Dante's Dilemma (19 page)

Hallie cut him off. “Doctor Angelotti forwarded a copy of the report to me last week.”

“You were in contact with my witness?” Di Marco said shrilly. “Judge, that's sanctionable.”

“Pipe down,” the judge commanded. “Or they'll be able to hear you as far away as State Street. What's your answer to that, Ms. Sanchez?”

“We didn't communicate
ex parte
, if that's what counsel means. Dr. Angelotti simply forwarded both written reports—his and Dr. Stephens's—with a note saying Mr. Di Marco had instructed him to furnish me with copies. In the interest of full disclosure.”

In this instance, full disclosure included the fluorescent Post-It flags I had Yelena stick on various pages of Brad's report to make sure Hallie gave them her full attention. But Hallie had spoken the literal truth: the two of us hadn't exchanged a word since that day in the jail.

“You did ask Dr. Angelotti to send it, didn't you?” Hallie continued in an angelic tone, putting Di Marco on the spot.

Di Marco hadn't, nor as I'd suspected, seen fit to provide a copy to the defense himself, clearly hoping to spring it as a surprise at trial. But he couldn't admit to that without Hallie calling him on a violation of the rules. “Sure,” he mumbled in a tight voice.

“In that case,” Judge Katsoros said, “let's hear her objection.”

“If I may tender a copy of Dr. Stephens's report to the court?”

The judge agreed and Hallie went on. “Drawing Your Honor's attention to pages twenty-eight and twenty-nine, you'll see that Dr. Stephens's ‘expert' opinion is nothing more than a statement of his belief that my client is a liar. The law is clear in this and virtually every other jurisdiction that the defendant's credibility is not an appropriate subject for expert testimony. It's not helpful to the jury, which is charged with making its own decision about truthfulness, and is unfairly prejudicial to the accused. For that reason, the admission of such testimony is considered plain error and grounds for automatic reversal.”

This couldn't help being of concern to the judge. “I hope you have a good response to that, Mr. Di Marco.”

Di Marco scrambled to come up with one. “He didn't say she was a liar. He said she was lying about her mental state. That's well within his psychiatric expertise.”

“Same difference,” Hallie said. “Either way, the message it sends is that Ms. Lazarus isn't telling the truth. That's for the jury to decide.”

I was elated that my strategy seemed to be working.

But even good lawyers can make a mistake.

“And, if that isn't enough, the report is hearsay,” Hallie added without needing to.

“It's not hearsay if this”—Di Marco bit his tongue—“this
witness
relied on it.”

“He clearly didn't rely on the part we're discussing. What's more, Dr. Angelotti is here and can be cross-examined about his findings. Dr. Stephens obviously cannot.”

“All right. Quiet, both of you, while I think about this,” Judge Katsoros said.

It gave Di Marco just enough time to regroup.

The judge was on the verge of ruling when Di Marco spoke up again, “Excuse me, Your Honor. I didn't mean to interrupt. But counsel's last few remarks have suggested a compromise.”

“What's that?” the judge asked.

“I'd like permission to treat this witness as hostile.”

Now it was Hallie's turn to be caught by surprise. “Hostile? On what basis?”

Di Marco rejoined, “Dr. Angelotti's beliefs run contrary to the prosecution's interest in seeing a cold-blooded murderer put away. How much more hostile can you get? I'll agree to leave out any reference to Dr. Stephens's report if I can cross-examine him about weaknesses in his analysis.”

“That sounds like a good compromise to me,” Judge Katsoros said. “How about it, Ms. Sanchez?”

I didn't dare send her a worried look, not with the jury sitting so close by. From their sighs and murmurs, it was plain they were growing impatient with the prolonged interruption in the proceedings. It's a well-known fact that juries tended to take sidebars out on the attorney requesting them. And really, what did I have to be afraid of? Di Marco had already beaten the blindness horse to death. Carrying the theme any further carried the risk that the jury would come to despise him and side with me.

