“No,” Nina said. “What did you do, Mr. Wyatt?”
He seemed unaware of the impact of his words on the courtroom. Even the court reporter waited hungrily.
“I left. I just went like a kid obeying his mom. She slammed the door behind me.”
What, no murder? No hands around her neck? No struggle? All the air seeped out of the bloated balloon of anticipation in the courtroom.
“Your testimony is that you immediately left?”
Gabe spread his hands. “I swear it.”
“Did you then return?” Nina asked.
“No. I was bleeding. I went home and took care of myself. I gave my friend his gun back the next day.”
“You didn’t return later that night?”
“No.”
“You didn’t sweep up the glass?”
“What? No.”
“Mr. Wyatt, why did you run when we approached you in the hallway a few minutes ago?”
“I had a damn good reason. You people put my brother in jail on blood evidence. I knew my blood was there, too. I thought maybe you had found it finally, and would put me in jail, even though I had nothing to do with hurting that woman.”
“You’re trying to tell us,” Nina said, “that you were alone with Christina Zhukovsky late at night on the night of her murder. By chance, you were wearing gloves. The situation became violent. You were injured by her. You were jealous of her and searching through her private papers, but you didn’t kill her? Is that what you claim?”
“I don’t claim anything,” Gabe said. He nodded. “I didn’t kill her. It was my blood on that glass, that I admit, but I never touched her. She was alive and hopping mad when I left, but when I heard she had been killed, I knew how it would look. I broke down. I sat down at my house, waiting for the police. But they didn’t come. They arrested Stefan instead. They said he left blood there, too. I couldn’t figure out what was going on.”
Nina felt dizzy. The intensity of the last hour had drained her. Too much information bombarded her, too fast. Did they have enough from this brother who appeared willing to say anything except the ultimate thing, that he was guilty, guilty, guilty?
The blood! The most important thing! Confess or don’t confess, pal, she told Wyatt in her mind. You’re going to clear your brother. She turned briefly toward Stefan at the counsel table. Their eyes met and she tried to keep from giving him an encouraging nod.
The case against Stefan was starting to fall messily apart. But Stefan blinked at his brother’s testimony, trying to take it all in, frightened. He didn’t want it to be his brother.
“All right. Let’s get back to that blood you left in Christina’s home. Are you aware of Dr. Hirabayashi’s testimony earlier in this courtroom?”
“No.”
The judge allowed a brief explanation, which Gabe followed with amazement.
“I heard his blood was found at the scene, and there was nothing said about my blood. I assumed he went there after me that night. I couldn’t understand-”
“You suffered from leukemia when you were young. You were the recipient of a bone-marrow transplant?”
“Yes. It cured me.”
“Who donated the bone marrow that cured you?”
“Stefan was the donor.”
“Isn’t it true that you knew your brother, the defendant, shared the same blood as you?”
“Wait a minute, I had no idea. How could we still have the same blood? The transplant was so many years ago, I assumed by now I had my own blood, you know, that it came back.”
“That’s not how it works, Mr. Wyatt,” Nina said.
“Objection.”
“Sustained. Strike that last statement by counsel.”
Nina walked back to the counsel table and picked up her notes. The courtroom was waiting, on her side. Salas actually rubbed his hands together, a sign that he was excited. She knew exactly what question to ask now, what the answer had to be.
“How did Christina Zhukovsky come to have your brother’s name and phone number?”
“She asked me at one point if I knew anyone who could help her with odd jobs. I was trying to get close to her. I wish to God I hadn’t done it.”
Bingo! And Christina passed Stefan to Alex! A huge hole in Stefan’s story was filled in.
“How helpful of you. Isn’t it-”
“Objection!”
“Sustained. Counsel, do not comment on witness testimony. The jury will disregard the comment.”
Nina knew that she was too excited. Moving away from Gabe Wyatt, she got as close to the jury as she dared, hyped up, angry, outraged at what he had put Stefan through. She made sure her voice carried to the back rows as she asked, “Isn’t it true that you planned to kill Christina Zhukovsky and set your brother up as her killer?”
“No!” His voice softened. “I’m embarrassed to admit, I really thought Stef must have done it. He’s always been the one who screwed up. This time, I thought, he must have gone in way too deep. I never wanted to be the one who connected my brother directly to Christina. I tried to protect him.”
