"Oh, yeah!" Jack lied. "He said to say hello."
"Well, tell him hello from me if you see him again. And then get back here. I don't have to tell you that you've got Laurie all up in arms with the big day just around the corner. You're not going to try to rush down here at the last minute, are you?"
"Of course not," Jack said. He knew that Calvin was one of the people from the office she'd insisted on inviting. If it had been up to him, he wouldn't have invited anyone other than Chet, his office mate. The office already knew too much about their private life.
After finding Craig and Alexis, whom Jack joined for a short stroll in the sunshine, they returned to the courthouse. When they arrived outside the courtroom, other people were just filing in. It was quarter after one. They followed suit.
Craig went through the bar with Randolph and his assistant. Jordan Stanhope was already at the plaintiff's table with Tony Fasano and Renee Relf. Jack guessed that Tony was giving Jordan last-minute advice before his testimony. Although the sound of his voice was lost in the general babble of the room, his lips were moving rapidly, and he was gesticulating with both hands.
"I have a nagging suspicion this is going to be pure theater this afternoon," Jack said as they worked their way into the same row they'd occupied that morning. Alexis had said she liked to be near the jurors to watch their expressions and gestures. At that moment, the jurors had yet to be brought in.
"I'm afraid you are right," Alexis said, taking her seat and putting her bag down on the floor in front of her.
Jack sat down and adjusted himself as best he could on the unforgiving oak. His eyes wandered aimlessly around the courtroom, taking in the bookcase filled with law books behind the judge's bench. Within the well was a blackboard on wheels in addition to the plaintiff's and defendant's tables, all of which stood on a speckled carpet. When Jack's eyes moved all the way to the right to take in the court officer's box, they overshot their mark. Once again he found himself confronting Franco's beady-eyed stare. In contrast with the morning, and thanks to the sun's current position, Jack could now see the man's eyes within their deep sockets. They were like two gleaming black marbles. Jack felt the urge to wave again, but rationality prevailed. He'd had his fun that morning. Being overly provocative made no sense whatsoever.
"Did you find Craig's comments at lunch as surprising as I did?" Alexis questioned.
Happy to break off with Franco, Jack swung around to face his sister. "I think astounding would be a better word. I don't mean to be cynical, but it seems out of character. Do narcissists recognize themselves as such?"
"Not usually unless they are in therapy and motivated. Of course, I'm talking now about someone with a real, dysfunctional personality disorder, not just a personality trait, where most doctors fall."
Jack held his tongue on that issue. He wasn't about to get into an argument with Alexis about which group Craig belonged in. Instead, he asked, "Is this the kind of insight that's a temporary response to stress or a real change in self-knowledge?"
"Time will tell," Alexis said. "But I'll be hopeful. It would be something very positive. In a real way, Craig is a victim of a system that pushed him to compete and excel, and the only way he knew when he was excelling was when he got praise from his teachers, like Dr. Brown. As he admitted, he became addicted to that kind of approbation. Then, when he finished his training, he was cut off like an addict being denied his drug of choice while simultaneously feeling disillusioned about the reality of the kind of medicine he was forced to practice."
"I think that happens to a lot of doctors. They need praise."
"It didn't happen to you. How come?"
"It did to a degree, back when I was an ophthalmologist. Randolph got Dr. Brown to admit that it's due to the competitive way medical training is structured. But when I was a student, I wasn't as monomaniacal as Craig. I had other interests than just medicine. I only got an A-minus in my third-year internal-medicine rotation."
Jack started when his phone began to vibrate in his pocket. He'd taken it off the ring mode. Frantically, he tried to get it out of his pocket. For reasons he couldn't fathom, the phone always startled him.
"Is something bothering you?" Alexis asked, eyeing his contortions. He'd slid his pelvis forward to straighten himself out.
"The damn phone," Jack explained. At last he was able to pull it free. He glanced at the LCD. It was a 617 area code, meaning Boston. Then he remembered the number. It was the funeral home.
"I'll be right back," Jack said. He got up and quickly moved out of the row. Once again, he was conscious of Franco's stare, but Jack did not return it. Instead, he headed out of the courtroom. Only then did he answer the call.
Unfortunately, the reception was bad, so he disconnected. He quickly took the elevator down to the first floor and then out the door. He used his received-calls function to retrieve the number.
A moment later, he had Harold on the phone, and Jack apologized for the poor connection earlier.
"No problem," Harold said. "I have good news. The paperwork is done, the permits have been granted, and everything is arranged."
"Terrific," Jack said. "When? This afternoon?"
"No! That would have been a miracle. It will be tomorrow, mid-morning. It's the very best I could do. Both the vault truck and the backhoe are fully committed today."
Disappointed a miracle had not been forthcoming, Jack thanked the director and hung up. He stood for a few minutes, debating whether to call Laurie to let her know about the autopsy timing. Although he knew calling was appropriate, he was less than enthusiastic about doing it, since he had little doubt what her response would be. Then he had a cowardly idea. Instead of calling her landline at the office, where he'd probably get her, he had the idea of calling her cell phone and just leaving a message on her voicemail, since she rarely turned on her cell phone during the day. In that way, he'd avoid her immediate response and give her a chance to adjust before he phoned her that night. As the call went through, he was relieved to hear the recorded message.
With that mildly unpleasant task out of the way, Jack returned to his seat next to Alexis. Jordan Stanhope was in the witness box, and Tony was at the podium, but no one was talking. Tony was busy with his papers.
"What did I miss?" Jack whispered to Alexis.
"Nothing. Jordan was just sworn, and he's about to begin testifying."
"The autopsy is on for sometime tomorrow. The body is to be exhumed in the morning."
"That's good," Alexis said, but her reaction was not what Jack had expected.
"You're not sounding very enthusiastic."
"How can I be? As Craig said at lunch: Tomorrow might be too late."
Jack shrugged. He was doing the best he could.
"I know this is difficult for you," Tony called out in an empathetic voice so everyone in the courtroom could hear. "I will try to make this as short and painless as possible, but the jury needs to hear your testimony."
Jordan nodded appreciatively. Instead of the erect posture he had been maintaining at the plaintiff's table, he now had his shoulders hunched over, and instead of his previously neutral facial expression, he now had the corners of his mouth turned down in a look of despondency and despair. He was dressed in a black silk suit, white shirt, and black tie. Peeking from his breast pocket was a barely visible black pocket square.
"I suppose you miss your wife," Tony said. "She was a wonderful, passionate, cultured woman who loved life, wasn't she?"
"Good grief!" Jack moaned in a whisper to Alexis. "Having visited the man, this is going to make me sick. And I'm surprised at Randolph. I'm not a lawyer, but that's certainly a leading question. Why doesn't he object?"
"He told me that the testimony of the widow or widower is always the most problematic for the defense. He says that the best strategy is to get them off the stand as soon as possible, which means giving the plaintiff attorney rather free rein."