The Borzoi Killings

27.

Margaret Harding had not lost any traction during the break. “Mrs. Richardson, was there cash in the house?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“In our bedroom, most of it. Brad wasn’t careful about where he put money.”

“Was any of the money in a safe?”

“Some of it. There was money in a safe. But Brad never locked the safe. In fact, he left the door open.”

“Did Juan Suarez know where the cash was?

“He did.”

“Where did the money come from?”

Puzzled, Joan asked, “Where did it come from?”

“There was cash in the house, Mrs. Richardson, wasn’t that what you just told the jury?”

“Yes. Brad always had a great deal of cash in the places where we lived. But he carried only small amounts when he walked around. He never carried a credit card. Sometimes in restaurants I paid the check.”

“Mrs. Richardson, I asked if you knew where the cash came from?”

“I don’t know, Ms. Harding. He never told me. I never asked. He had no reason to tell me, I had no reason to ask.”

“Who paid Juan Suarez?”

“I did.”

“Why you?”

“Brad was an incredibly busy man. He ran a worldwide business, he wrote articles, he gave speeches. But he was terrible with cash. If he had paid Juan and the other workers, Brad would never have gotten the right amount. So I did it.”

“How often?”

“Every week.”

“In cash?”

“Yes.”

“How much?”

“It varied, Ms. Harding. Sometimes two thousand dollars a week, sometimes four, depending on whether he did extra work for us. And sometimes Brad just handed me money to give to Juan, almost as a gift. Brad was generous, and he very much liked Juan.”

“Why didn’t you pay Mr. Suarez in a check?”

“He didn’t have a bank account.”

“Was there any other reason he was paid in cash?”

“He was an illegal alien. He told us he didn’t have a Social Security number, he didn’t have a driver’s license, and he didn’t have a bank account.”

“You knew it was illegal to hire a person in his status?”

“I know that now. I didn’t think about it then. He said he had a wife and two children, or that he lived with a woman and she had two children. We weren’t trying to take advantage of anything. He was a hard worker. He was poor when he came to us. It just seemed natural to hire him and to pay him. Brad used to say he got paid for his work, so it seemed natural to pay Mr. Suarez for his work whether or not he was legal or illegal.”

“And how did you know he didn’t have a Social Security number or a driver’s license?”

“He told us. You have to understand, he is a charming man, he can talk an oyster out of its shell.”

As she was rising to her feet, Raquel said, “Move to strike that statement.”

Judge Conley glanced at the jurors. “I instruct you to disregard the last answer.”

Then Margaret Harding shifted the subject. “Did you know Mr. Suarez by any other name?”

Joan Richardson again glanced at the jurors. “Anibal.”

“What was that name again?”

“Anibal. For some reason, once during a break while he was cleaning the pool, he just mentioned that his name was Anibal. But he said I could go on calling him Juan if I wanted to.”

“Did he tell you his name was Anibal Vaz?”

“Not that I remember. Just the name Anibal. I didn’t know whether it was his first or last name, or whether it was his name at all. I never heard the name before.”

There was no transition, no skip of a beat, between that answer and the next question: “Did you have a sexual relationship with Mr. Suarez?”

There was a sudden audible stir in the courtroom. The reporters in the gallery became even more rapt. Joan Richardson felt that the lens of the television camera was drilling a hole through her forehead. “I did.”

“For how long?”

“Weeks.”

“Where?”

“At my house. And twice I brought him to my home in Manhattan.”

“Where did you have sex with Mr. Suarez when you were at your house in East Hampton?”

“Many places, Ms. Harding. Kitchen, library, our bedroom.”

“And when you were in your bedroom in East Hampton did Mr. Suarez see the cash?”

“He saw that. And Mr. Suarez said that Brad should keep the cash locked up.”

“How much money did your husband have in the house on the day he died?”

“I knew he always kept at least two hundred thousand dollars, sometimes as much as five hundred thousand dollars. My husband was careless about money.”

“How careless?”

“Brad and I were in the bedroom once, getting ready to drive back to the city. We had forgotten to pay Mr. Suarez that week. Brad was in a hurry. He called out to Juan to come into the room. When Mr. Suarez was in the room, Brad reached into the safe three times and took out many thousands of dollars, spreading the money on the bed. He said to Juan ‘Take what you need, Juan.’”

“What did Mr. Suarez do?”

“What he always did. He picked up some of the cash, he put it in his pocket, and he said thank you.”

“Did you say anything when that happened?”

“I always told Brad I thought he should be more careful.”

“What did Mr. Richardson say?”

“That he trusted Juan.”

“He trusted Mr. Suarez?”

“He did. I did, too.”

Margaret Harding waited as Joan Richardson sipped water from a small Evian bottle. “Did Mr. Richardson know about your relationship with Mr. Suarez?”

“He did.”

“How?”

“I told him.”

“Why?”

“Ms. Harding, I wanted to see how he would react.”

“How did he react?”

“He was upset.”

“How do you know that?”

“He said he was, he said he couldn’t believe Mr. Suarez would betray the trust.”

“Was he angry, loud, excited?”

“Never. Brad Richardson was always quiet, determined, focused.”

“What happened next?”

“Mr. Suarez was in the yard, raking leaves from a flower bed. Brad asked him to come into the house. He told Mr. Suarez that he was fired, not to come back. He handed Mr. Suarez several hundred dollar bills.”

“Did Mr. Suarez ask why?”

“No, he knew why.”

Raquel watched the jurors. None of them even glanced at her. They were focused on Joan Richardson. Juan Suarez, who on Raquel’s instructions had not said a word, put his hand near her left ear, whispering, “Lies, Raquel. Those are all lies.”

Raquel, without looking at him, raised her hand, the signal for him to stop.

“When,” Margaret Harding resumed, “was Mr. Suarez fired?”

“The day before my husband died.”

“How do you know that?”

“Brad made me watch it, and I did.”

Raquel knew there were only a few fundamental truths about a trial. One truth was that you had to expect the unexpected, as she often told her students. It was adjusting to the unexpected, she said, that was one of the markers of a top trial lawyer. Being first in your class at Harvard Law School didn’t equip you for the fast, erratic play of the courtroom. Like a basketball player, you needed quick and sure reactions.

And now the unexpected happened in the absolutely silent courtroom, somehow still resonating with the last few words Joan Richardson spoke. Judge Conley said, “We’ll adjourn until tomorrow. Unfortunately, I have a commitment in another case. Please report to the courthouse no later than nine tomorrow. I believe Ms. Rematti will start her cross-examination when we get back.”

For once in this trial, Raquel had been handed an unexpected gift-the time to craft a strategy overnight. Expect the unexpected, she whispered to Theresa Bui.