What's Past Is Prologue, page 3
It takes me five minutes tops to get ready for what a client of Zack’s referred to as “a heavy-duty love sesh.” Zack needs longer, and I always find something to do to give him time to get settled. The tree had been in front of the bay window in the family room, and without it, the space was yawning. There were pine needles on the floor but I was not in a vacuuming mood. A Falconer Shreve client had sent us a glorious pink poinsettia that, over the holiday, had flourished unnoticed on the cobbler’s bench in the hall. I brought it into the family room, centred it on the window seat and was standing back assessing the effect when the doorbell rang.
Hoping against hope that the doorbell ringer was someone who needed nothing more than directions or the assurance that my soul was saved, I opened the front door. But the gods were not smiling. Libby Hogarth had come to call.
Chapter Two
She was not a beauty but Libby Hogarth had an electrifying presence that charged the energy field surrounding her. Her azure eyes were as probing as a sentry’s, and according to Zack, Libby’s rich mezzo-soprano voice had weakened the knees of opposing counsel regardless of gender for twenty-five years. That afternoon in a double-breasted cashmere coat the same shade as her eyes, Libby radiated power. She extended her hand. “You must be Joanne,” she said.
“I am,” I said. “Now, come inside. It’s miserable out there.” I helped her off with her coat. “Libby, Zack will be a few minutes. Can I get you something to drink: tea, juice, a glass of wine?”
“I’d love a cup of tea.”
“So would I. Come into the kitchen with me, and I’ll put the kettle on.” I paused. “Your ears must have been burning, Libby. Ten minutes ago, Zack and I, our son, his fiancée and Sawyer MacLeish were singing your praises. We agreed that ‘Abracadabra’ is a speech that will say what needs to be said.”
Esme had followed us down the hall. She was an eager greeter, but she also weighed one hundred and thirty pounds. Not everyone welcomed her enthusiasm.
“Libby, are you all right with dogs?”
She held out her hand, palm up to Esme. “I’m more than okay with dogs. I have an Akita.”
“Akitas are handsome,” I said. “And they’re known for their loyalty.”
“A trait to be treasured,” Libby said.
I felt a zing of connection. “Loyalty is near the top of my list of virtues too,” I said. “Libby, I’m afraid you just missed Sawyer. He left five minutes ago.”
“Actually, I’m not here to see Sawyer. I’m here to see Zack. A bizarre situation just cropped up. I need to talk it through and Zack and I have always been there for each other.”
“He’s down the hall,” I said. “I’ll get him.”
Zack was sitting up in bed, propped by pillows, bare-chested, his hands clasped behind his head. My husband is a handsome man — strong-featured with heavy brows, gold-flecked green eyes and a sensual mouth. Pushing himself in his chair seventeen hours a day has made his upper body appealingly muscular. After nine years, the sight of him still makes my loins twitch, and the twitch is mutual. When he saw me, Zack’s smile was lazily seductive.
“Ready, willing and able,” he said.
“So am I,” I said, “but Libby Hogarth is in our living room waiting to talk to you.”
Zack scowled and uttered his favourite expletive. The clothes he had been wearing were draped over a chair next to the bed. I picked up his silk boxers. “Libby says you’ve always been there for each other.”
“Criminal lawyers get in touch with each other all the time,” Zack said. “A fresh perspective is always helpful.” He cocked his head. “Hey, are you jealous?”
“No. You’re always there for me too.” I twirled his underwear on my forefinger. “And I’m the one who gets to play with your boxers.”
My comment had been lighthearted and Zack had been appreciative, but as I started down the hall, I felt a twinge of unease. I knew that Zack and Libby Hogarth had articled with the same lawyer, but that had been years ago, and I hadn’t realized they stayed in touch. Libby’s blithe assertion that she and Zack had “always been there for each other” touched a nerve, but I was sixty-three years old, and I was the one who got to play with Zack’s boxers. It was time to call forth my better self, so I took a deep breath and returned to the kitchen. Libby was not there. The kettle had boiled, so I made the tea and went to find her.
