'I'm not going to redirect you, so I don't think you'll have to worry about any more testimony.' He bit down into the club sandwich, chewed on it while thinking. 'I'm going to call Mrs. Chandler next. If I can establish that she was a knowing acces-sory to the transoption, that'll draw a pretty bad picture of her for the jury. Then I'll follow up with the expert witnesses-'
'Is it okay if I talk to Dr. Fletcher now? There aren't any reporters around.'
'Legally you can, but I don't think you should,' he said.
She stood. 'I just want to find out about Renata.'
Ron grunted and took another bite of the sandwich. Men-tally, he rehearsed his line of questioning, knowing that if he kept it narrow enough, Johnson would have practically noth-ing to seize on in the cross-examination. Calling a hostile wit-ness was risky, but he calculated that he could turn that hostility to his advantage.
'How's Renata?' Valerie asked, sitting in an available chair next to Dr. Fletcher. Fletcher gave her a comforting smile. 'She's still in guarded condition. We just won't know for a while. She's hanging in there, so we've got to, too.'
'Valerie?' Terry looked at her.
'What?' Her voice was as cool as the air in a glacial cavern.
'I'm sorry I put you through that. You know why I had to, don't you?'
'Lawyers will be lawyers,' she said, rising.
'Mr. Czernek will be just as rough on Karen,' he said. His tone was matter-of-fact, but his eyes revealed an apprehen-sion about something, the nature of which Valerie was un-aware. She chalked it up to the trial jitters she assumed everyone else also felt and returned to Ron. He hovered over his coffee, searching his notes to prepare for the afternoon.
'How is she?' he asked without looking up.
'They don't know yet.'
It was strange reporting to him in such a way. His attitude seemed almost that of a man in some gothic romance. Dark and brooding, he pondered his own thoughts while express-ing only a cursory interest in their child. He flipped over a sheet of the yellow legal pad, continuing to read his hasty shorthand. Suddenly, a repetitive beep erupted from his jacket. For a moment, he was unsure what it meant. Then he remembered that in his haste to bring the case to trial, he had rented a pager to keep in contact with his office. He pulled it from his pocket, noted the phone number on the LCD display, and switched it off.
'That's my callback from the doctor I asked to be an expert witness.' He headed for the phone booths. 'I hope he agrees to testify-it's cutting things close to do this so far into the trial.' Valerie watched him go, then turned to observe the defen-dants. It was her first opportunity to view them together in a relaxed climate.
David Chandler doted on his wife so sweetly, she thought. Always an arm around her or a hand touching hers. She knew it couldn't be an affectation. Ron sometimes did that: a pat on the hand or an obligatory hug. The impression she received, though, was one of distraction, as if her lover had more on his mind than pleasing or soothing her.
Karen had that troubled look of a mother concerned about her child. Valerie could tell that the woman was unable to con-centrate on the courtroom proceedings; her mind was miles away in a hospital room at Bayside. Renata created a bond between the two of them that was even stronger than the one between Ron and her. It was a bond, though, with built-in stress, one that could never be acknowledged as long as they vied for possession of Renata.
It was Dr. Fletcher's fault. Valerie glared at the woman, at her black and silver hair, at her starched white demeanor. She acted as if she cared about Renata, about Valerie-indeed, about everyone. Was it a sham? Just so much bedside manner repeated rote? What really lurked behind that doctorly exte-rior?
Was she trying to help all women and unborn children, as Johnson implied? Or was Ron more correct that she had used her and Karen as a means to test her theories?
She knew Ron's reasons for being here. What were Johnson's? He seemed sincere to the point of a stroke, yet he used every nasty rhetorical technique available. Stuff she'd seen Ron use in other trials. He knew how to play the jury, just as Ron did. Was that the key? Would the best player win re-gardless of who was right or wrong?
'He's in!' Ron returned to the table, scraping the chair across the linoleum to sit. 'He'll be available tomorrow to give expert testimony on embryo transfer. And here's something I didn't know; he's on the ethics committee of his own hospital, so he really knows the implications of Fletcher's actions.'
'Tomorrow.' Valerie finished her coffee in one swallow. It went down bitter despite the two packets of Equal. 'What about today?'
