The Pact (50 page)

“Yes. Some of them didn't, of course, but we met several times during writing conferences, and I can tell you from speaking to Chris that he was quite strong in his convictions.”

“Could you read, Mrs. Bertrand, the part that's marked off on the bottom of page four?” The teacher held the paper at arm's length, squinting. “ 'There is not really an issue about choice at all. It is against the law to cut short someone's life, and that law must apply universally. To say that a fetus is not a life is to split hairs, since most bodily systems are in place at the time most abortions are undertaken. To say that it is a woman's right to choose is also unclear, because it is not only her body but another's as well.' ” She glanced up, waiting.

“You're right; that is pretty clear. In your opinion, Mrs. Bertrand, would Chris Harte have killed his girlfriend because he found out she was pregnant?”

“Objection,” Barrie said. “She's an English teacher, not a mind reader.”

“I'll allow it,” Puckett answered.

Jordan glanced at Barrie. “Would you like me to repeat that question, Mrs. Bertrand? In your opinion, would Chris Harte have killed his girlfriend because he found out she was pregnant?”

“No. He never would have done that.”

Jordan flashed his dimples. “Thanks,” he said.

Joan Bertrand stared after him. “No problem,” she sighed.

Barrie stood up immediately. “Unlike Mr. McAfee,” she said, “I used to love English. It sounds like Chris did, too. And that he was certainly one of your favorite students.”

“Oh, yes.”

“You can't imagine him doing something as horrible as committing murder.”

“Absolutely not.”

“And, of course, based on that very impressive essay, you can't imagine him taking a baby's life, or shooting his girlfriend in cold blood?”

“No, I can't imagine him killing anyone.”

“Not even himself?”

“Oh,” Mrs. Bertrand shook her head vigorously. “Certainly not.”

“Well. Let me just recap, then.” Barrie began counting off on her fingers. “He wouldn't have taken a life. He wouldn't have taken Emily's life, he wouldn't have let Emily take her own life, and he certainly wouldn't have killed himself. But on the other hand, we have a dead body; we have a confession from Chris saying that Emily was going to kill herself and then he was going to do the same thing; and we have all sorts of evidence placing Chris at the scene of the crime.” She tipped her head to the side. “So, Mrs. Bertrand. What's your theory?”

“Objection!” Jordan roared.

“Withdrawn,” Barrie said.

During lunch, Chris was taken downstairs to the sheriff's office. Jordan brought him a turkey sandwich and ate his own on a folding chair outside the cell. “I felt bad for her,” Chris said, his mouth full. “Mrs. Bertrand.”

“She's a nice lady.”

“Yeah. Unlike the prosecutor.”

Jordan shrugged. “Different jobs call for different styles,” he said. “I was just as cutthroat as she was when I was an AG.”

Chris smiled faintly. “You mean, as opposed to now, when you've gone all soft.”

“Hey,” Jordan said, holding his hand up to the bars of the lockup. “You're not starting to doubt me, are you?” When Chris didn't answer, Jordan snorted. “O ye of little faith.” At that, Chris looked up, quite serious. “I have faith,” he said, “I'm just not sure in what.” He set his unfinished sandwich into the foil and balled it up, discarded. “What happens,” he asked, “if I'm found guilty?”

Jordan met his gaze. “You'll have a sentencing hearing,” he said. “And based on that, you'll be transported down to Concord.”

Chris nodded. “And that's it.”

“No. We'll appeal the decision.”

“Which could take forever, and go nowhere.”

Jordan looked down at his sandwich, which suddenly tasted like sawdust, and did not say anything.

“You know, it's funny,” Chris said. “You don't want honesty from me. And all I want is honesty from you.” He turned away, running his thumbnail over the bars of the cell. “But I don't think either of us is all too damn happy with what we're getting.”

“Chris,” Jordan said, “I'm not giving out false hope. But your two best witnesses are still to come.”

“And then what, Jordan?”

