Eyes of a Child (73 page)

As, it seemed, was hers. ‘And in November of last year,' Salinas asked, ‘did you encounter the defendant, Christopher Paget?'

Velez had a face made for smiling, Paget recalled, but now it was somber. ‘I did,' she said. ‘At the store.'

The jury, Paget saw, was attentive but mystified: they understood only that this was important. Quietly, Salinas asked, ‘And why did you choose, at this late date, to bring this to our attention?'

Velez folded her hands. ‘I was watching television on Friday night – only because my sister turned it on. The newsman was talking about this case, and they showed a film of Mr Paget.

‘“I know that man,” I said to my sister, and so I started paying attention.' Furtively, she glanced at Paget. ‘It was about this lady who thought she saw another man leaving this dead man's apartment and that he wore a double-breasted gray suit with maybe something on the sleeve. And suddenly it all made sense.'

Salinas seemed animated now. ‘
What
made sense?'

‘The reason I knew Mr Paget is that he came to my store with three suits and a new pair of shoes.' Velez's voice conveyed a certain horror. ‘One of the suits was gray and had a stain on its right sleeve.'

‘Jesus,'
someone murmured. In a few brief hours, Paget thought bleakly, he had gone from the verge of acquittal to facing a life in prison. The jury seemed startled, as if their sense of the case had just turned around.

‘Was there a particular reason, Ms Velez, that the defendant stuck in your mind?'

She nodded. ‘It was the whole thing – him
and
what he brought. At first, it was that he was good-looking and that the shoes and suits were so expensive but he didn't seem to care. Like he was rich. He didn't even want a receipt for taxes.' She paused. ‘After we closed, I looked at the suits again. They had foreign labels – Italian, I think – and the wool was like I'd never felt before, light and very soft. It really amazed me that someone would just give away what seemed like a thousand-dollar suit. And then I saw the stain.'

‘Could you describe it?'

Velez nodded. ‘It was like spots. Or a spatter of something.'

Everything she said, Paget thought, made things that much worse: even her ingenuous touches – his wealth and carelessness – would be deadly with the jury, and Caroline could do nothing.

Salinas paused for attention. ‘What, if anything, did you try to do about the stain?'

Velez spread her hands. ‘The suit was so nice, Mr Salinas, that I decided to take it home and try to clean it.'

‘And did you?'

‘I tried, I used soap, stain remover – everything, even cold water. It wouldn't come out.' Her eyes narrowed. ‘It was like ink, I remember thinking. Or blood.'

Caroline glanced up but otherwise did not react; to move to strike the answer would only drive it home.

‘You also mentioned shoes,' Salinas said. ‘Could you describe them?'

‘Not as well as the suit. But they were black leather and soft to touch.' Velez glanced at the jury. ‘What I really remember is that they were almost brand-new. Like even the heels were barely scuffed.'

‘At the time Mr Paget gave you the shoes, did you ask him about this?'

‘What he told me was they didn't fit right.' Velez frowned, then shook her head. ‘I remember thinking
I'd
take them back to exchange.'

Did you find fibers on any shoes? Caroline had asked Monk. Paget wondered if the jury was following this, and then he saw Joseph Duarte make a note.

‘Do you know where the shoes are now?' Salinas asked.

Velez shrugged, shaking her head. ‘I couldn't find them at the store. So I guess we sold them or gave them away. From our records, you can't be sure.'

Salinas paused again. ‘What about the suit?' he asked softly. ‘With the stains like ink. Or blood.'

Paget felt himself tense. In the jury box, Marian Celler turned to Velez, awaiting her answer. ‘No,' Velez said. ‘It's gone too. We don't know where it is.'

For a moment, Paget closed his eyes.

‘Did you have a receipt,' Salinas asked, ‘from Mr Paget's visit?'

‘We have a copy.'

Salinas held up a small square of paper. ‘Your Honor, by stipulation with the defense, I would like to introduce this as People's Exhibit 17 and ask the witness to identify it.'

He passed the scrap to Velez. ‘Is this your handwriting?' he asked.

