Presentation was also foremost in the defense strategy. The first time Morton was seen since his arrest was when he walked into the packed courtroom, dressed in a deep purple designer suit, his thick hair perfectly styled, and looking very confident—almost mystified as to why he was here. It was not the image of a guilty man awaiting the inevitable verdict that Paula Myo always got when she prosecuted. As he reached the dock he bowed politely to the curving panel of silver one-way glass that shielded the jury and protected their identities. Just before he sat down he glanced around the packed public gallery, found who he was looking for, and smiled warmly. Every reporter swiveled around, retinal inserts focusing on Mellanie, who was perched elegantly in the front row, wearing a stylish navy-blue jacket and plain white blouse. Dressed so, she managed to project herself as both the epitome of bewildered innocence, and tremendously sexy. Just an ordinary Girl-Next-Door standing by Her Man in the face of a terrible injustice.
Then Paula Myo walked in, wearing a smart gray business suit and black leather shoes. Formidably cool, she exuded her own special brand of confidence. In the studios of a hundred news shows, they once again ran the clip of an impassive sixteen-year-old Paula at her parents’ hugely emotional trial. As it showed across the Commonwealth she sat down between the city’s chief attorney, Ivor Chessel, and Hoshe Finn, whose best suit appeared ancient and derelict amid the high-fashion statements that the principals were wearing.
Judge Carmichael made his entrance, and everybody stood. Morton flashed a reassuring grin up to Mellanie, captured by fifty professional pairs of inserts.
Once the charges had been read out, the defense lawyer, Howard Madoc, immediately applied for a dismissal, citing contamination of evidence by the media. Ivor Chessel attested that the evidence itself was still sound and irrefutable, and only a small part of the prosecution case. Judge Carmichael rejected the appeal, and with the posturing over, the trial began in earnest.
Prosecution laid the case out simply. Morton was a man driven by his raging manic thirst for money and power. His marriage to Tara Jennifer Shaheef was a simple and ruthless first step to achieving that goal. Her family money was used to fund AquaState, giving that small company the financial muscle to go after and win large building development contracts. AquaState under Morton’s fiery management grew successfully until it was ready to go public.
The share flotation was all part of his original grand scheme. It made him rich and gave him the leverage he needed to gain a seat on Gansu’s board. After that, his rise was unstoppable.
But his plan had faced ruin as his then-wife Tara Jennifer Shaheef grew bored with their marriage. If she filed a divorce, AquaState would either be wound up or sold off and the proceeds split between them. Morton would still be rich, a lot richer than he was at the start of the marriage, but it wasn’t enough for his purpose. It was still too early for the flotation to take place; AquaState wasn’t quite big enough to attract investors. That required another two or three years of uninterrupted growth. “So you killed her,” Ivor Chessel said, standing in front of the dock. “You removed the one obstacle left to flotation, your own wife. And with her out of the way, supposedly living on Tampico, you were free to build up AquaState to the level you required.”
Morton gave Howard Madoc a helpless look—unable to believe anyone could make such an absurd accusation. The defense lawyer, a dignified man who kept his appearance firmly middle-aged with the first frost of silver in his hair, shook his head sadly at such blatant theatrics by the prosecution.
The first prosecution witness was the city’s head of forensics, Sharron Hoffbrand. She confirmed that the bodies dug out of the forty-year-old condo’s foundations were indeed Tara Jennifer Shaheef and Wyobie Cotal. They had both been shot at close range by a very high-powered nervejam weapon, and their memorycell inserts had been erased, probably by an em pulse. The exact time was slightly difficult to pin down after so long, but she could narrow it down to a three-day period in the middle of the week when Morton was away at the conference in Talansee.
Chessel then asked if they’d found any foreign DNA traces on either of the bodies.
“No,” Hoffbrand said. “Cotal was fully clothed. There were the normal particles and dirt you’d expect from moving through the city, but no extraneous DNA. Shaheef was naked, but we found traces of soap and perfume chemicals on her skin, indicating she had been in the bath.”
“Can you tell if she was shot in the bath?” Chessel asked.
“Not after so much time has elapsed, no.”
“But she was in the bath at least prior to the slaying?”
“Yes.”
“So she was at home then?”
“That’s likely, yes.”
“Thank you.” Ivor Chessel turned to the judge. “No more questions, Your Honor.”
Howard Madoc smiled as he got to his feet. “Home or a hotel? Can you really tell the difference?”
“No, it could have been either.”
“Or a friend’s house? Or a public washroom?”
“Somewhere with a bath is as specific as I can get.”
“Was it on Oaktier?”
“There’s no way of knowing.”
“I see. Thank you.”
Prosecution called Tara Jennifer Shaheef. She took the stand wearing a lavender suit with wide white trimming and a too-short skirt. Her hair and too-lavish makeup emphasized how nervous she looked.
“Do you recall having any enemies forty years ago?” Ivor Chessel asked.
“No. I didn’t lead that kind of life. I still don’t.”
“So you certainly weren’t aware of anyone wanting to kill you?”
“No.”
“Do you have any memory or knowledge of visiting the planet Tampico?”
“No, I’d never heard of it until I was re-lifed.”
“What about Broher Associates?”
“The lawyers? No. I heard about them at the same time I did Tampico, when the insurance investigators looked into my disappearance.”
Tara’s eyes watched Howard Madoc as he walked over to her. She hadn’t yet managed to glance in Morton’s direction.
“The prosecution is relying very heavily on the assumption that you were about to divorce my client,” he said. “Were you?”
“I don’t think so. There was no definite plan that I remember. We would have parted eventually. The marriage was moving close to its sell-by date.”
“Is that why you were having an affair?”
“One of the reasons, yes. Life was sweet. Wyobie made it sweeter.”
“Life was sweet,” Madoc repeated thoughtfully. “I see. Do you still see Morton?”
“Sometimes, yes. I don’t avoid him.” She gave a brittle laugh.
“So you’re good friends then?”
“As best as you can be with an ex. He was… supportive when I was re-lifed. It’s quite a shock waking up to find that’s happened to you. The therapists say some people take another lifetime to get over it.”
“So it would be fair to say there is no ill will between you and Morton?” Madoc asked.
“No. That is, I had no reason to suspect any until this blew up.”
“If you had gone and done what the prosecution claimed, and filed for divorce that very week you were killed, would you have insisted that AquaState be wound down or split in half as your marital agreement stated?”
“Objection,” Ivor Chessel said. “That requires speculation.”
“Hardly, Your Honor,” Madoc said smoothly. “I’m asking the prosecution witness what she would actually have done under very specific circumstances; while the entire prosecution case rests upon what might have happened if she did as they believe. Which of us is speculating?”
“I happen to agree with you in this instance,” the judge said. “How the witness believes she would have reacted is not speculation. Please answer the question.”