Saving Max (27 page)

Marianne smiles. “Pediatrics.”

Danielle leans closer. “And isn’t it also true that in the course of your work you became very familiar with the computer systems of a number of hospitals and pediatric facilities?”

“Of course.”

Danielle’s voice is soft. “Isn’t it also true, Ms. Morrison, that you broke into other computer systems long before you told me how to obtain the password into the Maitland system?”

It is as if a tidal wave hits the room. The judge slams her gavel on the block so hard it jumps. Langley bounds to his feet and throws his hands into the air. “Objection! We ask that the question be stricken and that Counsel be severely admonished.”

Fury darkens Hempstead’s face. Her voice is ice and fire. “Counselor, are you per-fect-ly aware of what you are doing?”

Danielle walks to the bench and stands there, hands behind her back. “Your Honor, I promise you, I am not engaging in idle character assassination. If the Court will permit me some latitude—”

“Latitude!” Langley roars. “Your Honor!”

Danielle takes a deep breath. “It was Marianne Morrison who broke into the Maitland computer system and manipulated Max’s entries—”

“Stop.” Hempstead’s voice is harsh. “You may not proceed with this area of inquiry. Move on—immediately.” Before Danielle can speak, the judge continues. “And Ms. Parkman?”

“Yes, Your Honor?”

“If you have an overweening desire to join your former counsel, just keep going down this path. This is your last warning,” she says. “Knock it off.”

Danielle turns and walks to the defense table. She pulls back the top flap of the box, looks inside, and turns to the witness. “Ms. Morrison, did you keep any kind of record of your life with Jonas?”

“What do you mean?”

Danielle peers further into the box and then straightens. “Oh, you know—photo albums, records, that sort of thing.”

“Of course I did.” She turns to the judge with a sorrowful look. “Every mother keeps pictures of their baby. I must have hundreds.”

Danielle nods thoughtfully. “Did you keep any other kind of record?”

This time Marianne pauses. Her eyes fix on the box. When she speaks, her voice is measured and precise. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

Danielle shrugs. “Let me clarify. Did you keep what you might call a diary or a journal—”

Marianne’s face is implacable.

“—and write in it every day?” Danielle smiles.

A chair scrapes behind the prosecution table, and Langley is on his feet again. “Objection. Whether Ms. Morrison keeps a diary has no bearing on whether Max Parkman killed her son. Counsel is harassing the witness.”

“Sustained,” says Hempstead. “Move on, Ms. Parkman.”

Danielle walks slowly past the witness box and then turns. “Ms. Morrison, where were you on the morning of your son’s death?”

Marianne holds her hand up weakly. “At the hotel.”

“I thought you visited Jonas every morning, rain or shine?”

“Oh, I did. It was just that on that morning—of all mornings—I wasn’t feeling well and decided it was better if I stayed
at the hotel instead of running the risk that I’d give Jonas my cold.” Tears shine brightly as she breaks down. “If only I’d known what would happen! I’d never have left him for a single minute!”

Danielle continues calmly. “So you had not been on the unit until someone called and told you what happened?”

Her sobs are fresh as she struggles to answer. “That’s right—yes.”

“Is it possible that you’re mistaken?”

Marianne glares at her. “No, it’s not possible.”

Danielle walks slowly to the witness stand, places both hands on the wooden rail, and looks Marianne in the eyes. “Does the name Kevin ring a bell, Ms. Morrison?”

Marianne stiffens slightly, but otherwise shows no reaction. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Danielle leans over the bar and gives her a small smile. “Oh, I think you do.”

Marianne shakes her head.

“How about the name Ashley?” she whispers. “I think it’s such a marvelous name for a little girl, don’t you?”

Marianne looks imploringly at the judge.

“Judge!” Langley slams his hand down on the desk. “She’s harassing the witness with inane questions in an attempt to intimidate her!”

Hempstead’s face is a sight to behold. “Sustained. Ms. Parkman, stand back from that witness box.” Danielle steps back. “I’ve given you so much rope, you’ve obviously decided to hang yourself with it.” Her voice is brittle. “You will ask a relevant question of this witness, or I will excuse her.”

“Of course, Judge.” Danielle pulls a blank piece of paper from her pad and hands it to Marianne, along with her pen. “Ms. Morrison, will you please write the following words—Maitland Psychiatric Asylum?”

“Ms. Parkman, you have two minutes to connect all of this, after which I plan to terminate this hearing and put you in jail.”

Danielle nods. Marianne flashes her a look of disgust before she writes the words in what appears to be an expansive script. She hands the paper back to Danielle.

“Thank you.” Danielle pulls one of the rose diaries from the box. As she turns, she pauses to look at Marianne. Her mouth opens and, as quickly, closes. Her blue eyes turn to slits. Danielle hands the diary to Marianne. “I’ve marked this item as defense Exhibit A. Can you identify it, Ms. Morrison?”

Marianne holds it a moment and then gives it back. “I’ve never seen this before in my life,” she says icily.

“I’d like you to turn to the tabbed page and read it into the record,” says Danielle.

“Objection! Lack of foundation,” says Langley. “The witness has just said she can’t identify it.”

Danielle hands Marianne’s handwriting sample and the diary to the judge. “Your Honor, I’d like the Court to recognize that the witness’s handwriting is the same as that in the diary.” After a cursory glance, Hempstead shakes her head.

“I’m surprised at you, Ms. Parkman,” she says dryly. “This is a tactic I would expect from a layman, not a reputable New York attorney such as yourself. You have put on no handwriting expert, nor have you laid any foundation to establish the chain of custody of this piece of evidence.”

“Your Honor, I respectfully request that the cross-examination of Ms. Morrison be briefly postponed while I call Lieutenant Barnes of the Plano police force to the stand.”