His attorney stared at him, face perfectly blank. “I don't know.” THERE WAS a SLIGHT HUBBUB in the afternoon when Stephanie Newell took the stand, and someone sitting in the back row of the courtroom threw a rotten tomato that landed square on her blouse, yelling, “Murderer!” before he ran out the door. Following a minor recess, during which Stephanie was given a clean shirt and the police were called in to deal with the small-scale antiabortion display, the court reconvened. By the time Stephanie Newell actually got on the witness stand and stated her credentials, most of the jury had already deduced that Emily Gold had come to Planned Parenthood looking for an abortion.

“I was the counselor,” she said, “assigned to Emily's case.”

“Do you have a file on her?” Jordan asked.

“Yes.”

“When did you meet with Emily?”

“I first met with her on October second.”

“What did you do at that meeting?”

“I held a preliminary interview with Emily, and explained the results of the positive pregnancy test and her options.”

“When was your next meeting?”

“October tenth. We require a pre-abortion counseling session, and the abortion is paid for at that time. We also ask if someone will be there to help the woman through the procedure.”

“Like the father of the child?”

“Exactly. Or, in the case of a teen, her parents. But Emily indicated that her parents were not supportive, that she hadn't told the father about the baby, and that she didn't want to.”

“How did you respond to that?”

“I told her that she should tell the father, if only so that she had someone to lean on.”

“And when did the two of you next meet?”

“October eleventh. That was the date that the abortion was scheduled. The counselor is present to offer support before, during, and afterward.”

Jordan walked toward the jury box. “Did the abortion take place?”

“No, something upset Emily and she decided against having the procedure.” Jordan leaned both elbows against the railing. “Was that strange?”

“Oh, no. It actually happens quite a lot. People back out at the very last minute all the time.”

“What did you do after she decided not to abort the baby?”

Stephanie sighed. “I counseled her to tell the father.”

“What was her reaction?”

“She got even more upset, so I dropped the subject,” Stephanie said.

“When was the last time you met with Emily Gold, Ms. Newell?”

“On November seventh, the afternoon before she died.”

“Why did you see her that day?”

“We had previously scheduled the appointment.”

“Was Emily Gold upset about something that day?”

“Objection,” Barrie said. “Speculative.”

“Overruled,” Puckett said.

“Did Emily Gold seem upset to you?” Jordan rephrased.

“Very much so,” Stephanie said.

“Did she tell you why?”

“She said she felt like she'd run out of options. She didn't know what to do about the baby.”

“What did you tell her?”

“I reiterated that she should talk to the father. That he might offer more support than she expected.”

“How much time did you spend talking about whether or not she should tell the father?” Jordan asked.

“Most of the session ... an hour.”

“In your opinion, when she left that office, was she going to tell the father about the baby?”

“No. Nothing I said could make her change her mind.”

“During the five weeks you met with her, did Emily at any time waver about whether or not she was going to tell the father about the baby?”

“No.”

“Do you have any reason to believe that she would have changed her mind after that last session?”

“No, I don't.”

Jordan sat down. “Your witness,” he said.

Barrie walked toward the witness box. “Ms. Newell, you met with Emily on November seventh?”

“Yes.”

“What time?”

“She had a four o'clock appointment. From four to five.”

“Are you aware that Emily Gold's death occurred sometime between eleven and midnight that night?”

“Yes.”

“Between five and eleven is, let's see ...” Barrie tapped her chin. “Six hours. Were you with Emily during that time?”

“No, I wasn't.”

“Did you ever meet Chris?”

“No.”

“Were you party to any of their conversations together during the six hours before she died?”

“No.”

“So, Ms. Newell,” Barrie said, “is it possible that Emily did decide to tell Chris about the baby, after all?”

“Well... yes, I guess so.”

“Thank you,” the prosecutor said.

Michael Gold walked to the stand with all the enthusiasm of a condemned man. He kept his eyes trained on the judge, deliberately refusing to see either Melanie, on his left, or James Harte, on his right. As soon as he was seated, his hand on the Bible, he looked at Chris. And he thought, I am doing this for you.

In his heart, he could not imagine Chris murdering his daughter. The prosecution could have shown Michael a smoking gun with Chris's hand still on it, and he'd have had trouble believing it. But there was a small seed of doubt in his mind, one with the potential to grow to enormous proportions, which asked, How do you know? And he didn't. No one did but Chris, and Emily, and it was possible that Chris had done the unthinkable. Which was why he would not give Jordan McAfee what he wanted.

