Just Take My Heart - Mary Higgins Clark [35]
“You may be right about that,” Moore replied, glumly. At the door, he turned back. “I admit that Easton was better on the stand than I expected, Emily. And I don't mind telling you that you've done a good job.”
Richard Moore was not known to give compliments. Sincerely pleased, Emily thanked him.
“And, Emily, one way or the other, I'm glad this will be over soon. It's really been a tough one.”
He did not wait for her reply.
Just Take My Heart
23
On the morning of October 3rd, Gregg Aldrich got out of bed at five a.m. Because he was going to be on the witness stand, he had gone to bed unreasonably early and it had been a mistake. He had slept for an hour until eleven p.m., then dozed fitfully for the next six hours.
I've got to clear my head, he thought. I'll take a run in the park. I can't testify feeling this groggy and stupid. He raised the shades and closed the window. The window looked across the street to the opposite building. Park Avenue never does give much of a view, he thought. On Fifth Avenue, you looked over Central Park. On East End Avenue, you could see the river. On Park you look at a building filled with people like yourself who can afford the fancy prices.
The view was better in Jersey City, he thought, wryly. I could get a glimpse of the Statue of Liberty from the old apartment. But after Mom died, I couldn't get away fast enough. Mom forced herself to stay alive until she'd seen me graduate from St. John's University. I'm glad she's not sitting in that courtroom now, he thought, turning from the window.
It was cool out, and he decided to wear a light running suit. As he dressed, Gregg realized how much he'd been thinking of his mother lately. He found himself remembering how, after she died, he'd invited a few of the close neighbors like Loretta Lewis to come into their five-story walk-up to help themselves to any furnishings they could use.
Why was he thinking that? Because Richard Moore is going to put Mrs. Lewis on the stand as a character witness to say what a “grand” son I was and how helpful to all the old people in the build?ing. He seems to think that will create some sympathy for me. Father dead when I was nine, mother fighting cancer for years, working my way through college . . . Moore will have them in tears for me. But what has that got to do with Natalie's death? Moore says it could cre?ate doubt that I was capable of killing Natalie. Who knows?
At 5:20, after gulping a cup of instant coffee, Gregg opened the door to Katie's bedroom and looked in on her. She was fast asleep, hunched in a ball under the coverlet, only her long blond hair visible. Like him, she loved a cold room for sleeping.
But last night, after she had gone to bed, he heard her sobbing and went to her. "Daddy, why is that Jimmy Easton lying about you? she wailed.
He sat on her bed and put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Katie, he's lying because he's going to spend a lot less time in prison by spinning that story.”
“But, Daddy, the jury believes him. I can tell that they believe him.”
“Do you believe him?”
“No, of course not.” She quickly pulled herself up to sitting posi?tion. “How can you even ask me that?”
She had been shocked. And I was shocked that I asked her that question, Gregg thought, but if I'd seen any doubt in her eyes, it would have finished me. It had taken a long time before Katie fell asleep. Now he hoped she wouldn't wake up until at least seven o'clock. They had to leave for the courtroom at twenty of eight.
He let himself out of the apartment and began to jog the two blocks to Central Park, taking the path north when he reached it. Try as he would to organize his thoughts to prepare himself for the witness stand, his mind keep hurtling back to the past.
My first job in show business was taking tickets at the Barrymore, he reminisced, but I was smart enough to hang out in Sardi's and some of the other watering holes until Doc Yates offered me a job in his theatrical agency.