...And Never Let HerGo

maddened Tom further to be so completely ignored, and Connolly knew it.
    Tom had no inkling of how dangerous Connolly might be to him. They had many things in common. Both had gone to Archmere Academy, where they were immensely popular and respected, and they were both attorneys. But there the similarities ended. Tom had long polished his own image as a clever attorney by surrounding himself with sycophants. His wealth, his charisma, and his connections had landed him a number of prestigious jobs, but the word in Wilmington’s legal community was that he wasn’t nearly as intelligent as he thought he was. On the other hand, Connolly was positively brilliant. He knew Tom’s Achilles’ heel and he was prepared to strike at it again and again to bring him down.
    Courtroom 302 was jammed with spectators. Family members from every side were there, and a number of attorneys had come to watch the duel. The thermostat read eighty-five degrees, and it was so hot that Judge Lee dimmed the lights to give at least the illusion of coolness. The water had long since been drained from the air-conditioning system and they couldn’t open the doors. They had already lost a couple of jurors to illness, and one after her arrest for possession of marijuana. As they neared the finish line, Lee didn’t want to have to resort to any more alternates.
    Tom’s demeanor was entirely different now. He had obviously attempted to forge a bond with the jurors and had spoken directly to them when Oteri was questioning him. But as he turned toward Connolly, his smile was gone. He no longer looked friendly, and his stare was icy. His pinched expression showed his irritation.
    Connolly and Wharton had planned this encounter with exactitude, jubilant when they learned that Tom was going to testify and they would be able to cross-examine him. Connolly’s first questions hit Tom with the force of a boxer who jabbed, jabbed, and jabbed again before his opponent saw his fist coming. It was instantly apparent that Tom’s control of the proceedings was over.
    “Since June 28, 1996,” Connolly asked, “how many crimes have you committed?”
    Tom repeated the question, buying time. “Whatever I did,” he answered finally, “—I have been charged based on the Perillo testimony,but that’s a false charge. Somebody said something in here about the way I withdrew money from the bank apparently violates a federal law—which was unknown to me [the structuring violation]. I asked my brother Louis to lie before the grand jury.”
    “So you suborned perjury?”
    “Whatever that is.”
    “You asked him to lie. You are a lawyer. You know what perjury is?”
    “Yes.”
    “So you suborned perjury?”
    “If that’s the name of the crime.”
    “So you obstructed a federal investigation when you asked him to lie before a grand jury?”
    “Well, I don’t know if that constitutes both crimes.”
    “Objection, Your Honor,” Oteri said. “That is not a crime. It’s an attempt to obstruct.”
    “So you
attempted
to obstruct justice?”
    “Well,” Tom said with a withering look, “if that’s what it is, that’s what it is. I thought I was asking him to commit perjury. I don’t know much about federal criminal law.”
    “You wanted Deborah MacIntyre to testify falsely at your bail hearing?”
    “Yes, that’s true.”
    “Any other crimes you committed after June twenty-eighth . . . ?”
    “None that I know of.”
    “Desecration of a corpse?”
    “I
said
what I did on June twenty-eighth—I already mentioned that.”
    “So, that’s three crimes?”
    “No,” Tom said, and then proceeded to correct Connolly, precisely as he and Wharton had hoped he would do. “I asked my brother to lie before the grand jury. I did want Debby to lie to protect myself and also herself. And I said, generically to the first question, that whatever the crimes are that I committed on June twenty-eighth in the fact of my disposal of Anne Marie’s body or anything related to that, yes, I’m guilty of them too, and I’m sure I will be charged with them.”
    “How many lies have you told related to the disappearance of Anne Marie Fahey . . . ?”
    “Well,” Tom said, annoyed, “I certainly don’t have a number, but I know I never told anyone the truth. I just said I lied to everyone. I said I took her home at ten o’clock and that’s the last I saw of her.”
    Apparently certain he had convinced the jury that Debby had killed Anne Marie, Tom was