.’

Turning from Mary, Masters gave Sharpe a puzzled look. ‘Maybe,’ Terri whispered, ‘Marnie just wants to discredit Mary’s story.’

Paget shook his head. ‘I don’t think that’s it. She
did
mention the possibility of a rebuttal witness, didn’t she?’

A look of concern crossed Terri’s face. ‘Yes. She did.’

But Sharpe had begun a new line of attack.

‘You acknowledge telling Inspector Monk that you shot Mark Ransom from two to three inches, don’t you?’

Mary nodded. ‘Yes. I’ve tried to explain my state of mind at the time.’

‘And you also told the police that Mark Ransom’s blinds were closed when you came to the suite, correct?’

With Sharpe’s second question, Paget saw with alarm where this was going. Sharpe would force Mary to trace every change in her story to some police discovery.

‘Objection,’ he called out. ‘Asked and answered. How many times must Ms Carelli repeat her testimony on direct?’

As Sharpe started to speak, Masters held up her hand. ‘I’m going to let this go awhile, Mr Paget. Ms Sharpe can make her point.’

‘Yes,’ Mary answered promptly. ‘That was what I first recalled.’

‘But you heard Mr Aguilar testify otherwise.’

Mary stared at her. ‘I did.’

‘And now, this morning, you acknowledge closing the blinds.’

‘The day Mark Ransom died, I was in shock. My recollection comes back in bits and pieces.’

Sharpe gave her a look of open disbelief.

‘And shock, I believe, is the reason you give for the delay in calling 911 estimated by Dr Shelton.’

‘As best I understand my own actions, yes.’

The courtroom was dead silent now. Paget saw Masters’s eyes sweeping back and forth with each question and answer, as if watching a tennis match.

‘But when you spoke to Inspector Monk,’ Sharpe pursued, ‘you said you called as soon as possible.’

Mary hesitated. ‘That’s what I thought at the time.’

‘Isn’t it true that your story changed
after
you heard Dr Shelton’s account?’

‘As a matter of the sequence of events, yes. But that’s not why I testified as I have.’ Mary paused, turning to Masters. ‘Again, it’s a matter of piecing together what happened.’

‘But you already acknowledged omitting any mention of the tape.’

Slowly, Mary faced Sharpe again. ‘As I explained, the contents of the tape were painful.’

‘So painful that you hid the tape’s existence until we found it.’

Mary leaned forward. ‘That’s a way of putting it,’ she said coolly. ‘But I wasn’t just hiding from you. I was hiding from everyone but Dr Steinhardt, the man I chose to trust with my own guilt and shame. What I did with Inspector Monk, in my confusion and shock, was follow the habit of years.’

‘Lying, you mean.’

Mary flushed, faltered for a moment; Paget could feel her trapped awareness that Caroline Masters knew of her perjury. Then, very softly, ‘That’s not what I meant, Ms Sharpe. And you know that.’

Sharpe slowly shook her head. ‘What
I
meant,’ she said with equal quiet, ‘is that you adjust your story not because your memory revives but to accommodate the testimony of other witnesses. And
you
know that.’

Caroline Masters turned to Mary; to Paget, her expression was an odd combination of skepticism and regret. ‘That’s not true,’ Mary told Sharpe. ‘What I
do
know is never to expect compassion. Not from you.’

Sharpe stared at her for a moment. Then she shrugged, as if anything Mary said to her now was too self-serving to require a response. Despite himself, Paget admired that: by some effort of will, Sharpe was mastering her own sensitivity to attack, making herself cooler and more controlled.

‘Speaking of compassion,’ she said, ‘you claim to have been wandering in the hallway – at which point Mr Tench saw you – in contemplation of seeking help for Mr Ransom. But you didn’t
get
help, did you?’

Mary lowered her gaze. ‘Not then, no. As I said, it hadn’t become real to me.’

‘Hadn’t it? Isn’t the
real
reason you were in the hallway to determine whether anyone had heard a gunshot, so you wouldn’t be caught falsifying evidence?’

‘No.’ Mary half rose in the witness stand. ‘That’s not true.’

‘Really. Isn’t
that
also why you closed the blinds – so you wouldn’t be caught fabricating evidence?’

Mary seemed to brace herself. ‘According to your witness Mr Hassler, I must have been fabricating evidence in the nude. But that struck me as so senseless I’ve decided not to “adjust my story” to accommodate nudity.’

