Just Take My Heart
32
Michael Gordon ended up spending most of his waking hours during the weekend with Gregg and Katie. At dinner at Neary's on Friday night, the usually reticent Gregg had been surprisingly open. Waving away Michael's repeated apologies for doubting his inno?cence, Gregg said: “Mike, I've been thinking a lot about something that happened to me when I was sixteen. I was in a horrible car crash and was in intensive care for six weeks. I don't remember a single moment of it. Afterwards, my mother told me that for the last three weeks, I was talking a blue streak, and begging them to take the tubes out of me. She told me that I thought the nurse was my grandmother, who died when I was six.”
“You never talked about that,” Mike said.
“Who wants to talk about being in a near-death experience?” Gregg had smiled —a wry smile—as he added, “For that matter, who wants to hear about it? There's enough doom and gloom in the world to go around without someone filling your ear with his hard-luck tale from twenty-six years ago. Anyway, let's change the sub?ject.”
“As long as you keep eating,” Mike replied. “Gregg, how much weight have you lost?”
“Just enough to make my clothes fit better.”
Early Saturday morning, Mike had picked up Gregg and Katie and they had driven to his ski lodge in Vermont. It was almost two months too early for skiing but in the afternoon, Gregg and Katie had gone for a long walk together, while Mike worked on his book about major crimes of the twentieth century.
For dinner, they drove into Manchester. As usual, Vermont was significantly cooler than New York and the fire blazing in the dining room of the cozy inn was warming, both emotionally and physically, for each of them.
Late that evening, after Katie, with a book under her arm, had gone to bed, Gregg went into Mike's study where he had resumed working after dinner. “I think I remember you telling me that you're doing a chapter on Harry Thaw, the millionaire who shot Stanford White, the architect, at Madison Square Garden in New York?”
“That's right.”
“He shot him in front of a crowd of people and then got off on an insanity plea, didn't he?”
Michael wondered what Gregg was driving at. “Yes, but Thaw did have to spend some time in an asylum,” he said.
“Then, when he got out of the asylum not very long afterward, he moved into a nice big house on Lake George, as I remember?”
“Gregg, come on. What are you getting at?”
Gregg shoved his hands in his pockets. To Mike he looked curi?ously vulnerable. “Mike, after that accident when I was a kid, I had long stretches where I couldn't remember things that had happened. That all passed, but what hasn't passed is my concept of time. I can get so engrossed that I don't realize if a couple of hours have gone by.”
“That's called the ability to concentrate,” Mike said.
“Thanks. But it happened the morning Natalie died. That was a March day. The weather was lousy. It's one thing to be sitting at your desk and be unaware of time. It's another when you're outside in crummy weather. The point is, I know I couldn't have killed Nata?lie. God, how much I loved her! But I wish I could remember those two hours. I do remember turning in that rented car. If I'd been run?ning for two hours, was I in that deep a funk that I didn't feel cold or out of breath?”
Heartsick at the doubt and confusion he saw on his friend's face, Michael got up and grasped Gregg's shoulders. “Gregg, listen to me. You came off great on the stand yesterday. I believed you about that Jimmy Easton character and about the reason you called Natalie frequently. I remember being with you when in the middle of a con?versation, you'd push the button on your cell phone and have a ten-second conversation with her.”
“Natalie, I love you,” Gregg said, his voice emotionless. “End of message.”
Just Take My Heart
33
Emily allowed herself to sleep until seven thirty on Sunday morn?ing. She planned to get to the office by eight thirty and spend the day there. “Bess, you've been very patient with me. I know I've been neglecting you,” she apologized as she plucked Bess from the other pillow. She was longing for a cup of coffee but seeing the plaintive look in the eyes of her little dog, she threw on jeans and a jacket and announced, “Bess, you're not just going out in the backyard this morning. I'm taking you for a walk.”
