Heart of the Night (53 page)

“Susan told me what to do.”

“But you did it, and don't tell me it wasn't a whole lot of work, because I know it was. Food, flowers, tables and chairs, background music—you coordinated everything. And then you stood there by my side, looking absolutely gorgeous, so calm and collected that no one could believe you'd put in a full day at the office.” He caught his breath, but nothing could stop the flow of warmth in his eyes. “Do you have any idea how proud I was of you?”

Savannah felt the warmth of that pride as a glowing ember deep inside her. “You've told me,” she said humbly.

“And I'll tell you again. And again. You played hostess, and you did it with flair. Face it, lawyer lady, you're not quite as limited as you thought.” He took a deep, slow breath. “So, do you believe that I want you?”

She hesitated for just a minute. “I'm getting there. I have doubts sometimes. But you're still hanging around.” She shot a look at her surroundings and amended that to, “
I'm
still hanging around.”

“Only because I have to work. Otherwise I'd be at your place. Or on the boat. But I don't like the idea of your being there while I'm here working. This way I can run upstairs and check on you.”

“Against FCC regulations,” she reminded him with a crooked grin.

“Ahhh,” he teased, “such a stickler for legalities.”

“I always was. Susan called me a goody-two-shoes. I played by the book, while she broke every rule.”

“Goody-two-shoes?”

She nodded. Too late, she realized that she'd set herself up.

“If you play by the book,” Jared advised in a dead-serious drawl, “then we have to get married. We're in love. We've living together. And you may be pregnant.”

“Later.”

“Pregnant?”

“Married. We'll get married later.”

“Why wait?”

“Because I can't think straight with this trial coming up.”

“So? I love you anyway.”

“This trial is really important to me, Jared.”

“I can understand why. But just think. If we get married now, one part of your life will be completely settled. You'll be able to focus your concentration that much more.”

“Could work the other way around,” she reminded him. “I could be that much more distracted.”

“I won't distract you.”

“You do. All the time. Take now. Since I couldn't sleep, I was going to do some work. So here you are.” She glanced toward the sound room. “Aren't you supposed to be in there getting ready to fade something or other in or out?”

“In a minute.” Lowering his head, he kissed her gently, then deepened the kiss until she'd begun to melt against him. Only then did he warn, “I won't let you go. I'll keep after you until you give in. We're going to be married, Savannah. Count on it.”

Later, thinking back on those words, he had to commend himself for his confidence. Because the fact was that he could tell her whatever he wanted, but the decision was hers. When it came to determining the future direction of their relationship, she was the one in the driver's seat.

*   *   *

Savannah felt in control as the trial approached. Her exhibits were ready. Her witnesses were ready. She spent the Fourth of July weekend with Jared on the boat preparing her opening argument, until she had it planned to her satisfaction, presentation and all.

The trial was to start on Wednesday. On Tuesday night, she had a minor attack of the shakes. Jared was working. She was upstairs, and her first thought was to run down to him. Then she stopped, turned up the radio, and let the balm of his voice wash over her.

Her mind wandered where it would, free-associating. Not surprisingly, her free associations centered on Jared. What surprised her was the speed with which her body calmed. It wasn't that she was any less nervous about the trial, or any less determined to win a conviction. But for the first time, approaching a trial, she saw the trial in a broader context. Other things had come to mean as much to her as the law. She'd achieved a certain perspective. Her life had filled out.

*   *   *

All of Wednesday and the first of Thursday were spent picking a jury. Shortly after eleven that second morning, Savannah gave her opening argument. She spoke for fifty minutes, outlining the contents of her case. The talk during the lunch break was unanimous in commending the power of her statement. When court reconvened, she was feeling as confident as she ever had.

That confidence was shattered over the course of the next thirty minutes. In an argument delivered with flair, the Cat's attorney, a surprisingly straight lawyer named Walter Woodward, stunned not only Savannah, but every other lawyer, media representative, and spectator in the room by claiming that the mastermind of the kidnapping had been none other than the supposed victim, Megan Vandermeer.

Savannah listened in disbelief, and for several minutes after he was done, her rage was such that she was nearly paralyzed inside. On the outside, though, she was the image of self-control. That self-control was critical. While a case was to be tried on its facts, the jury had eyes. The jury saw everything. Just as it would see that Stavanovich was being represented by a lawyer as clean-cut and dignified as Megan's husband, so it would see that Savannah was confident enough in her case not to be affected by the bizarre claims of the defense.

Once past that moment of immobility, her mind shot into gear and sped onward. The first thing she did prior to opening her case was to approach the bench and request that the jury be sequestered. Her argument was that the media would have a field day with the defense's claims, and that sequestering was the only way to ensure an unbiased jury. Woodward fought it. Even the judge was reluctant; sequestering a jury involved considerable work and taxpayer expense. But he didn't want a conviction overturned on appeal any more than Savannah did. So he agreed. The jury was polled. Only one member, a woman with children in day-care, found being sequestered a hardship. That juror was excused and one of the four alternates was named in her place.

Savannah opened her case then, calling Will as her first witness in an attempt to establish that a kidnapping had indeed taken place. Question by question, she led him through that day in March, from the time when he'd discovered his wife missing to the meeting he'd had with Paul, Anthony, and herself. She put the ransom note into evidence, deliberately making eye contact with each of the jurors as she walked the note past for their inspection. Throughout her questioning of Will, she stressed the shock he had experienced and the anguish he'd felt.

Cross-examining him, Woodward emphasized the failing of the family business and the stress both Vandermeers had been under. Will held up well under his questioning. He strongly refuted Woodward's subtle suggestions that Megan was dissatisfied with him and his inability to support her in style. When court recessed for the day, Savannah felt that her case had held firm.

