The Beach House

When I called Barry Neubauer to the stand, he looked at me the way that rat must have looked up at my father that winter morning.

Without taking his beady eyes off me, he twitched and he seethed. His long fingers were white where they clasped the arms of his chair.

And he didn't budge.

I was starting to breathe a little hard.

"You want me to sit on your stage," he hissed. "You're going to have to drag me up there. But that wouldn't look good on television, would it, golden boy?"

"We'd be delighted to drag you up here," said Macklin, stepping down off his platform. "Hell, I'll do it myself."

After making certain his arms and legs were securely tethered to the chair, Mack and I got on either side of him. We hoisted Neubauer into the air.

As soon as his feet left the ground, he struggled against his restraints worse than the Mudman had in his dying moments. By the time we plopped him on the stand, his face and hair were covered with sweat. Behind his expensive wire-rim glasses, his pupils had shrunk to pinpoints.

"What do you have to show us now, Counselor?" he asked in an angry, grating whine that set my teeth on edge. It was the same demeaning tone he used with employees at his house. "More dirty pictures? Proving what? That photographic images can be manipulated by computer? C'mon, Jack, you must have something better than that."

Neubauer's last taunt was barely out of his lips when there was a knock at the door at the back of the room.

"Actually, I do have something else to show you. In fact, here it comes now."

Chapter 109

NERVOUSLY LOOKING AT HER FEET, the way anyone might if she found herself walking through a lengthy room with half of America watching, Pauline slowly made her way to the front. I couldn't help feeling proud of her. She had stuck with this all the way to the end.

When she got to my side, she slipped me a piece of paper. I read it with my heart in my throat. It said, East Hampton , LA., Manhattan -1996.

Then, because she felt like it, I guess, she kissed me softly on the cheek and took a seat beside Marci.

"There is one thing you could clear up for me," I said to Neubauer, gesturing toward the pictures on the wall. "Didn't anyone ever ask you to use a condom?"

His thin slits of eyes narrowed even more. "Is this where you turn this whole thing into a public-service a

"I see. So, you lied to these people."

Neubauer's eyes grew even darker, and he twisted his neck at me. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about not telling the truth. It's called lying. You lied to these people. Your wife, Tricia Powell, the Fitzhardings. My brother."

"You're crazy. Anyone can see that. This is absurd. You're a madman."

"Remember those blood samples we took when you arrived? We had yours tested for HIV"

"What are you talking about?" Neubauer bellowed.

"You're positive, Mr. Neubauer. We ran it through three times. Your Honor, the People offer this lab report as People's Exhibit D."

"You had no right," he screeched, rocking his chair so violently that it nearly tipped off the platform.

"What's the difference whether we had the right? If you had yourself tested all the time, we just saved you the trouble."

"It's not a crime to be sick," Neubauer said.

"No, but it is a crime to knowingly expose your partners to HIV"

"I didn't know I was HIV-positive until this minute," Neubauer snarled.

"I guess that might have been possible if it weren't for the AZT we found in your blood. Then we got your old pharmacy records. The People offer these records as People's Exhibit E. We had no right to do that, either, but you killed my brother, so we did it anyway. We found you've had prescriptions for AZT in East Hampton, Los Angeles, and Manhattan. Since 1996."

Neubauer's whole body was shaking. He didn't want to hear anymore. Montrose was on his feet, shouting objections that Mack overruled. The Fitzhardings and Tricia Powell were screaming at Neubauer. So was Frank Volpi, who had to be restrained by Hank and Fenton.

"Order!" shouted Mack from his chair. "I mean it!"

"Would it surprise you to learn that in the past two weeks," I continued, "we've tracked down twelve people from the photographs on this wall and in this envelope. Not including my brother, who you also probably infected, seven have since tested positive."

Marci wheeled the camera around behind Neubauer. As I spoke to him, I was virtually looking into the lens.

"Your Honor, the People now offer seven sworn affidavits by seven individuals who, based on the timing of the results, all believe they were infected by Barry Neubauer. Most important, they state in their affidavits that Neubauer lied to them about his HIV status."

"This is all a lie," Neubauer continued to scream at me. He was shaking uncontrollably in his chair. "Make him stop telling these lies about me, Bill!"

I slowly walked toward Barry Neubauer. He'd always been so smug and controlled. He didn't believe anybody could touch him. He was smart, he was rich, he was the CEO of a major corporation, he owned people. Only now, his dark eyes looked as doomed as Peter's had on the beach.

"In New York State, knowingly exposing someone to HIV is first-degree assault. It's punishable by up to twelve years in prison. That's on each count. Twelve times twelve works out to a hundred forty-four years in prison. I could live with that."

I bent down close to the bastard's face. "My brother was flawed; who isn't? But he was basically a good person, a good brother. Peter never hurt anybody. You killed him. I can't prove it, but I got you anyway, you bastard. How about that?"

I straightened up and addressed Molly's lens for the last time. "The People v. Barry Neubauer," I said, "rest their case. We're out of here."

Chapter 110

IT WAS ALMOST FIVE IN THE AFTERNOON when Fenton and Hank led our guests out the front door and released them. "Go forth and multiply," Fenton said.

For a while we all stood blinking in the golden East End light, not knowing quite what to do next.

The Fitzhardings, Campion, and Tricia Powell drifted off to one end of the porch. They sat quietly together, their feet dangling over the side, their eyes staring vacantly at the unsodded lot. Frank Volpi found his own spot nearby. "Jeez," Pauline said, "they look like day laborers waiting for a lift home. Maybe clothes do make the man, and woman. I need to rethink everything."

Bill Montrose sat alone on the stoop about ten feet away from the others. Still tethered to the old beach chair, Barry Neubauer sat where Fenton and Hank had planted him after carrying him out of the house. His eyes barely moved. No one came over to talk to him, not even his lawyer.

"That's a nice image," Pauline said. "Barry Neubauer alone and broken. I'm going to hang on to it for a rainy day."

We outfitted Marci, Fenton, and Hank with bathing suits, beach towels, and flip-flops. Then we sent them wandering off in separate directions like three more sun-addled vacationers. Since they had never appeared on camera, there was no one to verify their involvement, except for the hostages. We hoped they'd be too distracted with their own problems to worry about the three of them.

Molly dragged her tripod to the driveway and looked for the best vantage point to shoot the big final scene. Pauline, Mack, and I sat down at the end of the porch away from our guests. We were blown away and as exhausted as they were.

We leaned against one another more than against the wall of the house. We soaked up some sun. Late-afternoon rays always seem the most precious, even at the begi