Libby was in the living room standing in front of the painting of our cottage at Lawyers Bay that hung over the fireplace. “I could look at this forever,” she said. Her tone was wistful.
“So could I,” I said. “Our daughter painted that this winter.”
“So making art is her profession?”
“Her profession and her passion,” I said. “Taylor’s birth mother was the artist, Sally Love. When Sally died, Taylor was four years old, and I adopted her.”
Libby’s eyes remained fixed on the painting. “I read once that Picasso said Marc Chagall was the one artist who understood what colour really is. Your daughter understands that too. She makes us see everything through that shimmering blue winter light.”
“You’re an art lover,” I said.
“I’ve been studying,” Libby said. “They say that practising law sharpens the mind. That’s true, but last year I decided to stretch my mind in another direction. The Art Gallery of Ontario offers virtual classes for adults. I’ve been taking as many classes as I can fit into my schedule, and I’m loving them.”
“Zack and I have learned a great deal just by being around Taylor. When we look at art with her, whether it’s a painting of her own or a work by another artist, Taylor points out the techniques used to achieve certain effects.”
“What a lovely, effortless way to learn,” Libby said. “Do you and Zack have more of Taylor’s work here?”
“We do, including one of the first pictures she ever made. It was of hula dancers in a kind of chorus line. Taylor was five years old. Her early work is mostly in crayon and coloured pencils, but even at five, she understood colour.”
“I’d like to see those hula dancers.”
“I’m sure that after you’ve talked, Zack will be delighted to give you the tour. He adopted Taylor as soon as we were married. Her legal name is Taylor Love-Shreve, and her father dotes on her.”
Libby Hogarth had an uncommonly expressive mouth. During the Delio trial, I had noticed how effectively she used a slight curve of her lips to express a kind of amused derision when she spotted a flaw in a witness’s testimony. Her reaction to hearing Zack was a doting father surprised me. “Zack is an extraordinary man. He deserves that kind of joy,” she said quietly.
Her words touched me.
When Zack joined us, Libby Hogarth and I were in the kitchen, sitting at the butcher-block table sharing a pot of tea and chatting. Zack’s relief at seeing our obvious rapport was palpable. He held out his arms to Libby. “It’s great to see you again. And you look terrific. I like what you’ve done with your hair.”
“Thank you. And I like what you’ve done with your hair,” Libby said.
Zack’s smile was open. “Point taken,” he said, and he wheeled his chair to a position next to me and across from Libby. “So what’s up?”
“Jared Delio,” Libby said.
Zack groaned. “Today, it seems that all roads lead to Jared.”
When Libby looked at Zack quizzically, he explained. “Joanne and I were talking with Sawyer about the timeliness of your lecture topic. People need to understand the relationship between community attitudes towards sexual assault and the ways in which the law is interpreted. And you are the perfect lawyer to make the case.”
“You may want to revisit that opinion,” Libby said. “An hour ago I was on the phone with Eden Sass. Remember her? Victim number three?”
“Eden Sass was a memorable witness,” I said.
“I agree,” Libby said, “but now Ms. Sass wants to recant her testimony about the nature of her relationship with Jared Delio.”
Zack froze, teacup in hand. “What the hell. Did she explain why?”
“No. Ms. Sass just says that she needs ‘to recant,’ and that she needs to do it quickly and publicly. She’s labouring under a number of misconceptions. The first is that I’m in touch with Jared Delio. I haven’t seen or heard from him since we walked out of the courtroom after the verdict.”
“That surprises me,” I said. “You seemed very close during the trial.”
“The appearance of closeness between lawyer and client when they’re in court is no accident,” Libby said. “I’m sure you’ve noticed how often during a trial, Zack will open a package of Life Savers and offer his client a candy.”
“I have,” I said. “And I remember a journalist saying that Zack’s offering his client a Life Saver was a tactical gambit to distract the jury and humanize the defendant.”
“That’s exactly what it is, and the need to humanize Jared Delio was acute,” Libby said. “He is not a warm, fuzzy person; neither am I. But we were in the same foxhole, so we had a shared interest. We both wanted a not guilty verdict, and that meant presenting a united front.”
