Laurie, Kevin, and I go back to my office for our evening meeting. I tell Laurie I want her to keep after Betty Anthony. I still have this notion that the answer to everything lies in that photograph, and the answer to that photograph lies with Betty Anthony.
We kick around our plans for the defense's case, and when we're done Kevin is the first to leave. Laurie lingers behind, and we get to talking. I ask her a question that I shouldn't, but which I am psychologically unable to avoid asking.
“How are things with what's-his-name?”
“You mean Bobby Radburn?”
I nod. “That's him. The guy who couldn't throw a baseball through a pane of glass.”
“He's a creep,” she says. “It's a common ailment among men.”
I should be glad to hear this, and I am, but I also feel bad that she has obviously been hurt and disappointed.
“Listen, Laurie … there's something I need to tell you.” I say this without having a clear idea what it is that I need to tell her.
“Don't.” She lets me off the hook.
Before I can get back on the hook, there is a knock on the door. Since this is the same office I was nearly killed in by an intruder, I call out to find out who it is. The response is from Nicole and her father, who had dinner nearby and stopped by to see if I was in the office so he could say hello. I would almost prefer it had been the intruder again.
Nicole and Philip are very friendly, and greet Laurie warmly. Nicole marvels at how many hours we are putting in on the case, but I respond that we unfortunately seem to be running in place and not getting anywhere.
Philip says, “It may not be your fault. Your client just might be guilty this time.”
“That makes me feel much better,” I say.
Nicole and Philip wait while Laurie and I discuss a few more aspects of the case, including the photograph. I tell Laurie that I am prepared when court reconvenes on Monday to go to Hatchet for permission to depose both Markham and Brownfield about it. It will be a fishing expedition, but I think there's a good chance he'll let me do it.
Laurie, obviously uncomfortable with this little family reunion, says her goodbyes. I drive Nicole home, knowing that I'm with the wrong woman. Someday that piece of information may not stay buried, and it might even come out of my mouth.
SATURDAYIS MY DAY OF REST DURING A trial. I try and wipe the case from my mind, at least for most of the day, and do something relaxing. There is time to intensify the preparation on Sunday, and I find that if I take Saturday off, or mostly off, I am to a degree rejuvenated.
Today is a particularly perfect Saturday, since the relaxation God has sent me a Knicks playoff game on television. The Knicks are playing the Pacers in the Garden, with the best of seven series tied at two games apiece. I don't bet on Knicks playoff games, because I don't need a rooting interest, and because I could never bet against the Knicks anyway.
Tara and I sit on the couch, potato chips, peanuts, pretzels, soda, water, and dog biscuits all within arm's and paw's reach. At least I start the game on the couch; by late in the first quarter I am pacing the room and screaming at the television. Tara is calmer and more restrained, only barking when the refs make a particularly bad call.
The Knicks go up by eleven but, as is their tendency, seem to lose their concentration and let Indiana back into the game. With three seconds to go and the Knicks down by two, Latrell Sprewell elevates eight feet in the air off the dribble and nails a three. Jalen Rose then draws rim from halfcourt on a desperation shot at the buzzer. The Knicks have won, and I have gone almost three hours without once thinking about real life.
I'm trying to decide who to bet on in the upcoming Lakers-Blazers game when Nicole comes into the room. I have to do a double take to believe what I see; she is carrying a picnic basket.
“Let's go,” she says.
“Where are we going?”
“To Harper's Point.”
“Are you serious?”
She nods. “Absolutely. You were just going to watch another game anyway, so you don't have to work. And this will give us a chance to be alone and get away from this case. That's something we haven't done in a long time, Andy.”
Guilt rears its ugly head and I agree. I don't bring Tara with me, since I have read reports of rattlesnakes in the area, and I don't want a curious Tara going where she shouldn't and getting bit.
Harper's Point is about twenty minutes west of here, in a small range of mountains. Nicole and I have been here frequently in happier times, and it is an extraordinarily beautiful place. There is a small waterfall and a rapidly running stream, as well as a number of lushly landscaped areas cleared out perfectly for picnics.
When we reach the area, we head for our favorite place. We sit on some rocks, right alongside a stream, with a view of the waterfall. I have forgotten how peaceful it can be here.
“We have a lot of memories here,” Nicole says.
“We sure do. I think I reached my sexual peak on these rocks.”
She laughs. “And it's been downhill ever since.”
I try to deny it, but she's probably right. We lie back, taking in the sun and the incredibly soothing sound of the waterfall. What Nicole doesn't know is that I am lying here trying to decide if this is the moment to tell her that we do not have a future together. I don't want to have that conversation before I am really sure, because once we have it there will be no turning back.
suddenly, despite having decided that this is not the right time, my mouth starts to speak. “Nicole, we need to talk.”
She tenses up. “Don't, Andy. No one ever says ‘we need to talk’ when they're going to talk about something good.”
I can't pull back now. “Nicole … everybody always says marriages don't work because people grow in different directions. But I don't think that's the case at all.”
She is now just waiting to see what I'm getting at, though I think she already knows.
I continue. “I think we were always very different. Sure we've grown, but I think those same differences have always been there. I think that as we get older we notice them more. We're less willing to paper over them.”
“What are you saying, Andy?”
I pause for a moment, because I'm having trouble breathing. I remember there being more air at Harper's Point. “I'm saying that it's over, Nicole.”
Nicole starts to unpack the lunch, as if behaving normally will negate the conversation. “Andy, don't do this. Please. You're making a mistake.”
I feel terribly sorry for her, and for me, but I wouldn't be doing anybody a favor by backing off now.
“No. I'm not.”
She's still emptying the picnic basket, and she drops a fork on the ground.
I lean over to pick it up, and as I do I hear a strange sound. For a moment, I think that Nicole must have dropped something else, and it is the sound of that other item hitting the ground. I look around, but there is nothing there.
I sit back up and notice that Nicole has a strange look on her face. And then I see an expanding dark red spot on her shoulder, coming from what looks like an open wound.
“Nicole?”
“Andy, I …”
It is not until she falls forward into my lap that I truly register what has happened. Nicole has been shot. My mind goes from wild panic to crystal clear focus in an instant, and I realize that I don't know where the shooter is, and that he certainly can shoot again.
I pull Nicole down behind the rocks, hoping that they will shield us, but I can't be sure of that, since I don't know where the assailant is shooting from. I take a look at Nicole and her eyes are rolling back in her head, as if she is losing consciousness. I have no first-aid experience whatsoever, but I have this vague feeling she could be
