You don’t approach a case with
the philosophy of applying abstract justice.
You go in to win.
-Percy Foreman
“Mrs. Lim fits. Age fifty-four, close to Lindy’s. Realtor, two grown kids, husband with heart problems. Member of the American Association of University Women. Her parents are both dead. Her questionnaire says she doesn’t have a problem with people shacking up. Equality in a relationship-she says it’s important,” Genevieve said rapidly. She reached for her jacket pocket and whispered, “Hang on. I’m getting beeped. It’s Paul.”
She left the courtroom for a moment to call him. Paul had ferreted out the fifty-five names in the jury pool, and was finding out what he could about the candidates to help Lindy’s team make more informed selections.
Nina stalled Susan Lim with a few more questions.
The jury box was against the left wall of the cavelike courtroom, closely attended by the bailiff. Nina’s station, the table on the left reserved for the side bringing the main action, was closest to the box and about ten feet from the court reporter and the witness box in front.
Milne’s roost occupied the right front corner. Over at the long table to Nina’s right, Riesner and his new associate, Rebecca Casey, put their heads so closely together, Nina could swear they touched. If he had done that to her-come to think of it, he had done that to her a couple of times-she would be cringing the same way she would from a scorpion in her shoe. In their encounters, Riesner usually edged up close, getting in her face, trying to intimidate.
Rebecca, pleasant-faced and professional-looking, was Riesner’s match for Winston Reynolds. Educated at Stanford, she was younger than Winston, somewhere in her late thirties. Her confident air and no-nonsense attitude must be helpful when negotiating the testosterone-laden halls of Caplan Stamp etcetera. She nodded at something Riesner was saying and passed a quick note behind Riesner to Mike, who also sat at their table in a spiffy suit he had surely never worn before, his thick neck bulging out of the collar.
In that suit, Mike didn’t look honest. Was it the perspiration dotting his forehead and the bashed-up nose? His jaw worked as he gritted and relaxed his teeth. The yellow-tinged lights in the ceiling of the paneled courtroom shone down on him without mercy. He looked unwell, the flesh on his face sagging more than Nina remembered from his deposition a few months ago.
Obviously he felt the pressure of the judgment facing him up front as well as the judgment behind him, which consisted of the corps of reporters and other media types jamming the courtroom. Lindy, who sat on Nina’s left, closest to the jury box, had been leaning over frequently to look at him, not a wise idea. Winston, who had handled the voir dire the day before, loafed in his seat next to her. He was relying completely on Genevieve, but Nina couldn’t do that.
Nina turned back to Mrs. Lim and asked a few more polite questions. Aside from the fact that she fit Genevieve’s profile of a “friendly” juror, Nina liked Mrs. Lim’s earnestness and the thought she put into her answers. She looked successful and smart in the tweed suit, like someone who would listen carefully to the judge’s instructions and think through the issues.
Genevieve returned in the nick of time, sliding in next to Nina, and said breathlessly, “Paul just found out that she filed an employment discrimination complaint with the Office for Civil Rights twenty-two years ago, when she was just getting started in the business world. Don’t look at me! We’ve got to have her. Look bored.” She yawned and opened her notebook. Nina looked at the clock above the jury seats. Eleven-eighteen, already well into the fifth day of jury selection.
“Thank you, Mrs. Lim,” Nina said. Using the prospective juror’s name was another of Genevieve’s innovations and an indubitable improvement. The more you acknowledged a person’s identity, as she put it, the more loyalty you won. The grocery clerks where Nina shopped used the same technique after she handed them a check. “Thank you, Mrs. Reilly,” they would say, and she’d think almost subliminally, exactly as intended, aw, they noticed me.
Milne announced, “Mr. Riesner? I believe you have the next challenge.” Riesner could now exercise one of his six peremptory challenges on any of the twelve nervous people sitting up there, some nervous because they wanted to be excused, some interested enough in the process and free enough of commitments to want to stay there.
“The cross-defendants will thank and excuse Mr. Melrose,” Riesner said, offering Mr. Melrose the consolation prize of a simpering smile that said, nothing personal, I’m sure. He had chosen well. Nina had decided that Melrose, a Lutheran widower with a sad look in his eyes, would be kindhearted about the situation, a reaction that could only help Lindy. Poor Mr. Melrose edged his way awkwardly from the jury box and disappeared forever from the case.
Mrs. Lim remained. She wore her gleaming black hair short, tucked behind her ears, neat and businesslike. She would remain a sitting duck until-
“How many more peremptories do we have?” Nina whispered to Genevieve.
“Last one,” Genevieve scribbled. Nina bit her lip and searched the faces in the jury box. None of them looked back.
Lindy also scrutinized each person. Now and then during the selection process she had written a vehement NO! orYES! as various jurors were called to the jury seats and questioned. Most of the time Nina had agreed with Lindy’s assessments. And she had to admit that so far she also agreed more or less with Genevieve. The primary difference seemed to be that Nina never felt sure of anybody, while Genevieve watched, consulted her notes and profiles, and judged without doubt.
So far, their disagreements had been minor and resolvable. Of the eleven people seated in the box this morning, besides Mrs. Lim Nina liked four, had doubts about four, and feared two. Riesner’s team had unseated her strongest choices over the past few days, and she in turn had thanked and excused the ones he had to love, the ones who fit Genevieve’s other profile, the negative one. Avoid: her report read, Conservatives. No higher education. Divorced men. Hunters, fishers. Young married women. Republicans-since political and religious affiliations had been nosed out by Paul-follower types, wealthy types. There were many more such guidelines, graded by degree of hazard.
“Now this next one, Clifford Wright. What do we know about him?” Nina said from behind her hand as a light-haired, boyish-looking man with an engaging smile made his way to the chair still warm from poor Mr.-what had been his name?
Genevieve slid over the chart she had whipped together on Wright when they had received a list of jury pool members the week before. “Thirty-nine years old,” she said. “He scored high on his questionnaire. Currently campaign manager for our congressman. Skis, plays racquetball, rides a bike. After a number of casual girlfriends he recently married. Mother divorced from father after twenty-three years, which could be excellent; she continued to receive alimony from his father until her death last year. Loves ice cream, Chinese food, vegetables. Won’t eat strawberries, apples, or peanuts because of allergies. Self-described feminist. His wife works, not with him, but they pool their money and have accumulated enough for a down payment on a house. Paul didn’t get far with him… he just moved to Tahoe from Southern California. He was a state assemblyman there and is active in politics here. His voting record showed a definite liberal bent. Leader type. He smokes. Good on paper. Let’s see how he fares with your questions.”
“Mr. Wright, my client, Lindy Markov,” Nina said, gesturing toward Lindy. Wright turned his smile on Lindy.
“You’ve lived in Tahoe how long?” Nina began.
“Just a year.”
“And before that?”
“In the suburbs of L.A. Yorba Linda.”
She went on, asking him some neutral questions to give him time to get accustomed to the pricking of many eyes and the reporter tapping out his every word.
“The town you grew up in. It’s in Orange County?”
“Yes.”
“Birthplace of Richard Nixon?”
“Infamous for it.”
“People in other part of the state would probably say Orange County is one of our most conservative counties. Would you agree with that?”
“Yes, it’s conservative.”
“How is it conservative?”
“It’s a place that has probably seen more change in terms of growth in the past three decades, my whole lifetime, than anywhere else in the world. People are struggling to hold on to old-fashioned values, like family and religion. They feel a little under siege, I guess, so they are pretty noisy about it.”
Articulate s. o. b., Genevieve scrawled for Nina to see.
“Would you say you share the conservative attitudes Orange County is famous for?”
“I would have to say that I couldn’t wait to leave.”
“You don’t have old-fashioned values?”
“I got tired of the paranoia, the bigots, and the rigidity. I got tired of the traffic and pollution. I got tired of not being allowed to walk on people’s lawns.”
Nina wasn’t satisfied. He sounded so candid. Too candid. Under the candor and the smile he seemed quite nervous. She veered back into neutral territory. After a few minutes, he had let up his guard only slightly. “Is this your first experience with the criminal justice system?” Nina asked.
“Yes, it is.”
“Nervous? People usually are.”
“ ’Fraid so.” He laughed.
“It’s not an easy place to spend a morning, is it, Mr. Wright? Bet you’d rather be out,” she pretended to consult her notes, “riding your bike up the path near Emerald Bay on a glorious day like this?”
“You bet I would.”
Nina smiled and let the audience have their laugh. The tension in the room lifted enough so that Clifford Wright finally lost the tightness around his mouth.
“Unfortunately, we’re all here doing our duties today,” said Nina. “We’re here to decide some very serious issues. This is a case that some have described as a palimony case. Are you familiar with that term?”
“Sure. Clint Eastwood was sued for palimony, wasn’t he? Also Bob Dylan. Even Martina Navratilova, I think.”
“What did you think about those cases?”
“Well,” he said slowly. “I didn’t follow the details, you understand. But from what I heard, Bob Dylan’s girlfriend lived with him for a long time, even had and raised his kids. She probably ought to get something. The Martina thing, that was iffier.”
“So, as a fair-minded person, you think you could try to look at these things on an individual basis.”
“That’s right,” he said. He gave her a frank open smile. “Mrs. Reilly,” he added.
“Do you understand what a contract is?” Nina asked.
“I think so.”
“How would you define it?”
“An agreement.”
“Do you know that in law, there are different kinds of contracts, both oral and written?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know that, in law, an oral contract has the same validity as a written contract?”
“Yes, I knew that.”
“Do you think they should?”
“As long as you know what the agreement was, I have no problem with that.”
“Would you agree that it’s easier to prove an agreement in writing, Mr. Wright?”
“Well, of course.”
“But not every writing is an agreement, is it?”
“No. Even if it says it’s an agreement, it might not be a-you know-legal agreement. I would guess it has to meet certain standards.”
Nina glanced back at Genevieve, who looked pleased. And at Winston, whose eyes had narrowed. The answer was too good, and he had noticed.
“Any time you have two people, you can have two interpretations of the same situation, wouldn’t you agree?”
“You can.”
“From the very little the judge has told you in introducing this case a few days ago, do you have any thoughts as to which of the parties is probably right in this case?”
Wright raised his eyebrows. He looked almost offended. “I would have to listen to the whole story to know that,” he said, shaking his head. “I just don’t know at this point, Mrs. Reilly.”
“Could you find in favor of Mrs. Markov if it is proved beyond a preponderance of the evidence that she and Mr. Markov had an oral contract, an agreement, to share all their assets, regardless of the size of those assets, regardless of the fact that they never put it in writing?”
“Yes.”
Several times during the questioning, Nina could feel Riesner behind her, wishing to object. He didn’t want to sit while she interpreted law to suit her purposes. On the other hand, lawyers tried not to interrupt during voir dire. It usually backfired. He would be taking his turn again soon enough, and she, too, would be resisting the impulse.
She continued to question Clifford Wright for another ten minutes.
You kept him up there a while, commented Genevieve’s note when she finally sat down. Longer than the others.
He’s too earnest, Nina wrote back, watching Riesner begin his round of questioning, flipping to a fresh page in her notebook so that she could take notes on anything that might need follow-up or close scrutiny. Riesner hadn’t quite finished when Judge Milne called for the lunch break, but Nina didn’t need to hear more to know what she thought.
Managing to avoid the reporters, the three of them-Nina, Genevieve, and Winston-walked outside to an area between the two long, low stone buildings where pale sunlight and a breeze awaited. Lindy had walked out to her car. “We’re missing spring again,” said Nina. “Here comes and goes another season while we rot inside.”
“Think of the money we’re saving on sunscreen,” Genevieve said. “You’re quiet today, Winston.”
“Quiet doesn’t mean asleep.”
“How do you like Mr. Wright?”
“I’m still thinking,” Winston said. He wore Vuarnet sunglasses, reminding Nina of another case that had come and gone quickly and dramatically in her life a few months before. Each case seemed to last an eternity, but once it ended, she blinked once and moved on.
“He’s perfect,” said Genevieve, not able to wait any longer to let them know her opinion.
“Too perfect,” said Nina.
“No, really,” said Genevieve.
“He played us like a harp. I felt managed,” said Nina.
“The perfect juror comes our way, and you suspect him because he looks too good?” Genevieve persisted.
“He’s slick.”
“Are you nuts? He comes off great. He comes off honest. And he comes off fair.”
“I don’t care how he comes off. I want him gone,” Nina said, raising her voice slightly, not looking at Genevieve.
“Need I remind you we only have one peremptory left? What about Ignacio Ybarra? He’s a Catholic, very conservative. A disaster. Or Sonny Ball? Paul thinks he’s a dope dealer. He’s totally unpredictable. Because we knew we needed to save as many peremptories as we could for the disaster waiting in the wings, they’ve both made the cut. Surely you wouldn’t keep them and waste a peremptory on Wright.” When she saw her logic did not seem potent enough to budge Nina, Genevieve turned for support to Winston, who had wandered off onto the grass. “What did you think of him?”
“I’m inclined to agree with Nina that he’s not showing all his true colors,” Winston said. “But then again, who does? That doesn’t mean he’s not on our side. What does matter is, he seems sincere.”
“You call that sincere? What about when I asked about his wife and his eyes got misty?”
“He’s sensitive,” said Genevieve.
“He’s full of it.”
“Where do you get this, Nina?” Genevieve asked. “Not from his questionnaire. Not from his answers up there. This is your own prejudice talking. I warned you, you’re goin’ to project stuff. Maybe you’re a little attracted to him, and you’re reacting against that.”
“He doesn’t like me,” said Nina, stymied by the vigor with which Genevieve and Winston defended Wright. It seemed obvious to her that he was a bad fit with their case. She felt him trying to charm her. She didn’t like the feeling that he wanted to be on the jury. He should be dragged, like everyone else, into doing his duty. He should take no pleasure in it, but should be willing. A juror should never be eager, and she felt he had somehow betrayed his eagerness, adopting an unreal, evenhanded style that somehow didn’t suit the personality on the paper, the go-getter with a new job and better ways to spend his time.
“You don’t think he likes you,” Genevieve said. “That’s irrational, and Nina, what we are about is logic. Trust me, Nina. Let me do the job you hired me to do. I won’t let you down.”
Nina turned to Winston. “Well, Winston?”
He took his time. “Let’s say you’re right and he’s a problem,” he said. They had come to the parking area and stood beside the blue Oldsmobile Winston had rented for the duration. “I’m handling a lot of the trial work. Maybe I can counterbalance that initial prejudice. I think we can work with him. You can win him over. As far as him being such an eager beaver, I don’t have a problem with that. I think he expects to learn something about the very rich. I think he’s interested in the money angle. That’s not bad in itself.”
“I told you in the beginning,” Genevieve said. “I can only give you my advice and you’re free not to take it, but we need to save that challenge. Don’t throw it away on Wright. This is what you need me for,” she argued, “to help you with those distinctions that don’t come natural. He’s gonna come around. I’m telling you.”
They were right about needing that last challenge in case of an emergency. Nina went over in her mind where in the process she could have saved another peremptory, so that she could spend one on Wright. She came up empty-handed.