“But that’s not how Eden Sass sees it,” Zack said.
“No. Ms. Sass believes that since I was responsible for Jared Delio walking out of that courtroom a free man, I should help save him.”
“Do you know where he is?” Zack asked.
“No, but he’s still paying off his legal fees. Once a month, the firm receives a direct deposit. It’s a sizable sum. I have no idea how Jared is supporting himself, so the firm sent a note to his bank offering to reduce the monthly payment, but the bank said their client was satisfied with the arrangement as it stood.”
“I still can’t get my head around any of this,” I said. “Despite Jared Delio’s pattern of behaviour with women, I don’t believe he raped Eden Sass, and I don’t understand why out of the blue, Eden would decide to recant her testimony.”
Libby smoothed her hair absently. She had great hair: strawberry blond and cut in a flattering classic shag. “Eden’s decision didn’t arrive out of the blue,” she said. “According to her, the matter is urgent. I explained that as Jared Delio’s former lawyer, there was no way I could act for her, but I offered to arrange a meeting with someone who could talk with her about the advisability of recanting. She said a meeting would be a waste of time, and time was running out.”
I leaned forward. “Did she explain the urgency?”
“No, but when I said that nothing could be gained by making an open confession that she lied under oath, she cut me off. She said that if she recanted, she and Jared could both make a fresh start, and there’d be no more dead ends, just endless possibilities.”
“Where is all this ‘endless possibilities’ crap coming from?” Zack asked.
“Delio sent Eden an email this morning, and she forwarded it to me,” Libby said.
Zack’s tone was derisive. “Did he promise her endless possibilities if she recants?”
“No. He doesn’t promise her anything,” Libby said. “When I was preparing for the trial, I learned everything there was to learn about Jared Delio. Nothing I read or heard suggested that he had a conscience or a heart, but the letter Eden received is a heartfelt apology. Jared thanks Eden for loving him and asks for her forgiveness. He says that what he did to her the night they made love was worse than rape, it was betrayal. He says he wants to make certain she understands that by ending their relationship, he wasn’t rejecting her; he was freeing her to have a life with someone who wouldn’t destroy her.”
“There’s nothing in that letter to suggest that Delio foresees a future where he and Eden can be together,” Zack said. “In fact, from what you tell us, there’s nothing in that letter to suggest that Delio foresees a future for himself at all.” His voice broke. My husband had clearly been as moved by the letter as I was. He touched my arm.
“I think it’s a ‘goodbye to all that’ letter,” I said. “Not just to Eden, but to being alive. Today is the day when the world turns the calendar page and starts over, but I think the man who wrote that email doesn’t see much point in turning the page.”
“I tried to tell Eden that,” Libby said. “She wouldn’t listen. She’s convinced that making a public statement saying the testimony she gave at Delio’s trial was a lie can save Jared. She says that every hour that she remains silent brings Jared Delio one hour closer to ending his life.”
“That’s delusional, Libby. Nothing you’re telling me about Eden’s behaviour is congruent with the Eden Sass I know,” I said.
Libby stiffened. “You know Eden?”
“Not well, but yes. After the trial, Eden came back to Regina and completed a master’s degree in political science. I was the second reader for her thesis. The decision to grant a master’s degree is significant for both the student and the university, so the second reader has to be thorough.
“Most of the time the process is a slog, but Eden’s thesis was thrilling to read. She has the capacity to see all sides of a subject and weigh all the possibilities. That’s a rare gift.”
Zack’s brow furrowed. “I hope you’re right about Ms. Sass’s ability to weigh all the possibilities, Jo. Her decision to publicly renounce her testimony won’t save Delio. He’s already been found not guilty. He’ll gain nothing from her act of contrition and she will create a world of problems for herself — not the least of which will be a possible charge of perjury. And public opinion will turn against her. Of the three women who brought charges, Ms. Sass was the one who elicited the most sympathy.”
