Sly Fox: A Dani Fox Novel (41 page)

“After Carlos Gonzales remarried and his second wife, Benita Gonzales, was found dead, did you have a conversation with him?”

We were moving into dangerous territory. I had warned Yolanda that she could not tell the jury about the earlier trial. She could not tell them that Carlos Gonzales had begun raping and abusing Carmen. She could not say that Gonzales had moved Carmen into his bedroom. Yolanda was supposed to keep her testimony short and answer only my direct questions. I didn’t want Pisani asking for a mistrial because I had tainted the jurors.

“Yes,” Yolanda said, “I spoke to Carlos about Carmen. She used to come see me after her own mother died because I was like another mother to her. Then, when her father remarried, she stopped coming. She liked her stepmother, Benita. They became close. Carmen was upset when she died. She had lost her own mother, Rosita, and now her stepmother, too. She asked me to talk to her father. She said the two of them were having
serious problems
. I went to see him and he got very angry and threatened me.”

“The defendant threatened you? What did he say?”

“He told me to leave him and his family alone. He said, ‘I killed that bitch I was married to and I will kill you, too.’”

“Do you know whom he was referring to when he said ‘that bitch’?”

“He meant Benita, his second wife. He told me he’d poisoned her. He said the cops were stupid and believed she’d taken an overdose, but he’d killed her.”

“Did you believe him?”

“I sure did.”

“Did he tell you why he killed her?”

“He said she was going to call the cops on him and divorce him. He said it was because he was selling cocaine and Benita didn’t want any part of it.”

I had just established a motive for Gonzales wanting his wife dead. I’d also managed to get into the transcript that Gonzales was selling cocaine. As I sat down, I said a silent prayer. Yolanda Torres was going to need all the help she could get to withstand the harangue that was coming.

“Are you an alcoholic?” Pisani asked.

“I drink too much sometimes,” Yolanda replied.

“Have you ever been arrested for being drunk in public?”

Yolanda looked at me for help, but Pisani was well within his rights. I knew the judge would override my objection.

“Yes, the police arrested me a few times.”

Picking up a sheet of paper, Pisani said, “How many times in the past, say, four years, have you been arrested on disorderly conduct charges?”

“I don’t understand the question.”

In a belittling voice, Pisani said, “How many times have you been arrested by the
policia
for being
desordenado
?”

“Quizás cuatro veces.”

Judge Morano said, “You need to answer in English.”

“Maybe four times.”

“Four times?” Pisani said. “According to these police reports, the correct number would be more than ten times. Isn’t that true?”

“If you say.”

“Who is Romero Sanchez?”

I objected. “This witness is not on trial here. How is this relevant to her testimony?”

“It goes to her credibility,” Pisani said.

“Objection overruled. Answer the question.”

“We lived together for a while—him and me.”

“Did you go to the police and swear out a complaint against Mr. Sanchez at one point?”

“Yes.”

“What did you tell the police?”

“He was beating me. I told them to arrest him.”

“Did you tell them anything else?”

“I said he had threatened to kill me.”

“What happened after the police arrested him?”

“I told the police to let him go.”

“Can you elaborate on that, please?”

Yolanda looked confused, so Pisani said, “I want you to tell us exactly what happened. Why did the police let Mr. Sanchez go?”

“Because I told the police I’d lied.”

“About Mr. Sanchez hitting you? Or him threatening to kill you?”

“Both,” she said softly.

“Romero Sanchez had never hit you, had he?”

“No.”

“He’d never threatened to kill you, had he?”

“No.”

“But you told the police that he had, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“You lied. When was the last time you had a drink of alcohol?”

“Do you mean beer?”

“Any alcoholic beverage.”

“I had a few beers last night to calm my nerves.”

“How many beers is a few? Give us a number.”

“Two six-packs.”

Pisani had effectively put Yolanda on trial. She came across as a drunk and a liar.

I still had time that afternoon for one more witness. I called Maria Hildago, the former stripper who’d been Gonzales’s last girlfriend before he’d been arrested by the FBI. I watched a scowl appear on Judge Morano’s face as Miss Hildago walked forward. She was wearing shiny knee-high, white patent-leather boots and a red patent-leather micro skirt. She was at least an E cup and both of her breasts were prominently on display in a V-neck madras blouse that matched a two-inch-wide headband that was holding her shoulder-length platinum-colored hair in place. She’d chosen silver lip gloss and eye shadow for her appearance.

Judge Morano called us to the bench. Covering his microphone, he said, “Miss Fox, your witness is not dressed appropriately to appear in my courtroom. This is not a disco or a bordello.”

“Your Honor, I can’t control what a witness chooses to wear to court.”

