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The grand jury proceeding took place in the courtroom. Twelve jurors were picked from the community, all having been decided to have a fair mind. Some latitude was given for Gerritt to have a lawyer, though he would stand outside for much of the testimony, and for a young couple to attend, Cora and Eddie Little. Words were spoken about the purpose of the testimony – to decide if he could have done the crime and if criminal charges were to be brought – and the prosecution was given leeway to present its first witnesses.
The witnesses fought their way into the room through the large double doors and a crowd of press, looking rather worse for the wear and ready to flee ... except for the shipman responsible for saying Gerritt pushed Daniel off the boat. His manner was most cocky and arrogant.
Gerritt bit his tongue to keep silent and not interrupt when the man was speaking because he was wrong on so many counts. True, he had rushed at Daniel, but only because he thought he’d get away. He’d stopped once he’d realized what Daniel meant to do.
And what of his efforts to prevent him from falling? Had no one seen that?
A couple of Daniel’s family members testified next, saying how wonderful their “beloved Daniel” was. They either had no idea what Daniel had been capable of or were covering for him. This set Gerritt’s insides churning.
When they called on Maire, she looked magnificent. She had on the fine silk dress she’d worn for the concert in New York, her hair coiled at the nape of her neck. Her expression was calm, almost placid. But Gerritt saw beneath it into the turmoil foaming within.
“State your name,” the prosecutor said. A distinguished older gentleman with wide whiskers, the prosecutor had served in this capacity countywide.
“Maire O’Fallen Finnegan.”
He stepped forward. “Tell us your relationship to the defendant.”
“He’s my husband.”
“And you are newlywed. Are you not?”
She nodded.
“Please speak,” the prosecutor said.
“Yes.”
The prosecutor’s eyes grew hard. “How do you know the deceased, Daniel Bragg?”
“He was introduced to me as Daniel Boon. That is the name he gave me himself out of his own mouth,” she said. “I met him through Cora and Eddie Little, who were unwed at the time.”
The prosecutor turned, his gaze flicking toward the couple, and it was as if you could almost hear the wheels clicking in his head. “You say he gave a false name?”
“Whether or not it was false, I don’t know,” she replied, “nor can I say if Daniel Bragg is the same man, having never met Mr. Bragg. The man I met told me his name was Boon.”
“But was the man you met, who called himself Daniel Boon, the same man you met on the ship while on your honeymoon?”
She didn’t answer right off, then spoke softly. “Yes. It looked like him.”
The prosecutor paused, as if in thought, then strode forward. “What were the circumstances of your original meeting?”
Gerritt rubbed at his throat. Why did they insist on dragging her through this?
“I was to accompany him to the lake.”
The faces on the grand jury told it all. They knew what the lake was, who went there, and why. Gerritt squirmed in his seat. The lake. Why, Maire? Why would she go there with someone she didn’t know? And why, why had she never told him?
This same thought framed the prosecutor’s next question. He seemed to let her response soak in, pacing in front of her, then stopped cold, his heels clicking together. “Tell us, what is your impression of ‘the lake’?”
“It’s a body of water,” she replied.
The prosecutor wasn’t amused. In fact, his eyes took on a new sheen. “Mrs. Finnegan, please address the question.”
Maire inhaled, her shoulders tensing. “The lake is a known spot for young couples to spend time alone.”
A smarmy smile crawled on his lips. “And you knew this when you went there.” He wasn’t asking, but she answered just the same.
“I knew, but I went because Cora was worried about being alone with Eddie, and Eddie had brought his friend. I was doing them a favor. I had no reason to think Cora or Eddie wished my harm.”
“And do you think that now?”
“Yes.”
Gerritt glanced back at them. They looked hastily away.
“Tell us what happened at the lake and why you feel this way.”
Maire’s skin color paled, but she contained herself. She wrung her hands before settling them in her lap. “We started out talking ... inane conversation not worth repeating. Then he suggested we take a walk, so we did. We ended up on the dock.” She hushed for a moment. Her voice cracked when she spoke next. “He ... he pressed too close to me, and I became uncomfortable, so I moved away. But every time I did, he followed until he cornered me. I saw I’d have had to move directly past him to get away.”
Her hands began shaking. She breathed in ragged.
“Do you need a moment?” the prosecutor asked.
She shook her head. “No. I want to get this over with.”
Gerritt wadded his hands into fists, the desire to strike out at someone overwhelming him.
Maire continued. “He wedged himself against me, said he’d come to the lake to do what couples did there.” She paused to inhale. “I panicked and threatened him. I said my father would go after him, but he ... he made jokes about that ... like ... like who my father was made him more excited. Then he said ... said ...” She choked back a sob. “He said, ‘You won’t want anyone to know what I did.’”
Gerritt leaped from the table. “No ... don’t make her do this.”
The prosecutor whirled in place. “Mr. Finnegan, seat yourself.”
His hands fisted at his sides, Gerritt stood wavering in place. “Maire, please,” he begged.