“She seemed so defenceless on the witness stand,” I said. “It was impossible not to feel empathy for her. Eden Sass was twenty-seven years old when she became involved with Jared Delio, and she was a very innocent twenty-seven.”
“She was,” Libby said. “She was also very fragile emotionally, and she had some odd ideas.”
“Her decision to remain a virgin until she met her life partner was obviously a matter of principle for her,” I said. “But her explanation that she made that decision after she learned that the hymen in female fetuses begins to form in the third or fourth month of gestation was puzzling.”
“It was puzzling,” Libby said, “but the emails between Eden and Jared that the Crown introduced made it clear that he accepted her commitment to remain a virgin. When I saw those emails, and Eden Sass’s discharge papers from Toronto General, I was certain my case had gone south.”
“With good reason,” Zack said. “The emails were proof that Delio knew what retaining her virginity meant to Ms. Sass, and the first page of the discharge papers painted a gut-wrenching image of her, showing up alone at the ER with heavy vaginal bleeding. Page one of the discharge papers was certainly damning. Luckily for you and your client, the discharge papers had a second page.”
“Zack, did you know that the Crown prosecutor never received that second page?”
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m not, and no one knows exactly what happened. The most likely explanation is some sort of hiccup when it was scanned and sent to the Crown. But whatever happened, it was a huge break for us. When I saw that second page, I was convinced that it was a trap. I must have read that page a dozen times, but I couldn’t find anything suspicious. However, two facts jumped out at me: Eden Sass never said she was raped, and she refused the admitting physician’s urgings to be examined so that if, at some point, she decided to report what happened to the authorities, there would be evidence.”
“Until then, I had believed in Eden,” I said. “But those were red flags for me.”
“They were for a lot of people,” Zack said. “Many people, including me, couldn’t understand why, if Delio really had raped Eden, she didn’t allow the doctor treating her to perform the forensic examination. When Eden decided to join the other two women in bringing charges against Delio, the Crown didn’t have any concrete evidence. All they had to go on was her word.”
“And their case rested on Eden,” Libby said. “The women who brought the original charges against Delio were disasters on the stand, and both of them had continued to have online relationships with Delio that were not only friendly but verging on the sexually provocative.”
“I was as prepared for Eden Sass as I could be,” Libby said, “but she was a dream witness for the prosecution. When the Crown asked about her refusal to take the forensic test, she said she hadn’t slept the night before because of the bleeding, and when the bleeding stopped, she just wanted to go home to bed. Her answer was simple, believable and very human.”
Zack shook his head, still clearly bemused at the memory of what came next. “And then the ‘iconic photos’ appeared and blew everything else out of the water.” He tented his fingers and stared at them silently for a few seconds. “Libby, you don’t have to answer this, but is that story you gave the press about a man simply bringing those photos to your office true?”
“It is,” Libby said. “He was waiting in the reception area of Hogarth & Associates when I got back from court. It was just after Eden testified. I was convinced she’d pulled the rabbit out of the hat for the Crown, and I was feeling like homemade shit.”
Zack chuckled. “I know the feeling.”
Libby had a throaty laugh. “Never gets any easier, does it? Anyway, my knight in shining armour was a wiry little guy in a Jays T-shirt. He said his name was Gus — no surname — and he handed me a manila envelope, told me there were four black-and-white photos inside, and if I was interested, we could do business. The moment I saw the eight-by-tens, I knew I’d won.”
Zack drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Trial lawyers live for moments like that.”
“So how did Gus come to have the photographs?” I asked.
“He’s a street photographer,” Libby said. “That’s how he makes his living. His beat is Front Street — around the head office of MediaNation, Union Station and the big hotels. He snaps photos; catches up with the people he’s photographed, shows them the images on his camera and tells them that for a hundred bucks the images on his camera can be on their camera. As you saw from the photos he took of Jared Delio and Eden Sass, Gus has a great eye for capturing the moment, and when he gets his shots, he moves fast. According to him, he scores with potential customers eight times out of ten, but that day he hit a snag. Something came up and he wasn’t able to connect immediately with Jared and Eden. By the time he was able to move in on them, they’d disappeared.”
