Jodie Picoult - Salem Falls

“No.”

Matt advanced on the witness. “You said that the drug stays in the bloodstream only a few hours, is that correct?”

Chu nodded. “Yes.”

“And when was the sample you examined drawn?”

“At approximately two A.M.,” the toxicologist said.

“Ms. Duncan arrived at the woods with her friends at approximately eleven P.M. that night. Do you have any way of knowing whether Ms. Duncan took the drug before she went to the woods that night?”

“No . . . but based on the levels in her blood at one-thirty A.M., if that was the case, she’d be dead now.”

“Still, given that two- to six-hour time frame, the drug could have been taken after the rape, isn’t that right?”

“I guess so.”

“And that would affect your calculation of the dosage amount, right?”

“Yes.”

Matt nodded. “You don’t know who provided the atropine that evening, do you?”

“No.”

“Isn’t it possible that Mr. St. Bride arrived in the woods and suggested they take it?”

“It’s possible.”

Matt crossed to the jury box. “Can you smell atropine, if it’s placed in a drink?”

“Usually not.”

“Can you taste it?” he asked.

“No.”

“So if Mr. St. Bride handed Ms. Duncan an open soda can with this drug already mixed into the beverage, she might drink it and not even know she was ingesting an illegal substance?”

“I suppose.”

Matt nodded thoughtfully. “Dr. Chu, have you ever heard of Rohypnol?”

“Yes.”

“Can you explain what it is, for those of us who don’t know?”

“It’s called the date-rape drug,” Chu explained. “In recent years, there have been cases where men slip the substance into a woman’s drink, render her unconscious, and then proceed to sexually assault her.”

“Why is Rohypnol so frighteningly effective?”

“Because it’s odorless, tasteless. The victim usually doesn’t even realize she’s ingested it, until it’s too late. And it doesn’t show up on a routine hospital tox screen.”

“Aren’t every single one of those properties something that could be said about atropine?”

“As a matter of fact,” Chu said. “Yes.”

Fighting the Haldol she’d been prescribed was a losing battle. The moment her eyes closed, Meg was back there: The woods were swimming, as if they’d all been dunked underwater, and bright pink flashes of light kept spinning at her like creatures from a video game. Meg’s head felt light as a balloon, and every time she opened her mouth, the stupidest sounds came out . . . not words or her voice at all.

“Come, come,” Gilly was saying, waving them over to congratulate the happy couple. Whitney staggered over, but Chelsea was too busy plucking the stars from thin air. “Meggie, you, too,” Gilly ordered, and Meg’s own traitor legs carried her there.

Matt Houlihan had blown a cannon right through the best argument Jack’s lawyer had offered so far. Addie couldn’t get past that, and as a result, her hand was shaking so badly by the time the coffee poured out of the little vending machine in the basement of the courthouse that she spilled it all over her skirt and the floor. “Oh,” she cried, bending down to clean up the mess before she realized she didn’t even have a napkin.

“I’ve got it.”

A pair of spit-polished black boots stepped into her field of vision. Then Wes Courtemanche knelt and began to mop up the spill with his own handkerchief.

Addie’s cheeks burned. She had no reason to be embarrassed, but there it was, all the same. “Thank you,” she said stiffly, taking the handkerchief from his hand to finish.

“Addie,” he said, and touched the back of her wrist.

It took her a few seconds to get the courage to look up. “I’m sorry,” Wes murmured. “I didn’t know it would all come to this. And . . . well, I never meant to drag you into it.”

“You didn’t, Wes. I did that all by myself.” Flustered, she fisted the handkerchief into a ball. “I’ll wash this and get it back to you.”

“No.” He plucked it from her hand. “Time was, I would have died twice over to hear you offer just that, but the truth is, Addie, you were never meant to do my wash.”

Addie took in his earnest eyes, his strong body, his steadfast loyalty. “Wes, you’re going to find a woman one day who can’t wait to mix her whites with yours.” Biting her lip, she added, “I’m sorry it wasn’t me.”

Wes shook his head, then slipped her a smile edged in regret. “Not as sorry as I am,” he said, and gently helped her to her feet.

Jack stood at the window of the small conference room. “You ever hear of a guy named Boris Yetzemeloff?” he asked Jordan.

“No.”

“Guy who raped eighteen women in the forties, in Mexico. He was convicted, sentenced to a life term. Twenty years into it, he had a heart attack and was pronounced dead for twenty minutes before paramedics resuscitated him.” Jack turned to face his attorney. “They let him go after that. Said he’d served his life sentence.”

Jordan pinched the bridge of his nose. “The only decent piece of trivia I know is that it’s against the law to cross the state boundaries of Iowa with a duck on your head.”

Jack didn’t crack a smile. “Good to know.”

“So what are you trying to tell me, Jack?” Jordan asked. “That you’ve got yourself tried and hung already, before you even get on the stand?”

“Can you honestly tell me that my testimony is going to make a difference?” Jack answered softly. “It’s not even a testimony, for God’s sake. It’s a big gaping blank.”

“I explained to you what Dr. Chu said. If you drank any of the tea that night, your memory of the evening might never come back.”

Annoyed, Jack kicked a chair out of the way. “I want it all here,” he said, holding out his hands. “Right at my fingertips. I want to remember what happened, Jordan, if only so that when I’m rotting away in prison I can pull it out every now and then and remind myself that I was innocent.”

“You’ve got a gut feeling, Jack,” Jordan sighed. “That’s going to have to be enough.”

The men fell silent, tangled in their own thoughts. Overhead, a fluorescent bulb hummed like an insect. Then Jack sat down across from his lawyer. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Do you believe I’m innocent?”

Jordan let his eyes slide away from Jack. “It has no bearing on my role as your attorney, you know, if I-”

“I asked you a question. Not as attorney and client. As one man to another.” Jack stared directly at Jordan. “Please.”

Jordan knew what Jack needed; knew that it was his responsibility as an attorney to keep his key witness calm, no matter how slender a testimony he had to offer. “Of course I believe you,” he said. “So does Selena. And Addie.” Jordan forced a smile. “See, you have all kinds of disciples.”

Just none of them, he thought, on the jury.

Dr. Flora Dubonnet had the face of a sparrow, the body of a stork, and the voice of Minnie Mouse on helium. It was all Jordan could do to keep from wincing every time she answered one of his questions, and he kept sending murderous looks toward Selena, who’d found this pediatric forensic shrink on the Internet . . . clearly not over the phone.

“Did you review some documents in this case?” Jordan asked.

The answer was a high-pitched squeal.

Jordan watched the jury cringe. Fingernails on a chalkboard, that’s what it was.

“Doctor,” Judge Justice said, “I’m very sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to speak up.” She hesitated, then added, “Very sorry.”

“I said yes,” Dr. Dubonnet repeated.

“What did you review?” Jordan asked.