Velez held it gingerly. ‘It is. This is the receipt I gave to Mr Paget.'

‘And could you tell us what it shows?'

Velez nodded. ‘It shows that on November I, Mr Paget gave us three suits and a pair of shoes. Just like I remember.'

Salinas took the slip, proffering it to Caroline. ‘We've seen it,' she said, and then Salinas walked to the jury box and handed it to Joseph Duarte. Duarte read the receipt, and then gave it to Marian Celler. Paget watched it begin passing from juror to juror – a piece of paper with lines for each item and the word ‘Padgett' scrawled at the top.

‘No further questions,' Salinas said.

Rising, Caroline looked puzzled, inclining her head toward the jury box. ‘I'd understood you to say that Mr Paget didn't
want
a receipt.'

‘He said he didn't
need
one. But I told him he should have it.'

‘And what did
he
say?'

Velez looked at the ceiling. ‘I guess I don't remember,' she said after a time. ‘But he must have taken it.'

‘How did you get Mr Paget's name? To put at the top of the receipt.'

‘I asked him.' Velez paused. ‘I remember wondering how to spell it but not wanting to ask.'

‘So he wasn't trying to hide who he was.'

Velez thought about the question. ‘I don't know,' she answered. ‘But he gave me his right name. I just didn't spell it right.'

Caroline nodded. ‘When Mr Paget was in the store, did you talk to him?'

‘A little bit.'

‘How did he seem to you?'

‘Nice.' For the first time, Velez seemed to feel bad about what she had done. ‘He wasn't superchatty, but I thought he was real nice. I remember joking with him about something or other.'

‘Would you say he was friendly?'

‘I'd say so, yes. He wasn't stuck-up or anything. Or really quiet.

It was all Caroline had, Paget thought: to make him seem an amiable man, running a routine errand. ‘Did he appear nervous?' Caroline asked.

‘Nervous? No. I never thought that.'

Caroline moved closer. ‘And so, at the time, the impression Mr Paget left was that he was generous?'

The word seemed to puzzle Velez. ‘You mean, giving away new things?' She considered for a time. ‘Yes, I guess I thought that was generous. I mean, you don't usually get things that nice. Even the suit with the stain.'

Caroline nodded. ‘About that stain – you have no idea
what
it was, correct?'

Velez hesitated. ‘That's right.'

‘On a gray suit, you couldn't even tell what
color
it was.' Velez shook her head. ‘Except that it was darker than the suit.'

‘So when you said the stain reminded you of ink or blood, it was because it wouldn't come out?'

‘That's what made me think of it.'

‘And ink, or blood, were just
examples
of stains you think are hard to get out?'

‘That's right.'

‘You don't claim to be an expert on bloodstains?'

‘Oh, no.'

‘Or, for that matter, stain removal.'

Velez grinned. ‘I guess I'm not. I couldn't get
this
one out.'

For the first time, Caroline smiled. ‘So in summary, a pleasant man came to your store, turned in a pair of shoes and three suits, one of which had a stain you can't identify, joked with you a little, gave you his name when you asked, and let you fill out a receipt recording his visit. Is that right?'

Velez seemed to tick off the points in her mind. ‘That's right.'

Caroline's smile faded. ‘When you found out, over the weekend, that the man you met had been charged with murder, were you surprised?'

Velez looked troubled. ‘Yes. I was.'

‘Because he seemed so nice.'

‘That's right.'

‘And because his behavior
didn't
seem suspicious.'

Velez pondered that. ‘I thought he was
careless
, in a way. About his things. But he
was
nice.'

Caroline smiled again. ‘Some millionaires are like that, I suppose – careless but nice. Anyhow, I guess he didn't seem like a homicidal maniac.'

Salinas stood at once. ‘Objection. Lack of foundation, calls for speculation. Murderers come in all shapes and sizes, Your Honor. And guises.'

‘Sustained.'

But Caroline had made her point. Casually turning back to the witness, she asked, ‘By the way, Ms Velez, do you like red wine?'

