Degree of Guilt (78 page)

Caroline Masters drew back in her chair. ‘I have a private concern,’ she said. ‘It began in this room, and I’d like it to end here. The matter of the tapes.’ She turned to Brooks again. ‘Given that you’ve dismissed the case, it seems that the two Steinhardt tapes I have – Laura Chase’s and Mary Carelli’s – are no longer evidence. Would you concur?’

Brooks gave her a quick, knowing glance. ‘I would.’

Masters looked at him for another moment. ‘There were two things about this case,’ she continued, ‘that I found particularly troubling. The first is the pain that it inflicted on Ms Linton and, prospectively, on Ms Rappaport and Ms Caldwell. But Ms Linton’s testimony was the only way Ms Carelli could make her defense. It’s sad, but if the law does not allow corroboration – as in establishing Mark Ransom’s sexual pattern – too few sex crimes will ever be proven, and too many women will continue to be abused. So there is no help but for public testimony.

‘But that isn’t true of these tapes. If I let them out, some other writer will turn a profit on Laura Chase or – after this trial – on Mary Carelli.’ Masters paused. ‘I assume, McKinley, that what happens to these tapes is a matter of indifference.’

Brooks shrugged. ‘To
me.
Maybe not to Ms Steinhardt.’

Masters gave a thin smile. ‘Then perhaps I should ask Ms Steinhardt whether I should burn them, or simply cut them to shreds. But I won’t. What I
will
do is give Ms Carelli’s tape to Mr Paget. Out of this entire mess,
that’s
the justice I’m most certain of.’

Paget fought back his surprise. ‘For one,’ he said quietly, ‘I appreciate that.’

Masters nodded, then turned to Brooks. ‘As for the tape involving Laura Chase and James Colt, I’m leaving it in your custody. I’m sure that everyone can trust your discretion until such niceties as ownership get sorted out.’

Brooks smiled. ‘Of course.’

Masters faced Paget again. ‘Which brings me, Mr Paget, to the two
missing
tapes: the second Carelli tape and the one regarding Lindsay Caldwell.’ Masters glanced briefly at Sharpe. ‘I won’t ask if you know where they are – I can’t think of any reason for a defense attorney to turn them over. But if there
was
a reason, there isn’t anymore. Not after today.’

Slowly, Paget nodded. He could think of nothing to say.

Caroline Masters looked at him intently. ‘I suppose some journalist can argue that by lying, Ms Carelli brought the “truth” down on herself. But Lindsay Caldwell deserves better.’

‘I agree, Your Honor.’

‘I thought you would.’ She turned back to Brooks. ‘I take it you’ve no further interest in
those
tapes, either?’

‘None.’

Judge Masters stood abruptly. ‘Then that concludes our business. You did well, all of you.’

They began to file out the door. Paget was the last. When he turned, Caroline Masters was already sitting.

She raised an eyebrow. ‘Yes?’

‘I was just hoping, Your Honor, that I’ll see you again.’

The thin smile flickered. ‘In municipal court? I would hope not. For both our sakes.’ The smile faded. ‘But there
is
one more thing I’d like to say to you.’

This time, Paget smiled. ‘It’s too late to tell me that I’m losing this case.’

Caroline Masters did not smile back. ‘Mary Carelli,’ she said softly, ‘is a very lucky woman. That’s what I meant to tell you.’

Leaving chambers, Paget saw Marnie Sharpe alone at the drinking fountain. He walked over and stood beside her.

‘What happened?’ he asked.

‘We dismissed the case.’ Pausing, Sharpe fixed him with a level gaze, reading his face. ‘Or do you mean what
really
happened?’

‘Yes.’

She turned, glancing down the corridor outside chambers. Brooks and Terri were talking some distance away, waiting for their partners; their faces seemed amiable enough, the look of lawyers whose conflict has been settled. Sharpe shrugged. ‘I suppose you’d be the last to tell anyone,’ she finally said. ‘Perhaps I can give you the condensed version.’

‘Please.’ Paget looked at her. ‘So what
did
happen?’

‘Caroline. Yesterday afternoon, she called us.’

Some part of Paget had guessed this much, but it still surprised him. ‘What did she say?’

‘That Dr Bass’s testimony had made her rethink excluding Melissa Rappaport and Lindsay Caldwell.’ Sharpe’s voice took on a slight edge. ‘My mistake, obviously. And that – “probable cause” aside – the case was too murky for Mary Carelli to go to trial. About which, now that it’s over, I’m not entirely sure she’s wrong.’

