The Vendetta Defense (43 page)

Detective Wilkins nodded slowly. “Yes, I think so.”

Santoro rocked on his loafers a minute, evidently thinking about pressing it, and Judy shifted in her chair. If he went too far, she would object and she would have to be sustained. It was the lawyer’s equivalent of the cowboy’s hand hovering at his hip holster. Santoro made a decision. “I have no further questions. Thank you very much, Detective,” he said, and sat down.

It was always high noon in a murder trial, but only one man took the risk of getting dead.

Santoro’s next witness was a woman from Mobile Crime, a tall brunette with a black suit, a severe ponytail, and thick glasses, who testified that she had collected fibers from the clothes of Angelo Coluzzi that came from Pigeon Tony’s clothes. She was absolutely credible, and Judy barely objected, since it wasn’t inconsistent with her case for the defense. And her thoughts were elsewhere, as she tried to figure out what Santoro was doing and ways she could meet whatever it was in her case.

It was clearly the morning for police testimony, because his next witness was another crime tech, a red-haired young man who had taken photographs of the scene. Santoro’s only purpose was to show the photographs of Coluzzi’s body to the jury, over Judy’s objection. She could do little but watch them as they looked uncomfortably at the grim photos, which Santoro had enlarged on a projection screen in the front of the courtroom. They swallowed hard at the sad sight, and Coluzzi looked horrible in photo after photo, his dark eyes sunken, his body as small and frail as Judy had remembered. The slides weren’t bloody, but somehow their very ordinariness spoke with a more subtle eloquence. Two jurors looked away, and even Pigeon Tony blinked.

But Judy was suddenly grateful for the bulletproof sheet muting the reaction of the gallery. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Coluzzi’s widow crying and John Coluzzi holding her as she sobbed. The entire Coluzzi side of the courtroom was red-faced and teary, but the Lucia side remained still. Sketch artists drew madly, kept busy not only by the scene in the courtroom but by the one in the gallery, and the reporters scribbled their squiggles of old-fashioned shorthand. The Tonys had no reaction, and Frank kept eyeing the Coluzzis. Judy would have to talk to him at the noon recess and find out what he knew.

For the first time in her life, she wasn’t looking forward to lunch.

42

T
he courthouse conference room suddenly felt smaller than Judy remembered, but maybe that was because she was facing off against her lover. She stood on one side of the table and Frank on the other. The fluorescent lights were harsh and glaring. An uneaten pizza sat steaming in its box on the table. In two swivel chairs sat Pigeon Tony and Bennie, reduced to a captive audience.

“You didn’t tell me, Judy,” Frank said, his tone an accusation and his mouth tight with hurt. Pain filled his eyes, which looked bloodshot from a night without sleep. “You knew Coluzzi killed my parents and you didn’t tell me.”

Judy felt her face flush. “Your grandfather told you what Coluzzi said.”

“Yes. He didn’t want to, but he did.”

Pigeon Tony was shaking his head with regret. “Sorry, Judy. He no stop. He ask, ask, ask, ask. He scream and yell. He no give up. Like father.”

But Frank ignored him. “He also told me about my parents’ truck, which you found, and
have
, incredibly enough—and the report you got from an expert who examined the wreck. You know more about my parents’ death than I do, Judy. You knew all along. And you didn’t tell me!”

“I couldn’t. It was privileged.”

“Bullshit!” Frank raised his voice, then glanced nervously at the conference room door. “You could have told me! I don’t want to hear about this privilege shit!” Frank caught himself and lowered his voice. “You’re not my lawyer. You’re supposed to be my lover. My friend. Everything. I took that seriously, but evidently you didn’t.”

Judy went hot with embarrassment. She didn’t want to be having this conversation in a courthouse, in front of other people, much less Bennie, so she said as much.