“Okay. If Riesner doesn’t challenge, he’s in.” When they returned to the courtroom, Nina sat back in her chair, closing her eyes, hoping for help from her enemy when her friends deserted. Maybe Riesner would hate Wright.
No such luck. Riesner didn’t challenge.
Rather than brave the lightning storm of photographers in the public hallway, Nina slipped through the door by the jury box and into the private hall that led to the judge’s chambers, past a number of clerk’s offices. She intended to hang there for a couple of minutes until the group dispersed, then head out the locked door to the main hall a few feet away from the regular courtroom exits. She didn’t want her picture taken today.
She waited in the short part of the L-shaped area for a few minutes, until she judged the coast to be mostly clear, then headed down the longer stretch toward the door to the exit. Almost instantly, she spotted Winston, who had apparently had the same idea.
She could only see him from the back. He had stepped inside one of the clerk’s offices and was leaning over the desk, talking cheerfully with a frizzy-haired, vivacious redhead Paul always seemed to notice, too.
“He’s after her body,” a voice drawled. Genevieve had come up behind her. “Spends all his spare time down here lately. Guess it’s time to collect him. C’mon.” In spite of her cool manner, jealousy glittered in the corner of her eye.
Nina went along to help drag him away.
“This is it,” Nina said, watching wearily late Thursday afternoon as another pack of people were herded into the crowded courtroom and the clerk began to speak. “The home stretch.”
“Do you, and each of you, understand and agree that you will accurately and truthfully answer, under penalty of perjury, all questions propounded to you concerning your qualifications and competency to serve as a trial juror in the matter pending before this court; and that failure to do so may subject you to criminal prosecution?” droned the clerk for the sixth time.
“I do,” answered the new pack, while the insecure faces in the jury box looked on.
“We’re going to finish today,” Winston whispered as the people took their seats and some more paper-shuffling started the last round. “I feel it.”
“Alan Reed,” called out the clerk. Genevieve didn’t have to show her the report on him; they had been talking about him the day before and praying he wouldn’t be called to the box.
An openly conservative man of fifty-seven, he was divorced and still harboring grudges about it, according to Paul. He spent his weekends hunting and fishing with his buddies. At the top of his report, Genevieve had drawn a skull and crossbones.
After a few questions it was obvious to Nina that Reed was precisely the kind of juror they couldn’t have. Genevieve gave a thumbs-down signal under the table and Winston couldn’t help shaking his head at one or two of the answers.
“Ms. Reilly. I believe this is the last peremptory challenge,” Milne said, waiting.
Nina asked for a moment, then went over the jury chart of their selections so far and Genevieve’s thumbnail summaries one more time. Mrs. Lim, they all agreed on. The five other women: a divorcée in her fifties who was the caretaker for her disabled adult child, a student, a mountain climber, a clerk and a housewife-they would stay. The two men, a biologist and a history teacher, did not excite her, but might be open to their arguments. Clifford Wright, they disputed, but Genevieve and Winston had won the day on him. He was definitely in. She zeroed in on the candidates who troubled her most.
“Ignacio Ybarra, age twenty-three, telephone lineman, very quiet, has a little girl but is having trouble keeping contact with her because of some bad feelings between him and her grandmother. Close to his parents and a large extended family. Likes hiking, college degree. Very religious, goes to church twice a week.” Not great.
“Kevin Dowd. Retired, early sixties, plays golf, made a fortune in investments, drinks too much, likes women too much, looking for a party.” Yuck.
“Sonny Ball, late twenties, tattoos, earrings, mostly inaudible responses, looking for work for the past three years, a couple of brushes with the law. His parents live in Oregon. They’re estranged. Paul suspects he was a dope dealer.” Horrible, but others who had taken the stand had been even worse for different reasons, and they only had six peremptories in all.
Altogether, thirteen people. One had to go. But who?
She studied the four faces, searching for clues, feeling nervous. The men looked back, offering nothing definitive. Ignacio Ybarra looked resigned. Kevin Dowd smiled, sure he was in. Sonny Ball wet his lips with his tongue and gave her a slit-eyed look that hovered somewhere between a wink and a leer.
Reed stared at her, chin tipped up, arrogant. He expected to be cut, and so disguised none of the disdain he felt for her and her client.
Let him have his wish.
“The cross-complainants will thank and excuse Mr. Reed,” Nina said. Genevieve fidgeted unhappily. She had pushed to use the last peremptory on Sonny Ball. Winston bowed his head. A sigh stretched across the courtroom. Several jurors sat back in their chairs, finally relaxing.
It took only another two hours to select two alternate jurors who would listen to the testimony but deliberate and vote only if another juror became incapacitated. Patti Zobel would be fine. She was another divorcée. Couldn’t anybody stay married up here? Was it the air or something? And Damian Peck, the other alternate, a pit boss at Harvey’s whose dentist wife made more than he did, also seemed a decent bet.
“Swear the jury,” Milne said finally, and the fourteen people in whose hands Lindy would find triumph or misfortune stood up and held up their right hands.
On a sun-bleached Monday in May, seven months after Mike Markov’s fateful birthday party, the time for opening statements arrived.
Hoping to avoid the media, Nina had left home early but found herself pulling into a courthouse lot already jammed with television news trucks and people swinging video cameras. Up above, in the pine trees ringing the lot, a flock of small brown birds kept up a chorus of cheeping to rival the noisy excess of the mob below. In all the cacophony and confusion, she forgot her briefcase and had to return to her car to retrieve it.
Feeling oddly flimsy in a white blouse under a muted peach suit, she spotted Lindy and Alice across the parking lot just pulling up in Alice’s old Taurus. She walked over quickly and joined them. Together they headed across the lot, storming firmly through the throng that massed around the entrance to the courthouse. Right before she reached the door, Nina had to shove a particularly long, nasty-looking microphone out of her face to avoid swallowing it.
Inside the building, Deputy Kimura had just opened the courtroom doors. A long line of people who’d been waiting dashed inside, jostling for seats. Before closing the doors for good, he allowed in a few stragglers. These lucky late-birds squeezed into the back and stood leaning against the drab paneling.
Nina saw that Rachel, surrounded by a phalanx of Markov Enterprises employees, had taken a place directly behind Mike. Harry Anderssen, her ex-boyfriend, had taken the seat directly behind her. He glared at her back as she leaned forward and squeezed Mike’s hand. She had her long hair tied back and looked modest in a dark dress topped by a dark yellow jacket. Mike was the quintessential businessman in a granite-colored suit and a green tie so dark it was almost black. When Riesner dropped an arm lightly over his shoulder and began talking with him in a low voice, Rachel moved demurely back.
Riesner wore his usual blue suit and smirk.
Looking uncharacteristically indifferent to fashion, Lindy was wearing a long skirt below a matching dove-colored sweater set, her only concession to vanity a pair of pearl earrings. As they took their places, she pointed out to Nina some people she knew. Meanwhile, Alice, sitting right behind them, talked nonstop, jiggling the high-heeled mule on her crossed leg in a silent, frenzied rhythm.
A few seats away from Alice, Nina saw the disturbing dark-haired man who’d threatened her when she’d been in the Solo Spa. He stood up to wave at Lindy as she turned to say something to Alice.
“Oh, look,” Alice said. “There’s George, Lindy’s puppy dog. She just gives a tug on the leash and he comes.”
“Alice,” said Lindy, with a nervous look around the overstuffed courtroom. “Leave George alone.”
“No, really. I think every woman needs a guy like George in the background to do her dirty work.”
“Dirty work?” Nina started, but was interrupted by the clerk.
“Superior Court for the State of California is now in session, the Honorable Curtis E. Milne presiding.”
They all rose as the judge entered the room. One feminist publication had brought out a noisy contingent of rabble-rousers who sat near Riesner, trying to engage him in dialog, but Judge Milne imposed silence in his court with a slight raising of the eyebrow. How he managed it, Nina did not know, but all the power of the institution of justice came to life in those sparse hairs.
Once he was satisfied his courtroom had come to order, the judge rustled in his chair, studying the documents before him, adjusting his glasses and running a hand over his bald pate. He directed himself to the jury.
“The moment is at hand, ladies and gentlemen. We will begin by hearing opening statements of the attorneys. That is all we will be able to get through by noon, which is the time the court has allotted for this matter today. We’ll reconvene again tomorrow at nine o’clock sharp.
“The attorneys tell me that they expect to take no more than six court days to present their evidence. They have agreed that I may read you this very brief introduction to the matter you will be deciding.
“The primary question in this case is whether or not these two people, Mikhail and Lindy Markov, had a written, oral, or implied agreement to share ownership in a business known as Markov Enterprises. If you decide that there was such an agreement, you will be asked to determine exactly what form any such agreement took. If you decide that the agreement provided that Lindy Markov was a part owner of the business, you will need to decide the worth of that business, and how to divide any assets and debts that came from the business, including several residences used by both parties. You will also be asked to determine some facts in dispute regarding a certain piece of paper which will be presented to you as Exhibit One.”
He moved into a general discussion of juror protocol: no discussion of the evidence until they retired to decide the case, no reading about the case or watching TV news for the duration, no independent research, keep an open mind until the time came to decide, don’t be prejudiced against the party because you don’t like anything about his or her attorney.
The jurors, in the box to the left of Nina, looked suitably impressed with the gravity of their responsibility, except for Sonny Ball, the tattooed warm body in the back row.
“Ms. Reilly, are you ready to proceed?”
“We are, Your Honor.”
“Do you wish to make an opening statement?”
“We do.” Nina rose, leaving her notes on the table. Her pastel suit glowed warmly under the lights. Her heels were a compromise between comfort and height, and her usually unconquerable long brown hair had surrendered to the ministrations of a local hairdresser who had smoothed and sprayed until it lay down and played dead.
But on her way up toward the podium from which she would speak to the jury, she put these and other such trivial concerns aside.
Standing the three feet from the jury box Genevieve insisted upon, Nina let her gaze sweep over each of the jurors in turn.
“The story you are about to hear is an old one. You’ve heard this before. We all have. A man and a woman meet, fall in love, and build a life. They share a warm and loving home. They create a business together. For twenty years, twenty satisfying years, they live together. Then, a sad thing happens. One of them falls out of love.”
Nina paused for emphasis, breaking her concentration long enough to see that the jurors were responding to her with the desired level of engrossed attention.
“It’s devastating to the one left behind. We can all imagine it, can’t we? All those years, those habits of a lifetime, the morning coffee together, the shared double bed, the welcoming hugs, the kisses good-bye… suddenly there are great big gaping holes. But these things happen. Good people get hurt. Nobody is to blame when love dies. Nobody is responsible for the terrible emptiness of that double bed.”
She lowered her head and put her hands behind her back Perry Mason-style, pacing a few steps before raising her eyes back to the jury box.
“No, no one is responsible for the loss of that loving relationship. Lindy Markov has suffered that loss, true. It is true that Mike Markov is engaged to a young woman who once worked for Lindy. But that is not why we are here in court today. Let’s be clear on that point. We aren’t here to talk about love. We’re here to talk about business. Business between lovers, maybe. A business both of them nurtured as another couple might nurture their child. But we’re talking about business, the kind of business that is based on a legally enforceable partnership agreement.
“In the testimony you will hear, you will learn that again and again, over twenty years, Lindy and Mike Markov said to each other, we’re in this business together. We’re in this for life. We share the good times and bad times. Whatever we have, we share. Whatever we owe, we share in that, too.
“They made mutual promises, ladies and gentlemen. Promises made, but not kept by one of them. The promises relating to their love-those can be broken, and never come before a jury. The law doesn’t protect that kind of promise.
“But, as you will hear, the law does protect a partner in a business enterprise when the other partner breaks his promise. Two people build a business with their sweat and their talent. They both put everything they have into it. They run it together for many years, with increasing success. And when the partnership ends, they each take their share. That’s what they do. It’s the only fair thing to do. Right? They each take their share.
“That’s how it’s supposed to be. That’s how it is under the law of the State of California.
“Yet in the case you’re about to hear, that’s not how it happened.
“What you’ll hear from several witnesses, including both Lindy and Mike Markov, is that one of the partners took it all. Every square foot, every dime, every stick of furniture, all of it.
“Mike Markov did that. He took it all, the whole shebang, and he left Lindy with nothing. He even threw her out of the home she had lived in for years, leaving her with a horse and an old trailer out in the mountains.
“He kept-well, he kept quite a bit. Quite a bit. There will be several estimates of how much Mike and Lindy’s company, Markov Enterprises, was worth at the time they separated. Let me tell you a conservative figure as to what the business was worth.
“He kept around two hundred million dollars.”
She had built up to it well. Even the audience, to whom this was old news, heaved a collective gasp. Most of the jurors must have told the truth about not reading about the case in the papers because their mouths hung open. Juror Bob Binkley, the whipped-looking history teacher, straightened up from his slump and gripped the front rail. Nina looked straight at him and nodded. That’s right, Mr. Binkley, she tried to tell him with her eyes. This is big, this is huge. You’re doing something important here.
On the other hand, early on, Sonny Ball’s eyes had fixed on a spot somewhere between Nina and the jury box, and there his focus remained. Either he was mighty dense, didn’t care, or already knew about it.
“I know all of us-the lawyers, the clients, the courtroom personnel-appreciate your willingness to take time from your busy lives to render judgment in this case. It will be up to you to decide the ultimate facts. We’ll be asking you to decide, does Mike Markov take everything, the house on the lake, the business, the cars, the boat, the entire fruit of their very productive years together, while Lindy Markov doesn’t get brush, comb, toothpaste, or bobby pin?
“You’ll hear from the witnesses the whole story of the business, how Mike and Lindy started from nothing and how Markov Enterprises became a great success. You’ll hear that Lindy, while not formally married to Mike-”
Another look of astonishment from the jurors. Nina moved on, having broken that bad news as casually as she could.
“-was in every respect Mike’s equal partner in terms of responsibility and workload in the business for twenty years. This isn’t a story about a woman who supports a man from the home. This woman was at the office, at the plant, out there finding clients. We’ll show you that Lindy had as many ideas for new products as he did, and that she was as important to the company’s success as he was. She didn’t stay home and raise the children and give dinner parties. The business was their child.”
Nina paused so that the words would reverberate through the jurors’ minds.
“So what’s the problem? What issues make it necessary to bring this case to you? Well, there are two of them. First of all, Mr. Markov says that it all should belong to him now, because he put his name on everything. That’s what the testimony will show. He put his name on the company stock, on the home they lived in, on every major asset. Her name got left off. How did Mr. Markov explain that to Lindy?” Nina raised her eyebrows, looked expectantly at the jury. They didn’t seem to have a clue.
“He told her he wanted to avoid the red tape. He told her it didn’t matter whose name was on the certificates and the titles, because it was all half hers. He held title for both of them.
“Watch Mr. Markov when he testifies. You’ll see he’s a proud, old-fashioned man. He wanted to be the president, so that left her with the executive vice presidency. She wanted what he wanted. Nothing new there.” Nina gave juror Mrs. Grzegorek, the attractive older woman who worked at Mikasa, a tiny smile. Mrs. Grzegorek didn’t smile back.
“He wanted his name on the stock, and she went along with that, too. As she’ll testify, she never dreamed this would be used to try to take her share of the company.