‘And that persuaded Brooks?’

Sharpe smiled without humor. ‘There was more. Caroline had two choices, she told us. The first was to throw out the case and take the risk of being reversed on probable cause, thereby looking like a bad judge. The second – which she claimed to like better for her own sake – was to reopen the hearing and allow Rappaport and Caldwell to testify. But after
that
, the electorate might return Mac to private practice.’ Sharpe’s voice became a sardonic mimicry of Caroline’s. ‘Of course, she told Brooks, that was sometimes the price of pursuing a case one believed in. But she was giving him a third choice: dismiss the case, and she would help him look like a statesman.’

Paget pondered that. ‘It’s not a bad suggestion, you know. Between Linton, Rappaport, and Caldwell, a jury would have hated Ransom. Mac might have ended up wishing Caroline
had
thrown out the case.’

Sharpe glanced back over her shoulder; Brooks and Terri were still talking. ‘He knew that,’ she said quietly. ‘And there was something else. The tapes. He didn’t want the Laura Chase tape out, given the impact on James Colt’s family. That’s why he was willing to let Mary’s tape go.’

‘A prudent career move, I would think. What with James Colt junior running for governor.’

Sharpe nodded. ‘Mac could imagine the next D.A. walking over his grave. He spent some time wondering which choice Caroline would make if he refused her, then decided to take her up on it. The right decision, I suppose.’

Paget nodded. ‘If Mac
hadn’t
bitten, I wonder which choice she would have made.’

‘Oh, I always knew – I’d seen her with those women in chambers. I just didn’t tell Mac.’

‘Will you tell
me
? Now that it’s over.’

Sharpe considered him for a long time. ‘Caroline was bluffing,’ she finally answered, ‘She’d have thrown out the case and taken her chances. But she’d never have put those two women through testifying in public – especially Caldwell.’

‘You think so?’

‘I’m sure so.’ Pausing, Sharpe gave the wintry smile again.

‘Caroline said that to kill the case, that’s all. She just wanted to be sure about those tapes.’

That evening, Christopher Paget watched himself on television for the last time.

The news began with McKinley Brooks on the courthouse steps, poised and in command, explaining how he had weighed the evidence against the importance of the issues. The story quoted Caroline Masters as calling Brooks’s decision ‘courageous’ and ‘appropriate.’ As Paget had wished it, his own time on camera was brief: he thanked the district attorney, expressed his admiration of Judge Masters, and was finished.

‘As for Ms Carelli,’ the newswoman went on, ‘her comments were uncharacteristically subdued.’

Mary appeared on-screen. Her face showed relief but no elation, and she looked too tired to smile. Microphones jabbed at her from every angle. Carlo stood next to her.

‘I would like to thank Christopher Paget,’ she began, ‘who gave to my defense more than I ever wished to ask.’

She paused there; as the camera zoomed in, she seemed to search for words. ‘I would also like to thank all those who supported me,’ she finally said. ‘Especially those women who came forward to testify – Marcy Linton most of all. In a case like this, regrettably, it seems that there is no other way to defend yourself.

‘As for me, I’m relieved. I will always think about Mark Ransom’s death, but I hope that you will forgive me if I don’t wish to talk about it, except for the issues it raises. For me, it’s done.

‘In three days, I intend to fly back to New York and resume my life.’ She paused again, voice lower. ‘But when I do, it will be with special thoughts of my son, Carlo Carelli Paget. Thoughts too private to share, and too deep not to acknowledge. Like his father, he is more than I could have hoped for.’

Watching, Paget saw the smile on Carlo’s face. Mary glanced at him, then softly finished: ‘That’s all I have to say.’

She had been true to her word. The crowd had parted for her; she had stepped into the limousine without looking back.

Now, hearing the doorbell, Paget knew that it was she.

She stood in the doorway. The black limousine was double-parked outside. ‘Is Carlo ready?’ she asked.

‘Almost. He’s just out of the shower, I think.’ Paget hesitated. ‘Would you care to come in?’

‘Do you mind?’

Paget looked at her for a moment. Then, slowly, he shook his head.

They walked into the library.

Mary studied the palm tree for a moment. ‘Carlo told me about that tree,’ she said. ‘Before, I couldn’t imagine why you didn’t cut it down.’

