“Yes.”
“How much are the yearly dues there?”
“About five hundred dollars.”
“Did you give that up?”
“No. But I paid out a lot of money to join those clubs in the first place. It would have meant losing my initial investment.”
“It would have meant a saving of over fifteen hundred dollars a year.”
“Look, I know it was selfish, but I worked hard; I needed some sort of outlet. …”
“Do you belong to any other clubs, Mr. Wales?” Jess asked, and held her, breath. She was still waiting for this morning’s police report to come in.
“No,” came the immediate reply.
“You don’t belong to any other sports clubs?”
Jess watched for a look of hesitation in Terry Wales’s eyes, but there was none. “No,” he said clearly.
Jess nodded, looking toward the rear of the courtroom. Where was Barbara Cohen? Surely they must have heard from the police by now.
“Let’s go back to the night of January twentieth, 1992,” Jess stated, “the last time police were called to your house to investigate a domestic dispute.” She waited a few seconds to allow the jury to adjust to her change in topics. “You testified that was the night your wife first told you she had a lover.”
“That’s right.”
“How exactly did that come about?”
“I don’t understand.”
“When did she tell you? At dinner? When you were watching television? When you were in bed?”
“It was after we’d gone to bed.”
“Please go on, Mr. Wales.”
“We’d just finished making love. I reached over to take her in my arms.” His voice cracked. “I just wanted to hold her. I … I know I wasn’t always the best husband, but I loved her, I really did, and I wanted everything to be all right between us.” Tears filled his eyes. “Anyway, I reached for her, but she pulled away. I told her that I loved her, and she started to laugh. She told me I didn’t know what love meant, that I didn’t know what
making
love meant. That I didn’t know how to make love. That I was a joke. That I had no idea what it took to satisfy a woman, to satisfy
her
. And then she told me that it didn’t matter because she’d found someone who
did
know how to satisfy her. That she had a lover,
someone she’d been seeing for months. That he was a
real
man, a man who knew how to satisfy a woman. That maybe one night she’d let me watch them together so that I could learn a thing or two.” Again his voice cracked. “That’s when I lost it.”
“And you beat her.”
“And I hit her,” Terry Wales qualified. “And she started pounding on me, scratching at me, telling me over and over again what a loser I was.”
“And so you hit her, over and over again,” Jess said, using his words.
“I’m not proud of myself.”
“So you’ve said. Tell me, Mr. Wales, what was your wife’s lover’s name?”
“I don’t know. She didn’t say.”
“What did he do for a living?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you know how old he was, how tall? Whether or not he was married?”
“No.”
“Did you have any suspicions as to who it might be? A friend, perhaps?”
“I don’t know who her lover was. It wasn’t the sort of thing she would confide in me.”
“And yet, she
did
tell you she had a lover. An interesting thing to confide in an often abusive husband, wouldn’t you say?”
“Objection, Your Honor.”
“Sustained.”
“Did anyone else hear your wife confess to having a lover?”
“Of course not. We were in bed.”
“Did she ever talk about him when you had company?”
“No. Only when we were alone.”
“And since her friends have already testified that she never confided any such news to them,” Jess went on, “it seems that once again we have only your word.”
Terry Wales said nothing.
“So, your wife told you she had a lover; you beat her to a bloody pulp, and the neighbors called the police,” Jess summarized, feeling Hal Bristol object even before the word was out of his mouth. “Your wife
did
end up in the hospital that night, didn’t she?” Jess said, rephrasing her question.
“Yes.”
“How long after that did you wife tell you she was leaving you?”
“She was always threatening to leave me, to take my kids away from me, to take me for everything I had.”
“When did you know she meant it?” Jess asked.
Terry Wales took a deep breath. “The end of May.”
“You’ve testified that your wife told you that she’d consulted a lawyer and was moving out.”
“That’s correct.”
“You testified that you begged and pleaded with her to change her mind.”
“That’s right.”
“Why?”
“I don’t understand.”
“You’ve told us that your wife told you she’d taken a lover, that she repeatedly called your manhood into question, told you you were a lousy lover, a lousy husband, a lousy provider, that she made your life a living hell. Why would you beg and plead with her to stay?”