Tears slid down her cheeks. “I’m all right, Gerritt. Let me finish.”
He stood there uncertainly, his heart exploding from his chest. The prosecutor pointed at his former seat. “Sit,” he said again.
Gerritt lowered himself into the chair, his head in his hands, and heard Maire’s words through the crack in his fingers.
“He said ‘You won’t want anyone to know what I did,’ past tense, as if he’d planned something all along. I questioned what he meant by that remark, and he spoke one word, ‘This.’ He then threw me down on the dock and ... and ... raped me.”
Gerritt cried out. Unashamed of his tears, he doubled over at the waist and gave in to grief. How could anyone hurt someone so beautiful, so wonderful? And how could he have not told her he loved her? He gathered himself together at the last, not bothering to wipe his tears, and raised his face. She looked right in his eyes.
He was hurting as badly as she was, worse even by the sound of his weeping. But he had never heard the story. He didn’t know how it happened. Plus, now he loved her. She’d seen that in his eyes. So her pain was his. What did it matter he had never said so? He showed it every day.
The prosecutor stepped into her view. “I am sorry this upsets you,” he said, “but we must continue.”
She nodded.
“What happened after?”
She cleared her throat. “We walked back to the buggy and waited for Cora and Eddie. They saw me and knew ... knew what he’d done.” Her voice rose and octave and fell into an Irish burr. “Ye knew it,” she said, “Ye saw me standin’ beside ‘em and twas no question what he’d been aboot, but ye looked away. Agus ní fearr thusa ná an t-anchúinse a d'fhuadaigh mé! Go n-ithe an cat thú is go n-ithe an diabhal an cat."
And you’re no better than the monster who took me. May the cat eat you and may the devil eat the cat.
The prosecutor gazed up at her befuddled. “Mrs. Finnegan, can we speak English?”
She collected herself. “My apology,” she said, meeting eyes with Gerritt. His smile had returned at the meaning of her words.
The prosecutor smoothed his coat, his head cocked left. “So they took you home?”
“Yes. Riding the whole way like nothing was amiss and Daniel gloating over it, staring at me. All I wanted to do was run and hide. I was well-nigh insensible when they dropped me off. They didn’t even walk me to the door, and I have little recollection of what happened directly after, until I woke up in Gerritt’s lap.”
“Your husband?”
“Friend, then. He sat with me all night, though I learned this afterward.”
The prosecutor flexed his fingers and approached her seat. Standing directly before her, he leaned on the wooden rail. “Tell us again why you married your husband mere weeks later.”
She jutted her chin out. “Because he saved me from myself and I couldn’t live without him.”
“You weren’t in love? What were the circumstances?”
She focused on his face. “To the contrary, I’ve always loved Gerritt Finnegan. Ask any in my family how I followed him around growing up. As to the circumstances ... I admit our wedlock came in an unusual manner, but that has only increased what I feel for him, not diminished it.”
“But tell me, Mrs. Finnegan. Do you believe your devotion gave him reason to commit this murder? He is to be commended for stepping in and helping you in your distress, but maybe he felt more than that. Maybe he felt anger.” He waved toward Gerritt. “His outburst showed how emotional you make him.”
Maire silenced and looked to Gerritt alone. Her tongue thickened, and emotion held in her throat, she stumbled to speak. “His outburst shows how much he loves me. He stands by me today and would never do anything to jeopardize our union. Now, you must excuse me because I’m done speaking.”
The prosecutor stood in place for a few seconds then nodded.
Maire left the courtroom with dignity, but caught his attention on the way out. She smiled, and Gerritt’s heart filled yet again.
Yet, his doubts about her testimony returned as the proceedings continued. It had made him look guilty. He had been angry at what Daniel had done. The grand jury must believe that by now.
The prosecutor called Cora and Eddie Little, sending each one out while the other’s testimony was given. Cora cried profusely, groveling about how sorry she was, how she’d known Daniel was a bad sort but never expected him to go that far.
Eddie then substantiated her story, saying he knew Daniel from a few years back. Yeah, he was a rake and he didn’t trust him near his own wife. He asserted that that night was a mistake.
Gerritt bit his tongue, tasting blood.
As the afternoon wore on, in the pit of his gut, the knowledge sat like lead that it would all come down to what he had to say. He would either hang or save himself when he was up there and, along the way, hurt Maire because whatever he said would make its way to her.
It was with a heavy heart that he took the stand.
“Tell us Mr. Finnegan, when you found Maire that first evening, how was she acting?”
The images flooded his head. Maire in the floor curled into a ball. Maire sobbing and screaming when he tried to touch her. Maire clinging to him, desperate for relief.
“She was ... debilitated.”
“How so?” The prosecutor leaned his weight on one leg.
“Weeping, scared out of her mind. She didn’t know who I was and acted like I was after her.”
“So what did you do?”
Gerritt folded his fingers together to still his jitters. “We were alone that night. Her parents were not in town, and her brother had stayed out. I didn’t think I could leave her to go for help, in the state she was in, so I held her for a long time. Eventually, the floor became uncomfortable so I put her in bed.”
