“No, I don’t usually keep my messages,” Stephanie admitted, the blush deepening. “But by the time I got around to erasing that one, Richard was already dead, and I -- well, I -- I don’t know why, but I just couldn’t bring myself to destroy it.”
“Thank you,” Sundstrom said.
***
Clare was numb. This testimony was more devastating to her than any of the scientific stuff she had had to sit through. She glanced at the jury. She could tell that they believed what Stephanie had said. After all, they were probably reasoning, why would someone of the socialite’s stature subject herself to this kind of public exposure if she weren’t telling the truth? If Clare were a member of the jury, she knew she would probably believe her, too.
***
“Ms. Burdick,” David inquired on cross-examination, “during your two-year clandestine relationship with Richard Durant, did you ever catch him in a lie?”
“In a lie?” Stephanie echoed. “I certainly wouldn’t say so. I can’t think of any reason he would have had to lie to me.”
“Well, the prosecutor seems to want the jury to believe that my client’s motive for killing her husband was revenge because he was going to divorce her and marry you.”
“He was.”
“Are you sure of that?”
“Why wouldn’t I be sure?” she countered. “After our first few months together, it was almost all he ever talked about.”
“Even though two attorneys will testify right here in this court that they both told him, almost a year before his death, that a divorce would more than likely mean professional suicide? And that, if he chose to pursue it, he stood an excellent chance of losing everything because his wife could have ousted from Nicolaidis Industries?”
“Objection, Your Honor,” Sundstrom put in. “Assumes facts not yet in evidence.”
“Sustained,” the judge said. “Rephrase, Mr. Johansen.”
“What would you say, Ms. Burdick,” David rephrased, “if it could be proven that Richard Durant would likely have lost everything if he divorced his wife to marry you?”
“He was the best thing that ever happened to that company,” Stephanie retorted, shooting a disdainful look at the defendant. “Everyone knew that -- in and out of Nicolaidis Industries. She would have been an idiot to force him out just because he wanted out of their marriage.”
“I see,” David said softly. “So let’s make sure we all understand what you’re saying here. You’re saying that exacting revenge by tossing him out of the company would have been idiotic -- but exacting revenge by killing him -- that was smart?”
Stephanie bristled. “That’s not what I meant. That’s not what I meant at all.”
“I’m sure it isn’t,” David murmured. “So, as far as you knew, Richard Durant was going to divorce his wife and marry you, and Nicolaidis Industries be damned, if it came to that, is that right?”
“Look, this was totally Richard’s idea, not mine,” Stephanie said. “He was the one who kept talking about being done with his wife. He was the one who wanted out of his marriage. He didn’t have to concoct a story about marrying me just to keep me around. I was perfectly okay with our relationship the way it was.”
“And when was the last time the two of you discussed this idea of his being done with his wife and marrying you?”
At that, tears filled Stephanie’s eyes. “On the night he died,”
she whispered.
“Thank you,” David said softly. “Nothing further.”
***
It was very late, close to midnight. A lamp on the nightstand in the yellow guestroom, was softly illuminating the space that Clare now inhabited. Ever since that night, now only days from being a year ago, she had been afraid to close her eyes in the dark.
Sleep did not come easily, even in the comfortable four-poster. It was often fretful, and frequently filled with unwanted dreams that awakened her with a start. On this night, however, her emotional exhaustion was so profound that, almost before her head made contact with the pillow, she fell into a deep and blessedly dreamless slumber.
As a result, she didn’t hear the door open, and she didn’t see the slight figure that tiptoed to the foot of the bed.
It was a school night, and Julie should have been asleep hours ago, but instead, she had stayed up, as she had every night now for most of two weeks, creeping out of her room and down the stairs after everyone else had gone to bed, to watch the late news on the television set in the family room, and hear about the trial from some reporter who had been lucky enough to witness the proceedings. She didn’t understand a lot of what the reporter said, but enough to know that her family was being destroyed, both in and out of court, and that the reason was because the were people with power and authority who didn’t believe that her mother had killed her father by mistake.
In the lamplight, Julie gazed at the figure in the bed. Her mother looked so pale and so fragile that it wouldn’t have been a surprise if she had disappeared right before her daughter’s very eyes.
The thirteen-year-old squared her thin shoulders. She would talk to Doreen again. The housekeeper would know what to do.
***
“Richard and I had several conversations over a period of about a month, I’d say,” John Fowler testified on the second Friday of trial.
“When was that?”
“In December, two years ago.”
“And those conversations -- what were they about?” Sundstrom prompted.
“Richard talked about the breakdown of his marriage, and inquired about getting a divorce.”
Fowler was clearly uncomfortable discussing a client, even though the client was dead. And the line was even more blurred because Richard Durant had also been a friend, and as far as he was concerned, Clare Durant still was.
“A divorce?”
“Yes.”
“Richard Durant told you he wanted to divorce his wife?” Sundstrom emphasized.
“Yes. He said that they had grown apart over the years, that they’d both become different people, with different needs, and that the marriage wasn’t working anymore -- for
