“And Mrs. Durant was all right with that?” Sundstrom asked, his tone incredulous. “She was all right with knowing that the only reason her husband would stay married to her was to keep his job?”
“Clare is a very practical woman,” Nina replied.
“Practical enough to know that a grieving widow plays a lot better than a discarded wife?”
“Objection!” David cried.
“Withdrawn,” Sundstrom said lightly. “Nothing further.”
***
And then it was the weekend again, and Clare had two whole days she could spend without having to step foot out of her house or off her property. Of course, that didn’t stop the paparazzi from climbing the fences and trampling the shrubbery and tying motorboats up to the dock in hopes of getting a shot at an unguarded moment. But they went away empty-handed, literally, having left their garbage behind, strewn all over the lawns and flowerbeds.
“Who do I send the bill to,” Clare said in disgust, looking out an upstairs window at her gardeners cleaning up the mess.
“Whoever you can hold responsible for the death of chivalry in this country,” Doreen suggested.
***
Soon enough, it was Monday morning, and the end of the third week of trial.
“Defense calls Clare Durant,” David said.
The buzz in the courtroom was audible. While everyone in a trial wanted to hear from the defendant, and while David had as good as promised in his opening statement that she would testify, no one had believed it would actually happen -- until it happened.
Dressed in a tailored blue gabardine suit that would never be mistaken for a Givenchy, Clare got up from her seat at the defense table and walked slowly to the witness box. She gave her name, in a clear if tremulous voice, swore to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, and took the stand.
David wasted no time getting right to the heart of the matter. “On the night your husband died,” he asked, “who did you think you were shooting at?”
“I thought I was shooting at someone who was trying to kill me,” Clare replied.
“You mean -- the stalker?”
“The police had led me to believe that there was a serial stalker who would be coming after me.”
“Did you speak to your husband that day?’
“Yes, I did.”
“Did he tell you he was coming home a day early from his business trip?”
“No, he did not.”
“Did you know, for certain, before you pulled the trigger, that you were not shooting at a stalker that night in your bedroom, but at your husband?” David inquired.
“No, I did not.”
“In that case, I have nothing further,” David said and took his seat.
***
“So,” Mark Sundstrom began, “you thought you were shooting at someone who was trying to kill you -- is that what you said?”
“Yes, I believe that’s what I said,” Clare responded.
“Not someone who was trying to divorce you -- but someone who was trying to kill you?”
“Yes.”
“Your houseguest could have walked into your bedroom that night,” the prosecutor suggested. “If she had, would you have thought she was trying to kill you?”
“Certainly not.” Clare said. “I think I would have been able to tell the difference between a man and a woman. Besides, Nina would have knocked first.”
“So, you could see enough to know whether it was a man or a woman coming into the room, but not enough to know whether the man resembled your husband or not?”
Clare opened her mouth to respond and then changed her mind about what she wanted to say. She glanced over at David, who nodded imperceptibly, and then she took a deep breath and turned back to the prosecutor.
“All I can tell you is that whatever man was going to walk into the bedroom unannounced that night was someone who wanted to kill me,” she said, choosing her words very carefully.
Sundstrom frowned. “Wait a minute -- did I just hear you right?” he inquired. “Did I just hear you say that whatever man walked into your bedroom wanted to kill you?”
Clare let out a deep breath. “Yes, that’s exactly what I said”
“But it was your husband who walked into the bedroom, Mrs. Durant,” the prosecutor reminded her.
“Yes,” she said calmly. “As it happens, it was.”
Sundstrom almost laughed out loud. “So now you’re telling this jury that your husband wanted to kill you?”
“I don’t know why that should come as such a big surprise,” Clare said, her tone dispassionate. “He’d already tried and failed three times. I’m afraid I was unwilling to take the chance that he would succeed the fourth time.”
Everyone was stunned. Richard Durant’s family was shocked. Several spectators actually cried out. Eager reporters dashed out. Even the jurors couldn’t keep themselves from gasping. Judge Lazarus banged her gavel.
And Erin Hall sat in her seat with a smile of admiration on her face, because now, of course, it all made sense.
Mark Sundstrom, on the other hand, was apoplectic. “And just why do you think your husband was trying to kill you?” he demanded to know as soon as he could be heard.
“I think you’ve already made the reason painfully clear in this courtroom, don’t you?” Clare suggested.
“What reason?”
“Apparently, my husband decided that he had at last met the woman of his dreams, and while taking up residence with her might have been worth giving up his marriage, it wasn’t worth giving up his position at Nicolaidis Industries. I believe, once Richard realized what a divorce would really cost him, he figured out there was perhaps a better way he could go.”
“And that way was to kill you?”
“I’m afraid so,” Clare said. “After all, a grieving widower plays a lot better than a cuckolded husband, doesn’t he?”
An excited murmur began to ripple across the courtroom, and Sundstrom felt a hollow clunk in the pit of his stomach. He had been out-maneuvered and he knew it. Damn it, the whole courtroom knew it. Whether by the defendant or her attorney didn’t matter right now. What mattered was how -- and if -- he was
