Wild Heart (33 page)

There. In the second before he saw her, she blanched from the shock of his pallor, the beard-stubbled gauntness of his beautiful face, and the shadows around his haunted eyes. Like the others, he wore a striped smock over striped, ill-fitting trousers, so loose on his lean frame that they hung on his hips and bunched at the ankles, above shoes from which the laces had been removed. When he saw her he stopped in his tracks, just for a second, before the guard urged him forward with a hand on his shoulder. His face had been set before in a grim smile, expressing polite, stoic anticipation. But when he saw her it collapsed in pain and gladness, and what was left of her heart broke in half.

She had risen when she saw him. They sat down at the same time, eyes locked, and she knew she was smiling the same joyful, anguished smile that he was. His mouth moved. She leaned forward, cupping her ear, unable to hear him over the din. "I thought Philip would come," he repeated.

"He's here. My father, too." She almost had to shout to be heard.

She thought he mouthed, "Your father?" He shook his head to show his wonderment. "Sydney, you shouldn't have come."

"I had to." He couldn't hear. "I had to!"

The people to her right were fighting. The prisoner they had come to see yelled an obscenity at them, and the two adults shouted back. The guards looked on, bored.

"How are you?" Sydney asked, trying to smile, trying to beat back her despair.

"All right." But he looked ill and exhausted. "How are you?"

She smiled and nodded to reassure him. "I miss you!"

"I miss you."

She didn't know what was worse, shouting intimacies to him through a wire screen, or the pained silences that fell between the shouts.

"I like Mr. Osgood," she told him. "He's a good lawyer."

He nodded and said something she couldn't catch. "I'm sorry I left you," he repeated in a low, strained voice, leaning toward her. "That day. Just a note." He made a futile gesture with his hands.

He'd been suffering over this, she could see it in his face, hear it in his voice. "It's all right," she assured him fervently. "I understood—I knew why you did it. I wasn't angry!"

He put his fist on his chest and smiled with relief. In that moment, Sydney realized she wasn't going to be able to get through this without crying.

"Michael, you're going to get out of here. You are, I know it."

His mouth tightened in a parody of a smile as he looked down at his hands, gripping the edge of the table like twin vises. He couldn't lie, so he didn't say anything.

Another awful silence.

He spoke. She said, "What?"

"How is Sam ? "

"He misses you."

"And Philip?"

"Fine, he's fine."

"He must hate me.".

"No. Oh, no, he doesn't, he couldn't—"

"All right, folks, it's time. Everybody stand up, please.

Now, please. All visitors, up and out. Prisoners, on your feet."

She couldn't believe it. So soon! They hadn't said
anything
yet. The noise of scraping chairs and shouted goodbyes was deafening. Michael pushed back his chair and stood, and at once hot tears overflowed. She swiped at her cheeks, dismayed and embarrassed. Damn, damn, she hadn't wanted him to see her like this!

"Good-bye, Sydney."

"Oh, Michael." She hadn't even told him she loved him.

"Please," he said, backing up obediently. "Please, Sydney—"

"What, Michael? I can't hear you!"

"Don't come here again. Sydney, don't come back." The guard stepped between them, blocking him from view.

Someone jostled her. Through the screen she saw a dark-haired man in striped clothes disappear through the door at the back, then another, then another. She couldn't even tell which one of them was Michael.

"All right, miss." The impassive policeman herded her expertly toward the other door without touching her. Outside, another policeman gave her back her belongings. She would have to lie, she realized as she walked blind-eyed with the others toward the stairs. She would have to tell Sam that Michael had loved his drawing.

Chapter 17

In the middle of Mr. Warren T. Diffenbaucher's testimony, somebody came into the courtroom and handed Michael's lawyer a yellow envelope. Mr. Osgood read a little yellow letter that was inside the envelope, and afterward, for the first time since the trial began, he smiled.

Michael wondered what could make him look so happy. A second before, he had looked miserable. Mr. Diffenbaucher, who was an accountant and also a trustee of the Lincoln Park Zoo, had just been explaining how many animals had been lost, injured, or destroyed during the incident. "The incident" was what the lawyers had finally agreed, after an unbelievably long argument, to call the thing Michael had done. The figures had been printed in the newspapers, but something in the way Mr. Diffenbaucher's voice sounded when he said the names and numbers of the lost and dead animals made it worse. And when he answered a question about how much money "the incident" had ended up costing altogether, some people in the courtroom gasped.