Hallie evidently reached the same conclusion. Not that she had much choice.

“Ms. Sanchez?” Judge Katsoros prodded. “We're losing time.”

Hallie said cautiously, “I guess I can go along. If what Dr. Stephens believed stays well out of it.”

“You have my word as an officer of the court,” Di Marco said solemnly and with what sounded to me like ill-disguised glee.

“It's settled then,” the judge declared. “You may proceed,” he told Di Marco.

I took a sip of water to steady my nerves and assumed an attentive expression.

Di Marco began, “Doctor, since you've acted in this capacity before, I assume you're familiar with the ethical rules governing expert-witness engagements.”

That was easy. “I am.”

“Specifically, with the guidelines put forth by the American Academy of Psychiatry and the Law.”

“Yes.”

“Would you agree, then, with the guideline stating that forensic examiners should strive for objectivity in their assessments?”

“Of course.”

“And with the commentary for that guideline cautioning forensic examiners to be on the alert for unintended bias.”

I agreed once more.

“In fact, according to the commentary, even the most conscientious and experienced examiner may be subject to such bias.”

“That's what the commentary says.”

“And that unrecognized bias can result in flawed reasoning.”

“I can't quarrel with that in the abstract.”

I wondered where he was going with all this.

“Isn't it also true that forensic examinations frequently involve aspects of human behavior that are quite disturbing?”

“I can't say how frequently it comes up, but when they involve violence against human beings, yes of course.”

“What about you? Have any of your expert assignments involved conduct you found difficult to stomach?”

Thinking I understood what was behind this question, I chose my words carefully. “If you're referring to the manner in which Ms. Lazarus, ah . . . treated her husband's corpse, I admit that I found it . . . unsettling. As would most people, I imagine.” It was always best to be candid. And to admit the things the jury would find unbelievable if you didn't.

“Actually, I wasn't referring to that,” Di Marco said, surprising me.

I tilted my head at him quizzically.

“I was referring to the defendant's childhood. Didn't you testify that she was abused by her mother?”

“Yes.”

“Systematically and over a period of many years?”

“That's right.”

“That kind of childhood must have resulted in a great deal of pent-up rage.”

All this did was give me another chance to climb aboard my soapbox. “Not necessarily. More often, victims of child abuse direct their anger against themselves. You have to understand that a young child regards her parents as the most powerful beings on earth. When they turn on her, she can't help but believe that she is to blame. Such children typically view themselves as evil and undeserving of normal human love.”

“Very nicely put.” Di Marco said. “And you say these feelings characterized the defendant?”

“As I mentioned, I believe they account for Ms. Lazarus's decision to stay in her marriage. Believing herself to be unworthy of her husband's love and respect, she accepted the things he did to her until her psyche finally rebelled and she snapped—to use an unscientific term.”

“It sounds like you had some sympathy for her.”

“Again, I think most people would.”

“But you didn't let that sympathy affect your judgment.”

“Not to any significant degree.”

“You're sure about that?”

“Absolutely.”

I should have seen what was coming.

“A little earlier, we talked about unintended bias on the part of the examiner. You weren't subject to any of that yourself?”

“I don't think so,” I said truthfully.

“I was wondering whether your sympathy for the defendant might stem from something personal,” was Di Marco's next question.

Caught again by surprise, I blinked. “Pardon me?”

“Like your own childhood.”

“I don't understand.”

“Oh, but I think you do. What I want to know is whether you have any personal experience of child abuse?”

My face must have blushed the shade of a ripe watermelon. I felt a line of sweat form on my back and telegraphed a silent message to Hallie.
Please shut this down. Now.

But either she wasn't paying attention or was just as interested in the answer as Di Marco was.

“Child abuse? No, of course not,” I said. Exactly what I had always told myself.

“But your father hit you.”