“And there’s one other event in their long history together that you will hear about. You’ll learn that thirteen years ago Lindy signed a piece of paper that Mike asked her to sign. He had her label it: Separate Property Agreement.”
The expression on Cliff Wright’s face never changed, but his hands shifted in his lap. He knew exactly what that meant.
“Lindy signed it. She’ll tell you why. And I have to tell you, this is the one place in this case where love does enter in. She signed it because Mike said that if she signed it he’d marry her. The business was going down at that time and they were going through a difficult period in their personal lives.
“Lindy agreed. She signed the paper, carrying out her side of the deal. And Mike-well, you’ll hear that Mike went on a business trip. He didn’t marry her, didn’t carry out his side of the deal. And that piece of paper disappeared for thirteen years, until now. Lindy never got a copy. She assumed it had long since been discarded or destroyed.
“The judge will instruct you on the law regarding this type of agreement. You will be instructed that a gift or property given on the assumption that marriage will take place can be recovered by the giver if there is no marriage. That may not make much sense now, but it will. The testimony will make it clear that Mike didn’t marry Lindy. So when that piece of paper is discussed, I hope you’ll ask yourselves these questions: Did she promise to give Mike everything in consideration for his promise to marry her? Did he keep his promise? If not, then what did she get in return?”
“Objection!”
She went to the bench with Riesner and accepted a scolding from Milne for arguing the law in her opening statement.
Then, calm within herself and trying to inject the same calm certainty into her words, Nina added a few more important points and brought her opening statement to a close. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, it’s up to you. I have talked with you, listened to you, and I believe you will be fair. Thank you.”
She could swear that, as she walked back toward her table, she caught the ever-so-slightest nod of approval from Milne. She decided she must have imagined it. She tried and failed to feel the jury’s vibes behind her.
Back at the table, Genevieve squeezed her arm, murmuring, “Excellent,” and Winston gave her an under-the-table, double thumbs-up.
Lindy looked at Mike, who looked pointedly away from her.
Looking debonair and confident, without a hair out of place, wearing his trademark half-grin, Jeff Riesner took the podium. With all the heavy baggage removed from his character, Nina realized a stranger might actually consider him attractive. He looked innocuous and cool up there, like a man without a bone to pick. That shiny polish on the surface was exactly what made him so successful in his profession. More than in almost any other profession, success in law depended on the right look, and Jeffrey Riesner had spent years cultivating it. The jurors waited to hear an opposite take on the same situation, and he basked in their attention.
“Let’s talk about the evidence,” he said. “In this case, we will have testimony from people, each with a point of view, each with a stake. Your job is to judge their credibility and weigh the value of what they say. You might feel from listening to all the witnesses that this is a complicated or confusing case. There is a lot of money involved, and this may make the case seem more complicated.
“But it’s not complicated. This case is simple, and comes simply down to black and white.
“Because there is also another kind of evidence. With this kind of evidence, there’s no point of view, there’s no stake, there’s no credibility problem. That evidence, ladies and gentlemen, consists of writings. We ask you to pay close attention to the written exhibits in this case, because they were prepared before there was any stake, any point of view. The writings we will introduce will tell you a very clear and straightforward story.
“First, you will learn that there is one written document that does not exist. That written document is a marriage certificate between Mike Markov and Lindy Markov. The two parties in this litigation never married. There is no community property, no automatic share because of the relationship. No alimony. No sympathy money. There’s no marriage here. No one will show you a marriage certificate. Lindy Markov was Mike Markov’s girlfriend. They broke up. That’s what happened in their personal life.
“Second, we will show you a set of writings that prove that Lindy Markov was an employee of Markov Enterprises. You won’t just hear people talk about it. It’s simpler than that. You’re going to see her personnel file, the salary record, her job description. You’ll see she was paid fairly, she was given regular raises, she had an expense account. She was an executive with the company, and she had an agreement with the company that she would do certain work and in return she would be compensated. You’ll see it in writing, ladies and gentlemen, plain and clear.
“Third, you will see, in writing, who owns Markov Enterprises and a home here in Tahoe that is in issue in this case. It’s just as plain and just as clear. You’ll see the deed to the house, and you’ll see the owner’s name, Mike Markov. You’ll see the stock certificates that are accepted the world over as evidence of ownership. The name on the certificates is Mike Markov. No mystery, no complication.
“And fourth, last and most important of all, you will see another written document that reinforces and confirms the other written documents. That document is called a separate property agreement. You will be able to read it for yourselves and see the plain language of this agreement. You will see that the agreement states that Lindy Markov has no claim to Mike Markov’s property, and he has no claim to hers. It’s right there. In writing, as simple as can be. What it does not state“-he paused for emphasis, chopping the air with his hand-”is that Mike agreed to marry Lindy. That’s just not there.
“So why are you here in court today, taking precious time from your lives to act as a jury? Let me try to frame what Lindy Markov is claiming she will show. Besides the hugs and the kisses and the obfusc-”
“Your Honor,” Nina said, jumping up.
“Approach.” They went up to the bench, leaned their heads in close. “Save the argument, Counsel,” Milne said in a low voice.
“Sorry, I got carried away.”
“Carried away? He was reading from his notes,” Nina said.
“Counsel?” Milne said. “No argument in the opening statement or I’ll cut you off at the knees. Tell ’em what you intend to prove and sit back down.”
“I understand. Won’t happen again.” As they walked back, Nina caught a glimpse of juror Bob Binkley’s notepad. Mixed in with what looked like scientific notation, he had carefully listed Riesner’s points. Nina groaned inwardly.
“Four simple points,” Riesner continued, “in writing.”
In writing. Riesner had hacked his trial mantra down to two words.
“What else will you hear? You may hear that Lindy Markov was with the company for a long time, and was a valuable employee. You may hear that Lindy always wanted to get married. You will certainly hear that Lindy wants half the company, now that Mike has left her.” Riesner raised his eyebrows.
“Mike’s been very successful, ladies and gentlemen. You will definitely hear that. He has done so well that you may feel you want to take this chance to spread some of his money around. But you can’t do that. There are contract laws, marriage laws in this state, and the judge will tell you what those laws are, and that you have to follow them. I know you will follow the judge’s instructions.
“And I know that during this trial you will keep in mind these four simple facts that we will ensure are brought to you as evidence: that the parties never married; that Lindy Markov was an employee of Markov Enterprises; that Mike Markov’s name is on all the written evidences of ownership; and that the parties expressly agreed that Mr. Markov’s property was not subject to a claim by Lindy Markov.
“Plain and simple. Black and white. In writing. Ladies and gentlemen, follow the law. I know you will do that. Mr. Markov trusts you to do that.
“Thank you.” He smiled and nodded.
Wow, Genevieve scribbled on her pad, passing it to Nina and Winston as Riesner sat down. He’s no schmuck.
Nina had taken notes. In writing.
Mike’s defense would be very strong.
Damn.
Winston, Genevieve, Nina, and Paul met for lunch in the cafeteria while Lindy left for a better lunch with Alice. Winston and Genevieve sped through the line and took seats at a table. Nina, a few people in front of Paul in line, loaded her plate, and still a little shaky as she came down from her tightly orchestrated performance of the morning, knocked heavily into the man ahead of her, spilling some lettuce on the floor.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” said Nina.
“Well, if it isn’t Miz Reilly, coming after me,” said Jeffrey Riesner, jumping back, scrutinizing her as if seeking something in particular; an insight, cooties, a pearl-handed pistol? Nina didn’t know what. He set his tray down with a bang, smoothing his clothes, twisting around to make sure no salad dressing marred his suit. Unfortunately, there were two distinct oily spots at the back of the left leg of his trousers. “Look what you’ve done,” he said, pointing. “You did it on purpose, didn’t you?”
“Sorry,” she mumbled again.
“You’re as clumsy at getting your food as you are in court.”
Suddenly, she had no more apologies left. “Can we move on, here? There are people behind us.”
“Do you have any idea what this suit cost?”
“Send me the dry-cleaning bill. Now, please step aside and let me pass.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” And he smiled what Paul called his death’s-head grin, as cold as a face without skin. “But I don’t think I will. I like it right here. You’re the one who ought to be slinking out of this town, and it shouldn’t be long now before you do just that.”
Not wanting to engage in a free-for-all with him in the cafeteria out from under Milne’s steady eye, Nina waited silently, feeling her neck redden, while he painstakingly reassembled his tray, taking his time to align crooked utensils precisely beside his plate, deliberately drawing out the task. He finally finished and set the tray down at a table near the window at a decent distance from Nina’s crew, then headed for the men’s room out in the hall, brushing at his trousers and casting her one more black look.
“Whoops,” said Genevieve, smiling sympathetically as Nina sat down. “Next time, consider skipping the salad. He’s obviously a steak and potatoes man.”
“Just my luck,” said Nina, pulling out a large dinner napkin and tucking it into the front collar of her new blouse. She wasn’t about to mess up her clothes or lose her temper. She looked around but didn’t see Paul.
“Save your response for the courtroom,” advised Winston, spooning tomato soup. “He acted the same way with the male lawyer opposite him in the case we did together. It’s just posturing. Anything to knock you off balance.”
“He can’t really believe I did that on purpose. It just happened. The personal stuff-it’s all on his side,” Nina said, disingenuously. She dribbled warm Italian dressing over the white iceberg lettuce and began to eat.
Genevieve started telling Nina what she had done well and what she might work on “just a little.” Nina listened without comment, experiencing a rerun of her resistance to Genevieve’s stage-managing. She had to watch herself. Sometimes she felt ornery enough to do the exact opposite of what Genevieve advised just because Genevieve advised it, even if Genevieve was right.
“You know, there’s research showing that some jurors actually make their final decision based on the opening statements. How did you think they took yours?” Genevieve said. Apparently sticking close to her in-trial, comfort-food diet, having finished her sandwich and Winston’s leftovers, she bit into a chocolate chip cookie, putting her plate on a nearby table and pulling out her notebook.
Nina tried to give her impressions. Clifford Wright had appeared to listen to every word of her opening. Such conscientious observation made her uneasy. Having no rational basis for her feelings didn’t stop her from distrusting him. All of his responses in the voir dire held him up as the ideal juror.
Still she couldn’t help thinking how much he reminded her of a boy she’d known in high school who slicked his hair back and became president of the student council by talking up the virtues of honesty and a drug-free life. Only on Saturday nights did he revert to what he remained at core, a lying pothead. She could only hope any such reversions by Clifford Wright would happen outside of the jury room.
Nina had almost finished her salad when Paul appeared at the head of the table, a steaming cup of coffee in hand.
“Is there room for one more?” he asked.
“Coming right up,” said Genevieve, scooting over to make room for him.
He sat down beside her, across from Nina. “I caught some of the show this morning. Some nice touches.”
“Thanks,” Nina said, happy to see that he really did look pleased.
“I didn’t get a chance to thank you for your contribution to our jury selection, Paul. I think you saved us from making at least two fatal mistakes,” said Genevieve.
“You got the jury you wanted?” asked Paul.
“You never get everybody you want. But we got a lot,” said Genevieve.
“We slugged our way there,” the incorrigible Winston said.
“Glad to hear it,” said Paul, sipping his coffee.
“The climber, Diane Miklos, sure acted receptive,” Winston said. “I like that lady.”
“She’s probably got tattoos bigger than Sonny Ball’s hidden under those army surplus clothes of hers,” Genevieve teased. “She’s exactly your-” she began. She looked toward the door. Her eyes widened.
Jeffrey Riesner shot back into the lunchroom from the hall a changed man, coatless, his fly undone, a terrific bruise starting to purple on his cheek, his hair sopping wet. “Call the police!” he roared at the astonished elderly man at the cash register. “Someone attacked me!”
“You need help, sir?” asked the cashier.
“Look at me! Look at me! Call the police!” He went over to the corner and sat down, pulling out a handkerchief and drying his face.
The cashier spoke rapidly into the phone.
“Have you called yet?” Riesner asked. “What did they say?”
“Yes, sir,” said the cashier. “The bailiff will be right down.”
“Forget the bailiff. Get the police over here. Now!”
Deputy Kimura came running in, hand ready at his holster. “What happened?”
“Someone came after me…”
“What did he do?”
“What does it look like? I was attacked! He assaulted me. Isn’t that obvious?” Riesner rubbed his face.
“How’d you get all wet like that?”
“Washing the blood off! How do you think?”
“What did he look like?”
“Big guy, very strong.”
“Where did this happen?”
Riesner cast a furious look at Nina’s group, then pointed at Nina with a shaking finger. “You!” he said. “You’re behind this.”
“Where did it happen, Mr. Riesner?”
“He’s not there anymore. And if you stand here gibbering for one more second he’ll get away!” Riesner shrilled. “Why don’t you go after him?”
“Where did the confrontation take place?” Kimura asked stubbornly. “I don’t even know where to start.”
“In the goddamned toilet downstairs by the Muni Court office!” Riesner said. “And no, I didn’t see his face. Just look for a big… I don’t know. Now, why don’t you just do your job and go get that bastard!”
Kimura ran from the room.
Nina looked at Paul. He, like the rest of them, stared at the dripping, gesticulating lawyer in complete amazement.
Or did he?
What was that in his face, rollicking around the corners of his eyes? Could it be…
Amusement?
The next morning before court, Nina met Paul at Heidi’s for breakfast.
“I’m just having juice," said Paul. “Gotta keep that Malibu look.”
“Coffee, poached egg, wheat toast,” said Nina to the waitress, who at six-thirty in the morning looked like she’d been up all night.
“Changed my mind,” added Paul. “Two sides of sausage.” The waitress scurried away on her two-inch-thick-soled white foam shoes. “You talked me into it,” he said with a smile to Nina. “By the way, where were you last night? You got away before I could make a plan to ravish you. And then later, nobody was home, not even Bob.”
“I turned the phone off.”
“Did you now?” he said. “You going to tell me what’s so urgent we have to talk while I’m still half asleep?”
“You know very well. You did something to Jeff Riesner in that bathroom yesterday.”
“I never,” said Paul. “Nobody can prove a thing. How’s he doing?”
“He’s on the rampage. He’s been humiliated in front of me. He’ll never forget that everyone saw him like that. He asked the judge for a one-day continuance, but all he got was a bruise and some shaking up, so Milne said no.”
The waitress brought their food, and sighing deeply, as though it was all too much for her, poured more coffee. “Anything else?” she asked.
“We’re fine,” said Nina.
After she left, Paul said, “Don’t you just hate it when the waitress looks so pooped you want to bundle her off and send her home to bed? I feel like I should jump up to help her.”
“Paul, you’d better tell me what you did.”
He took another bite of sausage. “Mmm. This is what I call sausage. I might just have to have a teeny bit more.”
“You attacked him in the washroom, didn’t you?”
Paul continued eating until every bite was gone.
Nina knew him well enough to know he was deciding what to tell her. She tried to choke down some egg but put her fork down when she realized her seething stomach couldn’t take it. “Jesus, Paul. This is serious.”
Paul drank his coffee. “All right. I was behind the two of you in the cafeteria line. I saw the whole thing. You know, he positioned himself so that you pretty much had to run into him. Why do you let him treat you like that?”