Megan had spent the day in Savannah's office. Her reaction upon learning of the defense argument was much the same as Savannah's had been. She went utterly still, momentarily stunned, before erupting into a fury.

“That bastard!” she spat. Her eyes were wide, her nostrils flaring with each labored breath she took. “That
bastard
!”

“The jury will think so, too,” Savannah said in an attempt to calm her. “You'll see. By the time we've put our case before them, they'll be livid that Stavanovich should even
hint
that you were involved.”

Savannah took her prediction a step further when, several hours later, she met Jared for dinner at a small Italian restaurant that had become a favorite of theirs. “It's another version of the old line that the woman who's raped incited it. You watch,” she said angrily. “He'll claim she asked for that rape. Despite the medical testimony showing how battered and bruised she was, he'll claim she invited it.”

Jared considered that possibility. “He's taking a big chance. Your jury is seven females to five males.”

“Thank goodness. I'll have to count on those women being as incensed as I am. Can you believe it, Jared? Can you believe he'd say that? Megan has never,
never
committed a crime. She's as honest as the day is long. Do you think she'd truly be capable of planning and carrying out her own kidnapping?”

Jared wished he could answer, but the fact was that he didn't know Megan. She was the one person close to Savannah whom he hadn't yet met, much less spent time with. Savannah regretted it, he knew; she apologized often. But Megan had refused to leave the house for anything remotely social, and when Savannah suggested bringing Jared around, she seemed so uncomfortable that Savannah chickened out. Time enough when the trial was done, she reasoned.

Jared had been satisfied with that until now. Since he'd heard Woodward's opening argument that afternoon, weird things had been running through his mind. Time and again he pushed them away. Still they returned, pesty little germs of doubt that wouldn't leave him alone.

He debated discussing them with Savannah, but at that moment her anger was intense. It had abated somewhat by the time they'd finished dinner, but by then she was looking so tired that he was reluctant to reopen the wound. So he kept his doubts to himself, brought her home, and put her to bed, then went to work.

First thing Friday morning, Savannah called Sam to the stand. An experienced witness and, therefore relatively easy to lead through direct examination, he testified not only to what he'd found when he'd arrived at the Vandermeer house on the day of the kidnapping, but to the work he and Hank had done there that afternoon and on succeeding days. Savannah introduced into evidence the tape of the kidnapper calling to arrange the drop. Sam also described Will's emotional state. The defense objected to this line of questioning but was overruled. The overall effect of his testimony, as summed up more than once by Savannah, was that a legitimate act of violence had been committed.

Woodward asked one or two token questions, then sat down.

The agent from the insurance company, whom Savannah called to the stand next, corroborated what Sam had said. Savannah made a point of drawing out, then repeating the fact that Will had bought the policy soon after he'd married Megan, and that such policies weren't unusual among the wealthy.

Woodward had no questions for the agent.

Following the lunch break, Savannah called the Warwick police officer who had been in the first cruiser to arrive at the telephone booth in which Megan had been dumped. He described her condition, described her reactions to the arrival of her husband, described Sam's taking her off in his car.

Savannah had time to get in the first of the medical testimony before court recessed for the day. Since the jury was sequestered, the judge called for a Saturday session, which suited Savannah's purposes just fine. She felt the momentum was hers and was just as happy not to break it.

It took all of Saturday for her to get through the medical witnesses. There was a doctor to testify to Megan's physical condition when she'd been brought to the hospital, both a rape counselor and a psychiatrist to testify to her emotional state. Knowing that the medical testimony was critical, given the defense's chosen approach, Savannah took her time and spared no detail. Indeed, the picture painted was so brutal that she was grateful Megan wasn't in the courtroom to hear it. She had a hard enough time with it herself.

As always, though, no one knew that but Jared, who trundled her off at the end of the day for an evening sail and a night on the boat. Gradually, her pallor became less pronounced. She ate a solid breakfast on Sunday, slept for another few hours, then went ashore to spend time with Megan, whose testimony was forthcoming.

Between direct and cross-examination, Megan was on the witness stand for two solid days. She was a sterling witness, poised and quiet, just nervous enough, just angry enough, just tearful enough. Not once did she waver from her story, even when Woodward went after her, and go after her he did.

“During the last six months, you had occasion to bring your car to the defendant's shop, did you not?”

“I did.”

“How many times?”

“Twice.”

“For what purpose?”

“There was a problem with my brakes. It was supposed to have been fixed the first time. Since it wasn't, I had to take it back.”

“Was it fixed then?”

“Yes.”

“So you didn't have to return a third time?”

“No.”

Woodward straightened his shoulders and looked at the jurors. “That first time you brought your car in—when was that?”

She'd already said it twice, but she said it again. “In January.”

“Is it not true that at that time you were acutely aware of your husband's financial problems?”

“I was aware of those problems long before then.”

“And you'd tried to help, but nothing was working?”

“I was only doing the books. I didn't expect to be able to turn the business around.”

“Who did you expect to do that?”

“I had faith that Will would. I still do.”

“But last January, whatever he was doing wasn't working, was it?”

Telling herself to stay calm, Megan took a breath. “No.”

“Last January, you were aware that something had to be done or the business would go under, isn't that true?”

“Will and I had both been aware of that for a long time.”

“Please answer the question, Mrs. Vandermeer—”

“Objection,” Savannah called. “The witness has already answered the question. Defense counsel is playing with words.”

“A yes or no is all I want,” Woodward said firmly.

“Sustained,” the judge decided.

Woodward rephrased his question. “Is it not true, Mrs. Vandermeer, that at the time you brought your car to be serviced by the defendant you were aware of the precarious state of your husband's business?”