She had expected to feel relief when he said that, but his voice was too quiet, his demeanor subdued. He looked like a condemned man. As Hirsch rose to cross-examine, she saw the smirk on his face and clutched Scott’s arm. Whispered: “What’s wrong? What’s happening?”
Scott didn’t answer, just shook his head. A tic started up in his eyelid.
It’ll be okay. Johnny loves me. He needs me.
Hirsch smiled at Johnny as though they were old friends, and began to ask him about his relationship with her.
“How many nights would you say you spent with the defendant? In total.”
“Well, it’s difficult to say.”
“Fifty? A hundred?”
“More than fifty.”
“And where did you meet with her?”
“I’m not sure what . . .”
“You took her to dinner? You went to shows together?”
“Yes.”
“And you stayed in motels?”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Salcito, did the defendant ever visit your home?”
“She . . . yes.”
“And where was your wife on these occasions, Mr. Salcito? When Mrs. Malone came to your home?”
Johnny asked for a glass of water, and a bailiff poured one, reached up to hand it to him. He took a sip, wiped his mouth and then his brow.
“My wife was . . . she was away.”
“And the defendant, was she still living with her husband at the time?”
“Yes. At first.”
Murmured voices behind her, rising and falling. Red heat in her face. The line of pain in her palms where her nails pushed into the skin.
She was suddenly aware of Frank on the other side of the room. He didn’t need to hear this.
Hirsch led Johnny through events in the weeks leading up to the children’s disappearance.
“One night, maybe two months before, we went to a steak restaurant on Main Street and Jewel. She was mad that night. Real mad.”
“The defendant was angry?”
“Yeah. Real angry. Frank wanted custody of the kids. She kept saying she wouldn’t let him have them. She said she wasn’t going to let anyone take her kids.”
Johnny took another drink of water.
“What else did the defendant say, Mr. Salcito?”
“Um . . . she said . . .”
“Can you speak up, please? For the jury.”
“Sorry. She—Ruth—she said that she didn’t want Frank to have the children. Then she said she would rather see the children dead than let Frank have them.”
Ruth straightened up, her eyes wide. Shook her head, hard.
Muttered, “No. I didn’t mean . . . No.”
Scott patted her arm. Whispered, “It’s okay. It’s okay. We can deal with this.”
But Hirsch wasn’t done.
“Let’s move to the night the children disappeared. You spoke to the defendant that night, is that correct?”
“Yes sir.”
“You’ve given testimony that you spoke to her at around midnight. That you asked her to join you at the bar you were in.”
“That’s right.”
“Is that the only time you called the defendant that night?”
“No. I called her again a couple of hours later.”
“What time would that have been?”
“Uh . . . around two a.m.”
“And what did you say to her then?”
“Well, nothing. I didn’t speak to her. I called and there was no answer.”
“You called her at two a.m. and”—here Hirsch fixed the jury with a stare—“and she didn’t answer.”
Ruth was scribbling furiously. Took dog for walk, fell asleep. In my statement! Scott nodded, patted her arm again.
Hirsch continued.
“Let’s turn now to the night of April fifth, nineteen sixty-six. Where were you that night, Mr. Salcito?”
Johnny bent his head.
“I was at the Kings Motel. On the Van Wyck Expressway.”
Ruth felt an ache in her chest. That had been private. It had meant something, at the time. It had been for the two of them, not for an entire courtroom to hear.
“Nice and loud, please. Were you there alone?”
“No sir.”
“Will you tell the court who you were with?”
He lifted his head and Ruth had a moment of hope—if he would only look at her!—but he raised his gaze to Hirsch.
“I was with the defendant, Mrs. Malone.”
“And will you tell the court, in your own words, what happened that night?”
Johnny took a breath, dropped his gaze again.
“We had dinner. We had been drinking. And then she—Ruth—started crying. She kept crying. Then she said there was no reason for the kids to be dead. That there was no reason for them to be killed.
“I asked her what she meant, and she kept crying. Then she said ‘They must understand. They know it’s for the best.’ ”
The same words she’d used to him when he’d been crying and humiliated in Scott’s office. When she’d told him that she wouldn’t be able to see him for a while.
Why was he saying these things, using her own words against her? Was he punishing her for pushing him away?
“A little louder again, Mr. Salcito.”
“Yes sir.”
“The defendant said, ‘They must understand. They know it’s for the best.’ And you understood her to be referring to the children.”
“Yes sir.”
“What did you say to that?”
“Uh . . . well, I said, ‘Frankie and Cindy are dead. All we can do for them now is help the cops find who did it.’ ”
“And what did she say?”