Terry Wales shook his head. “I don’t know. I guess that, despite everything we did to each other, I still believed in the sanctity of marriage.”
“Till death do you part,” Jess stated sardonically. “Is that the general idea?”
“Objection, Your Honor. Really.”
Judge Harris waved away the objection with an impatient hand.
“I never meant to kill my wife,” Terry Wales said directly to the jury.
“No, you were just trying to get her attention,” Jess said, watching the rear door of the courtroom open and Barbara Cohen walk through. Even from a distance of thirty feet, Jess could see the glint in her assistant’s eye. “Your Honor, may I have a minute?”
Judge Harris nodded and Jess strode to the prosecutor’s table.
“What’ve we got?” she asked, taking the report from Barbara’s hands and quickly scanning the pages.
“I’d say just what we need,” Barbara Cohen answered, not even trying to suppress her smile.
Jess had to bite down on her lower lip to keep from laughing out loud. She spun around, then held back, careful not to appear too eager. Move in slowly, she told herself as she inched forward. Then move in for the kill. “So, you were distraught and emasculated and desperate, is that right?” she asked the defendant.
“Yes,” he admitted.
“And you decided you wanted to do something that would shake your wife up, make her come to her senses.”
“Yes.”
“So you went out and you purchased a crossbow.”
“Yes.”
“A weapon you hadn’t shot since you were a kid in camp, is that right?”
“Yes.”
“What camp was that?”
“Sorry?”
“What was the name of the camp you went to where you first learned to shoot a bow and arrow?”
Terry Wales looked toward his lawyer, but Hal Bristol’s subtle nod directed him to answer the question. “I believe it was Camp New Moon.”
“How many years did you attend Camp New Moon?” Jess asked.
“Three, I believe.”
“And they taught you how to shoot a bow and arrow?”
“It was one of the activities offered.”
“And you won several medals, did you not?”
“That was almost thirty years ago.”
“But you did win several medals?”
Terry Wales laughed. “They gave medals to all the kids.”
“Your Honor, would you please instruct the witness to answer the question,” Jess asked.
“A simple yes or no will suffice, Mr. Wales,” Judge Harris told the defendant.
Terry Wales lowered his head. “Yes.”
“Thank you,” Jess said, and smiled. “And until you fatally shot your wife through the heart on June second of this year, it had been almost thirty years since you’d shot a bow and arrow?”
“Twenty-five or thirty,” Terry Wales qualified.
Jess checked the folder in her hand. “Mr. Wales, have you ever heard of the Aurora County Bowmen?”
“I’m sorry, the what?” Terry Wales asked, a slight flush blotching his cheeks.
“The Aurora County Bowmen,” Jess repeated. “It’s an archery club located about forty-five miles southwest of Chicago. Do you know it?”
“No.”
“According to the brochure I have, it’s a nonprofit organization formed in 1962 with the purpose of providing facilities where archers can pursue their sport. ‘No matter what area of archery your interest lies in,’” Jess continued reading, “‘be it hunting, competitive target, or pleasure shooting, using the longbow, recurve, compound or
crossbow
, the Aurora County Bowmen offers ideal facilities for practicing throughout the year.’ ”
Hal Bristol was on his feet and moving toward the judge’s bench. “Objection, Your Honor. My client has already stated he has no knowledge of this club.”
“Interesting,” Jess said immediately, “since club records show Terry Wales has been a member there for the past eight years.” Jess held up a faxed copy of the club membership. “We’d like this entered as state’s Exhibit F, Your Honor.”
Jess handed the records to Judge Harris, who looked them over before passing them down to Hal Bristol’s waiting fist. Hal Bristol scanned the evidence, nodded angrily, then returned to his seat, glaring openly at his client.
“Do you remember the club now, Mr. Wales?” Jess asked pointedly.
“I joined the club eight years ago and hardly ever used it,” Terry Wales explained. “Frankly, I’d forgotten all about it.”
“Oh, but they didn’t forget you, Mr. Wales.” Jess was careful to keep the gloat out of her voice. “We have a signed affidavit from a Mr. Glen Hallam, who’s in charge of the equipment at Aurora County Bowmen. The police showed him your picture this morning, and he remembers you very well. Says you’ve been a regular there for years, although, oddly enough, he hasn’t seen you since the spring. I wonder why that is,” Jess mused, offering the statement as state’s Exhibit G. “He says you’re quite a shot, Mr. Wales. Bull’s-eye nearly every time.”
