Part Ninety-Four
As Jo, George and Kay emerged from court, Jo's anger boiled over. "You owe me about a hundred explanations," Jo hissed at George. "Right now." "And I'll give you plenty of explanations when we're somewhere not quite so public," George threw back, talking out of the side of her m know, you tell me," Jo retorted. Forcefully dragging Jo out of the stream of people on their way out of court, George said, "Do you want Brian Cantwell to think he's won?" "No, of course not," Jo replied, not immediately understanding George's point. "Then shut up, and wait until we're somewhere a little more private before you really unleash your anger. All right?" "Fine," Jo agreed curtly. "But this is not over, not by any means." Turning back to where Kay was watching them, George said, "His Lordship wishes to sDo you want Brian Cantwell to think he's won?" "No, of course not," Jo replied, not immediately understanding George's point. "Then shut up, and wait until we're somewhere a little more private before you really unleash your anger. All right?" "Fine," Jo agreed curtly. "But this is not over, not by any means." Turning back to where Kay was watching them, George said, "His Lordship wishes to see you in chambers, doesn't he." "Probably to ask for the same explanations Jo wants from you," Kay told her. "I'll take you up there then."
As they moved towards the stairs and began to climb them, George added, "Jo and I will almost certainly be arguing in my car, as it's pouring with rain and I definitely need a cigarette before trying to sort this one out." "George, I'm sorry if this has caused any undue friction," Kay said quietly, not forgetting that Jo and George were very much more than just colleagues. "It had to happen at some point during this trial," George said philosophically. "I'm just surprised it's taken this long." When they reached the door of John's chambers, George knocked. When he bade them to enter, George opened the door and held it for Kay to pass her. "Dr. Scarpetta, My Lord," George drawled, sounding thoroughly uninterested. "Are you staying?" John asked her as Kay moved into the room. "Not unless my presence is required, My Lord, no, though I will take this opportunity to inform My Lord, that if there is any hint of improper conduct towards my witness, My Lord will be for the high jump. Is that understood?" "Perfectly, Ms Channing," John replied, as George backed out and closed the door.
When George had gone, John asked, "Would you like a cup of tea?" "Thank you," Kay replied, sitting down in one of the armchairs. Her eyes briefly strayed to the sofa, where she assumed that George had seen John and Connie together. After handing her the cup, John took a seat opposite her. "I confess to finding you something of an enigma," He began carefully. "You aren't the first to say so," Kay told him with a guarded smile. "What made you want to work for law enforcement?" He asked, thinking this to be the crux of the whole matter. "I didn't do it to end up killing people," Kay told him firmly. "But as you heard in court, on three occasions it was either my life or theirs." "That's not something I can easily imagine," John admitted, feeling that even though he had been practicing law for many years, this woman's experience of real life far outweighed his own. "I'm not sure what it is you want to know," Kay replied, briefly wondering why it was that she always had to provide explanations for actions that had been precipitated by some of the most violent people imaginable. "Tell me about Temple Gault," John said quietly, wondering if he really did have the right to ask her such a thing. "Gault was on the FBI's 'Ten Most Wanted' list, for killing several people, possibly more than we ever knew of. He was blonde-haired, blue-eyed, classically beautiful in some respects. His partner in crime, Carrie Grethin, got herself a job at the FBI's Engineering Research Facility, where she seduced my niece, Lucy. A few months later, in early January, we caught up with the pair of them in New York. Carrie was apprehended in the Bowery, and I caught up with Gault in the subway tunnel. When I reached him, he was holding Lucy hostage, with one of my own scalpels that he'd stolen from my office held to her throat." She took a sip of her tea, this story almost making her throat go dry. "Do you mind if I smoke?" She asked him, wanting the cigarette to buy her some time as well as for its calming influence. "It isn't usually permitted inside this building," John told her, seeing her inner distress. "But do feel free to open the window." As she walked across the room and pushed up the sash, Kay found herself to be relieved at no longer having to look at him. When she'd lit a cigarette and taken a long drag, she continued. "I did a deal with him, because I knew that Lucy wasn't really what he wanted. So, Lucy got away, and I was left with Gault. I can't entirely remember what happened next, except that I ended up with the scalpel, and I stabbed him in the thigh. He was stood there, bleeding to death in front of me, begging me to help him. It was odd, but in that moment, he didn't look like a killer any more, just another