“Well, you’d better if you wish for her to testify. We’ll take a half-hour break.”

A half hour was not enough time for Hildago to get to her Yonkers apartment and back to court, so I hustled her into a nearby JCPenney clothing store. She was not happy when court reconvened and she appeared in a modest three-button jacket and skirt. Out of spite, she kept her white patent-leather knee-high boots.

Judge Morano looked pleased.

I asked the witness if she knew Gonzales, how they’d met, and a quick series of other background questions. She had been dancing at a gentlemen’s club and he’d bought her several drinks, she testified. A week later, when she needed a place to stay, Gonzales had taken her into his house and his bed.

I asked, “Did you ever have a conversation with the defendant about the death of his second wife, Benita?”

“Yeah, sure did. He said she’d OD’d on cocaine.”

“By OD, you mean overdosed?”

“Well, of course, darling. We were in his bedroom and he asked me if I wanted to do some coke and I said—”

Judge Morano interrupted her.

“Miss,” he said sternly, “do you realize you are under oath in a court of law?”

She looked up at him and said, “Well, of course I do.”

“Do you understand that if you admit here that you engaged in a crime, you can be prosecuted? You are also entitled to plead the Fifth and not incriminate yourself.”

A look of surprise came over her face. “Oh, you mean doing coke?”

“That’s correct.”

“Your Honor,” I said, “Miss Hildago has not testified that she used cocaine. She said the defendant offered her the drug.”

Judge Morano shot me an irritated look and said, “I know what she said.”

“Perhaps I should rephrase my question.”

“Go ahead,” he said, “but the witness has been warned.”

“What, if anything, did the defendant tell you about his wife’s death?”

In a cautious voice, Hildago said, “He told me his wife took five grams of coke that was dissolved in milk and drank it. He said it killed her.”

“He told you that she had put cocaine into her milk, dissolved it, and drank it voluntarily?”

“Yes, that’s what he said. I looked at him and said, ‘No wonder she’s dead. She either wanted to get really high or she was really stupid.’ And then he got this funny look on his face and he said, ‘She never used drugs. She didn’t know I put it there.’”

“So he told you that he was the one who actually put the cocaine in the milk?”

“That’s right and it really upset me because that’s a lot of coke for a newbie and I thought to myself, ‘What the hell?’ He realized I was upset and he said, ‘It was an accident.’ But I thought, ‘How could it be an accident?’ I mean, if you got five grams and a glass of milk and you put that in the glass and you give it to someone, what do you expect is going to happen?”

“Did you ask him why he put it in her milk?”

“No, that’s all he said and I let it drop because we were sorta busy, if you know what I mean.”

“Miss Hildago, how are you employed?” Pisani began.

“I’m a professional dancer in gentlemen’s clubs.”

“You testified that you moved into Mr. Gonzales’s house. Did he ever mistreat you?”

“You mean like hit me? Heck no! I wouldn’t stand for that.”

“Were you afraid of him?”

“Heck no. He treated me real nice.”

“Did you meet his children?”

“Yep, all four of them, but I didn’t really spend any time with them. I’m not a real kid person.”

“You testified that the defendant told you that he had put cocaine in milk for his wife, is that your testimony?”

“That’s what he said.”

“What was your condition when he told you this?”

Hildago glanced at the judge nervously.

“I’m not saying anyone took cocaine but I am saying we both were feeling, well, very happy.”

“Were you high?”

Again she looked at the judge and then said, “Yes.”

“When you get high, do you hallucinate?”

“Yes, oh, I have hallucinated, I don’t think that’s a crime.”

“Did you hallucinate that night?”

She pondered the question and said, “As a matter of fact, I did.”

“And when you had this conversation about his wife and the cocaine, were you hallucinating?”

“I don’t think so. But maybe I was, like I said, we was busy.”

“Busy?”

“We was having intimate male and female relations.”

Judge Morano adjourned court for the day. As I was collecting my papers, O’Brien came up to me.

“Whew!” he said, letting out a sad sigh. “Rough day, Counselor. You putting Carmen on tomorrow?”

I nodded. Carmen Gonzales would probably be my last and most important witness.

“I hope she does as well at this trial as she did at the first one because we need help here. No offense, but Pisani is knocking the you know what out of our witnesses,” O’Brien said.

I should have been furious with him. But I knew he was right.

52

Having Carmen testify against her father the first time had been an ordeal. I thought of the way he’d glared at her when she’d testified in the first trial. I thought of the power and control over her that he represented. I could only imagine her terror. When I had told Carmen that her father might disappear into the Federal Witness Protection Program, the look on her face had been one of true horror. She knew that if he remained free, she would always be looking over her shoulder and live in fear of retribution. His freedom would mean constant captivity for her.