Sidney Sheldon - Nothing lasts forever

“You didn't call her and say, 'John Cronin left you one million dollars'?”

“No. I …”

“So when you told her, you were actually face-to-face with her?”

“Yes.”

“In a position to see her reaction to the news?”

“Yes.”

“And when you told her about the money, how did she react?”

“Well—she—she seemed surprised, but …” “Thank you, Mr. Pelham. That's all.”

The trial was now in its fourth week. The spectators and press had found the prosecuting attorney and defense attorney fascinating to watch. Gus Venable was dressed in white and Alan Penn in black, and the two of them had moved around the courtroom like players in a deadly, choreographed game of chess, with Paige Taylor the sacrificial pawn.

Gus Venable was tying up the loose ends.

“If the court please, I would like to call Alma Rogers to the witness stand.”

When his witness was sworn in, Venable said, “Mrs. Rogers, what is your occupation?”

“It's Miss Rogers.”

“I do beg your pardon.”

“I work at the Corniche Travel Agency.”

“Your agency books tours to various countries and makes hotel reservations and handles other accommoda-i tions for your clients?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I want you to take a look at the defendant. Have you ever seen her before?”

“Oh, yes. She came into our travel agency two or three years ago.”

“And what did she want?”

“She said she was interested in a trip to London and Paris and, I believe, Venice.”

“Did she ask about package tours?”

“Oh, no. She said she wanted everything first class— plane, hotel. And I believe she was interested in chartering a yacht.”

The courtroom was hushed. Gus Venable walked over to the prosecutor's table and held up some folders. “The police found these brochures in Dr. Taylor's apartment. These are travel itineraries to Paris and London and Venice, brochures for expensive hotels and airlines, and one listing the cost of chartering a private yacht.”

There was a loud murmur from the courtroom.

The prosecutor had opened one of the brochures.

“Here are some of the yachts listed for charter,” he read aloud. “The Christina O … twenty-six thousand dollars a week plus ship's expenses … the Resolute Time, twenty-four thousand five hundred dollars a week … the Lucky Dream, twenty-seven thousand three hundred dollars a week.” He looked up. “There's a check mark after the Lucky Dream. Paige Taylor had already selected the twenty-seven-thousand-three-hun-dred-a-week yacht. She just hadn't selected her victim yet.”

“We'd like to have these marked Exhibit A.” Venable turned to Alan Penn and smiled. Alan Penn looked at Paige. She was staring down at the table, her face pale. “Your witness.”

Penn rose to his feet, stalling, thinking fast.

“How is the travel business these days, Miss Rogers?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I asked how business was. Is Corniche a large travel agency?”

“It's quite large, yes.”

“I imagine a lot of people come in to inquire about trips.”

“Oh, yes.”

“Would you say five or six people a day?”

“Oh, no!” Her voice was indignant. “We talk to as many as fifty people a day about travel arrangements.”

“Fifty people a day?” He sounded impressed. “And the day we're talking about was two or three years ago. If you multiply fifty by nine hundred days, that's roughly forty-five thousand people.”

“I suppose so.”

“And yet, out of all those people, you remembered Dr. Taylor. Why is that?”

“Well, she and her two friends were so excited about taking a trip to Europe. I thought it was lovely. They were like schoolgirls. Oh, yes. I remember them very clearly, particularly because they didn't look like they could afford a yacht.”

“I see. I suppose everyone who comes in and asks for a brochure goes away on a trip?”

“Well, of course not. But—”

“Dr. Taylor didn't actually book a trip, did she?”

“Well, no. Not with us. She-—”

“Nor with anyone else. She merely asked to see some brochures.”

“Yes. She—”

“That's not the same as going to Paris or London, is it?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Thank you. You may step down.”

Venable turned to Judge Young. “I would like to call Dr. Benjamin Wallace to the stand. …”

“Dr. Wallace, you're in charge of administration at Embarcadero County Hospital?”

“Yes.”

“So, of course, you're familiar with Dr. Taylor and her work?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Were you surprised to learn that Dr. Taylor was indicted for murder?”

Penn was on his feet. “Objection, your honor. Dr. Wallace's answer would be irrelevant.”

“If I may explain,” interrupted Venable. “It could be very relevant if you'll just let me …”

“Well, let's see what develops,” said Judge Young. “But no nonsense, Mr. Venable.”

“Let me approach the question differently,” continued Venable. “Dr. Wallace, every physician is required to take the Hippocratic Oath, is that not so?”

“Yes.”

“And part of that oath is”—the prosecutor read from a paper in his hand—“ 'that I shall abstain from every act of mischief or corruption'?”

“Yes.”

“Was there anything Dr. Taylor did in the past that made you believe she was capable of breaking her Hippocratic Oath?”

“Objection.”

“Overruled.”

“Yes, there was.”

“Please explain what it was.”

“We had a patient who Dr. Taylor decided needed a blood transfusion. His family refused to grant permission.”

“And what happened?”

“Dr. Taylor went ahead and gave the patient the transfusion anyway.” “Is that legal?”

“Absolutely not. Not without a court order.” “And then what did Dr. Taylor do?” “She obtained the court order afterward, and changed the date on it.”

“So she performed an illegal act, and falsified the hospital records to cover it up?”

“That is correct.”

Alan Penn glanced over at Paige, furious. What the hell else has she kept from me? he wondered.

If the spectators were searching for any telltale sign of emotion on Paige Taylor's face, they were disappointed.

Cold as ice, the foreman of the jury was thinking.

Gus Venable turned to the bench. “Your honor, as you know, one of the witnesses I had hoped to call is Dr. Lawrence Barker. Unfortunately, he is still suffering from the effects of a stroke and is unable to be in this courtroom to testify. Instead I will now question some of the hospital staff who have worked with Dr. Barker.”

Penn stood up. “I object. I don't see the relevance. Dr. Barker is not here, nor is Dr. Barker on trial here. If…”

Venable interrupted. “Your honor, I assure you that my line of questioning is very relevant to the testimony we have just heard. It also has to do with the defendant's competency as a doctor.”

Judge Young said skeptically, “We'll see. This is a courtroom, not a river. I won't stand for any fishing expeditions. You may call your witnesses.”

“Thank you.”

Gus Venable turned to the bailiff. “I would like to call Dr. Matthew Peterson.”

An elegant-looking man in his sixties approached the witness box. He was sworn in, and when he took his seat, Gus Venable said, “Dr. Peterson, how long have you worked at Embarcadero County Hospital?”

“Eight years.”

“And what is your specialty?”

“I'm a cardiac surgeon.”

“And during the years you've been at Embarcadero County Hospital, did you ever have occasion to work with Dr. Lawrence Barker?”

“Oh, yes. Many times.”