A collective gasp emanated from the jury box. Hal Bristol looked toward his lap. Terry Wales said nothing.
Bull’s-eye, Jess thought.
“I
understand you pulled off quite a coup in court today,” Greg Oliver greeted Jess as she walked past his office at the end of the day.
“She was brilliant,” Neil Strayhorn exclaimed, a step behind Jess, Barbara Cohen at his side. “She laid her trap, then stood back and let the defendant strut inside and slam the door behind him.”
“The case isn’t over yet,” Jess reminded them, unwilling to rejoice too early. They still had other witnesses to cross-examine, final arguments to deliver, and the unpredictability of the jury to contend with. One could never get too cocky.
“My favorite moment,” Neil Strayhorn was saying as they settled in behind their desks, “was when you asked him if he’d ever heard of the Aurora County Bowmen.”
“And he didn’t move,” Barbara Cohen continued, “but you could see his cheeks kind of sink in.”
Jess permitted herself a loud, raucous laugh. That had been her favorite moment too.
“Well, well, the ice maiden cracks.” Greg Oliver leaned in from the doorway, one hand on either side of the frame.
“What can we do for you, Greg?” Jess felt her good mood about to evaporate.
Greg Oliver ambled toward Jess’s desk, shaking a loosely clenched fist, as if he were about to toss dice. “I’ve got a present for you.”
“A present for me,” Jess repeated dully.
“Something you need. Very badly.” Greg Oliver’s voice all but spun with innuendo.
“Is it bigger than a bread box?” Neil Strayhorn asked.
“I could really use a bread box,” Barbara Cohen stated.
Jess looked Greg Oliver coolly in the eye and waited. She said nothing.
“No guesses?” Greg asked.
“No patience,” Jess told him, gathering up her things. “Look, Greg, I want to get a bit more work done here then I’m going home. It’s been very long day.”
“Need a ride?” Greg’s lips curved into a wavy line, like a small, thin snake.
“I’ve already offered to drive Jess home,” Neil Strayhorn said quickly, and Jess smiled gratefully.
“But I’ve got what you need,” Greg Oliver persisted, opening his fist and dropping a set of keys onto the desk in front of Jess. “The keys to Madame’s apartment.”
Jess reached for the new set of keys, the stale scent of Greg’s cologne bouncing off the shiny metal. “How did you get these?”
“Some woman delivered them this afternoon. Kind of
cute actually, except that her thighs were in two different time zones.”
“You’re a class act,” Barbara Cohen told him.
“Hey, I’m the sensitive new man of the nineties.” He sauntered back to the door, his fingers waving good-bye, then disappeared down the hall.
“Where’s my crossbow?” Barbara Cohen asked.
“They’re never around when you need them.” Jess glanced over the list of witnesses who would be testifying the next day and jotted down a few notes before feeling her eyes cross with fatigue. “How’re things coming on the Alvarez case?”
“Examination for discovery is coming up next week,” Barbara told her. “I’m almost finished taking depositions and it doesn’t look like McCauliff is in the mood to bargain.”
“McCauliff loves nothing better than the sound of his own voice echoing in a crowded courtroom. Be careful. He’ll try to intimidate you by using lots of big words nobody understands,” Jess warned them. “Think you can handle him?”
“I’ve got my dictionary ready,” Neil told her, and smiled.
Jess tried to smile back, but her mouth was too tired to cooperate, and she managed only a slight twitch. “That’s it for me, gang. I’m gonna call it a day.”
Barbara Cohen checked her watch. “You feeling all right?”
“I’m exhausted.”
“Don’t get sick on us now,” Barbara pleaded. “We’re entering the home stretch.”
“I don’t have time to get sick,” Jess agreed.
“Come on, you heard me tell Oliver I was driving you home,” Neil volunteered.
“Don’t be silly, Neil. It’s way out of your way.”
“You trying to make a liar out of me?”
“When are you going to give in and buy a new car?” Barbara asked.
Jess pictured her once proud red Mustang, battered and broken, streaked with excrement. “As soon as I get Rick Ferguson behind bars,” she said.