Plain Truth Read online

  "No. I was asleep. I don't remember anything until I woke up."

  "You never saw the baby after you woke up?"

  "It was gone," Katie said.

  "And you want us to believe you had nothing to do with that?" George advanced on her. "Did you wrap the baby's body in a blanket and hide it?"

  "No."

  "Huh. I thought you said you don't remember anything after you fell asleep."

  "I don't!"

  "Then technically, you can't tell me for certain that you didn't hide the baby."

  "I guess not," Katie said slowly, puzzled.

  George smiled, his grin as wide as a wolf's. "And technically, you can't tell me for sure that you didn't smother the baby."

  "Objection!"

  "Withdrawn," George said. "Nothing further."

  Ellie cursed beneath her breath. George's pointed statement was the last thing the jury would hear as part of testimony. "The defense rests, Your Honor," Ellie said. She watched Katie open the gate of the witness box and step down, crossing the room with studied caution, as if she now understood that something as stable as solid ground might at any moment tilt beneath her feet.

  *

  "You know," Ellie said to the jury. "I wish I could tell you exactly what happened in the early hours of the morning of July tenth, in the Fishers' barn, but I can't. I can't, because I wasn't there. Neither was Mr. Callahan, and neither were any of the other experts you've seen paraded through here during the past few days.

  "There's only one person who was actually there, who also spoke to you in this courtroom--and that's Katie Fisher. Katie, an Amish girl who can't remember exactly what happened that morning. Katie, who stood up here wracked with guilt and shame, convinced that the accidental transmission of a disease in utero to her fetus made her responsible for the baby's death. Katie, who is so upset over losing her child she thinks she deserves to be punished, even when she's innocent. Katie, who wants to be forgiven for something she did not intentionally do."

  Ellie trailed her hand along the rail of the jury box. "And that lack of intention, ladies and gentlemen, is quite important. Because in order to find Katie guilty of murder in the first degree, the prosecution must convince you beyond a reasonable doubt that Katie killed her child with premeditation, willfulness, and deliberation. First, that means she planned this murder. Yet you've heard that no Amishman would ever consider such violence, no Amishman would choose an action that valued pride over humility or an individual decision over the society's rules. Second, it means that Katie wanted this baby dead. Yet you've witnessed the look on Katie's face when she first saw the father of her child again, when she told you that she loved him. Third, it means that she intentionally murdered her baby. Yet you've been shown proof that an infection transmitted during pregnancy could very well have caused the baby to die--a tragedy, but an accident all the same.

  "It is the prosecution's job to prove to you that Katie Fisher's baby was killed. My job is to show you that there might be a viable, realistic, possible reason for the death of Katie's infant other than first-degree murder. If there's more than one way to look at what happened that morning, if there's even the slightest doubt in your mind, you have no choice but to acquit." Ellie walked toward Katie and stood behind her. "I wish I could tell you what happened or did not happen the morning of July tenth," she repeated, "but I can't. And if I don't know for sure--how can you?"

  "Ms. Hathaway's right--but only about one thing. Katie Fisher doesn't know exactly what happened the morning she gave birth." George surveyed the faces of the jury. "She doesn't know, and she's admitted to that--as well as to killing her baby."

  He stood up, his hands locked behind his back. "However, we don't need the defendant's recollections to piece together the truth, because in this case, the facts speak for themselves. We know that Katie Fisher lied for years to her family about her clandestine visits to the outside world. We know that she concealed her pregnancy, gave birth secretly, covered up the bloody hay, and hid the body of her infant. We can look at the autopsy report and see bruises around the baby's mouth due to smothering, the cotton fibers shoved deep in its throat, the medical examiner's diagnosis of homicide. We can see the forensic evidence--the DNA tests that place the defendant and the defendant alone at the scene of the crime. We can point to a psychological motive--Ms. Fisher's fear of being shunned from her family forever, like her brother, for this transgression of giving birth out of wedlock. We can even replay the court record and listen to the defendant confess to killing her child--an admission made willingly, which the defense then desperately tried to twist to its advantage."

  George turned toward Ellie. "Ms. Hathaway wants you to think that because the defendant is Amish, this crime is unthinkable. But being Amish is a religion, not an excuse. I've seen pious Catholics, devout Jews, and faithful Muslims all convicted of vicious criminal acts. Ms. Hathaway also would like you to believe that the infant died of natural causes. But then, why wrap up the body and hide it under a pile of blankets-- actions that suggest a cover-up? The defense can't explain that; they can only offer a red-herring testimony about an obscure bacterial infection that may have led to respiratory failure in a newborn. I repeat: may have led. But then again, it may not have. It may just be a way of covering up the truth: that on July tenth, Katie Fisher went out to her parents' barn and willfully, premeditatedly, and deliberately smothered her infant."

  He glanced at Katie, then back at the jury. "Ms. Hathaway would also like you to believe one other falsehood--that Katie Fisher was the only eyewitness that morning. But this is not true. An infant was there, too; an infant who isn't here to speak for himself because he was silenced by his mother." He let his gaze roam over the twelve men and women watching him. "Speak up for that infant today," he said.

  George Callahan's father, who had won four consecutive terms as the district attorney in Bucks County a few decades ago, used to tell him that there was always one case in a man's legal career he could ride all the way into the sunset. It was the case that was always mentioned in conjunction with your name, whenever you did anything else noteworthy in your life. For Wallace Callahan, it had been convicting three white college boys of the rape and murder of a little black girl, right in the middle of the civil rights protests. For George, it would be Katie Fisher.

  He could feel it the same way he could feel snow coming a day ahead of its arrival, by a tightening in his muscles. The jury would find her guilty. Hell, she'd found herself guilty. Why, he wouldn't be surprised if the verdict came back before suppertime. He shrugged into his trench coat, lifted his briefcase, and pushed out the doors of the courthouse. Immediately reporters and cameramen from local networks and national affiliates engulfed him. He grinned, turned his best side to the majority of the video cameras, and leaned in to the knot of microphones being shoved beneath his chin.

  "Any comments about the case?" "Do you have a sense of how the jury will find?" George smiled and let the practiced sound bite roll off his tongue. "Clearly, this will be a victory for the prosecution."

  "There's no question in my mind that this will be a victory for the defense," Ellie said to the small group of media reps huddled in the parking lot of the superior court.

  "Don't you think that Katie's confession might make it hard for the jury to acquit?" one reporter yelled out.

  "Not at all." Ellie smiled. "Katie's confession had less to do with the legal ramifications of this case than the moral obligations of her religion." She politely pushed forward, scattering the reporters like marbles.

  Coop, who had been waiting for her impromptu press conference to finish, joined her as she made her way to Leda's blue sedan. "I ought to just stick around," she said. "Chances are the jury will be back by the time we finish grabbing a bite."

  "If you stick around, Katie's going to be bombarded with people. You can't keep her locked in a conference room."

  Ellie nodded and unlocked the door of the car. By now, Leda and Katie and Samuel would be