But Mr. Osgood was smiling. He looked up from the letter and grinned. He leaned toward Michael to whisper something, but just then Judge Tallman said, "Cross-examine?"

"Yes, Your Honor," Mr. Osgood said quickly. Before he stood up, he passed the yellow letter over to Michael.

"Mr. Diffenbaucher, how long have you been a trustee of the zoo?"

At first Michael couldn't read the letter. The small print was faint in some places and smudged in others, and the top was rows of numbers and letters that made no sense.

"About four years now, sir."

Reginald Cawes, Esq., Q.C., Dillard & Cawes, 10 Ryder St., London SW1.

"And you are also a member of the board of directors, is that right?"

John Osgood, Esq., Osgood, Thurber, Weyland, & Tews, 400 Dearborn St., Chicago, 111.

"Yes, that's right. I serve as treasurer."

John: MacNeils located in Florence, Italy stop Touring Continent since mid-July stop Family embarked for U.S. from Genoa on S.S. Firenzi, arrive New York 17 or 18 September stop All's well that ends well stop. Reggie.

Michael read the message again, then a third time, a fourth. By the fifth reading, he was almost sure it meant what he had thought it meant the first time. Against the rules, he twisted around in his seat to look at Sydney. She wore a different dress from yesterday, and a hat with a veil, because of the photographers. But she had pulled the veil back, and when she saw him looking at her she started to get up. Philip put his hand on her arm. Mr. Osgood, who had eyes in the back of his head, asked Mr. Diffen-baucher a question about his education while he backed up, getting between Michael and Sydney, and without even looking he gave him a slow, firm squeeze on the shoulder.

It steadied him. Whatever would happen would happen. His family was coming, and Mr. Osgood thought that was a good thing. Michael had a different opinion, but he might be wrong. Mr. Osgood was smart, he was a lawyer, people trusted him—Michael trusted him. But he had kept from him one important secret: his parents had sent him away.

Too late to tell him now. They were coming. Whatever would happen would happen. He pressed his fingers over and over the creases in the letter, ran them across the words "MacNeil" and "family" and "arrive," as if by touching them he could make himself believe and not be so afraid. The need to talk to Sydney felt like a hunger. She'd always said he had a family, and even though he'd pretended to believe her he never had. But she was right, and whoever they were, they'd been "traveling on Continent since mid-July." He tried to make that a picture in his mind, but he couldn't.

"Pay attention," Mr. Osgood whispered in his ear, and when he looked up he saw that there was a brand-new man on the witness stand. Michael had never seen him before. His name was Brady and he said he was a patrolman. He started talking about the night of the incident and how he'd been called to the zoo because of a disturbance. He didn't have much to say, because by the time he got there "the defendant had already escaped."

There was a man in the jury box that Michael liked to watch. He sat in the second row, two seats from the end. Michael couldn't tell his age—he could never tell people's ages—but he wasn't young, like Philip. He had neat, thin brown hair and soft-looking skin, and a chin that went from his lips right down into his collar, a plump, pink slope of flesh. His eyes were soft and he was always smiling, just a little, no matter what was going on in the courtroom. He looked like a nice man. Michael would look at him to see what he thought about what one witness said or another witness didn't say. His face didn't change much, but Michael thought he could tell what he was thinking. Sometimes, as the trial went on, he even looked at him to find out what
he
was thinking.

The patrolman finished testifying, and then the prosecuting attorney, Mr. Merck, called a witness Michael recognized. His name was Anthony Cabrini, and he was the man who had shot the wolf. The man Michael had knocked down and wrestled with on the ground. Because of that fight, Michael had been accused of assault, which Mr. Osgood said was the most serious charge against him. For that, if the jury said he was guilty, he would have to go to jail.

"Mr. Cabrini," the prosecutor said, "tell the jury what happened after you and Mr. Slatsky arrived at the wolf pen. What did you see?"

"I saw two wolves, a male and a bitch, running back and forth beside the gate. They were the only ones left; he'd let all the rest go."

