Confessions Bundle. Jo Leigh

that Eaton had his bases all very well covered, including the fact that no extra money had turned up anywhere else.”

      “So, how do you explain, if your father was this talented…” Schuster paused and approached the jurors.

      Juliet gave the man full marks for the little bit of emphasis he put on that word, leading the jury right to the thought they were already going to have, that perhaps Walter Ramsden wasn’t as gifted as his son claimed, thus voiding the value of Blake’s testimony. She knew, too, that whatever was coming next would plant in their minds something that would discount that suspicion. In a detached, analytical way, she waited to see how he pulled it off.

      “…if Walter Ramsden did indeed have the ability to sense the potential legitimacy of his business associates, why did he invest in Eaton Estates?”

      Surprised when Blake didn’t immediately answer, Juliet looked up and saw the hesitation in his eyes, eyes that stared out but weren’t focused. Pen to tablet, she scribbled.

      “I know why. I’d been abroad at the time, studying architecture—and volunteering on various development projects. According to my mother, my father followed my progress from country to country.”

      He paused. Juliet was staring. This was nothing like the man she’d known that night so long ago. That Blake Ramsden had come close to hating his father—or at least the tyranny with which the old man had ruled his son.

      “At the time the Eaton offer was first made, I was in Honduras, helping modernize a village whose population was three children to every adult. They were all hungry, poverty stricken. Eaton offered to feed those kids.”

      Damn. The jurors were swimming right toward Schuster. He was good. Almost as good as she’d heard.

      And she knew what was coming next.

      “If it pleases the court, I’d like to submit Exhibit double Z into the records.” Schuster pulled out the document he had faxed to Juliet’s home Sunday night. “This is a record of a land assessment inspection showing that the property was sinking.

      “Please note, further,” Schuster said softly, “the date of the investment is the month before the sale date.” He walked the document over to Blake Ramsden. “Can you confirm this is the same document you saw?”

      A long pause followed. Juliet shifted in her seat. Glanced at the judge. The jurors. Tapped her pen against the back of her left hand.

      Eaton moved beside her, breathing heavily. Reaching over, Blake handed back the document. “Yes.”

      Juliet put her hand on Eaton’s knee. “It’s okay. Sit still. We get the ball last.”

      He sat back, but he wasn’t calm. No one was. It was another five minutes before Judge Lockhard offered her the witness for cross-examination.

      This time, Juliet accepted the offer. She had no desire to spend a second day in court with Blake Ramsden.

      Picking up her black leather-bound tablet, Juliet rose. She didn’t need the notes. She could recite them—and everything in between the lines—by rote. But she needed something to look at.

      It felt good to stand. To move around after so many hours of sitting.

      She was going to have to connect with the witness if she wanted the jury to connect to the response she drew from him.

      With a long slow breath, she approached the witness stand. Looked up. Smiled.

      And had to swallow when he smiled back.

      Mary Jane’s smile.

      “Mr. Ramsden, I’m sure you understand, as does the jury, that the point in question here is not whether Eaton James had various business interests that showed no profit or loss, or even any movement. Anyone can establish a business and then not do anything with it. It is, as the prosecutor has so adeptly shown, just a matter of paperwork. The question is one of intent. Did Eaton James intend to rob people of their money? Or was he just an honest businessman who didn’t have the luck of one as talented as, say, your father?”

      She paused. Stood right in front of him and didn’t look away. His tie was slightly lopsided, made to appear more so by the way the wider maroon stripe came around the left side, while the right was flanked by a skinnier gray one.

      “According to your testimony, you believe that the former was the case, is this correct?”

      “It is.”

      His eyes were different. Older. And though she wouldn’t have thought it possible, more compelling.

      Not that it mattered. She was older, too. Different things caught her attention these days.

      Things like the conversation she’d be having with Mary Jane that night at the dinner table. Her daughter was going to grill her. And Juliet had to be able to give straight answers.

      “Tell me, Mr. Ramsden, how long did your father expect you to stay abroad?”

      His eyes narrowed. “A year.”

      “And how long, in fact, were you away?”

      “Almost four years.”

      “Four years.”

      She stood there, palms on the stand, nodding. “Did you ever come home for a visit during that time?”

      “No.” Blake’s face was impassive.

      “But you spoke with your father often? Holidays, Sundays, and so on. You were, after all, his only child.”

      “I was, yes.”

      Bingo. He hadn’t answered the first question. Her interpretation of the expression she’d read earlier had been right on. It was a talent she’d come to rely on and breathed a sigh of relief every time it came through for her.

      “And did you speak with him often?”

      “No.”

      “You didn’t?” She sounded shocked. “Well, how often then? Once a month? Twice, maybe?”

      “I spoke to him once.”

      “Once a year?”

      “Once. Period.”

      “In four years you spoke to your father only once?”

      “Objection, Your Honor!”

      It had taken him long enough.

      “Your Honor—” Juliet stepped up to the bench “—Mr. Schuster’s line of questioning was based on Mr. Ramsden’s opinion of his father. I’m only clarifying the relationship upon which that opinion was based.”

      “Sustained.”

      In the early days, Juliet would have turned around to see Schuster’s reaction. Such things didn’t matter anymore.

      “Just out of curiosity, would you mind telling the court when that one phone call took place?”

      “A year after I’d left.”

      “When you were due to come home.”

      “That is correct.” He nodded once, his gaze steady on hers. The challenge only spurred a rush of adrenaline that had given her the edge up most of her life.

      “So…if your father’s business acumen had changed, say, due to old age, or perhaps a growing forgetfulness or loneliness for his only son, maybe you wouldn’t have known.”

      The room was silent. Juliet could feel the jurors’ eyes, but even more, the force of their attention.

      “I was in touch with my mother. She never indicated that was the case.”

      Had she been playing a game of mock court, as she’d done with members of her study group in law school, she’d have issued a polite and grinning thank you very much for the opening he’d just given her.

      “Ah,