“Believe me, he does it without any encouragement from me,” said Nina. “But Paul, you can’t sink to his level.”
“Oh, but I can. He made my blood boil. I set my tray down. The food didn’t look too good right then, so I took a little walk down the hall to the washroom to take a couple of deep breaths and calm down.”
“Oh, no.”
“It was foreordained. I walked in, and the bastard happened to be standing in one of the stalls, door wide open, back to me, taking a whiz, whistling to himself. Off-key. Just smug as hell, hitting low notes where there should be high ones. The kind of spineless whistling that really grates on me.”
“No.”
“Yes. The hair on the back of his head grated on me. His expensive shoes grated on me. I found myself perturbed. There’s no other word for it.”
Nina lowered her head and put her hand over her eyes.
“I wanted to turn him around and coldcock him. But for your sake, I didn’t want him to know who did it to him.” He waited for a reply, and, not getting one, went on. “So I pulled a little trick I learned from an old con named Dickie Mars, a guy I busted when I was still on the Force. Dickie learned it at San Quentin. You rush the guy, push hard at the shoulder so he loses his balance, and trip him at the same time. You guide him as he’s falling so his head’s above the toilet, and you-you wash his hair for him. That’s what Dickie called it. The Shampoo. When you let go, all the guy cares about is sucking in some air and wiping his eyes. You’re long gone.”
“You’re getting a kick out of telling me this, aren’t you?” Nina asked.
“You don’t have to be Irish to appreciate a good story,” said Paul.
A long silence ensued. The waitress appeared. “More coffee?” Neither of them answered, and she went away.
“I’m sorry. I am. I lost my temper,” Paul said. “He had it coming, but I shouldn’t have done it. It’s this damn case. It’s the money, money, money. It’s making everyone nuts, all that money floating out there, up for grabs. Haven’t you noticed? The lawyers, the reporters, the crowds of people following this case, eating it up. It’s mass hysteria. It’s greed so gargantuan, it should make any sensible person flinch at the sight of it. I’m afraid it’s going to ruin us, and I let the pressure get to me.”
Nina was shaking her head.
“Look, let’s forget about it. He’s all right. I’ll watch myself.”
Nina said slowly, “Paul, you’re fired. You’re off the Markov case.”
“What? It was just a prank.”
“I-I-you’re fired, Paul. Send me a bill. We’ll have to get along without you. I have to do it, as Lindy’s attorney. You assaulted the attorney I’m arguing a case against. You jeopardized my whole case!”
“You’re firing me?”
“That’s right.”
“For protecting you.”
“For losing your temper and doing crazy things.”
“By now you should expect the unexpected. That’s who I am.”
She searched her bag and threw a five-dollar bill on the table.
“Nina, friends forgive friends,” Paul said.
“You don’t even understand why I’m so upset, do you? You never liked this case or this cause, and now you’re trying to sabotage me. You didn’t dunk Riesner to protect me. You indulged yourself in a little tribal dancing, a minor war over territory. It had everything to do with you, and nothing to do with me. But Paul, if I lose this case…” She stopped and stood up.
“The world comes to an end?” Paul asked. “Look, Nina. Aren’t you forgetting what’s really important?”
“And that would be you?”
“Us, Nina.”
But she barely heard him. She was already out the door.
“Call Lindy Markov to the stand,” Nina said.
With a glance toward Mike, who did not return her look, Lindy stepped forward. Dressed in a subdued blue skirt and jacket, Lindy showed her real age to be somewhere in her midforties. Under the direction of Genevieve she had quit coloring her hair, and beneath new gray strands her healthy face looked wan.
The clerk swore her in. She took her seat.
“Hello, Mrs. Markov,” said Nina.
“Objection. Lindy Markov is not a married woman,” said Jeffrey Riesner, getting an early start.
“She’s been called Mrs. Markov for many years. It’s the name she uses.”
“Overruled. The jury is instructed that the use of a title like Mrs. doesn’t constitute evidence of marriage in this case,” Milne said curtly, as if he had already thought the matter through.
“You call yourself Lindy Markov and have for many years, yet you are not married to Mike Markov, is that right?”
“That’s right,” said Lindy.
“When did you meet?”
“In 1976.” Nina took Lindy through the circumstances of that meeting in Ely and the first months of their relationship.
“When did you begin using the name Markov?”
“On April 22, 1977.”
“And has that been an important date in your twenty-year relationship?”
“Yes.”
“You celebrated it?”
“Every year for twenty years. That was the anniversary of our permanent commitment to each other. That night we vowed to love each other and honor each other for the rest of our lives.”
“Was there a formal occasion?”
“Mike and I went to the Catholic Church in Lubbock. We walked in, and nobody else was there. Mike took me up to the altar. He got down on one knee and promised before God to love me and do everything in his power to make me happy for the rest of my life.” At these words, Lindy closed her eyes, as if temporarily incapacitated by emotion. She had been saving up emotionally for this moment for so long, Nina was concerned that she would break down.
Slumped between Jeffrey Riesner and his female associate Rebecca Casey, Mike Markov studied the table in front of him.
Nina gave Lindy a moment to compose herself.
“You considered this your wedding,” Nina said.
“Yes,” said Lindy.
“You knew this was not a legal marriage in the State of Nevada, in that you had not taken out a marriage license and in that the wedding was not officiated over by a priest or other designated official.”
“Yes.”
“Once you divorced your first husband, why didn’t you just run down to city hall and get a license?”
“By then, we were settled together,” she said slowly. She paused, looking around the courtroom. “We had moved in together, found a house, and gotten the business going. Mike always said we didn’t need a piece of paper to prove our love. He said, ’Lindy, we are man and wife.’ Our lives were living proof we belonged together. He told me he was with me because we loved each other, not because the state decreed it. We had both been married briefly before. His breakup had been bitter.”
“Did you want to get married legally?”
“It came up several times during our relationship. I’d start thinking about it. But I never doubted him when he assured me we were together for life, in it for good and bad, forever.” She looked weepy again. “He thought formal marriage was for people who didn’t know what a real marriage was. I think it might have been more decent to be married. I felt ashamed that we weren’t officially married, but I wanted to believe him when he promised it would never make a difference. I loved him. I trusted him.”
Now Nina, using simple questions, took Lindy through the beginnings of Markov Enterprises, the early years when the Markovs had lived on a financial edge and moved to Texas, where the business had failed.
“You continued to use the name Markov in all business and personal dealings?”
“Yes.”
“Your clients assumed you were married?”
“Yes.”
“Did Mike introduce you as his wife on social occasions?”
“Yes.”
“Were you introduced as his wife at business functions?”
“Yes.”
“Over the years, have many acquaintances, both personal and business, assumed you and Mike were married?”
“I believe everyone thought we were. I never talked about it, and neither did he.”
“So when it suited his convenience to be married, Mike Markov was a married man, and when it no longer suited him, he wasn’t?”
“Objection, Your Honor. Leading the witness,” Riesner said without rising from his seat.
“Sustained.”
“Did you and Mike ever have any children?” Nina asked.
“The business took the place of a child for us. We gave birth to it. We nurtured it. It grew-”
Riesner snorted audibly. Genevieve had coached Lindy on that answer, and it sounded coached.
Well, they had brought in the mantra.
In the afternoon, Winston handled the questions. For the first time in the past few years, Nina had the opportunity to sit at the counsel table and watch the jury while someone else carried the questioning.
One thing she noticed immediately. Cliff Wright perked up and paid attention when Winston talked. He laughed appropriately. He did not pick his nails. Wright liked Winston, preferred him to her. She wondered why.
And how did Winston appear so fresh? While the rest of the court wilted in the late afternoon, Winston’s warm, copper-colored face looked invigorated and ready to go. He was relaxed and utterly in control of the courtroom. During the days of depos and trial prep, Winston had kept such a low profile that Nina had begun to wonder if she had made a mistake in hiring him, that he had been grossly overrated. Now, seeing him in action, she understood his success. You couldn’t dislike him.
“Mrs. Markov,” he said to Lindy. “You said this morning that you worked alongside Mike Markov for many years at the company you both began.”
“That’s right. Literally alongside. We even shared an office.”
Winston strolled over to a stand next to the table. “Your Honor, we would like to submit to the court’s attention photographs taken of Lindy and Mike Markov in happier times.”
Riesner turned immediately to Rebecca with a whisper to show his complete disinterest. They had fought over showing the photos at a pretrial hearing and Riesner had lost.
The first board, a stiff, dry-mounted picture blown up to the size of a large poster, showed two desks, side by side. Behind one desk, Mike Markov beamed. Behind the other, Lindy beamed. Across the gap in the desks, they held hands.
“Will you describe this picture for me?” asked Winston.
“Objection, Your Honor. A picture is worth a thousand words,” said Riesner. “It speaks for itself.”
“Even a thousand words may not explain the circumstances in which the picture was taken, I’m afraid,” said Milne. “Proceed.”
“That’s… that was our office at Markov Enterprises. The office at our first manufacturing plant.”
“Located here in town?”
Lindy nodded. “On the hill going up from the ’Y’ intersection. We have offices there, plus a production facility.”
“For how many years did you and Mike share an office?”
Lindy said, “Always. The whole time. We liked being close to each other. We consulted with each other constantly.”
“What does that sign on your desk read?”
“Executive vice president.”
“Now, during the years Markov Enterprises has had its principal place of business at Lake Tahoe, what exactly has been your job description?”
“There wasn’t one. I did whatever needed doing, as I always had before. Marketing strategies, advertising campaigns, production timetables. I oversaw the day-to-day operating expenses. I helped develop long-term financial plans along with Mike and our accounting service. I trained our sales force and organized our employee benefits package. I hired and fired and promoted and dealt with the unions. As the business grew, my responsibilities grew. And I kept trying to think of new products like the Solo Spa.”
Winston seemed to need to study the pictures for a long time. Hands behind his back, he stood far enough away so that the jury had a straight shot at them. “What was Mike Markov’s title?”
“President.”
“You had desks the same size?”
“Yes.”
“If someone came in from the factory, for example, needing something, who would that person speak with first?”
“Whoever happened to be in, Mike or me.”
“Would you say when anything important came across your desk, it usually found its way to Mr. Markov’s desk?”
“Yes.”
“And if anything important landed on his desk, he rolled it over to you at some point?”
“Oh, yes.”
Winston took a marker pen out of his pocket, stared at it for a moment as if surprised to find it there, walked up to the picture, and playfully drew a circle around the two people and two desks. Turning back to Lindy he said, “Though you were two people, as far as your clients, your employees, and your business problems were concerned, the two of you operated as one unit, would that be correct to say?”
The linking of hands in the photograph served to emphasize the image he was suggesting.
“Objection!” said Riesner. “Vague. Leading.”
“Sustained. Leading.”
“Did you work together as a unit?”
“Yes. Like parents raising a family.”
“You shared equally in decision-making?”
“Nothing major happened in our business without my consultation and approval.”
“You dealt directly with clients?”
“Yes.”
“When someone called, say, a new shop interested in carrying your products, who talked to the client?”
“We both did.”
“How did you do that?”
“Any important phone calls that came in, Mike would signal me to pick up. Afterward, we discussed the deal and made a decision together.”
“Did employees at the business think you ran it together?”
“Objection,” said Riesner. “Calls for speculation.”
“Sustained.”
“Right,” Winston said. “We’ll get into that later.”
And, with Winston leading Riesner on a merry chase through the labyrinthian legal subtleties of testimony, eventually he did, taking Lindy through a description of a conference she had planned and run while Mike recuperated from exhaustion in Las Vegas.
She came off well, Nina thought as Winston wound things up with Lindy. You had to like someone who worked so very hard, who took responsibility, who loved her job and her man so loyally.
Didn’t you?
“Where’s Paul?” Genevieve whispered the next morning as Judge Milne took his place. “I would have thought he’d want to see some of this.”
“We don’t need him anymore,” said Nina, ignoring Genevieve’s perplexed look.
The trial started off with Winston, who wanted to unman the defense’s biggest weapon right up front. “I have here a copy of a document entitled ’Separate Property Agreement’ that appears to be signed by you. Have you ever seen this before?” he asked Lindy.
Nina, taking notes next to Genevieve at their table, continued to marvel at the transformation Genevieve and Lindy had brought about in Lindy’s appearance. Her simple clothing, lack of makeup, and graying hair made an utter contrast to the glamorous woman who had greeted Nina at the Markov party. She looked worn out, and therefore more vulnerable. She looked thin rather than muscular, and therefore weaker.
Taking the exhibit, Nina looked it over. Meantime, Winston waited quietly at the podium, directing the courtroom’s attention to Lindy.
“Yes,” she finally answered, looking at Mike. “A copy of it at my deposition. And before that, thirteen years ago.”
“How close can you come to a date?”
“Sometime in the mideighties, I’m not sure when; right after we came to California, Mike had me type up a paper and sign it. It was a one-page document.”
“What did you think you were signing?”
“It started off with saying something about how much we trusted each other. Then it talked about separating our assets.”
“Did you consult an attorney before signing this paper?”
“No.”
“Did Mike suggest you might do that?”
Lindy smiled slightly. “At that time, Mike didn’t like attorneys. He just asked me to sign it. He wrote it in the motel room in Sacramento where we lived when we came out from Texas.”
“What was happening at that time in your relationship?”
Lindy was looking at Mike again. Mike tried to look indifferent and failed. Rachel leaned forward from her seat behind him and whispered something.
“We were broke. We had liquidated our business in Texas. I’ve never seen Mike in such a bad state. Until now.”
“Move to strike the last two words as nonresponsive,” Rebecca said from next to Mike.
“The jury will disregard the last two words.”
“When you say ’bad state,’ what do you mean?”
Lindy said carefully, “Mike had failed before. He was angry. I think he felt helpless. He talked a lot about his ex-wife, how she had taken everything he had saved during his years in the ring. He thought our business troubles were a direct result of starting out with no money, and he blamed her.
“Every day, we got dunning letters. Creditors made phone calls. Our agent there was trying to sell off the assets and salvage something for us. We were living in a motel in Sacramento run by a gloomy man who called every morning at eight o’clock and said, ’Your rent is due,’ like we were criminals climbing out the back window. That little room was so hot. Cockroaches ran in the kitchen all night and the back balcony looked out over a sewage ditch. It was August and over a hundred degrees day after day. I’d sit at the dressing table all day and make calls and write letters, trying to get some money in, and Mike would just lie on the bed. Mike started-he got angry at me.”
“Why?” Winston’s soft, sympathetic voice.
“I was handy,” Lindy said. “He’s a proud and stubborn man. He started imagining that I was going to leave him as soon as the agent sent our check, take the money and get as far from him as I could. Then he said he was going to disappear one day and I’d be better off. He was having such a hard time, I didn’t know what he would do.”
“And what was your response to that?”
She had everyone’s attention. Nina saw a few unconvinced looks, and hoped Winston’s next few questions would erase those.
“I told him he could have all the money when it came, and put it in a bank account just in his name, if it would make him feel better. I wouldn’t take anything. That way he wouldn’t have to worry anymore that I would leave him or something.”
