The Beach House

Chapter 90

BILL MONTROSE was out of his seat in a flash. With his shock of white hair, sturdy body, and abrupt, confident movements, Montrose looked a little like a maestro at Lincoln Center. He stood very still at the front of the room. He evoked the concentration of a conductor waiting for his orchestra to settle down.

"Ms. Powell," he asked when he emerged from his spell, "were you compensated in any way for your testimony at the inquest last summer?"

"Absolutely not," said Powell. "Not a pe

"Were you promised anything by Barry Neubauer or anyone else acting on his behalf?"

"No."

"Was a promotion, a raise, a window office, a personal trainer, or even a new pair of shoes dangled in front of you?"

"No!" said Powell even more indignantly.

"Ms. Powell, Jack Mullen seems to be under the delusion that there's something scandalous about an ambitious and talented person coming to the attention of the CEO. There isn't. You've done nothing to feel the slightest bit apologetic about."

"Thank you."

I rose from my seat. "Does Mr. Montrose have a question?"

"I certainly do. Ms. Powell, let me ask you how it is that you came to be in this courtroom this afternoon. You're not here voluntarily?"

"Of course not," said Tricia. "None of us are."

"Could you tell us how you got here?"

"I was driving home," said Powell, "when a man sprung up from my backseat. He threatened me."

"Were you afraid?"

"Wouldn't you be? I almost drove off the road."

"Then what?"

"He directed me to a house, where I was forced into the back of a smelly milk truck with you and the Fitzhardings."

"How long were you in the truck?"

"Almost seven hours."

"And are you free to leave now?" Montrose asked.

"No."

"If Mr. Mullen will allow it, Ms. Powell, you may return to your seat."

"Thank you."

After Tricia Powell retreated, Montrose turned to face the camera. He was about to make a speech when a look of alarm swept over his face. His jaw actually dropped.

Chapter 91

MONTROSE'S ANXIOUS EYES followed Jane Davis as she strode across the stone floor, her footsteps echoing in the room.

Jane wore black dress slacks and a black blouse, and she didn't appear nervous or afraid, as she had at the inquest. She stared at Montrose, then turned to look directly at Barry Neubauer.

To show his lack of concern, Neubauer flashed a smug smile. To show hers, Jane smiled back serenely.

"The People call Dr. Jane Davis," I a

"Dr. Davis," I said as she was seated, "we appreciate the potential consequences of your testifying today. We're grateful."

"I want to be here," she said. "No one has to thank me." Then Jane leaned back and took a deep, calming breath.

"Dr. Davis," I began, "could you please review your education for the court?"

"Certainly. I graduated first in my class from East Hampton High School in 1988, and was a National Merit Scholar. I believe I was the first person in over a decade to be admitted to Harvard from East Hampton High, but I couldn't afford the tuition, so I went to SUNY Binghamton."

"Where did you receive your graduate education?"

"I attended Harvard Medical School, then did my residency at UCLA Hospital in Los Angeles."

"How are you presently employed?"

"For the past two years, I have been chief pathologist at Long Island Hospital and also the chief medical examiner for Suffolk County."

"Your Honor," I said, looking up at Mack, "the People offer Dr. Jane Davis as an expert witness in pathology and forensic medicine."

Mack turned to Montrose, who was still in a state of agitation. "I'm sure Mr. Montrose has no objection to Dr. Davis's testimony, as he called her as an expert witness before the inquest. Correct, Counselor?"

Montrose nodded distractedly and mumbled, "No objection."

"Dr. Davis," I continued, "you performed the autopsy on my brother?"

"Yes."

"Dr. Davis, before you came into the courtroom, Ms. Powell described her abduction before the start of this trial. I was hoping you could share your own experience before the inquest?"

She nodded. "The night before I was to testify," she said, "a man broke into my home. I was in bed, asleep. He woke me and put a gun between my legs. He said he was concerned about my testimony going well. He had been sent to 'coach' me. He said if I blew any lines at the inquest, he would come back and rape and murder me."

For the first time since she'd entered the room, Jane lowered her head and stared at the floor.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that, Jane," I said.

"I know."

"What did you do in court the next day?" I asked. "At the inquest."

"I committed perjury," said Jane Davis, loud and clear.

She continued, "In the course of completing your brother's autopsy, I took twenty-six sets of X rays. I performed half a dozen biopsies and did extensive blood and lab work. Peter had nineteen broken bones, including both arms and both wrists, eight fingers, and six ribs. His skull was fractured in two places, and he had three cracked vertebrae. In several cases the welts of his body showed such perfect fistprints and footprints, they looked like they had been traced on.

"On top of that, Peter's lung tissue was not consistent with drowning. The level of saturation was in keeping with someone who was dumped into the water after he'd stopped breathing. The evidence that Peter had been kicked and beaten to death, then dragged into the water, was overwhelming. That Peter Mullen was murdered is as irrefutable as that I'm sitting here right now."

Chapter 92

MONTROSE ROSE FROM HIS CHAIR. The enormous strain was evident by the set of his jaw. I could almost hear him reminding himself that he was the great Bill Montrose.

"Is there such a thing as a fair trial that isn't quite fair?" he asked. "Of course not. But our abductors would have you believe otherwise. 'I know it's not exactly accepted legal procedure,' Mr. Mullen suggests with an apologetic shrug, 'for defendants to be dragged at gunpoint out of their cars in the middle of the night. But give us a chance, we're just ordinary people like you. We've been driven to this because the system is broken, the system is unfair.'

"But that's not how justice works. Certainly not how it's supposed to work according to the Constitution and the laws of our country." Montrose flinched as if he felt a threat to the Constitution as keenly as a physical blow.

"Justice," he continued, "is not about being slightly fairer than your expectations. It's about being fair. Period. And how can there be a fair trial when the prosecution can ambush the defense with a surprise witness like Jane Davis?"

I. had heard more than enough of Montrose's rhetoric. If Macklin was going to allow speeches, I was going to give one of my own. "Everyone in this room understands your frustration," I said, rising from my chair. "We were in the courtroom last summer when Dr. Davis, after being terrorized all night, said she believed my brother's death was accidental. Just like you, the young prosecutor, Nadia Alper, was so taken aback, she wasn't prepared to cross-examine.

"But although the tactics you're facing today are almost identical to the ones she faced, there's a fundamental difference," I said, feeling my face redden. "At the inquest, the prosecutor was ambushed by a lie. You've been ambushed by the truth, a truth you've probably known all along.