Bess's tail was wagging furiously as they went downstairs, and Emily grabbed the leash and fastened it to her collar. She slipped a key in her jacket pocket and headed for the front door. Since she had put the bolt on the porch door, it was easier to go out that way.
With Bess excitedly pulling at the leash, they started down the walk to the driveway. Then Emily stopped abruptly and stared in amazement. “What in God's name is going on?” she asked aloud as she saw the freshly dug dirt where only late yesterday she had ad?mired the newly planted mums.
Were they loaded with bugs? she wondered. Is that possible? I mean, that is really strange. He lined his whole walkway with them just yesterday. And when did he pull them up? They were there when I left to go to the Wesleys' last evening. I didn't notice one way or the other if they were gone when I got home. That was sometime after ten o'clock.
She felt a tug on the leash and looked down. “Sorry, Bess. Okay, we'll start moving.”
Bess elected to turn left at the sidewalk which took Emily past Zach's house. He has to be home, she thought, because his car is parked in the driveway. If that guy wasn't so creepy, I'd ring his door?bell later and ask him what happened. But I don't want to give him an excuse to latch onto me again.
The image of Zach rocking in the chair in her enclosed porch once again permeated her thoughts. It was more than a feeling of discomfort, she concluded. He scared me.
And he still does, she acknowledged, as she passed his house again on the way back fifteen minutes later. I've been so wrapped up in this case that I don't think it hit me right away.
Just Take My Heart
34
This is the day the Lord has made," Gregg Aldrich thought grimly as he looked out his bedroom window at six o'clock on Monday morning. It was pouring outside, but even if it had not been, he would not have gone for a run. I would hope I wouldn't be stupid enough to lose track of time on this of all days, he thought, but I'm not taking any chances.
He swallowed against the dryness in his mouth. Last night he'd taken a low-dose sleeping pill and had slept for seven hours without waking up. But he didn't feel rested, and if anything was even a little groggy. Strong coffee will take care of that, he promised himself.
He reached into the closet for a robe and, as he was putting it on, stuffed his feet into slippers, then walked down the carpeted hallway to the kitchen. As he approached it, the fragrance of the brewing cof?fee lifted his spirits.
The weekend with Mike in Vermont was a life preserver, he thought, as he took his favorite mug from the cabinet over the coffeemaker. Talking to Mike about the morning Natalie died, when I hadn't even been aware of the cold after jogging for two hours, had been reassuring. And then Mike had reminded him he had to do as well today on the witness stand as he had on Friday.
On the drive home from Vermont yesterday afternoon, Mike had talked about that again. “Gregg, show the same resolve that you showed on Friday. Your answers came across as completely credible. You heard Judge Reilly on my show say that if he was at a bar and had a conversation with some stranger, it would be his word against the other guy that he didn't make a deal with him to kill his wife. A nationwide audience heard Reilly say that, and I really believe that plenty of people out there thought the same thing.”
Mike had paused and than continued. “These were the kind of circumstances where anybody can accuse anybody else of anything. And don't forget, Jimmy Easton is getting a big reward for testify?ing against you. He doesn't have to sweat about growing old in prison.”
I pointed out to Mike the one little factor he was forgetting, Gregg thought. The judge's wife didn't end up shot to dea
th.
Confidence, he thought bitterly. I don't have any. He poured cof?fee into the mug and carried it into the living room. Kathleen and he had bought the apartment when they were expecting Katie. I re?ally was taking a leap to sign up for the maintenance, Gregg thought. But in those days I was sure I was going to make it big as an agent. Well, I did, and where has it gotten me?
Kathleen had been like a little kid choosing paint colors and fur?niture and carpets. She had instinctive good taste and a genuine talent for hunting down bargains. She'd always joked that like him. she'd grown up with the silver spoon in someone else's mouth. He stood in the living room, remembering.
If she had lived, Gregg thought, I never would have become in?volved with Natalie. And I wouldn't be on my way to court to try to persuade a jury that I'm not a murderer. A tidal wave of nostalgia washed over him. In that instant he longed for her physically and emotionally. “Kathleen,” he whispered, “watch over me today. I'm frightened. And if I'm convicted, who will take care of our Katie?”