“You offered to give him your share of the check?”
“It made no difference to me, as long as we were together.”
“If you made yourself penniless, a pauper, made yourself completely powerless, gave up everything, he would feel better? Then you couldn’t leave him? He needed you to sacrifice all you had to shore up his bruised ego?”
Lindy pushed herself up. “I never said that!”
At the same time, Riesner jumped up from his chair and began objecting.
And at the same time, Winston calmly said, “Withdrawn.”
Milne called Winston and Riesner to the bench. Leaning away from the jury so he wouldn’t be heard, Milne hissed a few words to Winston that had Winston nodding his head and promising he’d never do it again. Winston had sprung that inspired cruelty on Lindy; it had certainly never been rehearsed in the office conference room. Nina was sure it was spontaneous; he hadn’t prepared that outburst of eloquent questions that had forced Lindy into a protective stance and made the real relationship spring to life for the jury.
Now, as Winston received his dressing-down, the jury had plenty of time to sit there and think about Mike and Lindy, about a man’s irrational and sour fears when he hits bottom for the second time, and a woman’s willingness to give too much to help him.
Nina knew she couldn’t have done that to Lindy. She would feel too much compunction. Also, she felt Lindy’s mortification at having these things stated so baldly. Lindy looked shamefaced, like a wife admitting to but excusing a husband that beats her every Friday night.
Dynamite, Genevieve scribbled on her pad for Nina’s benefit.
“What happened then?” Winston now said. The lawyers had returned to their places. Lindy sat very straight and stared straight ahead. She no longer trusted Winston.
“I had found a space we could use to set up a boxing ring and a supplier who would set us up on credit. That week a check came from the agent. All we had from seven years of hard work. Twelve thousand five hundred dollars. That night, Mike asked me to type up and sign this exhibit.”
“Referring to Cross-Complainant’s Exhibit One. And you have already testified that you signed it.”
“Yes.”
“Now, let me ask you this, Lindy.” Winston’s voice dropped, and everybody leaned in closer so as not to miss a word. “Let me ask you this simple but important question.”
“Yes?” Lindy was all but vibrating, knowing what was coming.
“Why did you sign this document?”
In the silence that followed Nina heard Mike’s stentorian breathing.
“Because Mike said we would get married if I signed it. We’d get married and try to gut it out.”
A mass exhalation. Several jurors wrote that statement down.
“He promised to marry you?”
“Yes. You know, legally.”
“So long as all the money and power were kept completely in his hands?”
“I wouldn’t put it that way. So long as-his property was kept separate. He needed that. It was important to him, and it didn’t matter to me, don’t you see?”
Winston started to comment on her reply, then thought better of it. He thought for a moment, tapping his hand on his chin, and Nina saw again how he used pauses to suck in all the wandering attention. She was learning from him.
He said eventually, compassionately, “But you didn’t get married.”
Lindy explained again how Mike pocketed the agreement and left for Texas to sign the final paperwork terminating their business there. Winston let her talk.
“When he got back, I kept saying to Mike, let’s do it, it’s so simple, just go to a justice of the peace and make it official. But“-she held her palms up and shrugged-”we just never did.”
“You opened a checking account to deposit the check?”
“Mike did, yes.”
“Was your name on it?”
A wary shake of the head. “No.”
“Did you move?”
“Oh, yes. Within a week. To an apartment near Howe Avenue.”
“Was your name on the lease?”
“No.”
“Did you lease the exercise facility and sign some contracts for services and equipment?”
“No.”
“Mike did?”
“Yes.”
“Did the business begin making money?”
“It took off, and we never looked back,” said Lindy with whatever pride Winston had left her.
“Did the business eventually incorporate as Markov Enterprises and were stock certificates issued in that name?”
“Yes,” she said, and in a voice Nina could barely hear, she added, “and my name wasn’t on them.”
“Did you protest to Mike?”
“No. I just asked him again-this was about ten years ago. Could we-let’s get married, I said. Like you promised. And he said when the time was right. And I let it go.”
“You relied on his promise?”
“I relied on Mike. I always have. I always gave him my complete trust.” Her voice sounded surprised, as if only now, in front of the jury that would judge her actions, could she acknowledge that she had been foolish.
“You subsequently established your primary manufacturing facility for exercise equipment here in Tahoe-”
“Yes.”
“And…”
“And, yes, my name wasn’t on anything.”
“Then you bought that beautiful house up on Cascade Road. That wonderful mansion,” Winston said sadly. “Who found the house and dealt with the realtor?”
“Mike was busy, so I…”
“Who put in the flowerbeds and bought the furniture and oversaw extensive remodeling-”
“That was me.”
“And who lived there for ten years, only to be thrown out of it like a dog because your name wasn’t anywhere to be found on the ownership papers?”
“Oh, stop, please!” Lindy said, tears flowing down her thin cheeks.
Winston had made her cry.
“Court’s adjourned until one-thirty. Mr. Reynolds. Get your-get up here.”
On cross examination after lunch, to no one’s surprise Riesner focused on Exhibit 1. Nina took on the job of making the objections from Lindy’s table. Lindy now sat at her right, Winston and Genevieve on her left. The jury filed in, Mrs. Lim, looking stern in her checkered suit, in the lead.
Riesner was in fine form, with a bright, new silk tie in gold and red, buffed from his nose to his toes. The bruise on his cheek gave him a slightly reckless look. His air of false sympathy for Lindy had the exact impact he must have hoped for, casting doubt upon her sincerity.
Then he got to play with visuals, dreamed up during some midnight meetings to engage those media junkie, Generation X jurors, Nina presumed. Tacking a large piece of blank paper over an easel standing at the front of the room, he took a marker pen. “Agreement,” he said, while he wrote at the top, “between Lindy and Mike. Lindy gets half of everything, including the business. And here’s a space at the bottom for you and Mike to sign. Did you ever give Mike a paper like that to sign?”
“No.”
“Did Mike ever give one to you?”
“No.”
“Why didn’t you ever do that?”
“We had our agreement,” she said somewhat plaintively. “A promise between us to live as husband and wife, and share everything. Mike told me that was enough.”
“Isn’t it a fact, Ms. Markov, that the reason you didn’t get him to sign a paper stating that you owned half of anything was that this wasn’t your deal, but that the separate property agreement was?”
“No, it wasn’t because Mike never carried out his part of the agreement. He promised to marry me in exchange for my signing.”
“Ms. Markov, tell me this. The day you signed Exhibit One, if Mike Markov and you went to a justice of the peace that very day, would you have married him?”
“Of course I would have!”
Riesner sailed over to the clerk, flipping a piece of paper toward her and giving it an exhibit number.
“What’s this?” he asked Lindy.
She looked at the certificate, looked back at Riesner, and looked at Nina. “It’s a marriage certificate.”
“Between you and a man named Gilbert Schaefer? Indicating you were married before you met Mike?”
“Yes.” Why did her voice keep getting shakier and shakier? She hadn’t made a secret of the fact that she had been married before.
“And your divorce became final when?”
Lindy didn’t answer. She was looking at Mike again. Her face turned waxen.
“Objection, Your Honor. This is beyond the scope of cross-examination,” said Nina, suddenly scared. “Counsel can’t question the witness about a piece of paper I haven’t seen.”
“This is not beyond the scope, Judge,” Riesner piped up. “She opened this line of questioning when she brought up the issue of marriage. I did overlook showing this to Counsel. My mistake. I apologize.” He walked over and handed Nina the paper with a flourish.
“I’m overruling the objection,” Milne said.
“My divorce became final…” Lindy started, then stopped. She looked at Nina again for help, but Nina’s attention was riveted to the piece of paper she held between a rigid thumb and finger.
“Where did you obtain that divorce?” Riesner asked, seeming to let Lindy off the hook.
“In Mexico. Juarez.”
“Now, I’m going to ask you this question again, Ms. Markov, and please give it your careful attention. When did that marriage terminate?”
“Last year,” Lindy said. Some of the jurors did a double take. The audience shifted and murmured.
“What the hell?” Winston whispered, and Nina passed him the divorce decree, dated the previous year.
“Quiet,” Deputy Kimura said sternly to the audience.
“In spite of your frequently stated wish to marry Mr. Markov, you were not free to marry, isn’t that so?” Riesner asked.
“Let me explain! I thought I was divorced the year before I met Mike. I didn’t know there was a problem with my divorce until very recently. Originally, I had flown to Juarez and taken care of it quickly.”
“You flew to Juarez for a quickie divorce without caring whether it was legal and binding in the U.S.?”
“Of course I thought it was legal! Otherwise, I wouldn’t have bothered.”
“That’s just another lie, isn’t it? Where’s this famous Juarez divorce decree?” Riesner knew from Lindy’s deposition that she had lost it years ago. “Well, where is it?” he repeated impatiently, his voice loaded with condemnation.
“I lost it.”
“Lost it?” He strolled around, sighing, practically rolling his eyes. “You’re telling us you obtained an invalid divorce decree, lost the evidence of that, and didn’t know until last year that it was invalid? Come on, Lindy…”
“Objection!”
The lawyers wrangled for a few minutes with Milne out of the jury’s hearing, but Nina knew she could do nothing to attenuate the damage done to their case. The jury could not ignore the evidence. Lindy hadn’t been divorced, therefore there could be no marriage to Mike.
“When did you find out you were still married to Gilbert Schaefer?”
“My ex-husband called me a little over a year ago. He said he wanted to remarry, but he thought he ought to get a divorce here. He had checked and found out the first one might not be any good.”
“So any marriage to Mr. Markov would have been bigamous. And invalid.”
“Objection,” said Nina. “Calls for a legal conclusion. It’s argumentative and speculative and-”
“Sustained.”
“So during all those years with Mike Markov, you were still married to another man?” asked Riesner.
“I was married to Mike,” Lindy said firmly, “in every way except City Hall’s.”
The statement sounded moonstruck and flighty under the circumstances.
“Oh, by the way. Did you explain any of this to Mike last year?”
Lindy shook her head dumbly.
“You have to speak up,” Riesner said.
“No. I didn’t want him to know.”
“Why not?”
“Where are we going with this, Your Honor?” Nina said. She marched up to the judge with Riesner. Milne leaned over, careful to whisper, and said, “Jeff. Now, what’s this all about?”
“It’s about her secrets and lies, Judge. Her poor little wife act. Her total trust and reliance on Mr. Markov. Not only that. It’s her whole case. She signed that Separate Property Agreement based on a mutual promise to keep their assets separate. She knew her divorce was no good. A broken promise to marry-phew! Stinks to high heaven, and I just proved that.”
Milne said to Riesner, “Okay. But you’ve gone far enough with this line of questioning. I’m not going to let this last question in.”
“But-”
But nothing. They were dismissed.
As they both swiftly walked the short distance to the counsel tables, past the jury box, Nina suddenly felt a pressure on her shoe. Riesner had stepped on her heel.
Over she went, straight forward, in an ungainly leaping motion. She crashed into the trial table directly in front of an astounded Winston, and clutched at the table for support, but her hands slid off and she banged onto the table legs and hit the ground. A stabbing pain shot down her left ankle.
Deputy Kimura’s hands were there, lifting her up, and Genevieve rushed around the table to help her smooth her skirt.
“Court is adjourned until nine o’clock tomorrow morning,” Milne announced, and the commotion increased. “Are you all right?” Milne said, coming around the dais in his robes. “That was a nasty fall.” The jury filed out, some turning their heads back to see.
Nina tested her weight on her foot. “Nothing seems to be broken,” she managed to say. She wouldn’t let the tears of pain force themselves through her lids, not with that son of a bitch Riesner watching.
“How extremely clumsy of me,” Riesner said. He touched the bruise on his cheek, unobtrusively. “My foot-it just somehow caught the edge of your shoe.”
Nina turned away. “Just get me out of here,” she said to Winston through gritted teeth. He pulled her arm over his shoulder and hauled her to the elevator and out the door through the barrage of cameras. Genevieve trotted behind with the briefcases.
Nina spent the evening with her foot propped up, trying to keep down the swelling, trying to think rationally about what had happened in court just before Riesner tripped her.
For once, Lindy didn’t call, so Nina called Lindy. “I’m killing myself to win this case for you,” she said, the extremity of her discomfort making it easy for her to forgo the usual pleasantries. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me you weren’t officially divorced from Gilbert Schaefer until last year?”
“I thought Gil would stay gone and never come back,” Lindy said. “And I thought giving him a hundred thousand would guarantee it.”
“He blackmailed you?” Nina asked.
“Not really. I offered. I gave him some of the money I had saved from all those years of salary, and the severance pay I got when I lost my job…” She hesitated. “Then I agreed to pay him more after I won if he’d stay out of the case.”
That explained why a woman who had made a living wage for twenty years and spent not a dime on her support had so little money to offer Nina up front. Nina stifled the urge to hang up on her. “You really believe throwing money at a problem makes it go away, don’t you?” Nina asked.
“That’s not my only method. It’s just the one that usually works best,” said Lindy.
Lindy sure hadn’t thrown money at Nina, who was sliding head over heels into debt. Seething, Nina said good-bye. Bob came in, took one look at her, and set about clearing the table and loading the dishwasher.
She caught him on the arm as he walked by. “Bob, without you…”
“C’mon, Mom,” he said, accepting a squeeze and then deftly pulling away. “I want to finish this before my show comes on.” He carried a load to the counter. “Want me to fix up a cold bucket for your foot?”
She didn’t answer. He felt around under a cabinet and emerged with a brown plastic pail. “Remember that time I twisted my ankle playing hockey and you told me it would really help and I said it wouldn’t and you bet me and you won the bet?”
Massaging her foot, she listened and watched as he foraged in the freezer for ice. Without him…
Morning came, and court. Pulling panty hose over her swollen ankle hurt, but the rush of getting out the door made her forget it until she was sitting at the table at the front of the courtroom, where it resumed its throbbing.
“Call Harry Anderssen to the stand,” said Winston, giving Nina a tap on the shoulder as he rose, and the jury a benevolent smile.
The show had to go on. Nina could only hope a magician would appear soon to work the magic they needed. While the next witness was sworn in by the clerk, Nina took a moment to study him. Harry Anderssen had been Lindy’s assistant in marketing for three years. He wore a turtleneck under a dark green sports coat that matched his large dark eyes and had brushed his long brown hair straight back. Nina had seen some photographs in which he had modeled. In brochures and videos he usually wore shorts and went bare-chested, the better to show off an unusually well-developed physique.
Winston took him through his background and history with the company.
“You held a fairly responsible position?”
“I would say so. The Markovs, then Rachel and Hector, the vice presidents. I was the next layer down, but I worked directly for Lindy.”
“How would you characterize your former relationship with Ms. Markov?”
“Employer-employee.”
“And how did you perceive her role in the company?”
“Objection,” said Riesner. “Calls for the witness to speculate.”
“Overruled,” said Milne. “Please answer.”
“She and Mike ran the company.”
“Together?”
“Pretty much.”
“Did you observe them working together on a regular basis?”
“Oh, yes. They had desks right next to each other.”
“Did you get the impression that one or the other was more important when it came to making decisions?”
