The Witness at the Defendant's Table

Chapter 3 The Testimony

Diane Kessler approached the witness stand with a folder in her hand. She had a calm, methodical way of questioning that made you feel like you were having a conversation rather than being interrogated. I had seen her work before. She was good.

"Ms. Vance, can you tell the court your relationship to the defendant?"

"I know him," I said. "I've known him for twelve years."

"And how do you know him?"

"We were involved. Romantically. For several years."

Calvin's lawyer objected. Diane withdrew the question and rephrased.

"Ms. Vance, did you ever have access to the defendant's business records?"

"Yes. He kept some of his files at my apartment."

"And did you ever see anything in those files that concerned you?"

"I saw a note. In his handwriting. It said, 'The numbers are wrong. I'll fix it. Trust me.'"

The courtroom was silent. I could feel Calvin's eyes on me, burning a hole in the side of my face. I didn't look at him. I kept my eyes on Diane.

"Do you have that note with you today?"

"Yes."

I pulled it out of my bag and handed it to the bailiff. He handed it to the judge, who examined it for a moment before passing it to the defense.

Calvin's lawyer, a man named Harold Bates, stood up. He was older, with a receding hairline and a voice that sounded like gravel. He had a reputation for being ruthless.

"Ms. Vance," he said. "You say you were romantically involved with my client. When did that relationship end?"

"Three years ago."

"And when did it begin?"

"When I was nineteen."

"So you were involved with my client for nine years. And during that time, did you ever discuss his business dealings?"

"Sometimes."

"And did he ever tell you that he was falsifying environmental reports?"

"No. He told me he was fixing them."

"Fixing them. Not falsifying them."

"That's what he said."

"But you didn't believe him."

"I didn't know what to believe."

Harold Bates smiled. It was not a nice smile.

"Ms. Vance, isn't it true that you were angry with my client because he ended your relationship?"

"I was hurt."

"Hurt. And isn't it true that you were especially hurt because he married your sister?"

I hesitated. This was the part I had been dreading.

"Yes."

"And isn't it true that you have been looking for a way to get back at him ever since?"

"I've been looking for the truth."

"The truth. Or revenge?"

"Objection," Diane said. "Argumentative."

"Sustained," the judge said.

Harold Bates straightened his tie. "I have nothing further."

Diane stood up again. "Redirect, Your Honor."

She walked back to the witness stand. She looked at me with an expression that was almost kind.

"Ms. Vance, you said you saw the note in the defendant's handwriting. How can you be sure it was his handwriting?"

"I've seen his handwriting for twelve years. I know what it looks like."

"And you kept this note for two years. Why?"

I took a breath. This was the moment I had been preparing for.

"Because I knew it was important. I knew that the harbor development project was going to affect a lot of people. I knew that the environmental reports were being altered. And I knew that if I didn't keep it, no one would ever know the truth."

"Thank you, Ms. Vance. No further questions."

I stepped down from the witness stand. My legs were shaking. I walked back to my seat and sat down, and for the first time since I had entered the courtroom, I let myself look at Calvin.

He was staring at the table. His hands were clenched into fists. His jaw was tight.

He didn't look at me. Not once.

The hearing lasted another two hours. The defense called three witnesses. A former employee who said he had never seen anything unusual in the reports. A consultant who said the numbers were within acceptable ranges. A character witness who said Calvin was a pillar of the community.

None of them had the note. None of them had the original report.

At the end of the day, the judge ruled that there was enough evidence to proceed to trial. Calvin's lawyer requested a continuance. The judge denied it.

Trial was set for the first week of October. Six weeks away.

I walked out of the courthouse into the bright afternoon sun. Margaret was waiting for me on the steps.

"You did good," she said.

"I don't know if it was enough."

"It was enough to get to trial. That's more than anyone else has managed."

I nodded. I didn't feel victorious. I felt empty.

"Clara." Margaret's voice was soft. "He's not worth this. You know that, right?"

I looked at her. She was my best friend. She had been there for me through everything. She had held my hand when I cried. She had helped me move out of the apartment I had shared with Calvin. She had never once told me I was being foolish.

But she didn't understand. She didn't understand what it was like to wait for someone for ten years. She didn't understand what it was like to watch them build a life with someone else.

"I know," I said. "But it's not about him anymore."

"Then what is it about?"

I thought about the note. I thought about the original report. I thought about all the people who lived on the north shore, the ones whose homes would be underwater if the development went through. The ones who had written letters to the planning commission. The ones who had been ignored.

"It's about the truth," I said. "It's about making sure that someone pays attention."

Margaret nodded. She didn't say anything else.

We walked to the parking lot together. The sun was setting over the harbor, painting the water in shades of orange and gold. It was beautiful. It was the kind of view that people paid millions of dollars for.

And Calvin Ashworth had tried to steal it.