For a long moment, he swallowed against the lump in his throat, then bit his lip. Stop it, he told himself. Stop it! Go back in there and start fixing some breakfast for Katie. If she sees you feeling like this, she'll be a wreck.
On the way to the kitchen he passed the table with the drawer where Jimmy Easton had claimed he'd kept the five-thousand-dollar advance for killing Natalie. He stopped, reached for the handle of the drawer, and yanked it open. As he did so, the raucous squeak that Jimmy Easton had accurately described assailed his senses. With bit?ter anger, Gregg slammed the drawer shut.
Just Take My Heart
35
Loaded for bear, I hope."
Emily looked up. It was seven thirty a.m. on Monday morning and she was in her office. Detective Billy Tryon was standing in the doorway. One of my least favorite people in the world, she thought, irritated at what she perceived to be his condescending tone.
“Is there anything I can do for you this morning, Emily? I know it's a real big day for you in court.”
“I think I'm pretty well set, Billy. But thank you.”
“As Elvis would say, 'It's now or never.' Good luck with Aldrich today. I hope you destroy him on the stand.”
Emily wondered whether Tryon really wished her well, or hoped that she would fall on her face. At the moment she didn't care. I'll think about that later, she decided.
Tryon was not about to leave. “Don't forget you're fighting it for Jake and me, too,” he said. “We put a lot of legwork into this one. And that guy Aldrich is a killer, and we all know it.”
Realizing that he was fishing for a compliment, Emily reluctantly replied, “I know you and Jake really worked hard and I certainly hope the jury thinks the way you do.”
You finally got a haircut, she thought. If you knew how much better you looked, you'd visit your barber more often. She had to admit that when he didn't look sloppy, Tryon had a sort of a tough? guy, swaggering manner that some women probably considered at?tractive. Word in the office was that he had a new girlfriend who was a nightclub singer. Why was she not surprised?
It became immediately apparent that he was looking her over, too.
“You sure got all dolled up for the camera today, Emily. You look great.”
In a superstitious moment earlier that morning, Emily had re?jected the jacket and skirt she had been planning to wear. She had reached in her closet for the charcoal gray pants suit and bright red turtleneck that she remembered having on when Ted Wesley as?signed her the case. “I'm not dolled up,” she said sharply. “This suit is two years old and I've worn it any number of times to court.”
“Well, I'm trying to pay you a compliment. You look great.”
“Billy, I guess I should thank you, but as you can obviously see, I'm going over my notes and in a little more than an hour, I'm going to go into court to try to get a murderer convicted. Would you mind?”
“Sure, sure.” With a smile and a wave, he turned and left, closing the door behind him.
Emily felt rattled. I didn't dress for the camera, did I? she asked herself. No, I didn't. Is the red turtleneck too bright? No, it isn't. For?get it. You're getting wacky, like Zach. She thought again about the missing mums. He must have spent most of Saturday planting them. They looked beautiful. Then when I walked Bess yesterday morning they were gone. Nothing but dirt where they had been. But when I got home at five o'clock his walkway was lined with asters and pansies. I liked the mums better, she thought. But that guy is really strange. Looking back, it's probably a blessing that I found him lounging in?side my house at ten o'clock at night. What a wake-up call!
Dismissing any further thought about her wardrobe or her odd?ball neighbor, Emily looked down and once again perused the notes she would use when she cross-examined Gregg Aldrich.
• • •
The trial resumed promptly at nine a.m. Judge Stevens indicated to Gregg Aldrich that he should return to the witness stand.
Aldrich was wearing a charcoal gray suit, white shirt, and black and gray tie. You'd swear he was going to a funeral, Emily thought I'll bet Richard Moore put him up to wearing that outfit. He's trying to convey the image of the bereaved husband to the jury. But if I have anything to say about it, it won't do him any good.
