“And what did you tell him?”
“I told him a divorce might well mean he would lose his position at Nicolaidis Industries,” Fowler replied.
“And what was his response?”
“I think he was surprised,” the witness said. “To be honest, I don’t think he had thought about that possibility at all. I got the impression that he believed the divorce would be amicable. But he said he would take a look at his contract.”
“And did he?”
Fowler shrugged. “I don’t know, but a few weeks later, he told me that he and Clare had talked seriously about their marriage for the first time in years, and that he was encouraged enough by the dialogue that he had decided to try to work on improving the situation. He said he was going to put the idea of a divorce on the back burner while he waited to see whether things would get better.”
“But, in effect, whether on the front burner or the back,” Sundstrom suggested, “a divorce was still hanging over Clare Durant’s head, isn’t that true?”
“Well, yes,” the witness conceded, “I suppose you could put it that way.”
***
David rose slowly from the defense table, his expression thoughtful as he checked his notes.
“So, Mr. Fowler,” he began, “is it your testimony here today that Richard Durant abandoned his quest for a divorce some ten months before his death?”
“Yes, that was my understanding,” Fowler confirmed.
“He made that perfectly clear to you -- he said that he and his wife were going to try to work things out?”
“Yes.”
“Did he tell you that he had obtained the opinion of another attorney on the matter?”
“No, he didn’t mention that,” Fowler replied. “But it wouldn’t surprise me. Richard was circumspect in all his dealings.”
“And in all the months after that, when the two of you would go out on your boat together, or on the occasions when you and your wife would meet socially with the Durants, did he ever bring up the idea of divorce again?”
“On the contrary,” Fowler said. “He made a point of telling me, it seemed at every opportunity, that things were going very well between the two of them, better than ever, in fact, and that he had been wrong to consider ending the marriage.”
“And on those occasions when you saw the Durants together,” David pressed, “did their appearance, their actions, seem to corroborate his words?”
“Yes, they seemed to be quite devoted to one another.”
The defense attorney frowned. “Then what would you say if I told you that a previous witness testified, right here in this courtroom, that Richard Durant was discussing divorcing his wide and marrying his mistress, as though both actions were imminent, on the very night he died?”
The divorce attorney blinked. “I’d say that was very far indeed from the last conversation I had with him a month earlier,” he replied.
“And what conversation was that, Mr. Fowler?”
“We were out on my boat at the time, and Richard made a point of telling me that, what with the arsenic poisoning and Clare’s fall off the mountain, he was profoundly sorry that the idea of divorce had ever entered his head.”
***
The media were eating it up, every salacious word. Marriage, divorce, money, high society, adultery -- once the appetizer of the tabloids, was now the meat of the mainstream.
Television cameramen camped outside the Laurelhurst mansion, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone, anyone involved in the sordid story. Reporters peered into every vehicle going in and out of the estate, and followed anyone who looked like a lead. Elaine Haskell had some unpleasant words with a few. Dr. Ahrens called the police. The supermarket delivery boy wished he had more to tell.
“Wife Accused in Philandering Husband’s Death,” the more mainstream headlines read. “He Done Her Dirty -- She Done Him In,” those not so concerned with image opined.
“There’s real money in this for you, if you talk to us, you know,” someone suggested to Doreen when she came down the drive to pick up the mail.
“There isn’t enough money in the world,” she told them, thankful after all these years that the mailbox had a sturdy lock mechanism on it.
The lowest of the low, and some not so low, resorted to going through the household garbage.
Clare had made the decision that the whole family would stay at home for the duration of the trial. She arranged for a tutor to come in, to keep the children up with their schoolwork. “I’m sure it’ll be only for a few weeks,” Clare assured them. Julie and Peter didn’t mind. Anything was better than facing their classmates right now.
Everything they needed to have got delivered, brought around to the service entrance, taken custody of and examined at the door. Visitors were screened. The private security guards that David had hired patrolled everywhere.
“Why am I fighting so hard to stay out of prison?” Clare wondered. “I’m already there.”
***
On Monday, Morton Bloom testified that Richard Durant had indeed consulted him, too, about the possibility of a divorce.
“What did he want?” Mark Sundstrom asked.
“I guess he wanted a second opinion,” the attorney said.
“And what did you tell him?”
“I told him the divorce would be easy, but unless it was amicable, he could be out of a job. He had asked me to review his contract with Nicolaidis Industries, which I did. It was a good one, very good, in fact, but it was clear that the Board of Directors could dismiss him at any time. There was a morals clause that could have been invoked, if one wanted to go that far. Apparently, there had been a number of affairs.”
“Did that seem to be a sticking point for him?” the prosecutor pressed. “Losing his position?”
Morton Bloom shrugged. “I don’t know,” he replied. “The severance package attached to his contract was quite substantial. It would have allowed him to live quite comfortably, if not extravagantly, for the rest of his life.”
***
“Is that all you told Richard Durant?” David inquired on cross.
“Well,
