Douglas Kennedy - A Special Relationship

'And why has this witness been called at the last minute?'

'Because he's resident in the United States - in Boston, to be specific about it' -

I turned around and looked at Sandy, wondering if she had any idea whom they were planning to call. She shook her head, looking as nervous as I now felt.

' - and we were only able to obtain his statement the day before yesterday and fly him in last night. We apologize to the court for the lateness of his arrival. But he is crucial to our case and' -

'May I see his statement, please?' the judge asked, cutting her off. 'And please give a copy as well to Ms Doherty'.

She handed the statement to Traynor and to Maeve. My barrister scanned the document and didn't look pleased. In fact, she noticeably stiffened. The Judge looked up from his copy of the statement and asked, 'And is Mr...' He peered down at the document again. '... Mr Grant Ogilvy here now?'

Grant Ogilvy. The name rang a distant bell somewhere.

'Yes, My Lord', Lucinda Fforde said. 'He can testify immediately'.

'Well, what say you, Ms Doherty? You can raise all sorts of objections to this, should you wish to... and I would be obliged to back you up'.

I watched Maeve - and could see her thinking fast. She said, 'My Lord, with your permission, I'd like a five-minute consultation with my client before I make a decision'.

'Five minutes is fine, Ms Doherty. Court will stand in recess'.

Maeve motioned for me and Nigel to follow her outside. She found a bench. We grouped around it. She spoke in a low voice.

'Did you ever see a therapist named Grant Ogilvy?' she asked.

I put my hand to my mouth. Hint? They found him?

I suddenly felt ill. Now I was certain to lose Jack.

'Ms Goodchild', Nigel said, his voice filled with anxious concern, 'are you all right?'

I shook my head and sat down on the bench.

'Can I read what he told them?' I asked.

'Read it fast', Maeve said, 'because we need to make a decision in about four minutes'.

I read the statement. It was what I expected. Then I handed it to Nigel. He lifted his glasses and glanced right through it.

'Uhm... isn't there some sort of patient/doctor confidentiality agreement about this sort of thing?' he asked.

'Yes, there is', Maeve said, 'except when - as in this case - there is a child protection issue. Then the cloak of confidentiality can be breached. But I'm sure we could challenge it, and hold things up for weeks, and incite Traynor's ire in the process. And the other thing is: from what I've read here, this all happened so damn long ago that I can't imagine Traynor will consider it substantive evidence against your character. You look sceptical, Nigel'.

'In... uhm... all honesty, it is a risk. And I'm sorry to say this, Ms Goodchild, but it could call into question aspects about your character. Even though, personally speaking, I don't find that it changes my perception of you whatsoever'.

'The problem here', Maeve said, 'is that tomorrow, we want to spring two surprise witnesses on them - which I always thought was going to be a tricky manoeuvre, but which Traynor will more readily allow if we've already accepted their surprise witness. It is a gamble - but one which I think is worth taking, as our witnesses will have far more bearing on the case than theirs will have. But, ultimately, it has to be your decision, Sally. And, I'm afraid, you need to make it right now'.

I took a deep breath. I exhaled. I said, 'All right. Let him testify...'

'Good decision', Maeve said. 'Now you have exactly three minutes to tell me everything I need to know about what happened back then'.

When we returned to the courtroom, Maeve explained our position to Mr Justice Traynor.

'In the interests of expediting the hearing, and not causing any further delays, we will accept this last-minute witness'.

'Very well', Traynor said. 'Please call Mr Ogilvy'.

As he walked in, I thought: fifteen years on and he still looks almost the same. He was in his mid-fifties now. A little heavier around the middle, somewhat greyer, but still wearing that same sort of tan gabardine suit that he was sporting in 1982. The same blue Oxford button-down shirt and striped tie. The same horn-rimmed glasses and brown penny-slot loafers. He kept his line of vision aloft as he walked to the witness stand, so as not to see me. But once he was on the stand, I stared directly at him. He turned away and focused his attention on Lucinda Fforde.

'Now Mr Ogilvy - to confirm your statement, you have been a practising psychotherapist in the Boston area for the past twenty-five years'.

'That's right'.

'And after the death of her parents in a car accident in 1988, Ms Goodchild was referred to you as a patient?'

He confirmed this fact.

'Well then, could you also please confirm what Ms Goodchild told you in the course of one of her sessions'.

For the next ten minutes, he did just that - recounting the story in just about the same way that I recounted it to Julia. He didn't try to embellish or exaggerate anything. What he said was a reasonable, accurate rendering of what I told him. But - as my eyes bore into him - all I could think was: you haven't just betrayed me, you have also betrayed yourself.

When he finished, Lucinda Fforde looked at me and said, 'So, put rather baldly, Ms Goodchild gave her father the drink that sent him over the limit and caused him to crash the car' -

'I thoroughly object to this line of questioning, My Lord', Maeve said, genuinely angry. 'Counsel isn't simply surmising, she is also writing fiction'.

'I concur. Please rephrase, Miss Fforde'.

'With pleasure, My Lord. Though Mr Goodchild informed his daughter that he was over the limit, she still gave him the glass of wine. Is that correct?'

'Yes, that's correct'.

'And later that night, he crashed his car into another vehicle, killing himself, his wife, a young woman in her thirties, and her fourteen-month-old son?'

'Yes, that's correct'.

'And did Ms Goodchild share this information with anyone else but you?'

'Not to my knowledge'.

'Not with her one sibling, her sister?'

'Unless she did so in the last two decades, no. Because, at the time, one of the central themes of her conversations with me was the fact that she couldn't confess this fact to her sister. She couldn't confess it to anyone'.

Suddenly, I heard a long choked sob behind me. Then Sandy stood and ran out the back door of the court. As soon as she was outside, her crying reverberated in the hallway outside. I started to stand up, but Nigel Clapp did something very un-Nigel Clapp. He grabbed my arm and caught me before I could give pursuit, whispering quickly, 'You mustn't leave'.

Back up front, Lucinda Fforde continued on.

'What therapeutic advice did you give Ms Goodchild at the time, sir?'

'I told her she would be better off making a clean breast of things with her sister'.

Lucinda Fforde turned towards the back of the courtroom. 'Wasn't that Ms Goodchild's sister leaving the court just now?'

Then, after the requisite dramatic pause, she said, 'No further questions, My Lord'.

Maeve Doherty stood up and simply stared at Grant Ogilvy. She held this glare for a good thirty seconds. He tried to meet her contemptuous gaze, but eventually turned away. Mr Justice Traynor cleared his throat.

'You won't be kept here much longer, Mr Ogilvy', Maeve said. 'Because I really don't want to spend much time talking to you'.

She too paused for effect before commencing her cross-examination.

'How old was Ms Goodchild when she saw you as a patient?'

'Twenty-one'.

'How old was her father when he died?'

'Around fifty, I think'.

'Ms Goodchild handed him a drink at that party, yes?'

'Yes'.

'He refused'.