Curtis Randall III was seated at the defendant’s table. He could have been chosen by a casting director. He was an elegant-looking man in his late fifties, with striking gray hair and tanned, regular features. He came from a social background, belonged to all the right clubs and was wealthy and successful. Jennifer could feel the women on the jury mentally undressing him.
Sure, Jennifer thought. They’re thinking that they’re worthy to go to bed with Mr. Charming, but not that what-does-he-see-in-her slut sitting in the courtroom with a ten-month old baby in her arms.
Unfortunately for Loretta Marshall, the child looked nothing like its father. Or its mother, for that matter. It could have belonged to anybody.
As though reading Jennifer’s thoughts, Roger Davis said to the jury, “There they sit, ladies and gentlemen, mother and child. Ah! But whose child? You’ve seen the defendant. I defy anyone in this courtroom to point out one single point of resemblance between the defendant and this infant. Surely, if my client were the father of this child, there would be some sign of it. Something in the eyes, the nose, the chin. Where is that resemblance? It doesn’t exist, and for a very simple reason. The defendant is not the father of this child. No, I’m very much afraid that what we have here is the classic example of a loose woman who was careless, got pregnant, and then looked around to see which lover could best afford to pay the bills.”
His voice softened. “Now, none of us is here to judge her. What Loretta Marshall chooses to do with her personal life is her own business. The fact that she is a teacher and can influence the minds of small children, well, that is not in my purview, either. I am not here to moralize; I’m simply here to protect the interests of an innocent man.”
Jennifer studied the jury and she had the sinking feeling that every one of them was on the side of Curtis Randall. Jennifer still believed Loretta Marshall. If only the baby looked like its father! Roger Davis was right. There was no resemblance at all. And he had made sure the jury was aware of that.
Jennifer called Curtis Randall to the stand. She knew that this was her only chance to try to repair the damage that had been done, her final opportunity to turn the case around. She studied the man in the witness chair for a moment.
“Have you ever been married, Mr. Randall?”
“Yes. My wife died in a fire.” There was an instinctive reaction of sympathy from the jury.
Damn! Jennifer moved on quickly. “You never remarried?”
“No. I loved my wife very much, and I—”
“Did you and your wife have any children?”
“No. Unfortunately, she was not able to.”
Jennifer gestured toward the baby. “Then Melanie is your only—”
“Objection!”
“Sustained. Counsel for the plaintiff knows better than that.”
“I’m sorry, Your Honor. It slipped out.” Jennifer turned back to Curtis Randall. “Do you like children?”
“Yes, very much.”
“You’re the chairman of the board of your own corporation, are you not, Mr. Randall?”
“Yes.”
“Haven’t you ever wished for a son to carry on your name?”
“I suppose every man wants that.”
“So if Melanie had been born a boy instead of—”
“Objection!”
“Sustained.” The judge turned to Jennifer. “Miss Parker, I will ask you again to stop doing that.”
“Sorry, Your Honor.” Jennifer turned back to Curtis Randall. “Mr. Randall, are you in the habit of picking up strange women and taking them to hotels?”
Curtis Randall ran his tongue nervously over his lower lip. “No, I am not.”
“Isn’t it true that you first met Loretta Marshall in a bar and took her to a hotel room?”
His tongue was working at his lips again. “Yes, ma’am, but that was just—that was just sex.”
Jennifer stared at him. “You say ‘that was just sex’ as though you feel sex is something dirty.”
“No, ma’am.” His tongue flicked out again.
Jennifer was watching it, fascinated, as it moved across his lips. She was filled with a sudden, wild sense of hope. She knew now what she had to do. She had to keep pushing him. And yet she could not push him so hard that the jury would become antagonistic toward her.
“How many women have you picked up in bars?”
Roger Davis was on his feet. “Irrelevant, Your Honor. And I object to this line of questioning. The only woman involved in this case is Loretta Marshall. We have already stipulated that the defendant had sexual intercourse with her. Aside from that, his personal life has no relevance in this courtroom.”
“I disagree, Your Honor. If the defendant is the kind of man who—”
“Sustained. Please discontinue that line of questioning, Miss Parker.”
Jennifer shrugged. “Yes, Your Honor.” She turned back to Curtis Randall. “Let’s get back to the night you picked up Loretta Marshall in a bar. What kind of bar was it?”
“I—I really don’t know. I’d never been there before.”
“It was a singles bar, wasn’t it?”
“I have no idea.”
“Well, for your information, the Play Pen was and is a singles bar. It has the reputation of being a pickup place, a rendezvous where men and women go to meet partners they can take to bed. Isn’t that why you went there, Mr. Randall?”
Curtis Randall began to lick his lips again. “It—it may have been. I don’t remember.”