“But all along, it was your blood on the glass, Mr. Wyatt. You killed her, didn’t you? And then you told lies to protect yourself. This is your chance to make things right for your brother. Tell this jury the truth.”
“I
“You spied on Christina. You were at the scene of her murder in the time frame of her murder. You admit to a violent confrontation. Your jealousy and hatred of this woman, who had grown up with your father’s love and been given his money, got the better of you that night, didn’t it, Gabe?” Nina said.
“No! Somebody came there after me! If it wasn’t Stef, then-I-”
Nina turned to the jury.
“Expect us to believe that?” she said softly.
“Objection!” Jaime roared.
“Withdrawn. I am finished with this witness, Your Honor.”
28
SALAS ADJOURNED IMMEDIATELY AFTER GABE WYATT’S DIRECT examination. What a hell of an endless day. They all needed to go to their offices and homes to cogitate and reflect.
Jaime could reflect on how he was losing his murder case. Another lawyer might care deeply about that and try to bring the case under control, at the expense of the truth. Jaime couldn’t help himself. He wanted the truth, too. Sitting in her little office in the Pohlmann Building after hours that night, Nina thought, He’s gonna end up on the defense side. He has a bad character flaw for a prosecutor; he hears both sides.
Nina drew pictures on the pizza box on her desk: a big young man falling off a giant fishhook, Stefan a Christlike figure with his arms out. Most of the pizza reposed in her stomach right now, along with a healthy infusion of red wine. She looked at her watch.
Almost ten P.M. Bob was home alone at their house in Pacific Grove; Paul had left a message that he’d be back very late; Klaus, feeling better, according to his wife, rested in his bed in the big house on Peter Pan Way in Carmel Highlands; Sandy packed up suitcases in Big Sur.
A massive deconstruction was going on.
Meantime, Stefan was innocent, she was positive of that now. There were still problems. What seemed clear to her wasn’t necessarily clear to the jury. Ginger’s testimony had flashed by like a telecommunications satellite, too high to grasp except as a bright moving point in a sky of confusion.
And Gabe hadn’t sounded guilty enough. Nina could hear it now. At least one jury member was going to use the word flimflam.
She tried not to think about the evidence, but instead to concentrate on the people. Stefan, a young man in love and in jail, wanting only to marry and create the happy family he had never had. Christina, a shy woman who transformed herself to live a life she finally found purposeful, pursuing a dream.
Father Giorgi, hearing all his prayers for the old Russia come true when Christina came to him, and watching them fade when she died.
Sergey Krilov, Christina’s lover, still something of a mystery, but likely another hopeful wanting to cash in on Christina’s potential.
And Gabe, forever aggrieved, seeking his share of whatever it was that his father had given to Alex and Christina, but never able to attain the love he so desperately wanted.
He must have done it.
Nina picked off a piece of pepperoni from the single piece of pizza swiftly turning rancid in its cardboard box. Her door was shut and she was alone in the building. To avoid the creepy feeling night fog always gave her, she had closed the blinds. She clicked back to Google on her computer and searched for some more of the Russian Web sites. So many things were still unexplained. What had brought Sergey Krilov to the U.S.? Where was he? What relationship had he had with Christina?
Yawning, Nina pushed her hair back. She had reached that bleary place beyond simple exhaustion, where you can go on forever.
What a story Christina could have told, if she had lived. Romance, Russia, assassination. An alluring fabrication, unfortunately, like Anastasia’s story, like the stories of all the pretenders to the Empire of the Russias. It would have made a lively press conference, though.
Even immersed in her fantasy, how could Christina explain to herself the one obvious fact that made it all impossible, that all the Web sites with their escape theories had to acknowledge? Constantin Zhukovsky could not have been a fourteen-year-old tsarevitch in 1918, for the simple, well-known reason that, aside from the fact that he was almost certainly assassinated at Ekaterinburg along with the rest of his family, the tsarevitch had hemophilia.
Alexis’s mother, the tsarina, Alexandra, had brought Rasputin in, hoping he could help cure her chronically ailing son. Ultimately, that relationship was one of the biggest factors in the downfall of the Romanovs. The Russian people, already reeling from the suffering caused by war, drew the line at being ruled by this haughty German woman and her wild-eyed lover.
