Nothing Lasts Forever. Sidney Sheldon

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СКАЧАТЬ Young said, “We’ll have a fifteen-minute recess.”

      Seated in the back of the courtroom, Jason Curtis was filled with anger. He could not believe what the witnesses were saying about Paige. This is the woman I love, he thought. The woman I’m going to marry.

      Immediately after Paige’s arrest, Jason Curtis had gone to visit her in jail.

      “We’ll fight this,” he assured her. “I’ll get you the best criminal lawyer in the country.” A name immediately sprang to mind. Alan Penn. Jason had gone to see him.

      “I’ve been following the case in the papers,” Penn said. “The press has already tried and convicted her of murdering John Cronin for a bundle. What’s more, she admits she killed him.”

      “I know her,” Jason Curtis told him. “Believe me, there’s no way Paige could have done what she did for money.”

      “Since she admits she killed him,” Penn said, “what we’re dealing with here then is euthanasia. Mercy killings are against the law in California, as in most states, but there are a lot of mixed feelings about them. I can make a pretty good case for Florence Nightingale listening to a Higher Voice and all that shit, but the problem is that your lady love killed a patient who left her a million dollars in his will. Which came first, the chicken or the egg? Did she know about the million before she killed him, or after?”

      “Paige didn’t know a thing about the money,” Jason said firmly.

      Penn’s tone was noncommittal. “Right. It was just a happy coincidence. The DA is calling for Murder One, and he wants the death penalty.”

      “Will you take the case?”

      Penn hesitated. It was obvious that Jason Curtis believed in Dr. Taylor. The way Samson believed in Delilah. He looked at Jason and thought: I wonder if the poor son of a bitch had a haircut and doesn’t know it.

      Jason was waiting for an answer.

      “Ill take the case, as long as you know it’s all uphill. It’s going to be a tough one to win.”

      Alan Penn’s statement turned out to be overly optimistic.

      When the trial resumed the following morning, Gus Venable called a string of new witnesses.

      A nurse was on the stand. “I heard John Cronin say, ‘I know I’ll die on the operating table. You’re going to kill me. I hope they get you for murder.’ ”

      An attorney, Roderick Pelham, was on the stand. Gus Venable said, “When you told Dr. Taylor about the million dollars from John Cronin’s estate, what did she say?”

      “She said something like ‘It seems unethical. He was my patient.’ ”

      “She admitted it was unethical?”

      “Yes.”

      “But she agreed to take the money?”

      “Oh, yes. Absolutely.”

      Alan Penn was cross-examining.

      “Mr. Pelham, was Dr. Taylor expecting your visit?”

      “Why, no, I …”

      “You didn’t call her and say, ‘John Cronin left you one million dollars’?”

      “No. I …”

      “So when you told her, you were actually face-to-face with her?”

      “Yes.”

      “In a position to see her reaction to the news?”

      “Yes.”

      “And when you told her about the money, how did she react?”

      “Well—she—she seemed surprised, but …”

      “Thank you Mr. Pelham. That’s all.”

      The trial was now in its fourth week. The spectators and press had found the prosecuting attorney and defense attorney fascinating to watch. Gus Venable was dressed in white and Alan Penn in black, and the two of them had moved around the courtroom like players in a deadly, choreographed game of chess, with Paige Taylor the sacrificial pawn.

      Gus Venable was tying up the loose ends.

      “If the court please, I would like to call Alma Rogers to the witness stand.”

      When his witness was sworn in, Venable said, “Mrs. Rogers, what is your occupation?”

      “It’s Miss Rogers.”

      “I do beg your pardon.”

      “I work at the Corniche Travel Agency.”

      “Your agency books tours to various countries and makes hotel reservations and handles other accommodations for your clients?”

      “Yes, sir.”

      “I want you to take a look at the defendant. Have you ever seen her before?”

      “Oh, yes. She came into our travel agency two or three years ago.”

      “And what did she want?”

      “She said she was interested in a trip to London and Paris and, I believe, Venice.”

      “Did she ask about package tours?”

      “Oh, no. She said she wanted everything first class—plane, hotel. And I believe she was interested in chartering a yacht.”

      The courtroom was hushed. Gus Venable walked over to the prosecutor’s table and held up some folders. “The police found these brochures in Dr. Taylor’s apartment. These are travel itineraries to Paris and London and Venice, brochures for expensive hotels and airlines, and one listing the cost of chartering a private yacht.”

      There was a loud murmur from the courtroom.

      The prosecutor had opened one of the brochures.

      “Here are some of the yachts listed for charter,” he read aloud. “The Christina O … twenty-six thousand dollars a week plus ship’s expenses … the Resolute Time, twenty-four thousand five hundred dollars a week … the Lucky Dream, twenty-seven thousand three hundred dollars a week.“ He looked up. ”There’s a check mark after the Lucky Dream. Paige Taylor had already selected the twenty-seven-thousand-three-hundred-a-week yacht. She just hadn’t selected her victim yet.

      “We’d like to have these marked Exhibit A.” Venable turned to Alan Penn and smiled. Alan Penn looked at Paige. She was staring down at the table, her face pale. “Your witness.”

      Penn rose to his feet, stalling, thinking fast.

      “How is the travel business these days, Miss Rogers?”

      “I beg your pardon?”

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