"Objection," said Mr. Osgood. "Assumes a fact not in evidence."

"Sustained," said the judge.

"Just tell us what you saw," said Mr. Merck.

"Yes, sir. Well, these two wolves was going crazy, banging into the fence and howling like banshees. The bitch started to come at me, and I shot her with my thirty-eight. Next thing I know, this crazy man's on top of me, trying to kill me. Slatsky smacked him with his stick, and that was the end of it. Till he come to. We thought he was hurt, but he got away when we wasn't looking. Slatsky had the gun then, but he wouldn't shoot, and the fellow could run like a damn gazelle. So that was it."

The judge told Mr. Cabrini to watch his language, and he frowned and said he would.

"And do you see in the courtroom today, sir, the man who attacked you that night in the zoo?"

"Sure. It was him, fellow right there."

"Thank you. Your witness."

Mr. Osgood stood up. "You say the female wolf tried to attack you?"

"Yeah, come at me, growling and slavering."

"Were you actually in fear for your life?"

"Hell, yes. I mean yes. A wolf’ll kill you as soon as look at you."

"I see. How long have you been a night guard at the Lincoln Zoo, Mr. Cabrini?"

"Me? Couple, three years, I guess."

"Before that night, had you ever been attacked by a wolf?"

"Attacked? No."

"Have you ever worked with anybody at the zoo who was attacked by a wolf?"

"No."

"Ever
heard
of anyone at the zoo who was attacked by a wolf?"

"No. But I've-—"

"Thank you. Now, you say that after you shot and killed the female wolf, Mr. MacNeil was suddenly 'on top' of you."

"Yeah."

"In fact, you say he tried to kill you."

"Right."

"Tell me, did you sustain any physical injuries during this altercation you claim to have had with the defendant?"

"Like what?"

"Answer the question, sir. Any physical injuries?"

"Yeah, I think I hurt my elbow. Mighta bruised my knee, too."

"Did you require medical assistance?"

"Like a doctor? No, I didn't need no doctor."

"And yet you still maintain under oath, sir, that Mr. MacNeil was trying to kill you?"

"Yeah. Yeah, that's how I saw it."

The next witness was Mr. Slatsky. Michael didn't recognize him, but he testified he was the one who had held the lantern and hit him twice with a nightstick.

"Would you say," Mr. Osgood asked him on cross-examination, "from your experience as a zookeeper, Mr. Slatsky, that the female wolf was a threat to your life that night?"

"Objection."

"Overruled."

Mr. Slatsky rubbed his chin. "Well, a wolf can be unpredictable when it's scared, and this wolf was pretty scared. She might've tried to hurt somebody, especially since we had her cornered."

"You mean she might have attacked you?"

"Not attacked. A wolf isn't going to attack a full-grown man, not unless it's rabid. But if we'd tried to catch her, I'm saying she'd've probably bitten us."

"What if you'd left her alone?"

"Objection."

"Overruled."

"Well, if we'd left her alone, I'd say she'd probably have gone back in her cage eventually. Or run off. Like I say, she was scared."

"And the other wolf?"

"I guess he'd've gone with her. They were mates."

"Thank you. Now, sir"—Mr. Osgood went over to look at the jury while he talked—"you heard Mr. Cabrini testify that he believed the defendant was trying to kill him when he knocked him to the ground, didn't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you agree with that opinion?"

Mr. Slatsky shifted in his seat, looking uncomfortable. "Well, it's kind of hard to say. They were wrestling, that's for sure."

"Well, let me ask you this. Did you ever see Mr. MacNeil strike Mr. Cabrini?"

"No, sir."

"Did you ever see him put his hands around Mr. Cabrini's neck?"

"No, sir."

"Did you see Mr. Cabrini strike Mr. MacNeil?"

"Yes."

"And when you struck Mr. MacNeil with your stick, were you trying to kill him?"

'Wo. No, I just wanted to stop the fight. Tell you the truth, I didn't mean to hit him on the head at all. I just wanted to stun him. Get his attention, like."

"So in your opinion, the defendant was never a threat to the life of Mr. Cabrini or, indeed, of anyone else? Is that right?"

"Your Honor, I object."

"I'll sustain that. You've made your point, Mr. Osgood."