“Objection,” said Riesner, now showing a little carefully calculated anger. “Lack of foundation. Calls for a conclusion on the part of the witness.”
“Overruled,” said Milne. “He’s asking for the witness’s impressions, not for conclusions of fact.” For once, Nina felt, the rulings were going their way. She had figured out that Milne tended to let in somewhat more than he had to under the strict rules of evidence. This diminished the number of appellate issues and got closer to the truth. For the thousandth time, she sent up a prayer of thanks that Tahoe had such a fine judge.
“You may answer,” Milne told the witness.
“No. I had the impression they were equally important,” said Harry. He looked around the courtroom, smiling. Harry seem to like his smile. He used it whenever he could.
“Who did you think owned the company?”
“I saw it as a family business, owned and operated by the Markovs.”
“Putting aside Mr. Markov, did anyone else have a greater involvement in the running of the business besides Lindy Markov?”
“No.”
“Did you get the impression that Lindy was some kind of assistant to Mr. Markov?”
He laughed slightly, which gave him another opportunity to expose his perfect white teeth. “No. They had plenty of arguments, and Lindy often came out the winner.”
“Did the subject of their marital status ever come up?”
“Well, Mr. and Mrs. Markov, that’s who they were. Of course we all assumed they were married.”
“What about ownership of the company? Did you ever examine any of the corporate documents?”
“No. Why would I? I started out as Lindy’s assistant and now I’m just the pinup boy.” He stuck his chin out engagingly, and in the jury box Maribel Grzegorek licked her lips. Rachel smiled at him.
“Who did you believe up to the time that the Markovs separated-who did you believe owned the company?”
“Oh, the two of them together.” He cast a glance at Mike. “We kidded around at work, called them Mom and Pop. That’s what it was like, a family thing, the corner store, a mom and pop operation.”
“Mom and Pop,” Winston repeated. It made an excellent variation on their mantra.
In her chair beside Nina, Lindy stirred. “He’s got a nasty streak. Mike’s not going to like this,” she whispered to Nina.
“He’s saying exactly what we need him to say, Lindy.”
“And in conversations with clients, did you you frequently refer to Lindy Markov as an owner?” Winston continued.
“Yes.”
“Did Mr. Markov ever do anything or say anything to give you the impression that he owned and ran the company entirely on his own?”
“No. He always said ’we.’ We’re going to introduce a new product line. We want to open a Solo Spas outlet in London. Which is not to say they didn’t have different areas of responsibility in the company. Mike’s orientation is the hands-on side. Lindy is the planner.”
Riesner moved in fast.
“You know your testimony will help Ms. Markov, don’t you, Mr. Anderssen?” he said.
“The chips must fall where they may.” Another fabulous smile. Nina thought, he’s going to be a star tomorrow, after the news pictures get taken today.
“Speaking of chips falling, you’ve got a big one on your shoulder, don’t you?”
“Sorry?”
“You don’t want Mr. Markov to win, do you?”
“I feel obligated to tell the truth even though Mike was my employer,” he said.
“And the man who’s about to marry the woman you love-how about that for a little problem?” said Riesner. He didn’t turn to look back at Mike, and Nina knew why. Mike’s turn to receive an unpleasant surprise from his own lawyer had come. Mike’s eyes burned, but he managed to keep his mouth shut. Clearly, in spite of the public scene between him and Harry, he had told Riesner not to use this information because of the embarrassment it would cause both him and Rachel. But Riesner hadn’t been able to resist this easy method of showing bias. Nina could practically hear the buzz of the reporters’ busy little brains in the back rows, planning how to report this fine whiff of sex.
“I don’t know how you mean,” Harry said.
“Sure you do, Harry. You and Ms. Pembroke, Mr. Markov’s fiancée, were lovers until about six months ago. Now that’s true, isn’t it?”
“Yes. But-”
“You still care for her.”
“I don’t deny that. But-”
“You wish she were marrying you, don’t you?”
“Whatever,” Harry said, and for the first time, his green eyes flashed with anger. “She made the smart choice. I don’t really hold it against her. She went for the money.”
Even Deputy Kimura couldn’t still the courtroom now. Riesner’s head jerked back, anger rampaging over his face, as uncontrollable as weather.
“Move to strike the last two sentences as nonresponsive!” he shouted quickly over the hubbub, forcing his face back into the grimace that passed for normal with him.
Winston leaned over to Nina. “You hear that?” he muttered. “The jury’s got it all figured out now.”
“Sustained. The jury will disregard the last two statements from the witness and they will be stricken from the record. Order!” Milne’s gavel came down and the noise subsided.
Nina watched Mike, who had half risen. Rebecca was talking fast to him, her head close to his. While Nina couldn’t catch any words, she caught the soothing tone. Rebecca was trying to keep Mike from compounding the mistake Riesner had made.
And whatever she said worked. Mike fell heavily back into his seat. Riesner wiped his brow with his silk handkerchief and spent considerable time leading Harry through more innocuous topics, defusing the bomb. Winston continued his examination after lunch, then Harry was excused. When the afternoon break was called, the reporters and photographers stampeded him, but Harry was in no hurry to get away. He graciously consented to pose for any number of snapshots.
Nina almost felt sorry for Riesner, who had made a fool out of his client and seen his effort backfire. It almost made up for the day before, but not quite.
Bob woke up with a fever Friday morning. Andrea had to work. Matt had to work. Nina had to work. Matt promised to pop in a few times during the day to see how he was doing. That left Nina with the single mom’s alternative: dose him with medicine and prop him in front of the television with a six pack of uncola and crackers, out of Hitchcock’s range. She left him with his head lying over Hitchcock’s back, looking like hell. “Page me in an emergency,” she told him, feeling like an idiot. What kind of a mother would leave a sick child just to go to work?
She would make it up to him when this trial was over.
She arrived at court extremely late. Milne had just called the midmorning break. Fortunately, Winston had jumped into her place. “You owe me,” he whispered, passing the torch the minute she dropped her briefcase on her chair.
“Winston. A word.” Nina caught him by the coat sleeve just as he got up from the counsel table. He followed her into the cubbyhole next to the law library. Nina shut the door. He filled her in on what she had missed in court. In case he had somehow missed it, she filled him in on what was happening out there in the world.
The stories in the papers had begun by trying to state both sides of the Markov case, but then the commentators had gotten hold of it. For the first few days of the trial Lindy was the poster child. A well-known Boston area feminist wrote in her syndicated national column about how the Markov case symbolized the fact that women hadn’t come nearly as far as they thought. Lindy turned down all interview requests, which allowed the media free rein to paint her personality and the story in accordance with the particular slant desired.
But now Riesner had turned up a husband, at least a husband who technically had been her lawfully wedded partner for much longer than Lindy had led everyone to believe. As a result, Lindy had been hastily decommissioned as poster child and Mike had now been tacked up.
But the media was only echoing the change of tone that had transpired in the courtroom. Before Lindy started a freefall in front of the jury, one she wouldn’t survive, Nina and Winston needed to do immediate damage control on Lindy’s image.
“Call Florencia Morales to the stand.”
A fit young Latina woman stood in the witness box, her interpreter beside her, and was sworn in.
“You’re Mike Markov’s housekeeper?” asked Nina. Mrs. Morales listened to the translation and answered. She spoke English fairly well. The translator was just there to make sure the questions were interpreted accurately.
“That’s right,” she said.
“And you’ve been employed for the past seven years at the Markov estate?”
“Yes.”
“Now, Mrs. Morales, as caretaker you must see a lot of things that happen at the Markov house.”
“Yes.”
“How many days a week do you work?”
“I’m there every day. I live there. Most days, I work.”
“So you were there, on March twenty-eighth of last year, when Gilbert Schaefer came to tell Lindy Markov that they were still married?”
“Objection,” Riesner said. “Leading, speculative, irrelevant, lack of foundation-”
“Sustained.”
“On that date about a year ago, did you observe the arrival of a man called Gilbert Schaefer?”
“I opened the door to him. He introduced himself.”
“What happened then?”
“I called upstairs for Lin… Mrs. Markov. She came down.”
“And what was her reaction upon seeing Mr. Schaefer?”
“Hearsay, Your Honor,” said Riesner. “We object.”
“Sustained.”
“Tell us, if you will, only what you observed, nothing that you overheard of any conversation.”
“Okay,” said Mrs. Morales. “She came down the stairs. When she saw him, she turned kind of white, then kind of gray. She wanted to know what he was doing, showing up after such a long time.”
“And why had he come?”
“He said…”
“Same objection,” said Riesner.
“Sustained.”
“He told her why he had come?”
“Yes. He just came right out with it, boom.”
“And can you characterize his mood at the time?”
“He was clowning around like it was all a big joke.”
“What was her reaction when he told her why he had come?”
“She listened. At first she didn’t believe him, but he showed her some papers to prove what he said was true. Then, like she was whacked with an ax, she sat down hard on the couch. She was very surprised at whatever he told her.”
Nina paced quietly around in front of the jury, hands behind her back, head lowered, as if pondering the scene. She was giving everyone plenty of time to get it, that Lindy had been horrified to learn she was not divorced from this man. She looked at the jury. Mrs. Lim took her notes. Kris Schmidt looked twitchy. Cliff Wright was hard to read. “Now on another topic,” said Nina. “Are you aware that Mr. Markov has a niece, age seventeen, who lives in Ely?”
“Yes. I have met her several times.”
“When she comes to the Markov house?”
“That’s right.”
“And when she comes to the Markov house, what does she call Mr. Markov?”
“Uncle Mike.”
“And what about Lindy Markov?”
“Aunt Lindy.”
Following the afternoon break, Nina took over for Winston, who had already begun with Mike Markov. She was attempting to show the jury that Mike had had all the benefits of marriage with Lindy without accepting the legal obligations, but Riesner had prepared his client well. For the last three hours of the day, stoic and impervious to provocation, Markov asserted that Lindy played only a minor role in the business. He alone had invented the Solo Spa. He had never referred to her as his wife in public or private.
Then it was Nina’s turn to play with pictures. She asked for the lights to be dimmed and inserted a video Paul had extracted from someone in the marketing department at Markov Enterprises.
Mike spoke from behind a podium. “Ladies and gentlemen, coworkers and friends. It gives me great pleasure to introduce my companion, my partner, my muse, my wife, Mrs. Lindy Markov!”
The screen went blank.
A sound escaped from beside Genevieve. Nina didn’t turn to look at Lindy, seated there.
“Does this refresh your memory?” she asked Mike Markov.
Before giving the rattled defendant a chance to recover from being shown up as a liar in court, she moved in for a strike, getting him to make the crucial admission that Lindy had said “Now we can get married” when she signed the separate property agreement.
At the end of the day, she canceled Friday night’s dinner meeting with Genevieve and Winston. They would have to haggle about the day’s work without her or wait until Saturday. In spite of their reasonably effective showing that day, she didn’t feel good. She couldn’t remember ever being in a case before where her actions in court, both good and bad, were so zealously analyzed afterward that she sometimes felt pulverized under the sheer weight of opinion.
Calling Sandy on her cell phone to fill her in and give her what advice she could about keeping things going at her poor, neglected practice, she drove home to Bob and managed to get a dollop of soup stuffed between his puffy, fevered lips before he conked out again at about seven-thirty.
When the phone rang, she didn’t answer. She was afraid it would be Lindy calling and she just couldn’t reassure her properly at the moment. She couldn’t even reassure herself.
This trial had an edginess she couldn’t remember feeling before. Everyone jumped at the slightest mistake. Every revelation rated frenzied scribbling in a reporter’s notebook.
She put on her nightgown and crawled into bed. Outside the wind blew. She tried to sleep as branches broke off and thumped against the roof, sounding to her groggy mind as heavy and ominous as bodies falling.
Over the weekend, Bob’s fever receded enough for him to take up his station at the computer, where he was lovingly creating a website with his cousin Troy based on their mutual loathing of phony people and love of Boogie-boarding. So, late on Saturday morning, Nina went into the office, straight from a glaring May sunshine into the waiting glare of Sandy.
“I can run this place alone,” she said, “but your other fifty-nine clients might not be so sure.”
“Sandy, I’m really sorry. But you know I’ve got trial, and Bob’s been sick…”
“Yeah. He called here while you were at court yesterday.”
“Was he okay?”
“Sounded low.”
“What did he say?”
“Not much. So, I told him about the shaman near Woodfords in my mother’s time. A healer. He used to smoke first, a plant that would help him see what was wrong. Then he had two methods for healing. He would sing. Sometimes that worked.”
“And then?” asked Nina, intrigued. Sandy must get lonely here all day…
“He sucked the sick person’s flesh to get rid of the ’Pain.’ “
“What did Bob think about that?”
“Said maybe he’d try listening to the radio first.” Sandy looked so serious, Nina squelched any desire to giggle.
Genevieve threw open the door to the office. “Hi, Sandy, Nina. Man, it’s been one helluva month, hasn’t it?” Her arms spilling files, she breezed her way through to the conference room. “Vanilla bean coffee! Sandy, you’re the best!”
Sandy and Nina watched as she whirled from here to there, bringing them both fresh cups and watering Sandy’s plants as she passed.
“You would never know she’s got that hearing problem,” said Sandy as the door closed behind her. “Isn’t it great to see a disabled person doing so well?”
Nina, still breathing in the clean air and optimism Genevieve always seemed to carry with her, agreed, wishing she felt half as optimistic. Where would she find the money to get her through this trial? What could she do about her clients?
“You know what I wish?” she asked. “I wish Bob and I could go somewhere right now, tonight, and sleep late every morning and get brown and spend the entire day in the water.”
“If you’re going to wish,” Sandy said, “wish for something useful. Wish for a million bucks, why don’t you?”
Winston showed up later bearing cold, roasted chicken and salad, which they ate while they talked.
For a few minutes, they indulged themselves in a discussion of all the places at Tahoe they hadn’t been and couldn’t wait to go to once they were out of the incarceration they imposed on themselves during any trial. Since they couldn’t actually do anything fun, they had fun imagining themselves having fun. Sandy sat with them through the first part of this discussion, then left to tap away on her computer.
Nina led off with her latest plan: to take Bob and Matt’s family to a picnic on Fannette Island. That intrigued Winston, who loved to kayak. He decided that would be his first stop, once they finished the trial. Then he wanted to spend at least a long weekend hiking. Then two days lying on the beach. Then he might take a swim up at the Squaw Valley pool and hike all the way back down the mountain from there.
Genevieve said she hadn’t spent enough time alone with a slot machine lately to claim more than a passing acquaintanceship. The trial was cutting into her gambling time.
“Okay, you’re waiting to hear from me,” she said once they had finished eating, with that charming confidence that a snide person might mistake for arrogance.
“We are?” said Winston, but he was joking.
“Analysis of how we’re doing in one word: fanfuckingtastic.”
“Is that like those bumper stickers people used to put on VW’s, ’fukengruven’?” asked Winston. “Because not too many of those old Bugs were in any shape to brag, you know.”
“I don’t think we have too much to brag about yet, either,” Nina said.
