did, and acknowledged his statement with a nod. “But?”
“I just wonder if maybe your emotional involvement with this man is clouding your judgment.”
“You think he’s guilty.”
“I have no idea.” The older man ran a hand over his balding head. “What I do know is that you have a talent for finding the truth and for some reason, that talent isn’t helping you out on this one.”
Her friend and partner had never asked her why Blake, her client, had been at her house that day. He’d never asked why the little girl had run away. But she knew he was hurt that she wasn’t telling him.
If she had any idea what to say, she would.
But she didn’t.
ON THE SEVENTH DAY of testimony, when the defense was due to rest, Mary Jane insisted on attending court.
“He’s my dad, Mom,” she’d said over breakfast that morning. “He needs me there.”
Juliet might have replied if she hadn’t been choked up with tears that she couldn’t let fall. It was the first time the child had acknowledged that she had a dad. Until then, Blake had been a father in the biological sense. And, maybe more recently, a friend. Blake seemed to be capturing his daughter’s heart as surely as he’d captured Juliet’s. When Juliet said nothing, Marcie jumped in, offering to bring the little girl to the afternoon session.
Had there been any chance the jury would deliberate and deliver their verdict that day, Juliet would never have allowed Mary Jane to be there. As it was, she couldn’t justify keeping her away.
Blake had already lost eight years of sharing life with Mary Jane. And she was right. He did need her there.
All morning in court he was restless, and growing more tense as the minutes ticked past. Like her, he could probably see the writing on the wall.
And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it except sit there and wait to be hanged.
She offered to take him to lunch, or to have sandwiches brought in to her office. He opted to drive out to the beach instead. She hated to picture him there, all alone, but couldn’t very well stop him from going.
She went to her office alone, instead. And spent the hour and a half poring over numbers and reports and statements that she’d already committed to memory frontward and backward.
BLAKE TOOK HIS SEAT for the afternoon session of court with more peace in his heart than he would have expected. He’d rather die than spend time in prison, but somehow, over the past weeks, he’d come to understand that there was one thing that mattered more than time, or prison, or even life or death. It had finally hit him an hour before, at the beach.
It was the obligation to be true to oneself.
He’d been true to himself when he’d stayed away three years longer than he’d planned—and when he’d come home, despite the difficulty his wife had had adjusting to life in one place.
The obligation to be true to oneself was why Juliet had had to have her baby on her own terms, by herself.
After weeks, months, years of searching, it had taken one walk on the beach with his back completely against the wall to show him what he’d known all along.
Real honesty meant following the dictates of one’s own heart.
He was already seated in court by the time Juliet arrived. She’d been planning to wait outside to walk Marcie and Mary Jane in. He didn’t turn around to see if she had.
But he did try to catch her eye as she slid into her seat beside him. She didn’t give him a chance. Something had happened.
Tight-lipped, she shifted in her seat as they waited for the call to rise. She shot up the second Judge Lockhard asked if she had any further witnesses. He knew that she had not. She’d already presented every piece of evidence she’d disclosed.
“May I approach the bench, Your Honor?”
Eyebrows raised, Lockhard glanced toward Paul Schuster, motioning both attorneys to come forward. There followed a rather lengthy consultation, during which Blake found it hard to keep his hold on the peace he’d brought in with him. One way or the other, he was ready for this to be over.
He could feel Mary Jane back there somewhere behind him. He suffered warring emotions knowing she was there. Her presence gave him a strength he didn’t know it was possible to have—a need to survive, just so she’d be okay. But it hurt him, knowing that his little girl was watching him like this, accused and on trial.
Finally, following something the judge said, both attorneys turned. Schuster, with eyes serious and mouth unsmiling, sat. Juliet nodded to someone behind him.
“The defense calls Private Detective Richard Green to the stand.”
Blake frowned, turned, watched a man he’d never seen before step forward.
To his defense?
The man took the stand. Agreed to tell the truth.
Coming back to the table, Juliet pulled a sheet of what looked to be mug-shot photos out of her satchel.
“Detective Green, can you explain what I’m holding here?”
“Yes, ma’am, that’s a printed copy of parts of a videotape taken at the National Bank in the Cayman Islands.”
The bank where Blake’s supposed account was housed.
“And can you tell me what’s significant about these particular photos?”
“That is the portion of film taken the day and time when Blake Ramsden opened his account.”
Juliet turned to the judge. “I’d like this admitted as evidence, Your Honor.”
Judge Lockhard glanced toward Schuster. “No objection, Your Honor.”
The judge nodded.
That was when Juliet turned, looked straight at Blake and smiled.
“Mr. Green, do you recognize the man in those photos?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Would you tell the jury if that man is in this courtroom today?”
Blake held his breath.
“That would be impossible, ma’am. The man in these photos is dead.”
Blake’s head swam.
Eaton James had opened the account himself, forging Blake’s name. Just as he’d forged Walter Ramsden’s name on the post-office box, and forged various other documents and investment agreements, as well as the names of principal signers of companies that did not exist.
Blake had figured all along that Eaton had opened that account. He’d had no idea of some of the other things the man had done.
And didn’t particularly care at the moment.
He listened, trying to focus on facts being revealed by Green, who’d just flown in from the Cayman Islands. It seemed James had taken the secrecy of the Cayman Islands a little too seriously. First, he’d thought he could hide his ill-gotten gains there in an account that could not be verified by anything other than a bank statement, which he’d manipulated to point the finger at someone else. And second, he’d thought he could shoot off his mouth there, too. Once Green had found James’s watering hole, just the night before, the truth had come pouring out, validated and verified by witnesses over and over again. It had taken him hours—and probably money—to get his hands on the tape.
James hadn’t lost money on Eaton Estates, he’d banked it. He’d purchased the land for less than a tenth of what he’d shown in the investment agreement, for less than a tenth of what he’d charged his investors. True, the original investment had gone sour, but Eaton had that extra money