just that. His fascination grew.
“Please state your complete name for the record,” he said.
“Remy Westbrook.”
Her voice was liquid and languid, leaving a pleasant vibration in its wake. Marc honed in on her cinnamon eyes, determined to break through their tranquil shell. He drew his lips back in a smile, the kind of sincere smile that had proved effective on females from eight to eighty.
“Mrs. Westbrook, my name is Marc Truesdale. I’m the attorney for Mr. Louie Demerchant, the plaintiff in this case.”
She reacted not at all to his smile, in either expression or tone. “My name is not Mrs. Westbrook.”
He leaned forward, all polite attention. “Didn’t you just say your name was Westbrook?”
“I’m not married.”
“Oh, I see,” he said with another smile as he rocked back on his heels. Naturally, Binick had selected a single woman. A married one would have involved dealing with a husband, as well. Better to keep the dumb dupes or paid-off confederates few.
“Please excuse the error, Miss Westbrook. Or do you prefer Ms.?”
“I prefer Doctor.”
Marc did a double take. “Doctor? Of what?”
“I earned my Ph.D. in the genesis of developmental psycholinguistics within higher primates.”
Well, whatever that was, it certainly ruled out dumb. Which meant that Remy Westbrook had been bought. Marc felt a spate of disappointment, although he couldn’t clearly define why. He had no time to think about it. He only had time for attending to the business at hand.
“What do you do for a living, Dr. Westbrook?”
“I head the new Center for Primate Language Studies at the University of Washington.”
So she was a professional engaged in what was obviously important scientific research. It would be hard for this jury to believe this intelligent, attractive woman would lie. It looked like Binick had chosen his confederate well.
“Dr. Westbrook, did you avail yourself of the services of the Bio-Sperm company?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I wanted a baby.”
“You couldn’t find a husband?”
“I didn’t look.”
“Was that because as a busy professional woman you didn’t have the time?”
“No.”
“Then why didn’t you marry and have a child in the conventional way?”
Sato rose to his feet. “Your Honor, I object,” he said in his quiet, polite manner. “These questions are totally irrelevant to the issue at hand and constitute an unnecessary invasion of Dr. Westbrook’s life.”
The judge nodded. “I tend to agree. Mr. Truesdale, would you care to explain the purpose of your current thrust?”
“I’m trying to explore the motives behind the actions of this witness in order to determine her credibility, Your Honor. Since Dr. Westbrook is claiming to have given birth to David Demerchant’s child, I have every right to—”
“I am claiming no such thing,” she interrupted in that same liquid and languid tone.
“Excuse me?” Marc said, turning back to her.
“Dr. Westbrook, please do not answer any more questions until I rule on the objection before this court,” the judge admonished. “Mr. Truesdale, the only personal questions I will allow you to ask of this witness are those germane to this issue of the child’s paternity. Objection sustained.”
Marc nodded at the bench before eagerly turning back to his witness. “Dr. Westbrook, did you just say you’re not claiming to have given birth to David Demerchant’s child?”
“That’s right.”
“Then whose child did you have?”
“My child. He belongs to me. I’m here only because I was subpoenaed, Counselor. I would not have come under any other circumstances.”
So, she was playing the reluctant mother who had been dragged into the courtroom battle against her will. A most believable role. Yes, she was smart, all right. Too damn smart.
He belongs to me. How casually she had conveyed the fact that her child was a boy. Marc spared a quick glance at his client. The light of hopeful joy in Louie Demerchant’s eyes struck deeply at Marc’s sense of justice and fair play. This was such a cruel thing this woman was doing. Did she understand how cruel? Did she care?
He swung back to his witness. His fascination for the lady’s lovely legs, sensual walk and mysterious air had momentarily clouded his judgment. Well, not anymore. Work was work and women were women, and Marc knew better than to ever mix the two. He shot out his next questions in rapid fire.
“Dr. Westbrook, how many times were you inseminated with donor sperm from Bio-Sperm?”
“Just once.”
“When?”
“July 5, two years ago.”
“When did you give birth?”
“April 7 of last year.”
“How much did your baby weigh at birth?”
“Six pounds, twelve ounces.”
“Was he a full-term baby?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
“The doctor confirmed my pregnancy at the end of August the previous year.”
“And you think you became pregnant and gave birth to your son as a result of the sperm you received at Bio-Sperm on July 5 of the month before?”
“I know it.”
“You know it? How can you know it?”
“I was only artificially inseminated once, Counselor.”
“There are other ways of becoming pregnant, Dr. Westbrook. How many times did you have intimate relations with a man during the months of June, July and August during the year when your baby was conceived?”
For the first time, Marc saw a slight stiffening in the relaxed shoulders of his witness. Remy Westbrook shifted sideways in her chair in order to face and address the judge.
“Your Honor, is that question permissible?”
The judge’s lined face looked apologetic. “Yes,