“Well, that’s fine. We don’t want you two getting smug.” Genevieve picked up a yellow sheet and read, then set it down. “So let’s start with the bad stuff. The Gilbert Schaefer thing hurt. Some of the jurors stopped listening to Lindy. Most of them frowned at some point during that testimony. I think we’re losing Kris Schmidt, and probably Ignacio Ybarra.”
“It hurt, all right. I felt like I was having one of those operations in China where they use hypnosis instead of anesthesia, only I wasn’t hypnotized,” Winston said. They all smiled bleakly at that, and Nina for once felt a certain amount of comfort in sharing her woes with her colleagues. No wonder lawyers banded together into firms.
“The good news is that the mountain climber, Diane Miklos, and Mrs. Lim are solid in the Lindy camp. They don’t like Mike; it sticks out all over their faces. Nina, you really got them going in your opening; we’ve already talked some about that,” Genevieve continued. “In terms of the questioning, well, everything I heard about you is true. You’re hard-hitting and effective. Eye contact is the only area you need to work on, although you did a job on Markov, that extended-play staring thing at the end. Very good. And smile more, sugar, pul-lease.
“Now, here’s something else you should know. We’ve got troubles. Before he disappeared on us, Paul turned up some late-breaking information that is going to hurt us. Wright’s been having marital woes. Too late for us to use our peremptory, unfortunately.”
“I heard,” said Winston. “And I have something to say about that.”
“Go ahead,” said Genevieve graciously.
A touch of annoyance at her giving him permission passed over his features. “I think we should recognize that Nina’s instincts were right about him. I think she deserves that, and we owe her that.”
“Oh, Nina doesn’t need my approval like some people. And we can attract him back. Highlight the traditional female role that Lindy played at home. By all reports, other than being a political shark, he likes his women traditional.”
“You can’t ignore the rest of the jury to win over this one guy,” said Winston. “We don’t want to lose them once we’ve got them.”
“Nobody’s saying ignore them. It’s a subtle matter of perspective, which I’m sure Nina can handle, can’t you?”
“Uh,” said Nina. “No. I won’t do that. Besides the bad taste it leaves in my mouth, we’ve all said many times that Lindy’s trump card is that she was an equal partner in the business. Once we get around the Separate Property Agreement, I’ve always intended to clinch our argument with the fact that she’s been vital since the beginning to making their business the success it is today.”
Winston nodded his head. “You know I hate popping your bubble, Genevieve,” he said, “but Nina’s right. I don’t think we should change our strategy to win him over. It won’t help.”
Genevieve said, “What’s the matter with you two? You’re talkin’ like losers! We are not going to let one asshole juror ruin our game! We need nine jurors on our side, and we’re gonna get them. You have my personal guarantee.”
Nina said, “Genevieve, I’ve seen a case turn before on the leadership abilities of one angry man…”
“This one won’t. We’re smarter than he is.” Genevieve slammed a notebook shut as if to put an end to all further discussion on the topic. “Now, moving right along…”
They spent most of the afternoon and evening chewing peppermints and nuts going over what had happened, with very little time to plan for the next week, where Riesner would take the reins and redirect the case. And whenever she had a moment to stop and think, the mistake of allowing Clifford Wright to sit up there came back to Nina like a hard plastic tag in her clothing, rubbing at her until her skin hurt.
Sunday, Andrea and Matt invited Nina and Bob along for a day at the beach. Nina said no at first, wanting to sleep late, study her notes, and give Bob a chance to get over his bug, but Andrea came up the stairs to her room, pulled the quilt off of her, and set Hitchcock on her. Packing up her paperwork into her briefcase, Nina agreed to come if they would just sit her at the table with her work. Well, hadn’t she just spent a lunch hour in her office sitting around with the others, commiserating about how they never got out?
At Pope Beach, where Lake Tahoe spread a frothy navy-blue all the way to the horizon, they laid out towels in the warm May sunshine. Nina stripped off her layers of clothes right down to her suit. Putting her head on her briefcase, she promptly fell asleep.
Next thing she knew, something cold and wet had landed on her back and seemed to be snaking its way down. Leaping up, she screamed.
“It’s just a wet ball, Mom, geez,” said Bob, picking up what looked like an exploded rubber star.
She touched her back. “Was that Hitchcock slobber on that ball or lake water?” she asked.
“A little of both.”
So she had to clean herself off, didn’t she? In she went, plunging headfirst into the icy cold snowmelt, followed by Hitchcock, Bob, and his cousins Troy and Brianna. They had a water fight until Bree’s lips turned blue, then warmed themselves at a fire Matt had built in a grate. After that, there were hot dogs to eat, and a quick chess game against Matt, which Nina lost with poor grace. Laughing, tired, sand stuck to every pore, they piled into their cars and waved good-bye.
Bob made faces at his cousins until the two cars finally parted ways around Pioneer Trail.
“I know I’m not supposed to leave it all until Sunday night,” Bob confessed, “but I’ve got a lot of make-up homework I didn’t finish yesterday.” He leaned across the seat to put his head on Nina’s shoulder.
“You’re not the only one,” said Nina.
Bob fell asleep before they got home, and Nina watched the lights of the town coming up along Highway 50, one by one, color by color. To distract herself from falling back into the tired groove of worrying about the trial, she tried to drift off into her greedy little fantasy in which she would plunk down a million for her own personal castle. There she would sip brandy and enjoy a view of the glitzy casinos burning like candles across the lake.
But the fantasy made her anxious. What was happening? Why did she have the feeling things were spinning out of control, when on the surface they were doing well enough?
Paul was right. They were all being affected by the Markov money. Riesner, Winston, Genevieve, even Nina were behaving like wild kids at a birthday party. The first blows had been struck on the piñata. They had glimpsed the prize through cracks in the cardboard, and it was making everyone flail and thrash against each other willy-nilly. God, it was a wonder nobody had been killed yet.
Winston’s cross-examination of Mike Markov took up most of Monday. He hit all the high points and all the low points, and only a few times did he sound impatient. Nina watched him and continued to learn from him.
She saw, for instance, how this sophisticated African-American lawyer from L.A. managed to persuade the white, mostly working-class jury to identify with him. He would drop in little personal references, that he was middle-aged, that he had a bad back, that he liked tea first thing in the morning instead of coffee, that his mother was ailing and in a nursing home. The references were so fleet that Riesner never had a chance to object, but the jurors were affected. Gradually they began to see their father, their uncle, their brother. They warmed to Winston. They wanted him to do well.
Winston had another ability she admired. He took his time. The topic at hand would be fully explored, and Winston didn’t seem to care if a juror was fidgeting or if the subject was tedious. Nina was always running through the testimony at breakneck speed, trying to keep the jurors interested. Watching Winston, she realized she needed to slow down and she saw that her problem was a lack of confidence.
He underplayed all the way through the testimony, almost to the end, a strategy Genevieve had suggested that would keep sympathy for Mike at a minimum. Only once did Winston allow himself to show negative emotion.
“Mr. Markov, are you telling us that you used no threats to get this woman you had lived with for years to sign away all her rights?” he said late in the afternoon, allowing frustration to enter his voice.
“I never threatened her.”
“She was afraid you would leave her if she didn’t sign, wasn’t she?”
“I don’t remember anything like that.”
“You never said you were going to walk out and she would never see you again if she didn’t sign?”
“No."
“You didn’t say words to the effect that, ’Sign this now, and I promise you, we’ll get married soon’?"
“No, I didn’t."
“Then why draw it up in the first place? If it wasn’t because the two of you were talking about marriage in some way, why?"
“Because I wanted the lines drawn between her and me. Things weren’t going so well between us. But I never said I was leaving."
“Seven years you had been together at that point. Do you think you had to tell her? She could tell it from your frown, from the way you touched her, from your voice, couldn’t she?"
“Objection."
“Sustained."
“Now all this happened thirteen years ago. How much had the business appreciated in value in those thirteen years between the time she signed the agreement and the time you separated, would you say?"
“Objection. Irrelevant.” Rebecca was on duty today.
“Overruled."
Mike shook his head, smiling. “Well, since we were down to a few thousand dollars, I’d say it’s appreciated quite a bit."
“You think she would have signed the agreement if she’d had any idea in thirteen years it would be used to cheat her out of a hundred million-”
“Objection! Argumentative."
“Withdrawn,” said Winston. “Let me put it this way. It’s fair to say, isn’t it, that she thought she was signing away a claim to a few thousand dollars?"
“At that time, yes."
“She continued to live with you on the same basis, and continued to work with you in the business?"
“As I’ve said."
“Why didn’t you give her a copy of the agreement?"
A shrug. “She never asked for one."
“Why didn’t you folks go to an attorney so she would know she was signing away her future?"
“Objection."
“Sustained."
“Why,” Winston asked, his voice rising, “did you never talk with her about it again?"
“It just never came up."
“You knew she thought it had been thrown out long ago, didn’t you?"
“Not at all."
“You knew she depended on you, relied on you, to be fair with her?"
“I was fair."
“Fair! You really think you have the right to use that word?” asked Winston, coming as close to rolling his eyes out of sight of the judge but in full view of the jury as he could manage.
“Object to the form of the question!” said Rebecca.
“Sustained."
Looking ready to excuse Mike, Winston flipped quickly through his notes. “Oh, by the way,” he said.
Mike, who was practically out of his chair with eagerness to be done, sat back and waited.
“About the Solo Spa, the most successful product your company created. During your direct examination by Mr. Riesner last week, you showed us a drawing of it you made."
“Yes."
“That was the first drawing?"
“Yes."
“Isn’t it true that Lindy Markov caused you to make that first drawing?"
“ ’Caused’ me to make it? No."
“She told you her idea and you made a sketch?"
“No."
“She even made a little sketch herself, which you copied?"
“No. That sketch I made with the red pen I always use-that’s the first."
Winston got out the drawing and showed it to the jury. While he did this, Nina set up an overhead projector. Deputy Kimura placed a projection stand and screen to one side of the court reporter.
“Let’s just get a little better look at that drawing of yours,” Winston said. At his signal, the lights in the courtroom went down. There on the screen, hugely magnified, was Mike’s sketch in red pen. Winston pointed beside one of the red marks with a pencil tip. “Hmmm. What’s this?"
“What?” Mike leaned forward.
“These little lines here,” he tapped his pencil against the screen, “and here? Looks like pencil to me. Does it look like pencil to you, Mr. Markov?"
Mike’s mouth opened and closed. The marks were faint but clear.
“Does it?"
“It appears to be pencil. Yes, I must have done it that way first."
“But you always use your red pen to draw, isn’t that what you testified?"
“Obviously, I didn’t here."
“Obviously, you didn’t. Now, let me direct your attention to the date in red ink at the bottom of the page. See these marks here?"
“Not to read, no."
“No? Let’s magnify that just a little more.” The date sprang up, filling the bottom edge of the screen, and along with it, underneath it, in pencil, some letters.
“Let me further direct your attention to the letters at the bottom of this page. What do those letters say, Mr. Markov?"
“I don’t know."
“Really? You can’t see they say ‘LM’?"
Anyone could see they did except Mike, who said, “I don’t see it."
“You can’t read those letters, in writing, in black and white, plain and simple up there on the screen?"
Mike didn’t respond. The jury members looked across the courtroom from the letters to Mike.
“He has testified he can’t read those scribbles. Objection. Asked and answered,” Riesner sputtered.
They had done it. Yes! wrote Genevieve. Winston had been first to blow up the sketch and identify the initials. Even Lindy hadn’t remembered at first sketching the spa in pencil. They had hidden their surprise right under Riesner’s nose.
“ ‘LM.’ Isn’t that how Lindy Markov always signed her memos, Mr. Markov?” Winston asked, waving a sheaf of them to discourage Mike from putting up a fight about it.
Mike swallowed and admitted it.
“We have nothing further, Your Honor,” said Winston, shrugging to show his utter indifference to the man sitting on the stand behind him, who got slowly up from his chair and stepped down. For the first time since his testimony had begun, he turned his unhappy eyes to Lindy.
The next morning, Jeffrey Riesner was back in command, calling Hector Galka, Executive Vice President of Financial Strategies and Accounts. Hector looked tidy today, with his brushy mustache neatly clipped and trim body outfitted in a well-tailored suit. Nina liked his beautiful hazel eyes.
As he took the stand, he avoided looking at Lindy.
Based on his deposition, they already knew what he would say, and he didn’t disappoint. He hemmed and hawed, but in the end, for Hector, there was only one boss at Markov Enterprises: Mike Markov.
During cross-examination, Winston emphasized the bias in Hector’s perspective. “By the way, how much do you make per year as a base salary for Markov Enterprises in your capacity as executive vice president,” he asked, “not counting year-end bonuses, health plans, that sort of thing?”
“Um. One-sixty.”
“One hundred and sixty thousand dollars a year?” Winston repeated, drawing out the words for maximum effect. “And how much did Lindy Markov make at the time she was removed from her position?”
Much more slowly, as if he’d never thought about it before, Hector answered, “Seventy-five thousand a year.”
Winston had slipped that by Hector so fast, Hector hadn’t had time to do anything but answer the question. It hadn’t come up at the deposition, and Hector hadn’t been prepared.
And now Winston stood back and said absolutely nothing.
The jury, the other lawyers, the parties, the audience waited, but he bent down to tie his shoe. So they thought about the last question and answer.
A new mood dawned in the courtroom. Agitated whispers came from behind Nina, and she thought, they’re getting it, they’re getting it, we’re going to be all right in spite of everything. Why would Lindy be paid so relatively poorly for what Hector had just testified was similar work? She clenched her hands into fists under the table, willing Winston to grab this chance and run away with the trial with it.
“Why was Lindy Markov paid less than you?” Winston said when he was good and ready and they were all waiting for him to say it.
“Because-because-” Hector stammered.
Winston leaned on the podium, perfectly patient and ready to wait forever. “You’re the chief financial officer, Mr. Galka. If anyone knows, it’s you. Why?”
Hector’s left index finger moved up, slowly, slowly, to his mustache. He combed it gently. “I suppose-you see, she lived with Mike, she had no expenses…”
“Because she was a woman, and Mike didn’t feel the need to pay her fairly?”
“No, of course not.”
“Because the pay was just fun money for one of the owners? How much did Mike get paid?”
Hector answered, “The same as Lindy.”
“So, since he got a salary, that made him an employee, too?”
“No… You know.”
“Yes, I know, Mr. Galka. We all know. Do you remember stating in your deposition that Mike became president and Lindy became vice president because the man always gets to be president? Remember this question from page thirty-three, lines ten to twenty-two of your deposition: ’Is it a big male ego kind of thing?’ And your answer was, ’Yes, that kind of thing. He was the man.’ “
“I was just-I was just-”
“Telling the truth?”
“Objection,” said Rebecca.
Milne called Rebecca and Winston up for a conference. Nina drew stars all over her legal pad while she waited. After some whispered discussion, Rebecca took her seat and Winston resumed the podium.
“Now, you’ve known Mike for more than twenty years, and you’ve seen Mike and Lindy at every stage in their life together. So let me ask you, Mr. Galka, and please tell us the unvarnished truth. Wasn’t it very important to Mike that he appear to be the boss in the relationship and in the business, no matter what the real responsibilities were?”
