***
If the media had been hard on Clare, it had been just as hard on Stephanie Burdick. Although the socialite had always lived the lion’s share of her life in the public eye, and mostly by choice, her former antics now paled in comparison.
She couldn’t go anywhere without a camera or a microphone being thrust in her face. She couldn’t pick up a newspaper or turn on the television without seeing or hearing herself branded -- not just as the other woman, but as the reason that Richard Durant, the brilliant and dynamic force behind Nicolaidis Industries, was dead. It didn’t do any good for her to say she had no idea what her lover was attempting to do. The fact that he was attempting to do it -- and that he was doing it so he could be free to marry her -- was all anyone seemed to care about.
Stephanie didn’t wait for the verdict. She booked herself on a flight to Paris, closed up her apartment, and left word that no one should expect her back any time soon.
***
The jury deliberated for three days. Twice, they sent questions back to the judge. Twice, the judge replied. At the end of the third day, the foreman sent a note to the judge, telling her that the jury was unable to reach a verdict. She refused to let them quit.
“If, after a week, you’re still unable to come together, then I may consider it,” she said. “But certainly not after just three days.”
Finally, on the fourth day, there was a breakthrough, and at two o’clock in the afternoon, the jury announced that it had reached a unanimous verdict.
***
Clare was trying to keep everything straight in her head. Court was scheduled to reconvene at four o’clock, and she had less than an hour’s time to get herself together and leave for downtown. But first, she had to take care of the children, because whichever way the verdict went, she didn’t want them getting caught in the crossfire.
Elaine agreed to come to Laurelhurst and take them back home with her, and Doreen packed their suitcases. Clare arranged for the tutor to go to Ravenna.
Her sister-in-law gave her a long hug. “Chin up,” she whispered. “We’re pulling for you.”
Finally, there was nothing left but to give instructions to Doreen. “Just in case,” she said.
But the housekeeper was having done of it. “I’ll be right here,” she said. “Just like I always am. And I’ll see you later.”
Clare darted out of the house and into David’s waiting car, just ahead of the paparazzi.
“Hey Clare,” one of them called out, “where do you think you’ll be sleeping tonight?”
“People can be so cruel, without even realizing it, can’t they?” she said with a sigh.
“Or perhaps without caring,” David suggested.
***
The courthouse was a madhouse. Employees scurried around like rabbits, directing the spectators, positioning the media. Spectators overflowed corridors and scrambled for seats, pushing and shoving one another in their haste to be one of the lucky few. Members of the media, deliberately of course, stood in everyone’s way, and got in everyone’s face.
After all, this was it. This was what the whole past six weeks had been about -- from the first day of jury selection, through all the testimony, through final deliberations -- this all-important moment, when the verdict was read. No one wanted to be left out. No one wanted to miss a word of it, or a reaction, or even a facial expression. No one wanted to be the one that got to hear about it secondhand.
The pundits had been remarkably divided, as many sympathizing with the defendant as condemning her. As a result, the public was equally divided. The one thing everyone agreed on was that this was not your run-of-the-mill case.
For starters, not many women in Seattle killed their husbands. And not many of the few who did then claimed they did it because their husbands were trying to kill them. It was a complex defense, really, a remarkable defense, actually, and for those not particularly interested in the intricacies of the legal system, the whole case had provided a tantalizing peek inside the lives of the rich and famous.
“Don’t want it anymore -- just kill it off,” one pundit remarked. “Like a dog or a cat or a hamster. Mark my words, folks, however this case is decided, it will give our image of being a throwaway society a whole new dimension.”
***
Clare and David were ushered into the little room next to the courtroom where they had already spent so much time, and two guards took up positions outside the door.
“How much longer?” she asked.
David glanced at his watch. “Not much,” he told her. “Ten, maybe fifteen minutes.”
“What do you think?”
“Hard to say. Four days of deliberation generally means they had a hard time getting to unanimity. It probably means they were forced to compromise.”
“Compromise how?”
“Instead of an acquittal,” he said, “they might have opted for a lesser charge.”
“Which one?”
“Hopefully, manslaughter.”
“What would that mean?”
David shrugged. “First-degree murder gets you life. Second-degree murder gets you twenty-five to life. For first degree manslaughter, you’re probably looking at eight to fifteen years.”
Clare shuddered, and then raised her chin. “It would be dreadful, of course,” she said, “but at least it would mean it would finally be over. I really need this to be over. I need the children to be able to get on with their lives. They’re victims here, too.”
David didn’t know what to say. In his experience, four days to verdict didn’t bode well for his client. Not when the jury had compromises to fall back on. And while a manslaughter conviction was certainly better than a murder conviction, it wasn’t exactly what he would call a victory. And, too, it may not be manslaughter. It was very possible that there were only one or perhaps two holdouts for acquittal, and it just took time to bring them around.
Of course, he knew, it