She glanced quickly over her shoulder. A sheriff's officer had told her that the corridor had been packed with would-be spectators long before the doors to the courtroom opened. It was clear that even seat was taken. Katie Aldrich was sitting in the front row directly be?hind her father. On the other side of the aisle, Alice Mills, accompa?nied by her two sisters, sat just behind Emily.
Emily had already greeted Alice before she took her place at counsel table.
Judge Stevens noted for the record that the witness had been pre?viously sworn, then said, “Prosecutor, you can now begin your cross examination.”
Emily stood up and said, “Thank you, Your Honor.” She walked over to the ledge at the far end of the jury box. “Mr. Aldrich,” she began, “you have testified that you loved your wife, Natalie Rain, very much. Isn't that correct?”
“That is correct,” Gregg Aldrich said quietly.
“And you have testified that you were her agent. Is that cor?rect?”
“That is correct.”
“And as her agent, you were entitled to fifteen percent of her in?come. Isn't that correct?”
“That is correct.”
“And would it be fair to say that Natalie Raines was an acclaimed actress and achieved major celebrity status, both before and during your marriage?”
“That is correct.”
“And isn't it a fact that if Natalie had lived, there is every indica?tion that she would have continued to be very successful?”
“I am sure she would have been.”
“And isn't it a fact that if you weren't her agent anymore, you wouldn't be getting a portion of her income?”
“That is true, but I was a successful agent for years before I mar?ried Natalie, and I continue to be a successful agent.”
“Mr. Aldrich, I am only going to ask you one more question in this area. Did your income substantially increase when you married Natalie and became her agent? Yes or no?”
“Yes, but not substantially.”
“Well, are any of your present clients as successful as Natalie Raines was?”
“I have a number of clients, particularly recording artists, who make a great deal more money than Natalie did.” Gregg Aldrich hesitated. “We are talking about a different kind of success. Natalie was well on her way to assuming the mantle once held by the late Helen Hayes: 'First Lady of the American Theatre.' ”
“You wanted very much to have her viewed in that light?”
“She was a magnificent actress. She deserved that accolade.”
“On the other hand, you were saddened when, to further her ca?reer, she went on the road for extended periods of time, weren't you, Mr. Aldrich? Isn't it a fact that you constantly badgered her
by want?ing it both ways?” As her tone began to rise, Emily stepped closer to the witness stand.
“As I have testified here and will now tell you again, my concern was that Natalie insisted on accepting roles that I felt could hurt her career. Of course I missed her when she was away. We were very much in love.”
“Of course you were. But isn't it a fact that you were so angry and frustrated at the frequent separations that Natalie became tormented, so much so that she finally gave up on the marriage?”
“That was absolutely not the reason she decided to separate.”
“Then if you were so accepting of Natalie's schedule, aside from your professional opinion about the roles she was taking, why did she hire another agent? Why did she beg you to stop calling her? Why did she end up demanding that you stop calling her?”
As Emily pounded away at Gregg Aldrich, she could sense that there was an awareness in the courtroom that his composure was beginning to break down. His answers were becoming hesitant. He kept looking away from her.
“Natalie phoned you for the last time on Saturday morning. March 14th, two and a half years ago. Let me quote to you exactly what you said under oath about the call.” She looked down at the paper she was holding and then read: “'I received a message from her on my cell phone, saying she had gone up to Cape Cod, that she would be at our scheduled meeting on Monday, and asking me not to call her over the weekend.'”
Emily stared at Gregg. “She wanted to be left alone, didn't she. Mr. Aldrich?”
“Yes.” A thin bead of perspiration was forming on Gregg Aldrich’s forehead.
“But instead of respecting her wishes, you immediately rented a car and followed her to Cape Cod, didn't you?”
“I respected her wishes. I did not phone her.”
“Mr. Aldrich, that's not what I asked. You followed her to Cape Cod, didn't you?”
“I didn't plan to talk to her. It was necessary for me to see if she was alone.”