‘I don’t know. Did you?’
‘Absolutely,’ he says.
‘When? Where?’
‘Several times,’ he says. ‘Lots of places. We were very happy about the child.’
‘You wanted this baby?’
‘Absolutely.’ Jack is absolute about everything except the details.
‘Quite a feat, wasn’t it?’
‘What do you mean?’ he says.
‘Your child must have been one of the miracles of modern medicine.’
‘How’s that?’
‘Isn’t it true, Mr. Vega, that twelve years ago you underwent minor surgery, a procedure carried out in your doctor’s office, a vasectomy?’
Jack suddenly swallows his Adam’s apple, three or four heaving bobs. ‘Whatya-’
‘As a result of this procedure is it not a fact that you were incapable of fathering a child during your marriage to the victim, Melanie Vega?’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Isn’t it a fact, Mr. Vega, that the unborn child who died in your wife’s womb was fathered by someone else?’
‘No,’ he says. ‘That’s not true.’
‘Should I get your medical records? I have them right here.’
‘No. I had the vasectomy,’ he says. ‘But the child was mine.’
‘How is that possible?’
‘I don’t know. I’m not a doctor. But sometimes things happen. I just figured it didn’t take.’
‘You figured it didn’t take?’
It is the key to our case, the crowning blow, the fact that the child is not Jack’s, that he has known this from the inception and now lies about it bold-faced before the jury, the motive for murder.
‘Mr. Vega, isn’t it a fact that you didn’t discuss this child at all with your wife? That she kept the pregnancy a secret? That she went to her death believing you knew nothing about it? Isn’t it a fact that she tried to conceal it from you because she was having an affair with another man, and that you found out about this?’
‘That’s not true,’ he says.
‘She didn’t know about the call from her physician, did she? The one you intercepted.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You didn’t tell her though, did you?’
‘No. I forgot.’ The same old saw.
‘Isn’t it a fact that your wife had another lover?’
He sits staring at me in the box, wordless.
‘Isn’t it true that she had another lover and that you found out? Who was it, Mr. Vega? Who was it that got your wife pregnant? Who?’ I say. ‘Who…?’
‘Enough.’ When the word comes it is screamed at me from behind, a female voice, anguished and broken. I turn, and it is Laurel. Standing at the counsel table, tears lining her face.
‘Enough,’ she says.
Harry has a hand on her arm, trying to get her to sit, a stunned expression on his face like she erupted without warning.
Even Woodruff is dumbfounded, palming the handle of his gavel but not striking the bench.
A matron moves in behind, putting two hands on Laurel’s shoulders, a signal for her to sit, evidence in the eyes of the jury that she is not free to move about as she wishes.
‘Enough about the child,’ Laurel says, and with that she slumps back into her chair.
I look, and the jury is mesmerized. All eyes on Laurel.
Almost in a daze I say: ‘Your honor, could we take a brief recess?’
We regroup back near the holding cells, and I tell her that this is not good. Her conduct has injected a whole new element into our case. What the jury thinks of this I have no way of knowing.
I cannot read them as to Laurel’s emotive appeal, whether they might see this as an admission that she had something to do with the murder, or was merely taking pity on Jack.
What she tells me is that she could no longer deal with the matter of the child, my picking away further at questions regarding this dead infant and its origins.
‘Everybody is talking about it like it was a thing. An event and nothing more,’ she says. ‘It wasn’t. It was a living breathing human being. A baby,’ she says. ‘A little baby. Its life snuffed out before it had a chance.’ Laurel, the good mother. It is the most troubling aspect of the case to her, that an innocent child has been killed.
She apologizes, but says she simply cannot deal with the dead infant.
I tell her that I will stay clear of it. My hand in the air, two fingers like a scout. The point is now made, I tell her.
It is all I can do given her explosive attitude on the subject. One more outburst and there is no telling what could happen to our case.
‘Nothing further will be said by me about this child until my closing argument,’ I tell her. ‘Then I will have to talk about it. But I will do it briefly and discreetly.’
She nods as if she understands.
‘Are you all right?’ I ask.
‘Yes.’
I take her by the arm and we head back out. When we get to the courtroom, Cassidy turns a wicked gaze on Laurel. Lama actually grins. She has given them something they have not been able to make from their own case, the whiff of suspicion, the suggestion that Laurel is now gored by conscience, that she cannot deal with the unintended consequences of her own violent act.
I can tell by the look in Morgan’s eye that we have not heard the last of this dead child. I shudder to think what might happen if I am forced to put Laurel on the stand.
Woodruff comes out. The bailiff calls the court to order, and Jack heads back into the box. The judge tells me to proceed.
‘Mr. Vega, how long have you been a member of the Legislature?’
‘What does that have to do with anything?’ he says.
‘Just answer the question.’
‘Twelve years,’ he says.
‘You’re not planning on running for reelection, are you?’
‘No. I’m retiring,’ he says.
I look to Harry and he lifts the top off the box.
‘Retirement?’ I say.
‘Yes.’
‘I’ve heard some of them called “country clubs,” but I’ve never heard the people who are sent there called retirees,’ I say.
He’s looking at me, not saying a word. But from the expression I know that Jack is the only other person in the room at the moment who knows what I am talking about. For the first time today we are speaking the same language. His face like a stone idol, struck by a lightning bolt. He’s looking now at the box. I can only imagine what is running through his mind. For Jack, an out-of-body experience.
‘I’m going to object to this.’ Morgan is out of her chair, about to step on a land mine. ‘The question of Mr. Vega’s future plans is irrelevant. If counsel has a question, he should ask it, and stop badgering the witness with inane comments,’ she says.
‘Then I will,’ I say. ‘Mr. Vega, is it not a fact that you have entered a plea of guilty to multiple felony counts, violations of federal law relating to political corruption?’
There is a swell of movement, like an undulating wave through the press rows, an audible gasp from the audience, the kind of revelation that comes in a courtroom once in a blue moon. A reporter in the second row actually says ‘Holy shit,’ loud enough for Woodruff to hear it but ignore. One guy near the center aisle turns, pad in hand, and with a finger in the air circles his hand in a quick motion, like the signal to start engines. I can see cameras and lights outside through the glass slit in the courtroom door, revving up — part of the media ride that Jack will be taking.
He still hasn’t answered my question.
‘I…’ Cassidy breaks off before she starts her sentence. Heated whispers in Lama’s ear. Jimmy is all shrugs, like a cheap stuffed doll that’s been repeatedly kicked in the ass. He doesn’t have a clue.
‘Your honor, I’m going to object to this … to this line of questioning. We’ve… We’ve received no notice of any of this.’
‘Nonetheless, it is true, is it not?’ I’m bearing down on Vega.
Woodruff holds up a hand. ‘The witness will not answer. There’s an objection pending.’
‘Your honor, we have certified copies both of the indictment and the record of conviction. We are not responsible for the state’s lack of knowledge in this area. We are not required to share the fruits of our own investigation with them.