The prosecutor looked down at his notes and back at Gerritt. “Your wife said she woke up in your lap. Tell me. Was this just once?”
Gerritt coughed.
“Mr. Finnegan, answer the question. Did you sit with her just the one time?”
“N-no.”
A hush crossed the space.
“But ... you can’t expect her to have gotten over something that awful so quickly ...” He blurted this bit and regretted it instantly.
The prosecutor neither smiled nor frowned, but appeared to latch onto his words.
“Of course not,” he replied. He pulled himself taller. “So it was more than one night? Was her family aware of her trauma? Surely, they would’ve stepped in to help her and relieved you of the duty.”
Gerritt’s face flamed. He dug his fingernails into the wooden seat. “They didn’t know,” he whispered.
“Speak up, Mr. Finnegan.”
Gerritt inhaled deep. “They didn’t know. She was embarrassed to tell them, made me promise to keep it a secret.”
“A secret that made you feel trapped.”
“Yes. I mean, no.” Gerritt gripped the sides of his head, a steady throbbing starting in his skull.
“Which is it?” the prosecutor asked.
“No, not trapped, more obligated.”
The prosecutor’s eyes animated. “Obligated. And is that why you married her? Obligation?”
Gerritt scowled. He was twisting his words. “I cared for her. She’s a beautiful person inside and out, and she needed me. She had horrible nightmares, would come to me crying. She said I helped her forget.”
“Mr. Finnegan,” the prosecutor continued, “was there any other reason you married your wife? Anything besides your obligation? That’s a lot of weight for one man to carry.”
Gerritt looked him square in the eye, not blinking. “No.” And he wouldn’t get it out of him. There was no point. She hadn’t mentioned it, so neither would he.
The prosecutor’s footsteps echoed loud in the chamber. Gerritt sat back in the chair, the slats hard against his spine, and followed the prosecutor’s movements back and forth until his nerves were raw. How much more could he take? But then, maybe that’s what he wanted, to wear him down.
The prosecutor lifted his head. “Let’s talk about the ship. You were there on your honeymoon. Correct?”
“Y-yes.”
“When did you first see Mr. Bragg?”
Gerritt twisted his hands in his lap. “In the dining room, he brought my wife a menu.”
“And how did she react?”
“How do you think she reacted?” Gerritt asked. “He took ... he took her ...” He couldn’t finish the sentence and halted, trembling. “She became ill,” he said eventually.
“And what did you do?”
“Called for a doctor, a gentleman who was also on the ship, and he said she needed rest, so I left her to sleep and went for a walk.”
A walk that took him around the ship and into the path of the very man he’d wanted to find.
“This is when you found Mr. Bragg?” The prosecutor’s question broke into Gerritt’s thoughts as if he’d anticipated them.
“Yes, but I wasn’t looking for him. I was too upset over my wife.” And too concentrated on himself and the mess of his life to see how much she mattered.
“But seeing him, you did what any husband would do. You chased the man and in your vehemence, pushed him over the railing.”
Gerritt rose from his seat “No!”
The prosecutor waved him back in place. “Sit, Mr. Finnegan.”
Gerritt slowly returned to his chair.
“Come now, that would be the natural reaction. You cared for her. You were worried about her. In this emotional state, faced with the person who’d caused her trauma, you sought revenge.”
“I didn’t push him,” Gerritt insisted. “He ran, and I followed, yes. Before we could talk, however, he swung himself over the rail. Seeing it, I stopped in place. Despite what you think, I didn’t want him to jump. Yes, I was upset. But I wanted him to pay for what he did. He deserved to face how he’d ruined her. He simply couldn’t get away with what he’d done. But ...”
The prosecutor encouraged him on. “But what?”
“But he said he could swim to the bank, that we’d be way down the river before anyone knew.” Gerritt’s stomach heaved. He wouldn’t say the rest, couldn’t say the rest. They couldn’t possibly expect him to repeat something so horrible.
The prosecutor’s expression was stern, his voice carrying across the room. “You’re saying he intended to jump?”
Gerritt nodded.
“Speak up, Mr. Finnegan.”
“He intended to jump.”
“So you did talk, and he admitted his crime to you. Is this correct?”
Gerritt squirmed.
“What else did he say, Mr. Finnegan? Tell us your words and his.”
Gerritt swallowed the bile rising in his throat and twisted even more in his seat.
“Mr. Finnegan.”
“He ... he ... said ... Please,” Gerritt begged. “Don’t make me repeat it.”
The prosecutor walked to within a few feet. Standing there, he tilted his head, a flash of compassion resting on his brow. “I’m sorry, but we need to know. What did Mr. Bragg say to you?”
Gerritt heard the words escape his mouth without the reality that he was the one saying them. He was far removed, over and above it all, watching. “He said she was the sweetest piece he’d ever had and he’d do her again if he could.”
The jurors gasped, and the prosecutor stalled in place, stunned.