Had Jessica known, even then, that her parents’ marriage wasin trouble? Did that play a part? Allison had deliberately stayed with Matuntil Jessica graduated and moved on to college. For Jessica’s sake. Had her decisionhad the opposite effect?
And now there are secrets, again, since the divorce. Jessicahas taken her father’s side, and Allison’s questions surrounding Jessica’s lovelife are once more met with derision. She remembers last December, her daughterbeing not only evasive but openly hostile to Allison’s queries.
There’s a guy, she told Allison over dinner, but youprobably wouldn’t approve.
Jessica gives the appearance of being composed. She isacting, Allison thinks. She has always been good at that. Folding her leg,placing her hands in her lap, lifting her chin and looking over the courtroom.She listens carefully to the questions and takes a moment before answering. Shehas told them that she is a junior at Mansbury College, with a double major inpolitical science and history. She has told them that she worked part-time atDillon amp; Becker as a research assistant, that she is considering lawschool. She has told them that her parents separated more than a year ago andwere divorced by last Thanksgiving, about seven months ago.
It’s okay to tell them, Allison has assured her daughterrepeatedly, as if Jessica had any choice.
“Tell us about the seventh of February,” Roger Ogren says.“A Saturday evening.”
The day Sam was murdered.
“I had been on campus all day,” Jessica answers. “Abouteight that night, I went home.”
“ ‘Home’ being your mother’s home?”
“Yes.” Jessica tucks a hair behind her ear.
“Why did you go to your mother’s home, Ms. Pagone?”
“To study. I had a couple of papers due and it’s-sometimesit’s hard to study at the dorms. So I’ll go home and study. I’ll do my laundrysometimes, too.”
The judge smiles; he must recall when his children did thesame thing, took advantage of their time at home for meals and the washer anddryer. Jessica looks at the judge as if she has been left out of the joke. Shecouldn’t smile right now if someone tickled her feet.
“What time did you arrive at the house? You said ‘around’eight?”
“I think it was about eight-thirty.”
“Was your mother home at eight-thirty on the evening ofSaturday, the seventh of February?”
“No.”
“When did you see your mother that night?”
Jessica looks into her lap. “I can’t say exactly.”
“An approximate time, Ms. Pagone?”
Allison, her hand resting on a notepad, catches herselfcrumpling the sheet.
“I had fallen asleep,” Jessica says. “I hadn’t been keepingtrack of time.”
She’s being difficult. They already know this information.It will have the opposite effect, Allison realizes. The more Jessica fightswith the prosecutor, the more it highlights how hurtful her testimony is, howreluctant she is to part with the information.
“Was it before or after midnight that your mother camehome?”
“I–I guess it’s hard to say,” she says quietly.
“Your Honor,” says Roger Ogren.
“You can lead, Counsel,” says the judge.
“Ms. Pagone, it was after midnight, wasn’t it?”
“I-yes, it was after midnight, I believe.”
“In fact, it was after one in the morning. Is that right?”
“Yes.”
“Closer to two, in fact.”
“Yes.”
“Where in the house were you when your mother came home?”
Jessica’s eyes fill. “On the couch.”
“And your mother came in through the garage door?”
Jessica nods.
“Please answer out loud, Ms. Pag-”
“She came in through the garage. Yes.”
“Describe her appearance.”
“She was probably tired,” Jessica says. “It was late. It wastwo in the morning. Of course she would be tired.”
“Tell us what she was wearing.”
“She was wearing”-Jessica extends a hand-“a jacket. Asweatshirt and jeans.”
“A sweatshirt.” Roger Ogren retrieves the evidence bag holdingthe maroon sweatshirt, emblazoned with MANSBURY COLLEGE, and shows it to her.“This sweatshirt.”
“Yes, that might be the sweatshirt.”
“It might be?” Ogren asks. “Jessica, does your mother, toyour knowledge, own more than one maroon sweatshirt with the words ‘MansburyCollege’ on it?”
Jessica shakes her head. “I bought it for her. At the campusstore.”
“So, having the chance to consider it,” says Ogren, shakingthe evidence bag, “are you confident that this was definitely the-”
“That was the sweatshirt she was wearing. Okay?”
“Okay.” Ogren replaces the evidence and turns to Jessicaagain. “Tell us what you saw on your mother’s face,” he requests. He is clearlytrying not to cross-examine his own witness, even though the judge has givenhim permission to do so. “Did you see something on her face?”
“There might have been some dirt on her face.”
Jessica is speaking so quietly that Ogren and the judge leanforward to hear her.
“Dirt on her face.” Roger Ogren corrects the problem byspeaking at a high volume himself. “And what about her hands?”
“Yes.”
“Yes-she had dirt on her hands, too?”
“Yes.”
“She had dirt on her face and on her hands. And what else?Her coloring? Her hair?”
Jessica, with hooded eyes, speaks quickly into themicrophone, as if to get the answer over with as quickly as possible. “Her hairwas matted down. Like she was sweating. She was pale. She looked sick.”
“And did you talk to her about these things, Ms. Pagone? Didyou ask your mother about the dirt on her face and hands? Her matted hair? Herpale coloring?”
“Mother-what did you do?” she had cried. “What happened?”
“I asked her.”
“Tell me, Mother. Tell me what happened.”
“And what did she do or say?”
“She went to the bathroom.” Jessica looks away, as if toavoid the entire thing. That is an impossible task now. She is trapped on thewitness stand, surrounded on all sides by people very interested in what shehas to say.
“What did-”
“She vomited.”
“Your mother came into the house, went right to the bathroomand vomited?”
Jessica reaches for the water placed on the witness standfor her. She does not answer the question, but Roger Ogren probably doesn’tcare. He just wanted to repeat the fact that Allison threw up the moment shewalked into the house.
Tell me what happened, Mother. Tell me.
“Did you talk to your mother after that, Jessica? Did yourmother tell you where she had been, what she had done, why she had dirt on herhands and face at two in the morning?”
“Objection,” Ron McGaffrey says, half out of his chair.
