Lost Girls

memory. And although not a word of it has any probative value whatsoever, I let it pass without a peep. On and on it goes, bravely, without tears, the words occasionally trembling with emotion before being gathered up to a proud baritone once more: ''I remember on one picnic up at Killarney Provincial Park, Krystal got this bee sting and didn't her cheeks swell up like two grapefruits.'' ''Quite an author she was, always sticking her beautiful poems up on the fridge door. Would you like to hear one?'' ''She was always honest with us. We built our house on honesty.''

My turn comes after lunch. Start with some meandering niceties, let the jury's cafeteria sandwiches and brownies settle in their guts, then get to where I want to go.

''Mr. McConnell, you've made a special point of telling the court about the honesty in your house, particularly as between yourself and your daughter, isn't that right?''

It's only the first real question, but already the facade of earnest helpfulness is melting off his face like a layer of ice in the sun.

''Yes, that's right.''

''What I mean is that it was very important to you, to your family. Not telling lies.''

''It was important. But isn't it important in every--''

''You're the breadwinner of your house, right?''

''My wife doesn't work, if that's what you mean.''

''And you're a religious man?''

''I attend church. I believe in God.''

''In rules?''

''God's rules.''

At this McConnell looks over at Goodwin, hoping for a signal. But Goodwin is buried in his notes, trying to guess where I'm going, and McConnell is left alone to fold the skin of his forehead into ruddy pink waves.

''And as head of the household, liars are something you would have trouble tolerating, right?''

''I'd have some trouble. But with Krystal there was never--''

''With Krystal there was never need to punish her, was there? You've told us how, with your other children, you'd sometimes have to lay down the law; but not with Krystal, isn't that so?''

''That's correct.''

''But if you did, you would have, wouldn't you?''

McConnell's shoulders have crept up to meet at his chin.

''Mr. McConnell, do you understand the question?''

''Yes.''

''Yes what?''

''Yes, I wouldn't have treated Krystal any different.''

''You'd punish her, then?''

''I'd do something, but--''

''You'd do something. I see. Well, what if I told you that I have a witness who will testify that Krystal was in fact lying to you. Would you have done something if you had known that?''

''It would depend.''

''How about if she was smoking cigarettes with boys outside the school yard. Do you allow your children to smoke, Mr. McConnell?''

''How do you know she smoked?''

''I'll prove it later. But let's just hypothesize for the moment. Would you do something to your daughter if she was lying to you, if the lie involved her smoking and flirting with older boys she knew you didn't approve of when she should have been attending choir practice?''

''If it's true.''

''Let's assume it is.''

''I think sometimes a father has to do certain things. For discipline.''

''Discipline. Punish. You'd do something, correct?''

''If I had--''

''Would you say that you have a temper, Mr. McConnell?''

''I'm a businessman. Sometimes you've got to show people that they can't get away with trying--that you don't appreciate being taken for granted.''

''Is that why you pushed me around and threatened my bodily safety in the men's lavatory of this very courthouse two days ago?''

''What? All I--''

''Objection!''

''Mr. Crane!''

Everybody's up. Goldfarb shaking her head and Goodwin throwing his arms about him as though the words he wants to use are dancing in the air around him.

''Are you initiating new proceedings against the Crown's witness here, Mr. Crane?'' Goldfarb scowls. But there's a brightness in her eyes that shows she's enjoying this just a little.

''I'm not trying to make criminal accusations here, Your Honor. I'm merely trying to advance to the jury a particular quality of the witness's relationship with his daughter. I mention events of the other day for that purpose alone.''

''What does it matter?'' Goodwin finally splutters.

''If it's not true, your witness can deny it,'' I say, turning to him with an innocent shrug.

Goldfarb looks at us both, then pushes her chair back with a metallic pop.

''Ask the question again, Mr. Crane. But cautiously.''

''Thank you, Your Honor.''

I place my fingertips on the table in front of me and turn back to face McConnell in the stand.

''Did you or did you not, sir, lay your hands forcefully upon my person in the bathroom down the hall of this courthouse two days ago?''

McConnell opens his mouth with a crack of his jaw, looks up into the ceiling lights before answering.

''Yes. But we were discussing--''

''Yes you pushed me, and yes you threatened me?''

''I was upset.''

''And how much do you weigh, sir?''

''What?''

''Just curious. How much, give or take a few pounds?''

''Two thirty.''

''A big man. And strong I bet too. You try to stay in shape?''

''I'm fairly active. For my age. What does--''

''And what would you say my client's weight is?''

''I wouldn't know.''

''Guess.''

''One fifty. One sixty.''

''Little guy.''

''Not big.''

''No, but you are.''

''What the hell are you getting at? I mean, it sounds--''

''Let me tell you precisely what I'm getting at.'' I hold an open palm above my head. ''I'm telling you that you, sir--a self-described disciplinarian with admitted tendencies toward violence--had the same if not greater opportunity and motive to murder your own daughter and Ashley Flynn as the prosecution has so far shown against Thom Tripp.''

''You filthy bastard! How dare--''

''In good shape, got eighty pounds on my guy--''

''Objection!''