“It’s fine. He’ll say he knew Diana was trouble. That’s it.” What else could he say? He told me he wasn’t ready to admit the truth. Please wait, he asked. Just a little longer.
“And what about her testimony? What about you?”
“I’m background noise, the puppy the Quinns rescued from the gutter. My role is to make them look decent, open, magnanimous. Lawrence will deny everything Diana said. He’ll call it a baseless accusation, and it’ll be one more way to undermine her credibility.”
“I wish you were right.” Haggerty starts the car. “Cassie, Lawrence is desperate. Desperate men do desperate things. Come on, I’ll take you to the hotel. You can pick up your car and drive to Connecticut.”
Haggerty is the one who’s desperate. He’ll say anything to get me to vilify Lawrence. But he doesn’t know Lawrence, not like I do. “Sorry,” I tell him. “I have no choice.”
56
IN THE COURTROOM, I SIT ON A BENCH IN THE BACK, AWAY from my family. Around me, strangers are gawking, craning their necks to catch a glimpse of my face. But I don’t care. I’m fine, fine, fine. Steeling myself, I focus on Lawrence’s testimony.
After swearing him in, DeFiore asked preliminary questions, mostly about Lawrence’s occupation and marriage. Now he’s homed in on Billy.
“Your youngest son, Billy, had medical issues, correct?”
Yes, Lawrence replies, Billy was born prematurely. Yes, he had heart complications. Yes, he failed to thrive. Yes, he had a stutter. Yes, he was bullied. Yes, his early life was challenging.
“Was this difficult for you?” DeFiore asks.
“It’s excruciating for any parent to watch his child struggle. It affects the whole family. We also had other stressors. Billy was nearly two when a dear friend, my surrogate father, passed away. His daughter, Cassandra, moved in with us to help alleviate pressure on his wife, Cassie’s mother. Sadly, she died in a car accident two years later. So, in addition to Billy’s ongoing medical care, we were dealing with Cassie’s grief and helping her acclimate to a new life.”
“Is this typical for your social set? Raising someone else’s child?”
Lawrence chuckles. “Very atypical. But my wife is an atypical woman—gracious, kind, and generous beyond words.” Searching the gallery, he fixes on Eleanor and smiles. I can’t see her face from where I’m sitting, though I’m sure she’s performing admirably for the jury. “Cassie was a precocious child. Losing her parents had lasting repercussions. We were very concerned about her mental health. But together, we survived this terrible time, and became stronger. I’m proud of all three of my children.”
Lawrence touches his eye, as if wiping away tears. Despite the heavy concealer, the red spot where Billy hit him pulses like a siren. “Three Musketeers. That’s what we called them.” His voice catches. “When they were little, I mean.”
“Tell us about your own childhood, Mr. Quinn,” DeFiore says.
“Objection,” Anderson says. “Irrelevant.”
“It speaks to the defendant’s upbringing and home life.”
“I’ll allow it.” Judge McKay turns to Lawrence. “Make it brief.”
Lawrence nods. “I struggled as a child, but differently than my sons. My father died young, leaving us broke, and my mother worked two jobs. In high school, I was offered a scholarship to an elite prep school. The experience opened many doors, but also left me feeling caught between worlds.” He clears his throat. “I’ve always felt like an imposter. At Groton. At Columbia. Even in my current life. Incidentally, I married an heiress from the Upper East Side. At my own wedding, I wasn’t sure if I should walk down the aisle or serve our guests canapés.”
Scattered laughs. Lawrence is a master, selling himself without selling at all.
Anderson looks annoyed. “Relevance?”
“We’re moving on.” DeFiore gestures to Lawrence. “What was it like when Cassie came to live with you? How did her presence affect your family?”
“We welcomed Cassie with the best of intentions. Perhaps, in retrospect, we acted impulsively. But she was bereft, a little girl in a heartbreaking situation. Unfortunately, we didn’t realize how fragile she was or how much she needed. Nor did we anticipate the ways she’d disrupt our home. This wasn’t her fault, of course. She was a child, and it was a lot of upheaval.”
“Can you characterize her relationship with the defendant?” DeFiore asks.
“They were so close in age and so closely tied we called them ‘the twins.’ Over time, though, Billy’s devotion to Cassie made him too dependent on her, which confirmed that our decision to send him to boarding school was correct. Being away enabled him to separate from Cassie and make other friends. Same with Princeton. For the first two years, Billy thrived. Then he met Diana. Right away, I saw she was needy and unstable, a bit similar to his sister. Billy already had so many pressures that Eleanor and I feared Diana would take advantage of him.”
“Mr. Quinn.” DeFiore pauses. “Lawrence.” His tone is engaging, affable, as if he and Lawrence are terrific friends. Knowing what DeFiore is capable of, I study my hands, unable to watch. “Diana testified that she saw you kissing Cassie before dinner in November.”
“That is not true.” Lawrence is adamant. “It did not happen.”
“Then why would Diana say it did, Lawrence?”
Lawrence sighs. “What Diana saw was Cassie trying to kiss me. I was fending her off.”
What? The world drains of sound. My ears ring with white noise. And yet, it makes perfect sense. I think, deep down, I always suspected this was coming. Someday, Lawrence would forsake me.
“Can you elaborate?”
“As Cassie moved into the teenage years, her behavior became worrisome. She was bright and willful, but also cunning and headstrong. She was so anxious to feel loved, she acted out. Cassie pushed every limit. It was cute at age five, when she demanded another story or refused to go to bed. But soon it was destructive. She put herself in jeopardy. Smoked marijuana. Drank to excess. By sixteen, I couldn’t control her. She was dangerous—to herself and to me.”
“In what way?”
“Cassie doesn’t recognize boundaries. As a child, she insisted I sleep in her bed. When I said no, she’d sneak into her brothers’ rooms. While it seemed innocent at first, over time it became increasingly provocative. Many adolescent girls test limits, but Cassie went too far. She wore skimpy shorts and stringy tank tops, even after Eleanor expressed her dissatisfaction. She brushed up against me. She kissed me on the lips. Touched my private parts. As a parent, as her father, it was troubling—and frightening.”
Shame and anger swirl inside me. Help me, Nate. Help me, Billy.
“So,” DeFiore asks, “would you say her behavior was predatory?”
Lawrence grimaces. “No, no, no.” He shakes his head. “I wouldn’t use that specific word. But I will say that I was trapped. Cassie gave me ultimatums. She demanded I kiss her and touch her. I was her father, the man who raised her. I was so worried. I felt so helpless. Eventually, she threatened to accuse me of abusing her, sexually. I told Eleanor, and together, we got Cassie help. The best doctors, the best therapists, the best treatment money could buy.” He pauses. “We had her committed to an inpatient facility.”