How the hell did he find that out?
I put as much nonchalance into a shrug as I could. “It was a different time. Many adults believed that hitting was an acceptable form of discipline.”

“But not when the defendant was a girl?”

“Attitudes had changed. And you can't compare what happened to the defendant—I mean, Ms. Lazarus—to an occasional swat on the backside.”

“That's the only place you were hit—on the backside?”

I couldn't perjure myself. “No.”

“How often?”

“How often what?” Against my will, I was growing belligerent, the worst thing a witness can do.

“How often did your father hit you?”

“You're asking me to remember things that happened decades ago,” I snapped, trying to clamp a lid on my anger. What right did this bastard have to pry into my past? And why wasn't Hallie doing something about it?

“Just give us an estimate, then. Once a week? Twice?”

The sweat on my back was now a spring torrent. “I . . . I can't put an estimate on it. But it wasn't abuse as you're using that term.”

“It was your fault, then—that he hit you?”

“I was a little wild back then. He was just trying to keep me out of trouble.”

“So you blame yourself. Just as—according to your learned opinion—Ms. Lazarus blamed herself.”

“It's not the same thing,” I protested.

“Isn't it?” Di Marco said.

A dam of emotion chose that moment to break. “He was my father. He loved me. And what proof do you have? This is all just insinuation.”

“Let me show you something then,” Di Marco said as smoothly as a card sharp. He slapped down something in front of me. “Recognize this? Oh, sorry. I forgot you
can't
.”

Hallie finally woke from her stupor. “Wait just a minute. Before we go on, I want to know what he's showing the witness.”

“My apologies. Ms. Rogers,” Di Marco sang out to Michelle, “would you please supply counsel with a copy of the letter I have just put in front of Dr. Angelotti?”

“What is this?” Hallie repeated.

“Just this. In the course of investigating Dr. Angelotti's credentials—you can never be too careful about falsification of résumés these days—I subpoenaed his college records. Naturally, I didn't expect to find anything amiss. I was just trying to be on the safe side. As you'd expect, Dr. Angelotti's academic performance was exemplary. But in the file, I ran across this letter from an old acquaintance.”

What old acquaintance? And why was it in my file after all these years?

Di Marco turned to me. “The Reverend Patrick Charles. I assume you remember him?”

Father Chuck.

I mumbled a yes.

“Who was Reverend Charles?”

“He was my high-school guidance counselor.”

“Did the two of you know each other well?”

“We talked sometimes.”

“When you were applying to college, did Reverend Charles write letters of recommendation on your behalf?”

“I believe so,” I said.

“The paper I have tendered to you appears to be one of those letters, written to the dean of admissions at the university you ultimately attended. Do you know what it says?”

“No. I never saw it.”

“Your Honor, may I have permission to put this up for the jury?” Di Marco asked, referring to the audio-visual screen all courtrooms come equipped with these days. “And of course, I'll read it to Dr. Angelotti.”

He proceeded to do just that. I didn't need to see the jury to know they were hanging on every word.

Dear Monsignor Doyle:

I am writing as a fellow Jesuit and because I know you are always looking for that special admissions candidate, the student most in need of our love and prayers to succeed.

Mark Angelotti is just such a candidate. I have worked closely with him over the last several months and found him to be an exceptionally bright, articulate, and sensitive young man. Regrettably, these attributes have not always been reflected in his scholastic performance at St. Regis Preparatory. Without going into detail, Mark is the only child of a troubled and violent father, a background that has thus far prevented him from achieving his true potential. Only recently, and with my counseling, has Mark begun to sort through the anger and confusion brought about by his unfortunate circumstances.

I am aware that Mark's record as it now stands does not meet your high academic standards. But I beg you to give this boy a chance. Mark's mother died in childbirth, and he has borne the brunt of his father's rage and sorrow for all of his young life. Mark has aspirations to study medicine, and I am confident that he will be a tremendous asset to that field, as well as your institution, once he is no longer living at home.