Hide & Seek - James Patterson [76]
Second was his courtroom manner. Standing ruler-straight, he seemed to take the jurors into his confidence, yet distanced himself enough so that they regarded him with awe. “I’m telling you the truth,” he seemed to be saying. “Trust me. Astonishing as the revelations are, the facts support them.”
Right now, though, at ease, cordovaned feet resting on top of his desk, he was addressing his assistants about the upcoming trial.
“The facts aren’t in doubt,” he said for what must have been the tenth time. “She just about admitted she shot him, handed over the murder weapon to the police, has cooperated more with them, I gather, than with her own attorneys. Such behavior is not uncommon in murder cases.
“But”—and here he paused for dramatic effect—”but this woman has enough money to buy the best legal and investigative resources available. Nathan Bailford himself will do the actual cross-examination; he’s had more experience in murder trials than he has in corporate ones. It’s how he made his reputation. And they’ve hired Norma Breen as their investigator. If there’s something exculpatory to find, she’ll find it—only there’s nothing, damn it. Nothing!”
Another pause, this one to control his emotions. “The defense they’ll offer, the only possible defense, is self-defense. That Maggie Bradford was defending herself against Will Shepherd, that if she hadn’t killed him, he’d have killed her.
“Well, I say that’s bullshit, and when we’re finished with her, so will the jury. It’s a defense that makes me sick. We’re talking about Maggie Bradford! She couldn’t have gone to the police? She was afraid of him? Well, it might have worked in the shooting of her first husband, but it sure as hell ain’t gonna work here. She’s a superstar. Any court in the world would have guaranteed her protection if she’d asked for it. A battered wife? My ass.”
A third pause, a sip of coffee. The three others in his office knew his judicial beliefs, were inured to his melodramas. They also understood just how good he was at his job—and just how much this particular trial meant to his career.
“Two husbands, two deaths. That’s putting a charley horse in the long arm of coincidence, as S. J. Perelman once said. But then, then, there’s the death of a third man in the life of Maggie Bradford. A man she supposedly loved most of all.
“Patrick O’Malley, her live-in lover, died of a heart attack on his boat. Well, was it a heart attack? So the autopsy said. But, we don’t know what brought it on.”
Nizhinski continued speaking in his very controlled voice. “Maggie Bradford is a killer. Cold-blooded, basically heartless, and until this last time, clever as the devil himself.
“But we’ve got her now. Guilty as charged? I’ve never been so convinced of anything in my life!”
Nizhinski finished, and he looked around at his assistants. “Any questions, cubs, or are you too dazzled to speak? Anyone see any way we can lose this one? I sure can’t.”
CHAPTER 90
I’M NO EXPERT on prisons, and don’t want to be, but if the Bedford Hills Correctional Facility for Women is “one of the most luxurious,” then I pity the women incarcerated elsewhere. This stinks big time, especially when you’re innocent; but even if you’re not, this can’t be the way to proper rehabilitation. I am absolutely certain that it isn’t.
I have no cellmate—because I’m a “star.” I exercise, and eat the bad food, alone. I’ve made a friend, another woman accused of killing her husband. The grim irony isn’t lost on either of us.
I’m surrounded by drug addicts, small-time thieves, gang members, arsonists, a few murderers. Jennie visits a few times each week, and I can’t wait to see her. Allie’s been told I’m away, and to mind Mrs. Leigh. I miss them so much I can’t write about it.
When I think about my sweet girl, my darling boy, I can feel my heart ripping—I’m forced to double over with pain. I don’t feel sorry for myself; I just can’t live without the two of them. I can’t let myself go to pieces,