Frank De Felitta - Audrey Rose

The defense attorney selected this crucial moment to relieve his parched throat and cruelly lingered over each step of pouring, measuring, and sipping the water.

“And that event, ladies and gentlemen, occurred on the very first night Elliot Hoover visited the Templeton family, at their invitation by the way, at which time, as if God in heaven had heard his appeal, a miracle took place. Yes, a miracle. For that night, for the first time in ten years, Elliot Hoover heard the voice of his daughter, Audrey Rose, cry out to him in desperate appeal, ‘Daddy, Daddy, help me, help me!’

“Now let me make myself perfectly clear. I’m not talking about a voice that came to him out of his own anguish, an imagined voice, a voice in his head, disembodied, oh, no! It was a voice that was heard by all present, a real, honest-to-God voice that belonged to the one person who had the right to transmit Audrey Rose’s appeal to her father—the Templetons’ own daughter, Ivy!”

There was a noticeable stirring in the courtroom as throats were cleared and looks exchanged. A kind of nervous questioning in the faces of press, jury, and spectators alike, as if seeking corroboration to credit what they were hearing. Janice saw Scott Velie bestir himself and thought he might be preparing to object, but noting the disbelief on the jurors’ faces, he apparently decided not to do so. A smug smile appeared on his face, instead, which, if Janice read it correctly, seemed to say, “Go on, buster, you’re doing fine.”

“Yes, ladies and gentlemen,” Mack continued doggedly, “Ivy Templeton, who, caught in the grip of a terrible nightmare and in the presence of four witnesses, cried out to Elliot Hoover. And her cry was the cry of a soul in torment, the soul of Audrey Rose, who, seared by the flames of the fire that had consumed her, was unable to find rest, to find surcease from that devastating horror until … until, ladies and gentlemen, that man, Elliot Hoover, her father, went to her and through his very presence and fatherly love was finally able to soothe her restless spirit and allay her terrors.”

The attorney turned to the jury and shook his head in quick negative jerks.

“No, I will not go into greater detail at this time. But understand, there is a great deal you need to know. And before this trial is over, you shall know it all, I promise you.” His eyes shifted toward Scott Velie. “A prima facie case on kidnapping in the first degree against the defendant has been somewhat sparingly suggested by the learned prosecutor. Before this trial is over, we shall present evidence to refute that charge in its entirety. We will show that Elliot Hoover, far from entering the lives of the Templetons as an interloper and villain, bent on evil and mischief, was instead their benefactor, a man of compassion and concern who alone could assuage the awful and devastating torments of their daughter, Ivy, and through her the spirit of his own daughter, Audrey Rose. We will demonstrate beyond all shadow of a doubt that Elliot Hoover did not go to visit the Templetons that fateful night for the purpose of assaulting their daughter, but to place his special and unique services at their disposal in the hope of alleviating the sufferings of a young and innocent child.”

In one abrupt motion he spun around to Janice and fixed her with a hard and accusing look.

“You will hear how, upon entering the bedroom of the apartment, he found the child bruised and bloodied and tied, yes, TIED to the bedstead like an animal. You will come to understand and fully believe why Elliot Hoover needed to take Ivy Templeton to his own apartment—not to steal or sequester her for purposes illegal or illicit, but to help her, to save her, to calm her, to wash her wounds, to treat and care for her pained and injured body and to pacify and ease her restless and tormented soul: the soul of Audrey Rose.”

Calmly and with assurance, he turned to the jury.

They were listening. They were hanging onto his last word, waiting for his next. Sure, there was doubt, disbelief on the faces of Three and Ten. Number Four, Potash, was grinning. But Mrs. Carbone was listening. And Harrison and Fitzgerald and Hall. They were hearing. They were hooked. Nice going for ten minutes’ work.

“I’m certain you will all keep an open mind to the testimony of the expert witnesses I will bring into this courtroom to establish a firm basis for our contention that Elliot Hoover had a perfect right—a ward’s right—to take that child from an atmosphere fraught with violence and peril and remove her to a place of peace and safety. I am equally certain that when the testimony is completed, you will render a verdict—a just and honorable verdict—that will clear Elliot Hoover of any taint of guilt in regard to the false and misleading charges brought against him by the State of New York.”

Then, turning to the bench, Brice Mack effected a slight bow and said, “Thank you, Your Honor.”

Judge Langley quickly banged his gavel.

“This court will stand in recess until nine o’clock tomorrow morning.”

Even after the judge’s departure, the entire courtroom remained silent as time hung suspended for seconds until reality took over. Then the silence was rent as a sudden hailstorm of voices deluged the room with a huge, formless wave of sound.

As Janice rose and joined the exodus, she noted the smiles on the jurors’ faces as they filed out of their box and were taken back to the jury room. There was no sign of the judge, but Scott Velie had remained behind and was chatting and laughing with a reporter. Spotting Janice, Velie winked and smiled at her encouragingly.

Elliot Hoover and Brice Mack were standing, hands clasped, smiling amiably while the guard stood by, wearing a small grin as he waited to take the prisoner back to his cell. Smiles and laughter seemed to dominate the moment, forcing Janice into a well of merriment.

The case of the People v. Elliot Hoover had got off to a gay and happy start.

There were messages at the desk, mainly for Bill and mainly from his office; his secretary twice, Don Goetz four times, Mr. Simmons once, and two from a reporter named Hazard from AP. There was a message for Janice from Carole: “Would they care to join them for dinner that night, veal birds and fettuccini casa linga? PLEASE!!” Janice would not at all have minded but knew that Bill would say no. She would call Carole later and thank her.

Bill thrust aside the messages and put through a call to Mount Carmel.

Janice hung up their coats, then went upstairs and picked up the extension in time to hear, “And please don’t worry, Mr. Templeton, all the sisters and the teachers have been alerted to safeguard your child’s privacy and tranquillity. You can depend on us.”

“Thank you, Mother Veronica,” Bill said huskily, then made several fatherly inquiries about Ivy’s schoolwork, deportment, and state of health.

“She’s a lovely child,” the mother enthused, “and a very good student; alert, bright, and well liked by the other girls. She’s at dinner now. Suppose I have her call you after evening prayers?”

“I’d be grateful, Mother.”

The omelette à fines herbes sec which she whipped together with dried parsley and basil flakes was a disaster since there was neither butter nor oil in the house. The final result, poached in a bit of water, was limpid, mealy, and inedible.

Before Ivy’s call came through at seven fifteen, they’d received two other calls, both for Bill. Don Goetz’s call came first, a few minutes after they had given up on the omelet.

“Hey, guy, you’re famous,” Don chortled. His voice held a note of mild shock and hilarity. “You made page six of the Post .”

“Yeah, I know,” Bill lied with a matching laugh. “Crazy, isn’t it?”