“Well… I suppose,” Hector said almost inaudibly. He looked at Mike, who looked confused, as if he wasn’t sure what the problem was. Nina thought Mrs. Lim noted Mike’s reaction, as well as several of the other women.
If this didn’t win them some of the women jurors, nothing would.
Over the next several days, Riesner and Rebecca paraded the group Genevieve derided outside of court as “the lackeys and shills” of Markov Enterprises. They worked hard to contradict the team image Nina and Winston had carefully built of Mike and Lindy’s management style. On cross-examination, Nina and Winston worked to rebuild it.
The last significant witness for the defense, Rachel Pembroke, was scheduled to testify at the end of the week. All through the trial Rachel had sat just behind Mike, looking terrific, holding his hand from time to time, leaving with him. Nina knew Rachel’s deposition by heart and knew, because Rachel was engaged to Mike, that her testimony might seem prejudiced to the jury. Nonetheless, she dreaded Rachel’s personable, professional demeanor. She was grateful that the incident at Mike’s birthday party had already been ruled off-limits by Milne during pretrial motions, and the so-called attack on her everyone had gossiped about for weeks had never even entered the proceedings. Her injuries had been minor, and the event, if it had really happened at all, had been deemed irrelevant.
Rachel had spent months telling reporters about the sweetness of her romance with Mike and how hard they had fought their passion, and the tale that spilled out of her on the stand came with an engaging wistfulness born of practice. By the time she was done testifying, she had somehow shifted many minds around to considering that she, not Lindy, had suffered most in this sad love story.
“Call your next witness,” Milne said when she had finished and Riesner stayed seated.
Riesner stood up, saying, “Your Honor, we have decided not to call the final witnesses on the list.”
And, just like that, abrupt as a puff of air blowing out a candle, the defense rested its case. Sometimes it happened like that, catching everybody by surprise.
Without missing a beat, Milne turned to Nina and asked, “Will there be any rebuttal?” She had a quick whispered conference with Winston and Genevieve at the counsel table. “No, Your Honor.”
“The cross-complainants rest?” Milne said with a wide smile. He must be happy as hell at this sudden termination.
“That’s correct, Your Honor. Subject to admission of the exhibits marked for identification.”
“All right.” He turned to the jury and said, “The evidence portion of the trial is over. We are going to excuse you a bit early this afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. I’m sure you won’t mind. Tomorrow we will return for closing arguments.” He repeated his daily cautions that they not talk to each other or anyone else about the case. Broad smiles and nods. Deputy Kimura led them out.
Another half hour of getting the exhibits admitted and ordered, and the court day was over.
“We got killed at the end, but overall made some points, Nina,” said Winston, as they left the building that afternoon. He stopped to grin for a flashbulb. “My God, I can’t believe it’s finally coming to an end.”
“You were great, Winston, just great,” said Nina, meaning it. He had done a beautiful job with his witnesses.
“Do you realize we’ll have a verdict soon? Incredible,” Winston went on, still hyped from his day in court.
“I think we’ve got at least five definites on the jury,” said Genevieve, trotting alongside as they headed for the cars. “If you want, I’ll go over everything with you and explain why. At least two of those are potential leaders… that’s one thing we didn’t really push hard enough during the voir dire. We didn’t really cultivate a leader.”
“Don’t fret, Genevieve. And if you don’t mind, I think we’ll skip the analysis. I need to get home and soak my ankle and fix dinner for Bob.”
“But when are we going to work on Winston’s closing arguments?” Genevieve asked. “Tonight?”
“That won’t be necessary,” said Nina. “We’ve gone over it. And I’ve made a decision. I’m doing the summation.”
They had stopped by Winston’s rental car. “Now wait a minute, we had this whole thing worked out,” Winston said. “I thought we all agreed I should close.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” What could she tell him now to sweeten such a bitter pill? She had talked to him about making the closing argument because she had been intimidated. But she was the lead counsel. Ultimately, the responsibility rested on her shoulders. Lindy had given her the case. Nina had to be the ultimate word. She had to be the one to blow it, if that’s what was going to happen. Not that she would tell him that.
“You’re not taking this away from me,” Winston said, starting to look angry.
“I think Winston’s on a roll,” Genevieve said. “He’s got the experience.”
“I’m sorry,” Nina repeated. “What matters is my case.”
Winston slammed his briefcase down on the hood. “Our case!” he roared. “Ours! We sweat equal buckets of blood over this. You’re not going to step in here and ruin everything now!”
“You don’t think I can handle it?” asked Nina. The two attorneys stood face-to-face, unconsciously squaring off like fighters in the ring.
“It’s arrogant!” said Winston. “You think you can get up there, flip your long hair, put a tear in your eye and convince that jury to hand Lindy millions of dollars? How many cases like this have you won? Zero! I’ve done dozens and won dozens! I can argue circles around you…”
Genevieve stepped smoothly in front of Winston.
“Listen. You’re going to have to compromise on this,” she said to Nina. “He’s right. He’s at his peak. He knows what will sway that jury. He has a better chance to crack… the hard nuts, if there are any.”
“No,” said Nina. And this time, she didn’t say she was sorry. What would be the point?
“How about if he does half the argument, and you finish it off?”
“Finish it off is right!” said Winston.
“Milne won’t let us trade off in the final argument,” said Nina.
Winston turned and stalked around the car. He opened the door and sat staring straight ahead, furious.
“Let’s talk some more tonight. I’ll call you,” Genevieve said, putting her hand on Nina’s arm.
“I have to work on this my own way.”
“You act like you’ve lost all faith in us,” said Genevieve. “Have you?”
“Not at all. I’m sorry to make this change at such a late date. It’s nothing against Winston. It’s just… I’m the lead counsel. I can prepare better alone.” In her backyard, where she could address the trees without manipulating, sentimentalizing, influencing… the final argument would be hers.
“Nina, be careful about getting stuck with a decision you might regret. Shouldn’t you think this over?”
“Okay, say what’s on your mind, Genevieve,” Nina said. “Don’t you think I can do it? Is Winston smarter, or a better lawyer? Is that what you’re thinking?” She said it loud so Winston could hear. A few cars over, several people had angled their ears her way.
Genevieve studied her for a moment, then relented, apparently deciding this was one argument she could not win. “I know you won’t fuck up, Nina,” Genevieve said. “I just know you won’t. None of us can afford that.” Unintentionally leaving a sharp air of doubt behind to erode Nina’s confidence, she got into the car and Winston pulled out.
In the courtroom hush, Nina could almost pretend she was in her backyard where she had practiced her summation yesterday afternoon, face-to-face with the dark bark of a tree. All those moon faces out there were pinecones. Better to think of things that way than the other way, which was to admit the hundred judges to her performance. The only ones that counted were the faces of her jury, and those she smiled at before addressing.
She began at the beginning. She laid it out the way she saw it, and a couple of the jurors never started listening, but most of them made the valiant effort to follow. She felt intimate with them. She had wanted only one thing in the last weeks, and that was to connect to each one of them. They weren’t friends; they were closer than that now, and she believed some of them felt the same proprietary interest in her. She hoped so.
“And then Mike moved on.” Nina paced once across the front of the jury box, and then back to the other end, with her head lowered. She didn’t have the art to convey the devastation encapsulated in those words, all she could do was offer this silent prayerful moment to honor Lindy’s suffering.
“But Lindy had nothing to worry about, isn’t that so?” she continued, lifting her head to search the jurors, one by one. Mrs. Lim’s head was cocked her way.
“Right here in court, we all heard him, Mike said she had nothing to worry about. He would ’take care’ of Lindy for life.
“He said that. He felt some duty to take care of her, protect her, for the rest of her life. And how did he do that? You heard. He evicted her, fired her, and made sure his name was on every stick of property. Then he flung in her face a thirteen-year-old agreement that she’d signed when the business was worthless on the premise that he would marry her.”
She paused. “The judge will read you a legal instruction, because it may be applicable in this case. It sounds so simple. And it is simple. A promise, in this case, made in writing by Lindy to give it all away-in consideration of marriage-in this case, in return for Mike’s finally marrying her-is invalidated when there is no marriage.
“And that makes the so-called separate property agreement invalid!”
She looked directly at Cliff Wright. He yawned.
“Yes, it was in writing. But that piece of paper she signed without full knowledge of its contents was not notarized. No lawyer discussed or explained it to her at the time. That grotesque and unfair document did not come about through agreement. No reasonable person can think that under those circumstances she made an informed decision. It’s bogus, made in bad faith, and doesn’t meet reasonable requirements to be legally binding. You should disregard it.”
She went on to Lindy’s strong area, the implied contract argument, Lindy’s twenty years of working alongside Mike. She knew her summation so well that, in the pauses between sentences, she found time to reflect: on the faces of the jurors, intent, bored, tired, eager; on the long days of testimony that had brought them to this point; and on Lindy herself.
She was recounting Lindy’s life, trying to make the jury fully appreciate the loving dedication of this thin, wan woman on whom they must pass judgment. She spoke of the children Mike and Lindy never had, and said that the business, like a child, had belonged to both of them, but unlike a child could be split down the middle. And Lindy deserved half.
“It’s in your hands,” she said finally. “Thank you.”
Nina sat down, feeling drained. She had given Lindy her best.
Riesner, smiling and confident, matter-of-fact, kept his summation even more succinct, introducing Mike’s position with the plainest possible language to give the jury the impression that the decision they were faced with was easy.
“This is a simple situation,” he said, as he came to the finish. “Lindy and Mike break up. But Lindy’s now stuck with this agreement they made years ago. She’s got a real incentive to ’forget’ about it, or dispute its contents. There’s money there for the taking, she figures, and by golly, she wants some of it. She’s got to do something, so she hires a team of fancy lawyers to tell you it’s not a legitimate agreement.
“But it’s right here in writing, ladies and gentlemen. They agreed not to commingle assets. They agreed to keep separate accounts. The business, the properties, those stayed in Mike’s name because they belonged entirely to him. That was the expectation, the agreement. Just so that there would be no misunderstanding, they had a document drafted to make sure they agreed, which they both signed.
“That was the deal. The deal,” he repeated. “Plain and simple. Black and white. In writing. Read the exhibits. And don’t let greed win out this time.”
His last words sat there, gathering energy. Nina heard the shuffling and whispering start up behind her. Wanting to do something to soften the bite of these words, she touched Lindy’s wrist, even though she knew it wouldn’t help.
Only two things remained: to instruct the jury, and to set them loose.
The American jury system suffered from one indefensible flaw-the jury had to sit through the whole trial without knowing the legal framework on which the facts were supposed to hang. How they could, in the end, set aside whatever impromptu conceptual framework they had been using to adopt a new one, no one knew. Worse, the legal instructions were tedious, contradictory, and sometimes even mysterious.
To Nina, the instructions sounded laughably simplistic. Thousands of subtle distinctions, derived from thousands of cases over hundreds of years, flowed from each statement Milne made now, and the jury would hear only the one-syllable version.
The jury looked at Judge Milne, who adjusted his reading glasses. They seemed like a whole different group from the tentative individuals who had been sworn in at the beginning; a new collective had been born. They even dressed more homogeneously. Mrs. Lim’s stiff jackets had disappeared sometime during the trial, along with Kevin Dowd’s knit golf shirts and Maribel Grzegorek’s hair spray.
Today they had dressed up. They seemed self-conscious, dignified, impressive. Nina wondered if her impression was the result of the exaggerated part they played in her life right now. But no, she had seen it in other trials in which she had sat in the audience, this reassuring aura of decency that came upon the people about to render a verdict. They represented the American public, and they knew it.
In the jury room, would they remain as impassive, as decent? She sat straight-backed with Lindy, Winston, and Genevieve at her table, and she tried to project that same decent aura.
Milne took a sip of water and wet his lips. In a measured tone, he said, “It is now my duty to instruct you on the law that applies to this case. It is your duty to follow the law.”
He cleared his throat before resuming. “As jurors it is your duty to determine the effect and value of the evidence and to decide all questions of fact. You must not be influenced by sympathy, prejudice, or passion.”
He went on, explaining that the burden of proof was upon Lindy as the party bringing the action. He advised the jury that they must find that a preponderance of the evidence supported one side or the other.
During all this, he read from form jury instructions as modified in his conferences with the lawyers. Not one unplanned word could be spoken, or the verdict might be overturned on appeal. The instructions were written in the plainest English possible, but many of the words and concepts were still new to the jurors and looks of incomprehension flitted across their faces as Milne went on in a voice that never varied and never emphasized one instruction over another.
“In an implied-in-law contract, or quasi-contract as it is sometimes called, a duty or obligation is created by law for reasons of fairness or justice. Such duty or obligation is not based upon the express or apparent intention of the parties.
“A contract may be oral. An oral contract is as valid and enforceable as a written contract.”
And now Milne came to a couple of special instructions. Riesner had fought for the first one, a civil statute which could be interpreted to mean that Lindy couldn’t recover anything just because Mike had promised to marry her and broken that promise:
“No cause of action arises for breach of promise of marriage,” Milne went on with his evenhanded delivery.
Would the jurors think Lindy’s whole case revolved around that? They might. Nina shuddered and glanced at them, reading nothing from their expressions.
Then it was Lindy’s turn. Milne moved along to the hoary old statute Nina had dug up and worked hard to get into the instructions, section 1590 of the Civil Code. It had been enacted in courtlier times, to assure the return of marital dowries after broken engagements. Milne had seen that it could apply and overruled Riesner’s outraged objections.
“Where either party to a contemplated marriage in this state makes a gift of money or property to the other on the basis or assumption that the marriage will take place, in the event that the donee refuses to enter into the marriage as contemplated or that it is given up by mutual consent, the donor may recover such gift.”
Now Riesner was wincing. Again, the jury would have to believe Lindy, not Mike or the written language of the separate property agreement. But if they felt Mike had dangled the carrot of marriage to get her to sign the agreement, then she had the right to take back her “dowry,” namely the company and any other asset they shared.
Was the jury utterly mystified by all this talk of donees and donors? Were these people smart enough to reason their way through this?
Milne droned on about contracts at prodigious length before moving to the concluding instructions. “Each of you must decide the case for yourself, but should do so only after considering the views of each juror. You should not hesitate to change an opinion if you are convinced it is wrong. However, you should not be influenced to decide any question in a particular way simply because a majority of the jurors, or any of them, favor such a decision.
“… Remember that you are not partisans or advocates in this matter…”
Milne took a healthy swig of water this time. His vocabulary for ten days had consisted mainly of “overruled” and “sustained,” so this lengthy speech was putting a strain on his vocal cords. Luckily, he was close to the end.
“When you retire, you shall select one of your number to act as foreperson. As soon as any nine or more jurors have agreed upon a verdict, have the verdict and answers signed and dated by your foreperson and return with them to this room.”
Milne paused. The courtroom shook itself from its swoon. He put down the last paper, and said in a benign voice at odds with the robotic delivery of the previous two hours, “It being late in the day, you will return to court tomorrow at nine a.m. to begin your deliberations.”
With nary a rustle, the twelve people chosen to shape the future of a number of other people in the courtroom filed out the door behind them, followed by the two alternates.
Nina put her arm around Lindy. “This is it,” Genevieve said, her face pale.
The wait had begun.