Miracle Creek(25)
But Elizabeth couldn’t say that. She couldn’t tell Shannon how it felt today, forcing herself to look everyone in the eye, listen to every word, take in every exhibit, all the while keeping her face still, afraid the slightest movement might set off a domino reaction of emotion. The cauterizing shame of a hundred people pelting their stares of judgment at her like poison darts. Accept and absorb the blame. Gulp it down, more and more, until every cell in her body was bursting. She hadn’t just been ready for it; she’d craved it, relished it, couldn’t wait for more of it.
Elizabeth said nothing, and Shannon, apparently interpreting this as silent surrender, resumed driving. After a minute, Shannon said, “Oh, good news. Victor’s not testifying. He’s not coming at all.”
Elizabeth nodded. She knew why this was good, why Shannon had worried about a grief-stricken father affecting the jury, but his absence wasn’t something she could celebrate. He hadn’t contacted her at all since her arrest, which she’d expected, and, yes, she knew he had a busy life in California with his new house and new wife and new kids, but she’d assumed he’d at least show up at the trial for his son’s murder. She felt bile rise and snake around her chest, choking her heart. Poor Henry. Born to two such pathetic parents. One responsible for hurting and killing him, the other too worthless to give a shit.
Shannon’s phone rang. An obviously expected call—she answered with “You got it? Read it to me.” Elizabeth breathed in deep. The stench of vomit stung her nose, and she opened the window, which made it worse, the mix of sweet manure from outside and sour vomit smelling like rotting Chinese food. She closed the window just as the call ended, and said to Shannon, “You should get the car cleaned. Put it on my bill. Although, can you imagine your billing partner going, ‘Why are there car-vomit-cleaning charges under murder-trial expenses?’” Elizabeth laughed. Shannon didn’t.
“Listen. One of the Yoos’ neighbors was in court.” A hint of a smile tugged at the corners of Shannon’s lips. “He came forward with something he didn’t think was important until today. So I put the team on it all day, and we found something. I didn’t want to tell you until we confirmed it.”
Somewhere outside, cows were mooing in unison. Elizabeth swallowed. Her ears clicked. “The protesters? You finally got something? I told you to focus on them, I knew they—”
Shannon shook her head no. “Not them. Matt. He’s lying. I can prove it. Elizabeth, I have evidence that someone else deliberately set the fire.”
THE TRIAL: DAY TWO
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
MATT
HE THOUGHT TODAY WOULD BE EASIER than yesterday. Once the story was told, he’d feel purged, like puking after overdrinking.
But walking up, taking the stand again, it had been harder to raise his head. How many people were wondering why he, a healthy young man, a fucking doctor, for Christ’s sake, had allowed a little boy to be burned alive in front of him?
“Good morning, Dr. Thompson, I’m Shannon Haug, Elizabeth Ward’s attorney.”
Matt nodded.
Shannon said, “I want you to know how sorry I am for the horrible things you’ve experienced. And I have to apologize in advance for making you recall all that again, sometimes in great detail. My goal is not to upset you, but simply to find the truth. If you need to stop at any time, just let me know. Okay?”
Matt felt his jaw relax and, despite himself, he smiled. Abe rolled his eyes. Abe did not like Shannon. He’d described her as a “bigwig from a fancy litigation factory,” and Matt had expected a TV-show-lawyer type: hair in one of those French buns, suit with pencil-thin skirt, stilettos, mysterious smile, gorgeous as hell. Instead, Shannon Haug looked and sounded like a kind aunt, totally benign, her suit wrinkled and loose, her shoulder-length graying hair a matted blob. Nurturing, with a generous bust—less femme-fatale vixen, more wet nurse. “She’s the enemy,” Abe had warned, but Matt craved this, a woman’s gentle pampering, and he clung to it.
“Now,” Shannon said, “let’s start with some basics. Easy yes-no stuff. Did you ever see Elizabeth set fire anywhere around Miracle Submarine?”
“No.”
“Ever see her smoking, or even just holding a cigarette?”
“No.”
“Ever see anyone else affiliated with HBOT smoking?”
Matt felt his face flush. He had to tread lightly here. “Pak didn’t allow smoking at HBOT. We were all clear on that.”
Shannon smiled, stepped closer. “Is that a no to my question? Have you seen anyone on Miracle Submarine’s premises with cigarettes, matches, anything like that?”
“Yes. I mean, my answer is no,” Matt said. He wasn’t lying, not technically—the creek was outside “the premises”—but still, his heart beat faster.
“To your knowledge, does anyone affiliated with Miracle Submarine smoke?”
Mary had once said that Camels were Pak’s favorite. But, he reminded himself, he wasn’t supposed to know that. “I couldn’t say. I’ve only seen them at HBOT, where smoking’s prohibited.”
“Fair enough.” Shannon shrugged and walked to her table, like this was a perfunctory checklist of questions she hadn’t expected anything from. Halfway there, she turned mid-step and said in a throwaway tone, “By the way, do you smoke?”