witness.
“Let me understand this, Mrs. Meade. When is the very first time you told anyone-anyone at all-about the night Amanda Quillian left Brendan to come stay with you?”
Kate paused to think. “The day I met Ms. Cooper. The detectives took me down to the District Attorney’s Office the morning of October fourth. I told Ms. Cooper about it then.”
“So, that was-my goodness-that was four-no, four and a half years after the night you’ve described, wasn’t it?”
“I guess so.”
Howell wasn’t going to question her certainty about the timing. I had turned over Kate’s datebook entry that confirmed she had made a record of her friend’s brief estrangement from Quillian.
“And we all know how our memories of events, of conversations, of details-how they change over months and years.” Howell was walking in front of the jury box now, one hand on the railing and the other adjusting his tie.
“I remember everything that happened with Amanda. I have a very good memory.”
“But for telling me that your help-your nanny-was at home that week, isn’t that right?”
Kate was smart enough not to keep the battle going, and Howell knew he could weave her five-year silence into a suggestion that nothing had been more serious between the couple than an occasional lovers’ quarrel.
“Now, when Brendan came to the door of your home, that first week, more than five years ago, didn’t you ask him, Mrs. Meade-didn’t you ask him to explain what he had done to upset your best friend so?”
“No.”
“Didn’t you ask him to tell you his side of the story?”
“I didn’t need to ask him. Amanda had already told me.”
“But surely, you would agree that there are two sides to every story, wouldn’t you? Whether you wanted to hear what Brendan had to say or not?”
Howell was scoring twice. Not only was he making Kate Meade seem obstinate and small-minded, but he could later argue the same principle in the event the defendant didn’t testify on his own behalf.
“Possibly.”
“But you didn’t even bother to ask, did you?” Howell said, speaking slowly and emphasizing each of the words in that short question with obvious disapproval.
Kate Meade was pouting in silence.
“You must answer the question,” Gertz said to her.
“I did not.”
“Ms. Cooper,” Howell said, standing to my side and holding out his hand. “May I see People’s Exhibit twelve?”
I removed the pile of photographs that had been admitted during my direct exam of Kate and handed him the one he asked for.
“Would you look at this again for us, Mrs. Meade?”
“Of course.”
“Now, this is the actual photograph-the entire photograph-that you took at your lunch with Mrs. Quillian the terrible day she was killed, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“And this enlargement, on the easel, that’s a close-up of her face made from this exact picture, am I right?”
“Yes, you are.”
“This smaller picture actually captures a bit more of the subject, of the entire scene, wouldn’t you say?”
“Yes. You can see the restaurant awning behind Amanda’s head, and the little bistro table we were sitting at. Her coffee cup, the sunglasses on top of the menu. Is that what you mean?”
“Exactly.” Howell leaned on the edge of the witness stand and looked over Kate’s shoulder at the image. “There appears to be a ring on Mrs. Quillian’s finger, am I correct?”
I knew where Howell was going and I could have kicked myself for not pointing it out on my direct exam of Kate Meade. I intended to bring up the issue of the ring through the first cop on the scene and the Quillian housekeeper. Howell had taught me many years ago to gain the jury’s trust by introducing any weakness in a case through the state’s own witnesses, before the defense could expose them. I knew the ring was missing-stolen-by the time the police found Amanda’s body. It hadn’t occurred to me to introduce that fact through Kate.
“Now I know Ms. Cooper wouldn’t neglect to notice a fine piece of jewelry, but I don’t believe we’ve discussed this ring here today, have we, Mrs. Meade?”
“No. No, I wasn’t asked to.”
“Let me ask you then, do you recognize the ring Mrs. Quillian was wearing that day?”
“Yes. Yes, certainly.”
“Now, I know it’s big, and I know it’s brilliant, and I know it’s blue,” Mr. Triplicate said, smiling at the jurors as he turned his back on Kate Meade. “What kind of stone was in that ring, if you happen to know?”
“A sapphire, Mr. Howell. It was a sapphire ring.”
“And how many carats was it-or maybe I’m asking you to guess, in which case-”
“It’s not a guess. I was with Amanda when she went back to the Schlumberger salon to have it sized. Six carats. It was a six-carat sapphire.”
Howell let out a soft whistle as he stepped back. “So, that was her engagement ring?”
“No, no, it was not. Brendan couldn’t have afforded anything like that when he asked Amanda to marry him.”
“Well, do you know when she received the ring, or whether she bought it herself?”
“He gave it to her,” Kate said, dipping her head in the defendant’s direction.
“He? You mean Brendan? And when was that?”
“Two years ago. They had a tenth-anniversary party-Preston and I were there-and Brendan gave it to her then.”
Howell twisted his shoulders and smiled to the jurors to show them he liked that fact. “Did she wear it often?”
“Every day.”
“Was she wearing that ring when she stood up from this very table in the photograph and said good-bye to you on October third?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you’re aware, are you not, that when the police and the housekeeper found Mrs. Quillian’s body shortly after that-after your call to 911-the ring was missing?”
“That’s right.”
Howell would want to argue to the jury that the serious anniversary gift was a sign that the Quillians had reconciled their differences in a sentimental, and expensive, manner. And he would use the theft of the ring by the killer to argue robbery as the motive for Amanda’s death. Mike Chapman referred to the over-the-top bauble as a guilt gift from the defendant, and he explained its disappearance as an obvious staging of the scene-the taking of a significant jewel and the superficial ransacking of drawers and tables near the victim’s body meant to encourage police to think first of a push-in robbery as the killer’s plan.
Howell was jumping from topic to topic now, rattling Kate Meade with the uncertainty of what direction he would next take.
“I’ll get back to that 911 call in a minute, but let me ask you a few more questions about the day you sent your daughter skating with Mr. Quillian.”
Kate stiffened again, I assumed at the second mention of her child in this public forum. “Your Honor, may I speak with my lawyer?” she asked, turning to Judge Gertz.
“Are you talking about Ms. Cooper? She’s not your lawyer, Mrs. Meade-she represents the state,” the judge said, trying to calm her. “Let’s finish your testimony and get you on your way.”
I clasped my hands together on the table, waiting for Lem’s warning to strike its target. Kate wanted to tell me something and I feared that my adversary knew exactly what it was.
“I’m talking about a day in February of last year, do you recall that?” Howell said softly but firmly.
