COURTROOM OF REBECCA STEIN

TRIAL PROCEEDING 73

JUNE 20

He was a charming man on the stand, quietly confident and mellow in his tone. If Claire had not known the truth about the monster lurking beneath the veil of concern, she might have thought him pleasant. Robert Hilton had perfected his nature to such a degree that it was like making love to the jury. The gruesome details of the crime were slowly eroding beneath his languid tones and frequently flirtatious glances. However much Claire seemed concern, it was apparent that her companion was unaffected. She had never seen Jack quite so content in his assurances. He had entered the courtroom that morning in good humor, and now sat back in his chair, observing with an expression somewhere between amusement and intensity.

"Nothing further," Prescott said, and resumed his seat.

Jack sat for a moment, gazing across the courtroom at the attractive individual on the stand. "Mr. Hilton," he said, "did you love your wife?"

Having anticipated something more antagonistic, the man was taken aback. "Yes," he replied.

Rising to his feet and circling the desk, Jack further pressed, "How much did you love her?" His height allowed him to tower over the witness box, and he halted several paces from it, allowing the defendant to respond, "Very much."

Maintaining eye contact with the defendant, whom he knew was attempting to discern where this unique approach might lead, Jack shrugged. His voice was neither aggressive nor accusing as he inquired, "Then perhaps you would care to explain to the court why, when she went missing from your home in Chicago eight years ago, you never bothered to file a missing persons report with the police."

The people of the jury looked from the prosecutor to the defendant with curiosity. Seated in the background, Claire was beginning to understand. Somehow, miraculously, McCoy had brought his emotions under such control that he appreciated the best approach to this soft-spoken man would be to ensnare him through the concept he had been pressing throughout his testimony, one of ultimate love and devotion to a misguided, artistic young wife. Hilton hesitated, not long enough for it to be significant, but Jack knew he had the upper hand.

"I didn't believe it would be necessary," he replied quietly.

"Then your wife was accustomed to leaving for long periods of time without telling you of her whereabouts."

"No. But Anna had told me she was unhappy with our marriage. She left me a note asking me not to attempt to contact her. I was merely abiding by her wishes."

"But you loved her."

Mild aggravation surfaced. "Yes," he repeated.

Jack lifted his shoulders, maintaining utter calm. "You loved her, but respected her wishes and did not attempt to involve the police after it was apparent that she had no intention of coming back. That hardly seems like the logical actions of a man in love. Or were you afraid to involve the police because of the story she might tell them?"

"She would have had nothing to tell them, Mr. McCoy."

Resting his hand on the edge of the witness box, Jack said, "Because nothing happened, or because you were determined she would never tell anyone what you did to her?" His brows lifted and he saw a shadow of irritation pass through the man's eyes. He knew he was starting to dig beneath Hilton's skin, that the façade of concern was simply a mask to conceal his true nature. If he could prompt him to a response that broke the composure, it would be the difference between reasonable doubt and a conviction.

"Because nothing happened." This was directed at the jury, who met his gaze with a mixture of various expressions. Prescott had done nothing throughout but lean back in his chair, but now he shifted slightly forward. Claire could feel his tension despite the space between them, sensing that he too believed his client might snap in the courtroom. It was something no attorney wanted, the risk of putting a guilty man on the stand, but he had relied on charm and good humor to get them through, not counting on the equally daunting qualities of the prosecution's tactics.

"Your wife had no reason to fear you, Mr. Hilton?" Jack turned away from him, barely pausing to hear the resounding but weary No's the defendant sent after him. "You never struck or threatened her? You never attempted to intimidate or silence her? What about the report she filed with the police when they were called to your home on a domestic dispute?"

"That was a mistake," her husband replied tiredly. "Anna was angry with me. She dropped the charges."

Jack took up a file from the edge of his desk. He did not meet his assistant's gaze. He never did when on trial. "The medical examiner testified to long term physical abuse. How do you explain that?"

"I only knew Anna for three years. She told me nothing about her childhood."

The amusement was back, causing the corners of his eyes to wrinkle as he proposed lightly, "I know all about her childhood, and there were no indications of abuse."

Prescott launched to his feet. "Objection, facts not in evidence!"

"Sustained."

Closing the folder and dropping it onto the desk, Jack turned back to the witness. He sensed the jurors were wavering in their opinion of him, weighing the evidence against the reasonable man seated before them. "Mr. Hilton," he said, "why did you come to New York?"

"For a business meeting."

"It wasn't because you had just been informed that your missing wife, the one you claim to have loved so dearly, had been living and working here for the past two years?"

"I had no knowledge that Anna was here."

"And yet we have testimony from an eyewitness that saw you enter her building several hours before the murder."

Hilton shrugged. "Your witness was mistaken. I was nowhere near her apartment building."

Claire shifted her gaze to McCoy, standing near the jury box. She could tell from his movements that he was no longer controlling all of his emotions. He was chAnnaling them, powerfully, into the line of assault-driven questions that he began to fire at the witness. "You came to New York to kill her, to make her pay for the humiliation of her having left you, didn't you, Mr. Hilton?"

"No!"

"You were infuriated with her, that she spent eight years eluding you!"

Prescott was once again on his feet. "Objection!" he cried, but the prosecutor didn't wait for a ruling. "That not even the finest private investigators you hired could find her!" Jack insisted. Prescott renewed his objection, and the judge started to intervene, but McCoy was beyond listening. "You learned she was here, and decided to teach her a lesson, so you broke into her apartment, waited until she returned that evening, and strangled her with a piano wire—didn't you?"

"No!" shouted Hilton, his face reddening with the effort "If I had wanted to find my wife, I could have found her!"

"Why?" the prosecutor demanded.

"Because Anna was trailer trash! She didn't have the intelligence to outsmart me!"

Jack lifted his daunting eyebrows. "She had enough intelligence to get a scholarship abroad," he said. "Is that why you were so furious with her? Because she outwitted you in every possible way, that she lead you on for eight years before you found out where she was? Is that why you slipped into her apartment that night and strangled her? You nearly took her head off, Mr. Hilton. Was that really necessary?"

For a moment, Hilton only glared at him. Then the utter control he maintained over his emotions set in and common sense compelled him to calm down. His features underwent such a remarkable transformation that even Jack was impressed, as the rage was replaced with indifference. "My wife had nothing to fear from me, Mr. McCoy," he said. "I did not come to New York with the intention of killing her. I did not even know she was here. I would never have hurt her. I never did hurt her, or anyone."

Jack looked at him. Then his gaze shifted to the judge and he said, "I have no more questions for this witness." He returned to his chair and dropped into it.