Paget shrugged. ‘I was waiting until he went to college.’

She turned, studying his face. ‘Are you going to tell him?’

‘No. I’m not.’

She paused. ‘Why?’

Paget looked past her. ‘Because we put too much time in,’ he finally said, ‘believing we were father and son. So now we are.’

Her body seemed to relax a fraction. ‘I don’t know what to say to you, Chris.’

‘Trying would be pointless. Everything you could have said was on that tape.’ He paused. ‘I know much more than you ever could have told me. The good, and the bad.’

She looked down. ‘What about Carlo and me? I’ll want to see him.’

‘Then see him. Just arrange it between you and Carlo. You and I are quits with each other, Mary. At last, and as we should be.’

Slowly, Mary nodded.

In their silence, Carlo came down the stairs. He smiled at them both, looking happier than he had since Mary had killed Mark Ransom. Perhaps, Paget thought, happier than he had ever been; his mother and father both loved him, and they meant each other no harm.

‘You’re very handsome,’ Mary said. ‘You carry yourself like Chris.’

Carlo smiled again. ‘Can’t help
that
,’ he told her. ‘But my friends say I look like you.’

‘Oh, well,’ Paget said.

Mary smiled. ‘Ready for dinner?’ she asked her son.

‘Always.’

They headed for the door, Paget following them; Mary looking fondly up at Carlo. She stopped in the alcove, as if seized by a sudden thought.

‘Can I talk to Chris for a second?’ she asked Carlo.

‘Sure.’

Carlo went out to the limousine. Mary looked after him, and then turned to Paget.

‘Yes?’ he asked.

She hesitated. ‘Do you remember on the tape, when I told Steinhardt I’d have aborted Carlo if you hadn’t bailed me out?’

‘Of course.’

‘That was true.’ She paused again, and then added softly, ‘So when you look at Carlo, and think that you see nothing of yourself, remember that.’

Later that night, Paget decided to burn the tapes.

He took them to the library. Then he threw logs in the fireplace, lit the kindling. He had time, he reasoned; Carlo and Mary planned to stay out late.

For no particular reason, he started by burning the Lindsay Caldwell tape. Tomorrow, perhaps through Terri, he would find a way to tell Caldwell that her secrets now were her own: what she chose to do with them was hers to decide, just as Paget was deciding for himself. He picked up the first tape of Mary.

He paused for a moment, watching the fire burn. How many times, he thought, had Carlo watched with him, caught by the sinuous dance of flame against darkness. Then he began pulling the tape from its spindle.

When the front door opened, Paget started.

It was Carlo.

He heard his son walk to the library, drawn by the firelight and the crackling logs. By instinct, Paget picked up the second tape. Mary, saying that Carlo was not his son.

The boy stood in the entrance. ‘What are you doing?’ he asked.

There was nothing he could say now, Paget knew, but the truth.

‘Burning this tape.’ Paget paused. ‘After this, there’s one more.’

‘The one about my mother?’

‘No,’ Paget answered. ‘The one about
me
and your mother.’

Carlo hesitated. ‘Can you do that?’

‘It’s not evidence anymore, Carlo. All that’s left now is a source of pain. I’m free to do as I wish.’

Carlo looked at him steadily. ‘Then can I hear it? I’m your son, after all.’

‘You are, Carlo. But you’re also becoming an adult. And part of that is accepting that your parents are people apart from you, with their own lives and their own failings.’ Paget paused. ‘Yesterday you asked me to help your mother. Today I’m asking you to help us both. By living in the present, and letting us put the past to rest.’

Carlo looked at him. It was so strange, Paget thought, to face Carlo with the secret of his birth clutched in one hand, asking as a favor for himself the forbearance that, if only Carlo knew it, would keep the boy’s world intact. But he could not tell him: in the end, Carlo’s happiness would rest on his compassion for his parents.

‘I’ll always wonder,’ Carlo said.

‘Try not to. For you, your mother and I are what we are to you today. Nothing else matters.’ Paget paused again. ‘Unless, of course, you make it matter.’

Carlo looked pensive. ‘What would
you
do, Dad? If you were me.’

Silent, Paget gazed at the second tape. Then he tossed it, underhand, to Carlo. For an instant, the moment reminded him of that first day in Boston, when Paget had thrown this boy a red rubber ball. Except this time, of course, Carlo caught it.