Michael and Jordan had met four nights ago to go over his testimony. “If you tell the jury outright that Chris did not kill your daughter,” Jordan had said, “then Chris will have a fighting chance.” Michael had politely agreed to think about it. But what if? that little voice had said. What if?

He stared, now, at the boy his daughter had loved. The boy who'd made a baby with her. And he silently apologized for what he would not say.

“Mr. Gold,” Jordan said gently, “thank you for being here today.” Michael nodded. “It must seem strange to be testifying for the defense,” he added. “After all, this is a murder trial, and the defendant is accused of killing your daughter.”

“I know.”

“Can I ask you why you decided to testify today, for the defense?” Michael licked his lips, his brain mechanically shuffling forth the answer he'd practiced with Jordan. “Because I knew Chris every bit as well as I knew my daughter.”

“I'll be brief, Mr. Gold, and I'll try to make this as painless as possible. Could you describe your relationship with Emily?”

“I was very close to her. She was my only child.”

“Tell us about Chris. How did you know him?”

Michael's eyes touched on Chris, sitting very still in his chair. “I've known him since the day he was born.”

“What was the age difference between Chris and Emily?”

“Three months. In fact Chris's mother helped deliver Emily-I was a little late. Chris was in the hospital room with my daughter before I was.”

“And you watched them grow up together?”

“Oh, yeah. They were inseparable, from the first day they shared a bassinet. Chris used to be underfoot in our house just as much, I guess, as Emily used to be underfoot at the Hartes'.”

“When did they move from being friends to ... something more?”

“They started dating when Emily was thirteen.”

“How did you feel about that?” Jordan asked.

Michael picked at the sleeve of his sportsjacket. “How does any father feel about that?” he mused.

“I was protective; she was always going to be my little girl. But I couldn't think of anyone else I'd rather have Emily explore all that with. It was going to happen at some point, and I knew and trusted Chris. I certainly trusted him with the most important thing in my life-my daughter. In fact I'd been trusting him with her for years, by then.”

“What was your perception of their relationship?”

“They were very, very close. More so than the average teenager, I think. They confided in each other all the time. God ... I can't think of anything Emily didn't tell Chris. He was her best friend, and she was his, and if that was moving onto a slightly more adult level, it was probably time for it.”

“How much time did she spend with Chris?”

“Hours.” Michael smiled faintly. “Every waking minute, it sometimes seemed.”

“Would it be fair to say that Chris saw Emily more than you did?”

“Yes.” He grinned. “I guess I saw her about as much as any parent sees a teenager.” Jordan laughed. “I know what you mean, I've got one of them at home. At least I hope he's at home.” He walked toward the witness stand. “So you didn't see Emily all that often, timewise, but you still felt very close to her?”

“Absolutely. We always ate breakfast together, and we'd talk the whole time.” Jordan softened the edges of his voice. “Mr. Gold, did you know that Emily was sexually active?” Michael turned red. “I... maybe I suspected it. But I don't think any father really wants to know that.”

“Was it something Emily discussed with you?”

“No. I think it would have made her as uncomfortable as it makes me.” Jordan reached toward the railing of the witness stand, bridging the distance between himself and Michael. “Did she tell you she was pregnant?”

“I had no idea.”

“To your knowledge, did she tell your wife?”

“No.”

“She was very close to you and your wife, but she didn't tell you?”

“No.” Michael looked up at Jordan, offering the smallest gift he could. “I think it was the sort of thing Emily wouldn't have told anyone.”

“So Emily didn't mention her pregnancy. Did she tell you she was depressed?”

“No, she didn't.” Michael swallowed, knowing it was coming to this. “And I didn't notice it myself.”

“You didn't see her all that often because she was with Chris-”

“I know,” Michael said, his voice hollow. “But that doesn't work as an excuse. She hadn't been eating very much; and she was under a great deal of stress, with college applications and everything. And I thought... I thought that there was just a lot going on in her life.” He reached for a glass of water set out for the witness and took a sip, blotting his lips with the back of his hand. “I keep thinking,” he said softly, "that I'm going to find a note. One that I can use to make myself feel better. But I haven't.