James Patterson - The Beach House

"THE PEOPLE'S COURT OF MONTAUK," said Macklin in a calm and assured voice, "obliged to nothing but the truth, and having zero tolerance for bullshit, is called to order."

Then he brought down his gavel with a resounding smack.

My grandfather and I acknowledged the sweet significance of the moment by exchanging a quick glance before I called Tricia Powell to the stand. I think she understood the significance of appearing on TV, but maybe not what was about to happen to her. Once she had been sworn in, I began.

"Ms. Powell, I understand you arrived at this season's party in style."

"I guess you mean my new Mercedes."

"It's been quite a turn of events, hasn't it? One summer you're an executive assistant at Mayflower. The next you're stepping out of a forty-five-thousand-dollar sedan."

"I've had a good year," said Tricia Powell with some indignation. "In February I was promoted to director of special events."

"Forgive me for prying, but what were you making last year?".

"Thirty-nine thousand."

"And now?"

"Ninety," she said proudly.

"So, months after you lied at the inquest about seeing my brother dive out into deadly cold waves at Neubauer's party, you're promoted and your salary more than doubles. Perjury served you better than a Harvard MBA."

"Your Honor," barked Montrose.

"Sustained," said Macklin. "Knock it off, Jack."

"Excuse me. Months after you testified that you saw my brother dive into fifty-degree water in the middle of his shift parking cars, your salary increased by fifty-one thousand dollars. Is there anything other than your testimony that made you so much more valuable to your employer?"

"There is, but you wouldn't want to hear about it," said Powell. "After all, it doesn't fit in with your conspiracy theory."

"Please, Ms. Powell. Give me a chance. The court wants to hear your version of things."

"I worked fifty- and sixty-hour weeks. There was no way I was going to stay an assistant for long."

"I believe that's correct," I said, opening the manila folder I held in my hand.

"Ms. Powell, I'm showing you what has been marked People's Exhibit A." I handed her the document.

"Do you recognize it?"

"Yes."

"What do you recognize it to be?"

"That's my six-month evaluation at Mayflower Enterprises. How did you get it?" she demanded.

"That's not relevant just now," I said. "Do you recognize the signature on the bottom of the last page?" I asked, pointing to her signature.

"It's mine."

"Your Honor," I said, looking up at Mack, "at this time, the People offer People's Exhibit A in evidence."

Mack turned to Montrose. "Any objection?"

"I object to these entire proceedings," said Montrose.

"Overruled," snapped Mack. "People's Exhibit A is admitted. Go ahead, Jack."

"I'm going to skip right past the opening section that documents the days you managed to be late or sick, and read from the section titled 'Conclusion – Next Steps.' I think it should give us all a fair idea of the impression you were making on your employer before my brother died.

"Asked to rate your performance from zero to ten in attitude, effort, and overall competence, your three supervisors gave you no score higher than a six," I said. "Here is the final paragraph: 'Ms. Powell has been given a written warning. If her work doesn't improve dramatically in the next few months, she will be terminated.' "

"Well, I guess I made a dramatic improvement," said Tricia Powell.

BILL MONTROSE was out of his seat in a flash. With his shock of white hair, sturdy body, and abrupt, confident movements, Montrose looked a little like a maestro at Lincoln Center. He stood very still at the front of the room. He evoked the concentration of a conductor waiting for his orchestra to settle down.

"Ms. Powell," he asked when he emerged from his spell, "were you compensated in any way for your testimony at the inquest last summer?"

"Absolutely not," said Powell. "Not a penny."

"Were you promised anything by Barry Neubauer or anyone else acting on his behalf?"

"No."

"Was a promotion, a raise, a window office, a personal trainer, or even a new pair of shoes dangled in front of you?"

"No!" said Powell even more indignantly.

"Ms. Powell, Jack Mullen seems to be under the delusion that there's something scandalous about an ambitious and talented person coming to the attention of the CEO. There isn't. You've done nothing to feel the slightest bit apologetic about."

"Thank you."

I rose from my seat. "Does Mr. Montrose have a question?"

"I certainly do. Ms. Powell, let me ask you how it is that you came to be in this courtroom this afternoon. You're not here voluntarily?"

"Of course not," said Tricia. "None of us are."

"Could you tell us how you got here?"

"I was driving home," said Powell, "when a man sprung up from my backseat. He threatened me."

"Were you afraid?"

"Wouldn't you be? I almost drove off the road."

"Then what?"

"He directed me to a house, where I was forced into the back of a smelly milk truck with you and the Fitzhardings."

"How long were you in the truck?"

"Almost seven hours."

"And are you free to leave now?" Montrose asked.

"No."

"If Mr. Mullen will allow it, Ms. Powell, you may return to your seat."

"Thank you."

After Tricia Powell retreated, Montrose turned to face the camera. He was about to make a speech when a look of alarm swept over his face. His jaw actually dropped.

MONTROSE'S ANXIOUS EYES followed Jane Davis as she strode across the stone floor, her footsteps echoing in the room.

Jane wore black dress slacks and a black blouse, and she didn't appear nervous or afraid, as she had at the inquest. She stared at Montrose, then turned to look directly at Barry Neubauer.

To show his lack of concern, Neubauer flashed a smug smile. To show hers, Jane smiled back serenely.

"The People call Dr. Jane Davis," I announced, and she walked to where Fenton was waiting with his family's Gideon Bible. Whereas at the inquest her hands had trembled, now she seemed perfectly calm. She placed a hand on the Bible's red leatherette cover and swore "to tell the truth."

"Dr. Davis," I said as she was seated, "we appreciate the potential consequences of your testifying today. We're grateful."

"I want to be here," she said. "No one has to thank me." Then Jane leaned back and took a deep, calming breath.

"Dr. Davis," I began, "could you please review your education for the court?"

"Certainly. I graduated first in my class from East Hampton High School in 1988, and was a National Merit Scholar. I believe I was the first person in over a decade to be admitted to Harvard from East Hampton High, but I couldn't afford the tuition, so I went to SUNY Binghamton."

"Where did you receive your graduate education?"

"I attended Harvard Medical School, then did my residency at UCLA Hospital in Los Angeles."

"How are you presently employed?"

"For the past two years, I have been chief pathologist at Long Island Hospital and also the chief medical examiner for Suffolk County."

"Your Honor," I said, looking up at Mack, "the People offer Dr. Jane Davis as an expert witness in pathology and forensic medicine."

Mack turned to Montrose, who was still in a state of agitation. "I'm sure Mr. Montrose has no objection to Dr. Davis's testimony, as he called her as an expert witness before the inquest. Correct, Counselor?"

Montrose nodded distractedly and mumbled, "No objection."

"Dr. Davis," I continued, "you performed the autopsy on my brother?"

"Yes."

"Dr. Davis, before you came into the courtroom, Ms. Powell described her abduction before the start of this trial. I was hoping you could share your own experience before the inquest?"