“How many times?”
She thought for a moment, and unwittingly glanced at her left wrist, but you could no longer see the scars thanks to a very artful plastic surgeon. “Seven or eight times.” She kept her eyes down this time, it was not something she was proud of. And she could have told him she didn't remember.
“Because you felt responsible for the death of your child?”
“Yes,” she almost shouted.
“And Mr. Delauney, where was he during this time?”
“I don't know. I didn't see him for several years.”
“Was he as distraught as you?”
Tom Armour objected again, but even he couldn't save her. “You're asking the witness to guess my client's state of mind. Why not save it for later?”
“Sustained. Counsel, be warned please.” Morrison was starting to look annoyed and Palmer apologized again, but you could see he wasn't sorry.
“Was Mr. Delauney with you when the child drowned?”
“No. I was alone with him.' Charles was skiing.
“And did he blame you for the child's death?”
“Objection!” Tom shouted. “You're guessing at my client's state of mind again.”
“Overruled, Mr. Armour,” the judge intoned, “this could be important. Objection overruled.”
“I repeat, Mrs. Patterson,” he got her name right this time, “did the defendant blame you for the death of his child?”
“I believed so at the time… we were both terribly upset.”
“Was he very angry?”
“Yes.”
“How angry? Did he hit you?” She hesitated in answer to the question. “Did he beat you?”
“I…”
“Mrs. Patterson, you're under oath. Please answer the question. Did he beat you?”
“I believe he slapped me.”
“Your Honor.” William Palmer held out a telegram to the judge, and then handed it to Tom Armour for inspection. “This telegram is from the administrator of the Sainte Vierge Hospital in Geneva, which states that according to their records, Mrs. Marielle Delauney was 'beaten,' they use the word
“Yes.” She couldn't say more. She could hardly speak now.
“Did Mr. Delauney beat you on any other occasion?”
“No, he did not.”
“And had you ever suffered mental illness before the incident of your son's death?”
“No, I hadn't.”
“Would you say you have recovered fully now?”
“Yes, I would.”
There was a brief pause as Palmer consulted some notes and then went on, “Mrs. Patterson, do you suffer from severe headaches?”
“Yes, I do.”
“And when did they start?”
“At…after…during my stay in Switzerland.”
“But you've had them since then?”
“Yes.”
“Recently?”
“Yes.”
“How recently?”
She almost smiled but she couldn't. “This weekend.”
“How many would you say you've had in the past month?”
“Maybe four or five a week.”
“As many as that?” He looked sympathetic. “And before your son's kidnapping? Just as many?”
“Maybe two or three a week.”
“Do you have other recurring problems from the past, Mrs. Patterson? Are you unusually shy or withdrawn, are you afraid of people sometimes? Are you afraid of responsibility… of being blamed for things?”
Tom Armour stood up again in an attempt to stop what was becoming a slaughter. “My colleague is not a psychiatrist. If he feels he needs one, he should call an expert witness.”
“Your Honor.” Bill Palmer approached the bench again, and then waved another piece of paper at Tom Armour. “This telegram is from Mrs. Patterson's doctor at the Clinique Verbeuf in Villars, confirming that she was indeed incarcerated there.”
“Objection!” Tom looked furious now, and she wasn't even his client. “Mrs. Patterson wasn't in prison!”
“Sustained. Mr. Palmer, please watch your language.”
“Sorry, Your Honor. She was hospitalized there for two years and two months for a nervous breakdown and severe depression. She apparently attempted suicide repeatedly and suffered from severe migraines. That was the official diagnosis. Dr. Verbeuf goes on to add that he is aware that her migraines have persisted and that at times of great stress like the present one, her mental health could be considered extremely fragile.” Without meaning to, the good doctor had killed her. And no matter what she said now, they would think her disturbed, and an unreliable witness. But Palmer wasn't through yet.
After the telegram from Dr. Verbeuf was admitted as Exhibit B, he went on with his questions. “Have you had an affair with the defendant since your divorce?”
“No, I have not.”
“Have you seen him in the past several months, or rather before your son was kidnapped?”
“Yes, I ran into him in church on the anniversary of our son's death. And the following day in the park.”
“Was your son with you on either occasion?”
“Yes, the second one.”
“And what was Mr. Delauney's reaction? Was he pleased to meet him?”
“No.” She lowered her eyes so she didn't have to look at him. “He was upset.”
“Would you say he was angry?”
She hesitated and then nodded. “Yes.”
“Did he threaten you in any way?”
“Yes, but I don't know if he really meant it.”
“And when was your son kidnapped, Mrs. Patterson?” If nothing else, he was making her out to be extremely stupid.
“The next day.”
“Do you believe that there's a connection between Mr. Delauney's threats, and
