“What happened then?”
“I asked Detective Halsey where Brad was.”
“You were still with the Detective, is that right?”
“Yes.
“And then?”
“He took me to Brad’s office.”
“What happened there?”
“Nothing happened there, Ms. Harding. My husband’s body was in that room, under a sheet. And the dogs were there, too. Dead, too.”
“Were those dogs that you and Mr. Richardson owned?”
“They were our dogs. They were wonderful Borzois.”
Margaret Harding paused, trying to convey a signal to Joan that she was not to refer to the dogs’ rare breed. The jurors were middle-aged men and women who had probably never heard of Borzois or, if they had, associated them with aristocratic European owners. “Mrs. Richardson, who was the person who spent the most time caring for the dogs in the six months before your husband was killed?”
“Juan Suarez.”
“Do you see Juan Suarez in the courtroom today?”
Without looking directly at Juan, Joan Richardson said, “He’s at that table, with Ms. Rematti.”
“Why was it that Suarez had contact with the dogs?”
“It was part of his job.”
“He was paid to do that, is that right?”
“He was.”
Raquel Rematti, who rarely took notes when a witness she had to cross-examine was on the stand, made a mental note that she had to ask Joan Richardson: “Isn’t it true that Juan took care of the dogs because he loved them?” If she answered, as she certainly would, that she had no idea whether Juan loved the dogs, Raquel could then ask whether she had ever seen Juan play with the animals, feed them, wash them, walk them. Why would Juan, Raquel planned to ask the jury during her summation, kill these beloved dogs?
“Did you tell the police that taking care of the dogs was part of Suarez’s job?”
“I did. Detective Halsey seemed to want to know about the dogs.”
“Listen to me again: Was that the first time you mentioned Juan Suarez’s name?”
“I didn’t mention any name just then. I said our handyman took care of the dogs.”
“And then you were asked his name, isn’t that right?”
“I was.”
“And you said Juan Suarez, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Were you asked anything else about Juan Suarez?”
“That night? I don’t remember very much about that night, I’m sorry.”
“Stay with me, Mrs. Richardson, I know this is difficult.”
“Objection.” Raquel knew she had to break up Harding’s gambit of trying to establish some sort of sympathy for Joan Richardson as the bereaved widow, the victim, the lady in distress. Raquel saw her more as the dragon lady, as Imelda Marcos or Leona Helmsley, than the grieving Coretta Scott King.
“Overruled.”
“Let me ask you again: Did you give the police the name of Juan Suarez?”
“I did.”
“What did you say?”
“They asked who had access to the house.”
“And you told them?”
“Yes, I mentioned Juan Suarez, the handyman.”
“Did the police ask how much access Juan Suarez had to the house?”
“Yes. He had the run of the house.”
“Why was that?”
“Brad liked him, Brad trusted him, Juan worked hard, Juan had many talents-gardening, carpenter, electrician, sometimes almost a personal assistant to Brad.”
“How long did Juan Suarez work for Brad?”
“Six or seven months.”
“Did he work for you as well?”
“Not really. We had maids who worked inside the house. Juan was basically a superintendent of the work that went on outside. I knew what he did for Brad but I didn’t direct him or supervise him.”
“You said that Juan Suarez had the run of the house, correct?”
“He could come and go as he pleased.”
“Did anyone else have the same access to the house? Did anyone else have the run of the house?”
“Just Juan.”
“Was there a security system?”
“There was. It was recently installed. It relied, I was told, on heat sensors and other technologies.”
“Was it operated by codes?”
“Yes, keypads in different areas of the house.”
“Did Juan know the codes?”
“He did, he is a very smart man.”
“He had the ability to shut down all or parts of the system, correct?”
“He did.”
“How do you know that?”
“I saw him do it. In fact, I saw him giving instructions to Brad on how to do it.”
When Margaret Harding paused the steady volleying of the questions and answers-it was exactly the right pace, Raquel knew, for leaving vivid tracks on the jurors’ minds-Judge Conley unexpectedly said, “Let’s take a ten minute recess. Ladies and gentlemen, I repeat the admonitions I’ve given you before. Don’t discuss the case with one another, don’t attempt to independently investigate the facts by going on Google or looking at any kind of media, and keep an open mind until all the evidence has been presented. For those of you taking notes, leave your notepads face down on your seats. See you in ten minutes.”
During the break Raquel followed Juan, who was dressed in the sport jacket, white shirt, tie, and slacks that she bought for him, into the holding pen outside one of the rear doors to the courtroom. Juan was put in handcuffs as soon as all the jurors left the courtroom.
“We may not have much time, Juan. Harding doesn’t have to tell us when she plans to stop asking questions. She could be finished soon after we walk back in there.”
Juan, staring at Raquel and Theresa with an expression that conveyed complete calm, said, “And then you ask her questions?”
“That’s right,” Raquel said, feeling tense and impatient. “But I need you to tell me more than you have about what happened between you and Joan. All you’ve told me was that you were her boyfriend.”
“I was.”
“I need to know more about that. Understand me: there is no time left. I can’t get her to come back two days from now, or a week from now. I can’t ask her many questions now unless I know more about what happened. I need to destroy her.”
“All that happened was that we did what men and women do. Mr. Richardson was away, always away.”
Although they were separated by bars, they were so close to each other that Raquel could smell his breath, and it was in the odor of his fetid breath that for the first time Raquel detected Juan’s fear. She needed to exploit that fear. “Joan Richardson is trying to keep you in jail for the rest of your life, Juan. She told the police that you killed Brad. She said you killed the dogs. She told them where you lived. She is not your friend, Juan. Now she’s testifying against you. I don’t think she’s telling the truth. This is hard to understand, but Harding will ask Joan whether the two of you had sex, and Joan will say yes.”
There was a look of surprise in Juan’s eyes. “Why does she ask that?”
“Because Harding knows that I know. She had to give me the Grand Jury transcripts yesterday before Joan started testifying. I read that Joan at first denied knowing you as anything other than her yard worker. Then later Joan came and said you and she were lovers.”
“Why?”
“Joan is a cold-hearted bitch, Juan. She lies and then when she knows she’s been caught in a lie she pretends to tell the truth. That’s what liars do. And it’s good for Harding to bring out the fact that the two of you were lovers and ask her whether she regrets that and have her say she does and then move on.”
“Joan told people about me and her?”
“Listen to me, Juan. You’re smart, you’re smarter than I am.” She sounded exasperated. She recognized that she was more and more troubled by Juan and confused as to whether to believe he was Juan Suarez, Anibal Vaz, or someone else completely. She knew that to some extent she had been taken in by him, by his quiet demeanor, his patience, and his refusal to show any sign of fear. But she still believed, as she had believed from the morning she first saw him, that he hadn’t killed Brad Richardson and that he hadn’t beheaded the two dogs.