human being who didn't want to die. I think I pushed him under an oncoming train, because I quite literally didn't know what else to do. It's probably the one violent act that has haunted me intermittently ever since. Other things that I've seen and done creep into my dreams every so often, but not nearly as much as that does. So, I do my job to the best of my ability, so that others can be given the type of answers that I have never been able to find for myself. I expect that sounds a lot more trite than it's meant to be." "No, not at all," John replied, his interest in this woman only partly quenched. "How much of this did George know before today?" "When she first engaged my services back in October, I told her to go and look up as much of my press as she could find, before deciding whether or not she, they, wanted me to testify, which they did. If you want the full story, ask her to show you what she found. It'll keep even you entertained for hours." John laughed. "Why even me?" "A slip of the tongue," Kay responded with a completely straight face, blowing more smoke out of the window. "How much has George told you about me?" He asked. "Probably too much," Kay said a little coolly. "I sense a mental if not a verbal rebuke behind those deep blue eyes," John said thoughtfully. After taking the last drag from her cigarette and flicking the end out of the window, Kay walked back over to her chair. Once seated, she said, "I don't like what you did to her, Judge." "Ah," Was all John could say. He might have known this would happen. "I do appreciate that it is absolutely none of my business," Kay continued. "But you didn't see how hurt she was. She tried to hide it, but not with very much success." "I'm not exactly proud of it," John said quietly. "And none of us are perfect," Kay told him matter-of-factly, thinking of the years she'd spent helping Benton to cheat on his wife, funnily enough also called Connie. "Do you think she'll talk to me?" He asked, the note George had left on his computer still haunting him. "I don't know," Kay replied quietly, thinking of just how much George was keeping from him. "But that wasn't why you got me up here, was it," She added, wanting to get back to the matter in hand. "I'm not used to having any kind of gun in my courtroom," John said firmly. "Whatever the reason." "Believe me, I wouldn't have brought it with me if I hadn't thought it necessary," Kay told him. "The case I am in the middle of back home is directly aimed at me. Several women have been killed, all of whom look as much like me as possible, and all of whom are killed in places that I have recently left. The last that I know of was killed in the vicinity of JFK Airport, which was where I flew from to come over here. It was deemed prudent for me to be armed over here, as we don't yet know to what lengths this killer will go to in order to perpetrate his crimes. He is clearly aiming to eventually kill me, and is currently making do with any woman of similar appearance. That is why I carry my gun with me in any public setting. Quite how the prosecuting counsel found out about it, is something I would very much like to know." "Thank you for telling me," John said earnestly. "What you are doing is perfectly understandable, though I wish I had been informed beforehand."
When Jo and George got into George's car, they immediately lit up cigarettes. The wind and rain were buffeting against the windscreen, seeming to illustrate both their moods. "Go on," Jo began. "I'm listening." "Kay brought her gun over here, and is carrying it virtually everywhere, because of the case she is involved in back in America," George explained, filling in the details as best she knew how. "I didn't know she'd brought it with her, until I took her a cup of tea on the first morning she was here. There it was, staring up at me from the bedside table. It was quite a shock, I can tell you." "I'll bet," Jo said ruefully. "Quite how Brian found out about it is anyone's guess," George said bitterly. "I might see if Daddy can do a bit of digging." "You should have told me," Jo said a little coldly. "What happened, didn't you trust me or something?" "Don't be ridiculous," George replied testily. "It had nothing to do with trust. Well, perhaps Kay's trust, I'll give you that. This was her story to tell, Jo, not mine. If I'd thought for one moment that it would come out in court, then of course I would have told you." "George, just because you are used to routinely suppressing important evidence, all in the name of rich, corrupt clients, does not mean I automatically do the same." "Shall I take that as a complement?" George goaded her, now really riled. "Because you're really beginning to make me wonder why you accepted my help on this case in the first place." "I didn't have a lot of choice, if I remember rightly," Jo threw back. "You know you did," George said bitterly. "If you really hadn't wanted me to be involved, then you could quite easily have said so. But you didn't, did you." "George, you can't keep important things like the mere presence of a firearm from me, if we're going to work together," Jo insisted, not wanting to look at