"Thank you, Your Honor. No further questions."

* * * * *

The prosecution called Philip as a witness. "State of mind," Mr. Osgood whispered to Michael while they swore him in. "That's what he'll testify to."

"Whose?"

"Yours."

Philip looked nervous. He gave Mr. Merck short, unfriendly answers. He was a "hostile witness," Mr. Osgood had explained, and Michael could see that that was true.

Mr. Osgood had also explained what perjury was. Lying. Michael sat on the edge of his seat waiting for Merck to ask Philip a question about the five days after the incident. If he did, Michael knew Philip would lie, to protect Sydney.

He had everything planned. Before Philip could answer, he was going to stand up and say to the jury, "I'm guilty of these crimes, and you don't have to have this trial anymore. I did it, I'm confessing."

Fortunately, Mr. Merck never asked the question.

"So you would say Mr. MacNeil was 'upset' that day at the zoo, is that your testimony?"

Philip mumbled, "Yes."

"And on the train home, he said nothing at all? Nothing, that is, until he excused himself to go to the lavatory? After which, you never saw him again until after his arrest?"

"Compound question, Your Honor."

Before the judge could rule, Philip answered coldly, "Yes, yes, and yes."

"Thank you—"

"But I was upset, too. So was Sam. We—"

"Thank you.
No further questions."

"Your witness?" said Judge Tallman.

"What were you upset about?" asked Mr. Osgood.

Philip's face changed; his anger fell away. He looked straight at Michael while he answered, "The same thing he was. Seeing wild animals penned in cages. The thing about Mi—Mr. MacNeil is that, after you've been with him for a while, you start seeing things through his eyes. And you learn a lot. After a while, things that you've always taken for granted begin to seem strange. And in this case, barbaric."

"Your Honor, I object."

"I'll allow it. Go on, Mr. Winter."

Philip looked down, a little embarrassed. "I could give you a hundred examples."

"Stick with the zoo," Mr. Osgood said gently.

"All right. I've been to the zoo I don't know how many times in my life, at least a dozen, but that day with Michael was the first time—even though he didn't say anything, it was the first time it ever occurred to me that capturing animals in the wild and putting them in cages so we can gawk at them may not be the—the highest expression of our humanity. In fact, it might be unforgivably cruel."

"Your Honor, I object and move to strike all of that as unresponsive and irrelevant."

"All right, sustained. The jury will disregard that last answer. Anything else, counsel?"

"No, Your Honor, I think that'll be it." Mr. Osgood walked back to the table smiling.

* * * * *

West testified that Michael had threatened him.

" 'I'll kill you.' That's what he said; those were his exact words."

Michael glanced away from West's squirrely, red-bearded face to look at the kind-faced man on the jury. Did he believe West? He had one finger on his cheek, his mouth puckered up in a circle, and his eyes looked troubled.

Mr. Merck sat down and Mr. Osgood stood up.

"What do you think provoked Mr. MacNeil to make such a threat, Mr. West?"

"Absolutely nothing. It came right out of the blue."

"Right out of the blue. You hadn't done anything that might have goaded him to say such a thing?"

"I certainly had not."

"I see. Let me ask you, what was your relationship with Professor Winter's daughter?"

"Objection. Where could we possibly be going with this, Your Honor?"

Judge Tallman put his hands together and looked over the top of them to say, "I was about to ask the same question."

"Your Honor, if you'll bear with me, I think the relevance will become clear very shortly."

The judge thought for a minute. "All right, I'll allow it. Answer the question, Mr. West."

He didn't want to answer. He squirmed in his seat and scowled at the floor. "She was a friend," he muttered finally.

"A friend." Mr. Osgood went closer. "Did you ever propose marriage to Mrs. Darrow?" he asked pleasantly. "Please answer the question. Did you ever ask Sydney Darrow, your employer's daughter, to marry you?"

West glared at him with loathing. "Yes."

"And was your proposal accepted?"

"No," he said through his teeth.

"Thank you. Now, sir, did there ever come a time when you said to Mr. MacNeil words to this effect: 'If you lay a finger on me, I'll have you put back in a cage'?"

After a pause, West said sullenly, "Maybe."

"And what might have occasioned that remark?"