Jodie Picoult - Salem Falls

“His right.”

“Did you use one finger?”

“I used my whole hand.” Gillian made a claw. “Like this.”

“Did you scratch him with four fingers?”

“I don’t know. I just raked my hand down his face, trying to get away. Then he grabbed my hand and slammed me down really hard.”

“You said after Mr. St. Bride raped you, you counted to a hundred, then ran after your friends. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“How did you count?”

Gillian looked up, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Well, how quickly? Was it one-two-three . . . or one-Mississippi, two-Mississippi . . .”

He shrugged. “Maybe you could count to ten for us, today, like you did that night.”

She glanced at Matt Houlihan, who shrugged imperceptibly. “One,” Gillian said slowly, “two . . . three . . .”

When she reached ten, Jordan looked up from his watch and did some quick math. “So you waited about eighty seconds before leaving the clearing?”

“I suppose.”

“Did you walk to your friends? Crawl? Tiptoe?”

“I ran. As fast as I could.”

“And it took several minutes to reach your friends?”

“Yes.”

“You’re certain about that?”

Gillian nodded. “It was about five minutes.”

Jordan pointed to the path on the oversize map that led toward the cemetery. “This is the route you took?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Do you have any idea how long a distance this path is, Ms. Duncan?”

“No.”

“It’s fifty-two yards. One hundred fifty-six feet,” Jordan said. “Can you show me where, along this path, your friends were when you caught up with them?”

She pointed to the edge of the cemetery. “Right here. Outside the woods.”

“And Detective Saxton found you, right at the spot where you stopped?”

“Yes.”

“While you and your friends were together in the woods, you had no alcohol and no drugs, is that true?”

“Yes.”

“Nothing to eat or drink for the entire hour you were there?”

“I had a snack. Cookies. That’s it.”

“Did your friends have anything to drink that night?”

“Yes,” Gilly said. “Iced tea.”

“Have you ever heard of the drug atropine?”

“Yes.”

“What do you know about it?”

“It’s something my father’s made in his lab,” Gillian said.

“Do you know how atropine is taken?”

“No.”

“Did you have any atropine that night in the woods?”

“No!” Gillian insisted.

“Are you aware that traces of atropine were found in the thermos containing the iced tea your friends had brought?”

“Yes. Mr. Houlihan told me.”

“Yet you are testifying under oath today that you didn’t have any?”

“I didn’t. I don’t do drugs.”

Jordan approached the witness stand. “Is it possible you could have been given some by accident?”

“I didn’t drink the iced tea.”

“Could the drug have been slipped into something else you drank that night?”

“No,” Gillian said firmly. “The only thing I had to drink was a soda, before I left my house. I didn’t have any of that stuff, I swear it.”

Jordan turned away from her. “You know, Ms. Duncan, you’ve told us all quite a lot about what happened that night . . . but you don’t always tell the truth, do you?”

Gillian’s brows drew together. “Yes, I do.”

“Isn’t it a fact that you have a long history of misrepresenting what really occurred? That shortly after your mother’s death, you were taken to a psychiatrist because of repeated episodes of lying to your father?”

“I was nine,” Gillian said. “And I was really confused at the time. I’m a totally different person now, and my father and I are really close. I tell him everything.”

“Everything?” Jordan repeated.

“Yes.”

“Then why didn’t you tell him where you were really going that night?”

Gillian’s cheeks colored brightly. “I . . . I . . .”

“That’s all right, Ms. Duncan,” Jordan said, sliding into place beside Jack. “We already know the answer.”

As soon as Judge Justice called for a fifteen-minute recess, Jack turned to his attorney. “I need to take a leak,” he said. He glanced nervously over his shoulder, where reporters were streaming out of the courtroom to call in information about Gillian’s testimony to the papers.

Jordan called over the deputy. “Can you take my client down to-”

“Nope,” the man said. “It’s backed up in the holding cell. Plumber’s down there now.”

Jordan grimaced. He didn’t want to take Jack out of the plastic bubble of the courtroom, where he would be a moving target for the media or anyone else who wanted a piece of him. But hell, a leak was a leak. “Come on,” he muttered. “I’ll take you.”

The moment they stepped outside, cameras exploded like a meteor shower, blinding Jordan temporarily. “No comment,” he said, dragging Jack toward the men’s room and shoving him inside. “Hey, guys, a little privacy?” he begged of the reporters, and held the door closed.

Jack stepped up to the urinal. “How do you think it’s going?”

“I think it’s early,” Jordan said.

Suddenly, a toilet flushed, and the door to one of the stalls swung open. “Mr. Duncan,” Jordan said, anxious to avoid an incident before it started.

But the man held up a hand. He stopped just inches away from Jack, who was furiously working to zip up his pants.

“They should have cut it off,” Duncan said, then walked out of the bathroom, leaving Jack to stare after him.

“Dr. Paulson, did you have occasion to treat a patient by the name of Gillian Duncan on May first?” Matt asked.

The ER doctor was comfortable on the stand. “Yes, I did.”

“At what time?”

“Approximately one-thirty A.M.”

“Did you have any medical information about her when you approached her?”

“Yes. An ER nurse had taken a history and physical. She had a BP of one twenty over eighty, and a rapid heart rate. She was alert and oriented and in no acute distress, although she was frightened. She’d come in alleging a forcible vaginal sexual assault.”

“How did you examine Gillian?”

“First I had her undress over a sheet,” Dr. Paulson said. “Then I did a basic general exam. Chest and cardiac exams were unremarkable. The abdomen was soft, nontender, and nondistended with normal bowel sounds. There was no rebound tenderness. Some significant bruising was present on the patient’s right wrist; I took pictures of these.”

Matt asked permission to approach the witness, then handed Dr. Paulson the pictures. “Do you recognize these?”

“Yes. They’re the photographs I took of the patient.”

“Do they fairly and accurately represent the bruises on Gillian Duncan that night?”

“Yes, they do.”

“I’d like to move them in as State’s Exhibits Two and Three,” Matt said. “Doctor, what other examinations did you perform that night?”

“A pelvic exam. The external genitalia were unremarkable, and there were no visible signs of forced penetration. I used a colposcope, which is basically a large magnifying glass with a light on it, to see inside the vaginal canal.”

“What did you find?”

“The vaginal vault was unremarkable, without lesions or semen. The cervix was closed and without cervical motion tenderness. The uterus was small, anteflexed and anteverted, and nontender, and the adnexa were nonpalpable and nontender. The patient didn’t report anal penetration, so the rectovaginal exam was deferred.” The doctor smiled at the jury. “It’s a lot of medical jargon, but basically, she looked normal on the inside.”