There was a murmur from those watching; a bark of laughter. Paget saw Sharpe stiffen with anger. ‘No,’ Sharpe retorted, ‘what happened is that you undressed to disarm Mr Ransom, and then shot him. After
that
, you closed the blinds. That
is
what happened, isn’t it?’

‘It is not.’ Mary’s face was ashen, but her voice was edged with contempt. ‘Except in your own fantasies. And, perhaps, Mark Ransom’s.’

‘Mr Ransom
has
no fantasies. Tell me, Ms Carelli, did you begin to wander about the room, determining the “reality” of certain pieces of furniture,
after
you closed the blinds?’

Mary stared at her. ‘I honestly don’t remember.’

‘You don’t recall when you touched both end tables, the bookshelf, and the desk.’

‘No.’

‘Or why your fingerprints appear on the handle of the desk drawer.’

‘No.’

‘What
was
she doing?’ Terri whispered to Paget.

Tense, Paget kept his eyes on Mary. ‘I have no idea.’

Sharpe paused. ‘Weren’t you, in fact, looking for tapes of your session with Dr Steinhardt?’

Mary’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘I was
not
,’ she said finally, ‘looking for tapes.’

‘Didn’t you find one tape? And then destroy it?’

‘When?’ Mary’s voice was shot through with incredulity. ‘How? Flush it down the toilet? As you must know, I never even entered the bathroom.’ Mary seemed overcome with anger. ‘Mr Paget’s opening statement was right. The prosecution’s case is like a satire of conspiracy theories, written by a lunatic. But then it requires so much more imagination to convict someone who is innocent. Unless, of course,
you’re
fabricating evidence.’

By instinct, Sharpe moved forward. The sound from those watching was muted; Paget could almost feel them squirm with tension. Masters’s gavel cracked.

The two women froze, looking up at Masters. Her face was angry and closed. ‘That’s enough,’ she snapped. ‘I appreciate, Ms Carelli, that Ms Sharpe’s cross-examination is intense. But your comment is unacceptable. To
me
.’ Her voice grew quiet. ‘I’m out of patience. The next outburst will be followed by a contempt citation.’

Mary turned to her. ‘Forgive me, Your Honor. But those accusations are very difficult for
me
to accept. It’s very hard for me to summon the one-way deference Ms Sharpe seems to require while she tries to destroy my life.’

From the public section, someone clapped abruptly. Masters’s tone was cool. ‘The deference
I
require is to the court, from and among
all
participants. As for whether you receive justice here, that’s on my head, not Ms Sharpe’s. You may find it reassuring that mere charges – hers
or
yours – impress me not at all.’ Masters paused. ‘The sole question before this court is whether there is sufficient evidence of probable cause. And I will decide that question as wisely and fairly as I know how.’

Mary’s face softened. When she nodded, it seemed less an acceptance of Masters’s power than of her desire to be fair. ‘I apologize,’ she said quietly.

The judge gazed at her a moment and then said, ‘Please continue, Ms Sharpe.’

Sharpe moved in again. ‘Let us return, Ms Carelli, to the tapes. Did Mr Ransom describe what was on them?’

‘Yes. He did.’

‘Did he suggest to you, in words or substance, that the tapes reflected on your honesty and veracity?’

Mary looked from Paget to Sharpe. ‘He did not
suggest
that. No.’

Sharpe moved closer. ‘
Do
the tapes reflect on your honesty and veracity?’

‘Objection.’ Paget stood. ‘I’d like a bench conference, Your Honor. Immediately.’

Masters nodded. ‘I would expect you do.’

Sharpe and Paget walked briskly to the bench. They kept their voices low. ‘What’s the next question?’ Paget demanded of Sharpe. ‘“Bigger than a bread basket,” or “Does it start with a vowel or a consonant?”’ He turned to Masters. ‘If Mary has to answer questions like those, there
is
no privilege. And if Ms Sharpe throws out any more hints – like “Did the tapes concern your service as a government lawyer?” – there’ll be investigative reporters crawling all over Mary’s life.’

Sharpe shook her head. ‘That was
not
the question I asked, Your Honor. The question I asked was whether the embarrassment and pain to which Ms Carelli already testified relates to a failure of veracity.’

Masters leaned forward. ‘We three
know
what the tape relates to. But that tape, and its contents, are not properly part of the record. And those questions aren’t proper, either. Unless Ms Carelli raises the contents of the tape themselves, I’m instructing you not to ask about them. Or, more devious, what Ransom
said
about them. Understood?’