George's previous statement too closely. "Jo, do you want me to continue working on this case, or don't you?" George demanded, now wanting nothing more than a straight answer. As she said this, the back doors of the car were unceremoniously opened, and Karen and Yvonne slid into the backseat. "Have you two stopped bickering yet?" Yvonne asked curtly, receiving a throbbing silence in return. "I'll take that as a no," She continued. "I was just asking Jo whether or not she still wanted my assistance with this case," George told them unfairly. "And I haven't yet received an answer." "I'm the one paying the fees here," Yvonne said firmly. "Not Jo. I'm paying both of you to get Barbara found not guilty, and I am not paying you to fight over something quite so bloody stupid!" "Oh, and carrying a gun into a courtroom isn't stupid?" Demanded Jo. "Not if it's absolutely necessary, no, it's not," Yvonne told her succinctly. "And someone like Kay isn't going to do that without a bloody good reason." "And do you have any thoughts on this, Karen?" Jo demanded tartly. "Oh, leave me out of it," Karen said without a flicker. "It's not my fight." "It isn't going to be anyone's fight," Yvonne said firmly. "Yes, George should have told Jo about Kay's gun, and Jo, you need to calm down about something that really isn't a problem. So, quieten down, and kiss and make up, the pair of you." There was silence in the car, apart from the patter of rain on the windows. As she was the one who had something to apologise for, George leaned over and planted a gentle kiss on Jo's lips. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you," She said quietly. "I know," Jo said softly, briefly kissing her back. "That's better," Yvonne said cheerfully. "Now, why don't we all go for a well-deserved drink?" "I've got to wait for Kay," George said, "but we could join you as soon as she appears." ""Good," Yvonne said as she opened the car door. "We'll be in that bar where we used to go during Lauren's trial."
When Kay had left, John strolled thoughtfully along to Monty's chambers. "Ah, John, I wondered what had become of you," Monty said when he appeared. "Would a large scotch be somewhat appreciated?" "Definitely," John said with a mental stretch. "Today has certainly been one of those days, hasn't it?" "John, I am coming to the conclusion that every day of your trials is like that," Monty said with a rueful smile. "I've just had a very interesting conversation with Kay Scarpetta," John told him, after taking a grateful sip of the scotch. "And I promise you, she really does have a very good reason for carrying a gun with her at all times, though I am loathed to admit that it is necessary in my own courtroom." As he filled in the details for Monty's benefit, Monty's eyebrows rose. "It sounds as though she's an extremely capable girl," He said in awe when John had finished. "I think they have to be in a job like hers," John said thoughtfully. "It's not a life I would want to lead." "You do lead it in a manner every day of your working life," Monty told him. "We all do. Granted, we aren't usually in the same sort of danger that one of her calibre may be, but we are still fighting the battles that need to be fought, or at least overseeing them."
After a thoughtful silence, Monty said, "John, there is a matter that I would like to discuss with you, that isn't directly trial related. Well, partly it is, but not entirely." "You're talking in riddles, Monty," John said with a smile. "Connie Beauchamp," Monty said simply, watching the blank, shuttered expression on John's face. "What about her?" John asked guardedly. "George's voice does carry, John," Monty informed him. "Especially at the time of day when this place is pretty quiet. She was absolutely right, you know. If you and Connie Beauchamp had been discovered by Ian Rochester, you'd have no doubt been packed off to Warwick again." "Are you going to report me?" John asked, seeing that it would be pointless to deny what he'd done with Connie last Tuesday. "No, I'm not, but I had hoped that you might have learnt your lesson after last time." "Vivian Hurst wasn't a patch on Connie Beauchamp," John said thoughtfully. "Though I shouldn't say it." "Why do you do it, John?" "That's rich, Monty," John said with a laugh. "Perhaps," Monty agreed amicably. "But I sometimes think that you are the one who more rightly deserves the name that I am aware is often accorded to me." "I didn't get a court reporter pregnant," John said quietly. "Only through sheer luck," Monty threw back disgustedly. "John, not only do you have one beautiful woman who loves you, something for which many men would give their right arm for, but you have two, two women who would give almost anything to keep you happy, to say nothing of their feelings for each other." "How on earth do you know about that?" John asked, utterly stunned. "You should see the way you all look at each other sometimes," Monty said almost wistfully. "Something you really ought not to throw away for the likes of the most enticing prosecution witness I've seen in a long time. They don't deserve it, John, and it's about time you realised what you've got."