Breach Of Promise

“Swear the jury,” Milne said finally, and the fourteen people in whose hands Lindy would find triumph or misfortune stood up and held up their right hands.

16

On a sun-bleached Monday in May, seven months after Mike Markov’s fateful birthday party, the time for opening statements arrived.

Hoping to avoid the media, Nina had left home early but found herself pulling into a courthouse lot already jammed with television news trucks and people swinging video cameras. Up above, in the pine trees ringing the lot, a flock of small brown birds kept up a chorus of cheeping to rival the noisy excess of the mob below. In all the cacophony and confusion, she forgot her briefcase and had to return to her car to retrieve it.

Feeling oddly flimsy in a white blouse under a muted peach suit, she spotted Lindy and Alice across the parking lot just pulling up in Alice’s old Taurus. She walked over quickly and joined them. Together they headed across the lot, storming firmly through the throng that massed around the entrance to the courthouse. Right before she reached the door, Nina had to shove a particularly long, nasty-looking microphone out of her face to avoid swallowing it.

Inside the building, Deputy Kimura had just opened the courtroom doors. A long line of people who’d been waiting dashed inside, jostling for seats. Before closing the doors for good, he allowed in a few stragglers. These lucky late-birds squeezed into the back and stood leaning against the drab paneling.

Nina saw that Rachel, surrounded by a phalanx of Markov Enterprises employees, had taken a place directly behind Mike. Harry Anderssen, her ex-boyfriend, had taken the seat directly behind her. He glared at her back as she leaned forward and squeezed Mike’s hand. She had her long hair tied back and looked modest in a dark dress topped by a dark yellow jacket. Mike was the quintessential businessman in a granite-colored suit and a green tie so dark it was almost black. When Riesner dropped an arm lightly over his shoulder and began talking with him in a low voice, Rachel moved demurely back.

Riesner wore his usual blue suit and smirk.

Looking uncharacteristically indifferent to fashion, Lindy was wearing a long skirt below a matching dove-colored sweater set, her only concession to vanity a pair of pearl earrings. As they took their places, she pointed out to Nina some people she knew. Meanwhile, Alice, sitting right behind them, talked nonstop, jiggling the high-heeled mule on her crossed leg in a silent, frenzied rhythm.

A few seats away from Alice, Nina saw the disturbing dark-haired man who’d threatened her when she’d been in the Solo Spa. He stood up to wave at Lindy as she turned to say something to Alice.

“Oh, look,” Alice said. “There’s George, Lindy’s puppy dog. She just gives a tug on the leash and he comes.”

“Alice,” said Lindy, with a nervous look around the overstuffed courtroom. “Leave George alone.”

“No, really. I think every woman needs a guy like George in the background to do her dirty work.”

“Dirty work?” Nina started, but was interrupted by the clerk.

“Superior Court for the State of California is now in session, the Honorable Curtis E. Milne presiding.”

They all rose as the judge entered the room. One feminist publication had brought out a noisy contingent of rabble-rousers who sat near Riesner, trying to engage him in dialog, but Judge Milne imposed silence in his court with a slight raising of the eyebrow. How he managed it, Nina did not know, but all the power of the institution of justice came to life in those sparse hairs.

Once he was satisfied his courtroom had come to order, the judge rustled in his chair, studying the documents before him, adjusting his glasses and ru

“The moment is at hand, ladies and gentlemen. We will begin by hearing opening statements of the attorneys. That is all we will be able to get through by noon, which is the time the court has allotted for this matter today. We’ll reconvene again tomorrow at nine o’clock sharp.

“The attorneys tell me that they expect to take no more than six court days to present their evidence. They have agreed that I may read you this very brief introduction to the matter you will be deciding.

“The primary question in this case is whether or not these two people, Mikhail and Lindy Markov, had a written, oral, or implied agreement to share ownership in a business known as Markov Enterprises. If you decide that there was such an agreement, you will be asked to determine exactly what form any such agreement took. If you decide that the agreement provided that Lindy Markov was a part owner of the business, you will need to decide the worth of that business, and how to divide any assets and debts that came from the business, including several residences used by both parties. You will also be asked to determine some facts in dispute regarding a certain piece of paper which will be presented to you as Exhibit One.”

He moved into a general discussion of juror protocol: no discussion of the evidence until they retired to decide the case, no reading about the case or watching TV news for the duration, no independent research, keep an open mind until the time came to decide, don’t be prejudiced against the party because you don’t like anything about his or her attorney.

The jurors, in the box to the left of Nina, looked suitably impressed with the gravity of their responsibility, except for So

“Ms. Reilly, are you ready to proceed?”

“We are, Your Honor.”

“Do you wish to make an opening statement?”

“We do.” Nina rose, leaving her notes on the table. Her pastel suit glowed warmly under the lights. Her heels were a compromise between comfort and height, and her usually unconquerable long brown hair had surrendered to the ministrations of a local hairdresser who had smoothed and sprayed until it lay down and played dead.

But on her way up toward the podium from which she would speak to the jury, she put these and other such trivial concerns aside.

Standing the three feet from the jury box Genevieve insisted upon, Nina let her gaze sweep over each of the jurors in turn.

“The story you are about to hear is an old one. You’ve heard this before. We all have. A man and a woman meet, fall in love, and build a life. They share a warm and loving home. They create a business together. For twenty years, twenty satisfying years, they live together. Then, a sad thing happens. One of them falls out of love.”

Nina paused for emphasis, breaking her concentration long enough to see that the jurors were responding to her with the desired level of engrossed attention.

“It’s devastating to the one left behind. We can all imagine it, can’t we? All those years, those habits of a lifetime, the morning coffee together, the shared double bed, the welcoming hugs, the kisses good-bye… suddenly there are great big gaping holes. But these things happen. Good people get hurt. Nobody is to blame when love dies. Nobody is responsible for the terrible emptiness of that double bed.”

She lowered her head and put her hands behind her back Perry Mason-style, pacing a few steps before raising her eyes back to the jury box.

“No, no one is responsible for the loss of that loving relationship. Lindy Markov has suffered that loss, true. It is true that Mike Markov is engaged to a young woman who once worked for Lindy. But that is not why we are here in court today. Let’s be clear on that point. We aren’t here to talk about love. We’re here to talk about business. Business between lovers, maybe. A business both of them nurtured as another couple might nurture their child. But we’re talking about business, the kind of business that is based on a legally enforceable partnership agreement.