For a moment, Velez looked bemused. ‘Sometimes,' she said. ‘Especially Rioja. You know, from Spain.'

‘Ever spill any?'

Velez grimaced. ‘Yes. On a new cotton skirt.'

Caroline smiled in sympathy. ‘How was it to get out?'

‘I couldn't,' Velez said, and then nodded. ‘Wine – that's hard to get out too.'

‘I've always thought so,' Caroline told her. ‘Thank you, Ms Velez.'

‘It was all I could do,' Caroline said at last.

They were in Caroline's car, driving Paget home. She had not asked where he wished to go but simply started driving; the atmosphere in the car was close and tense, and Caroline's voice was flat with withheld anger.

‘I know that,' Paget answered.

Caroline stopped in front of the house. The only light came from streetlamps. But there was a yellow glow inside the house; Carlo was already home.

Caroline stared ahead. ‘I set Victor up,' she said, ‘and then walked right into my own cross on Keller. All that stuff I did about the man leaving Richie's apartment and Keller looking at his sleeve instead of his face. Pure suicide.'

‘You didn't know.'

Caroline shook her head. ‘I'm sorry, Chris. But you really fucked this up.'

Her tone was factual but not unkind. Suddenly Caroline sounded tired. They were quiet for a while.

‘This changes everything,' she said.

‘It can't.'

She turned to him. ‘Spell it out for me, then.'

His own voice was tight now. ‘I can't testify, Caroline. How much clearer do I have to be?'

She stared at him. ‘You don't,' she said finally.

Paget felt a burst of anger. ‘If you think this has been easy for me,
you
try it. Compared to my role,
yours
is light work.'

Caroline's eyes narrowed. ‘So you want me to stick to this –no defense. Even after today.'

‘Yes.' Paget paused. ‘I have no choice.'

Caroline turned away.

Perhaps, Paget thought, she had wanted him to be innocent. Perhaps she did not know with whom she was angry – Paget or herself. After a moment, she leaned back in the seat. ‘Then it's closing argument tomorrow.'

‘Yes.'

‘I suppose I'd better go, then.'

Paget's own anger had died. He touched her shoulder, then opened the car door and got out. It was a while before Caroline pulled away from the curb.

Carlo was in the library.

The television was on, a film clip of Anna Velez leaving the courtroom. When Carlo turned, there were tears in his eyes. But what Paget saw was worse; for the first time, his son believed him a murderer.

Awkwardly, Paget hugged him; stiffly, Carlo returned it.

There was nothing either could say.

Chapter
17

When Salinas rose to give his closing argument, Terri and Carlo were together in the courtroom.

The idea was Terri's. She had called the night before, Paget told her of Anna Velez and that he still would offer no witnesses of his own. Terri did not argue; days before, she had stopped asking questions. After a moment's silence, she said that it was important that the jury, before cloistering to reach a verdict, remember the people who loved Paget most; if the case was over, she added, there was nothing to keep her or Carlo from the courtroom. Terri had called Carlo herself; almost defiantly, Carlo had insisted to his father that he come. Now they sat behind his father, her lover, where the jury could see them.

The symbolism was effective: not only did these people need Paget in their lives, their presence said, but Terri did not believe Richie's charges against Carlo. Only Paget would realize how little they spoke to each other, compared to a half year ago, or how tired Carlo looked. As for Terri, she had waited until the jury filed in to learn forward and squeeze his hand; even when she smiled, a part of her seemed elsewhere.

‘You'll be all right,' she had whispered.

But he did not believe that, nor did Caroline seem to. This morning she was unusually quiet; the professional élan had been replaced by a certain inwardness. On the day before what perhaps would be her most important closing argument, she had been dealt a surprise that unsettled her equilibrium and made her task far more difficult. It left no time for chatter.

As for Paget, he felt alone. What made it worse was that this was no one's fault but his; from the first time Monk had come to his home, he had begun stumbling blindly down a path that now, abruptly, had closed behind him. He could not talk to anyone, no matter how deeply he wished to, and he did not know if he ever could. All that he had left was the jury.