Hempstead’s face is stone. “I have no intention of permitting you to disrupt Ms. Morrison’s cross.”

“But Judge,” she protests, “you won’t let me question the
witness to establish a foundation. Once you read even part of this diary, you will know the truth.”

“And what truth might that be?”

Danielle takes a deep breath and points her index finger at Marianne, who now sobs uncontrollably in the witness box. “That this woman is not what she appears. She is no mother. She is a consummate liar, a blackmailer, a cheat and a murderer—”

“Ms. Parkman—stop this instant!” The judge stands, her face dark, livid red. “Bailiff, take Ms. Parkman into custody.” The bailiff moves so fast his shoes squeak. Langley has made his way to the witness box and wrapped his arms around a hysterical Marianne.

Hempstead’s eyes blaze. “Counselor, your behavior in this courtroom is contemptible.” She bites off each word. “Your attempt to malign and fling bizarre accusations at a mother whose child has been brutally murdered is not only wholly unprofessional, but morally appalling.”

“Judge, if you would simply allow me—”

“I do not intend to permit you to do anything to further traumatize this witness or make a farce of this proceeding.” She turns to the bailiff. “Escort Ms. Parkman to the county jail.”

“Your Honor.” Danielle shakes off the bailiff and takes a quick step toward the bench. “I haven’t had an opportunity to respond to your ruling that I not be permitted to continue my cross-examination of Ms. Morrison.”

Hempstead shakes her head in disbelief. “This is neither the time nor the place for you to lodge complaints about anything.”

“Judge,” says Danielle. “I know you’re going to put me in jail. I accept that. But first I have to insist that you permit me
to respond to the Court’s ruling. If not, the appellate court won’t be happy with either of us.”

Hempstead gives her a wary look. “Fine, Ms. Parkman. Let’s go through the motions. The Court sustains the State’s objection. Your response?”

Danielle’s voice is clear. “The defense wishes to file a bill of exception.”

The judge’s eyes widen. “You what?”

“The defense wishes to put on a bill of exception.”

Hempstead’s face is now unbridled in its fury. “Ms. Parkman, I’m warning you. Think very carefully before you push me into this corner.”

Danielle knows that Hempstead cannot refuse to permit the defense to file the bill. This age-old legal device allows the party who feels that the judge’s ruling is wrong to put on the very evidence that is being precluded. This evidence is incorporated into the record so that the appellate court can review precisely what is being excluded and determine if the evidence should have been admitted. But Hempstead knows what it really is. It’s a backdoor way to let Danielle do precisely what she wants—whether the judge likes it or not. If Danielle had simply stood in front of her and raised her middle finger, it would have communicated the same message.

Hempstead crosses her arms and leans back. Her look says
touché.
“Please, Ms. Parkman. Put on your bill. The Court welcomes it.”

Danielle makes a quick decision to put on only the evidence Doaks found in Marianne’s hotel room, which she reviewed on the courthouse steps. The judge can still shut her down if she varies even an inch from the relevant path. She glances at Marianne, who has recovered somewhat, but looks pale and pitiful as makeup sluices down her face. Danielle picks up the
diary and walks to the witness stand. “Ms. Morrison, what is your room number at the hotel?”

Her pinprick eyes stab at Danielle’s. Her voice is strong. “Twenty-three.”

Danielle hands her the diary again. “And you claim that this journal does not belong to you and was not in your room this morning?”

Marianne straightens. “That is correct.”

“This is not your handwriting?”

Her eyes narrow as she looks at the page Danielle has laid before her. She turns to the judge. “That is not my handwriting.”

“Your Honor, we would like to dim the lights and ask the bailiff to pull down the projection screen in order to show the witness excerpts taken from some of the documents.”

“Documents which she has not identified.”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

Marianne turns to the judge, sobbing hysterically. “Your Honor, if I could just have a moment to collect myself—”

“Of course, Ms. Morrison,” she says. “You may step down from the stand and take your place in the courtroom.”

Langley jumps up and escorts Marianne to the bar. She sits a few rows back and wipes her eyes.

“Go on, Ms. Parkman,” says Hempstead tersely.

Danielle nods at the bailiff, who goes to the other side of the courtroom and pulls down a white projector screen. On his way back, he turns off the lights. The darkness is almost palpable. The only real light emanates from the screen of Danielle’s laptop that Doaks has placed on top of the defense table. In Arizona, Danielle had used her digital camera to photograph various pages of Marianne’s diaries and then uploaded them to her computer. She now leans over the laptop and presses a button.

A hush falls over the courtroom. The darkness lends a surreal aura to the words as they shimmer on the screen. The handwriting flows and moves with feminine curlicues and flowery exclamation points. It is a living thing unto itself.

There is a collective gasp from the crowd. Max clutches Danielle’s hand. “It’s all right,” she whispers. She nods at the bailiff, who turns up the lights just enough so that the judge’s face is illuminated. It is as white as the projection screen. She looks at Danielle, who extracts another item from the box. In the dim light, a blue velvet case takes shape. Danielle walks to the bench and hands it to the judge. Hempstead opens it, blanches and closes her eyes. Danielle silently takes it from her and walks over to the prosecution table. What Langley sees makes his mouth go slack in one horrified movement.

Hempstead’s voice trembles. “Ms. Parkman, please identify what you have just shown me.”

“Your Honor, Lieutenant Barnes obtained a warrant to search Ms. Morrison’s hotel room early this morning. He discovered this diary, various ampoules and syringes—and this.” She borrows Doaks’s handkerchief and opens the velvet box. She holds the item on high. “This is my comb, Judge, which was found in Ms. Morrison’s closet, covered in Jonas’s dried blood and pieces of human tissue which preliminary testing has identified as belonging to the decedent.”