“This
is
the time and place, Judy, and you didn’t tell me about my parents’ murder because you were afraid I’d retaliate. You both were!” Frank cast a scornful glance that managed to encompass both Judy and Pigeon Tony. “That’s why you two kept your mouth shut. You both decided what my reaction should be, and it wasn’t the one you wanted, so you didn’t tell me. But that wasn’t for either of you to decide. They were
my
parents! I am their
only son
! I had a right to know they were murdered.”

“But we don’t know that they were!” Judy couldn’t help but shout. “Think logically. Coluzzi told your grandfather he killed them, and I didn’t tell you that. Granted. But before you go off half-cocked, you should understand that there’s no proof that Coluzzi was telling the truth. I don’t think he did it.”

Pigeon Tony was nodding. “He did it.”

“He did it!” Frank agreed.

“You don’t know that,” Judy said. “In fact, I have, or had, tapes of Coluzzi discussing the night your parents had the accident. There’s not a word on them about the murder or your parents. Nothing.”

“
Tapes
, from where?” Frank demanded, and even Pigeon Tony looked over. She hadn’t mentioned the tapes to either of them. “What tapes? Videotapes?”

“Phone tapes.”

“
Phone tapes?
Of Coluzzi? Who was he discussing it with?”

Judy thought better of it. She didn’t want Frank attacking Jimmy Bello, not before she had her chance with him on cross-examination. “It doesn’t matter. But I had them, and they said nothing. And the expert I hired said the accident was only an accident, as did the cops. They can’t all be wrong, Frank. Use your head, not your heart.”

But Frank’s anger became unfocused. “Who was Coluzzi on the phone with? Who? And where did you get the tapes?”

“I’m not telling you that, and you have to trust me. They don’t prove anything. Nothing proves anything. I think it was an accident. I didn’t think it before that accident expert, but now I do.”

“I don’t need proof. Coluzzi admitted it.”

“That doesn’t mean anything. Think about it.”

Frank threw up his hands. “Why would he say it if he didn’t do it?”

“To drive your grandfather crazy. To make him nuts. To take credit for something he didn’t do, with false bravado.” Judy felt calmer. The more she thought about it, the more sense it made. “There are a million explanations, Frank. Coluzzi was a sadist.”

“He did it!”

“He did it,” Pigeon Tony echoed, and Bennie shot him a dirty look.

Judy got fed up. “Look, Frank, I’m in the middle of a murder trial right now. So this isn’t about you
or
your parents, as sorry as I am for their deaths. Right now it’s about your grandfather, who is charged with murder, and it doesn’t look so good for the good guys. Or the bad guys. Whoever we are.” It was a little confusing.

Frank swallowed, visibly dry-mouthed, and Judy saw her opening and went for it, as much as it hurt her to shut him down.

“You want to know the truth, Frank? You can read it. I’ll give you the files tonight. My file, the police file, the whole thing. You want to, you can even talk to the expert. He’s completely impartial. He said the guardrail was too low to be safe and there was no foul play. But right now I have a client to defend and you are not helping him—or me—in the least.”

Frank’s features went stiff and he looked down at Pigeon Tony, whose tiny face sagged between his hands. Frank stood still for a minute, then his sigh was audible. “Fine. We’ll discuss it later.”

Judy figured it was the closest an Italian man could come to an apology. “And you won’t get crazy until we do.”

“I didn’t promise that.”

“It wasn’t a question,” Judy said, and let it drop. Frank wasn’t nuts enough to be thinking about murder, was he? And who would he kill? Angelo Coluzzi was already dead. “Now let’s get back to court, where all I have to fight with is the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania.” Judy glanced at Bennie. “You have anything to tell me before we go back in there?”

“Nope. You’re the boss, boss,” Bennie said, with a relieved smile, and Judy breathed in the encouragement.

“Then let’s go kick some ass.”

On the witness stand in a three-piece suit of light gray wool, Dr. Patel made the same professional picture Judy remembered from the medical examiner’s office. Glossy black hair, large brown eyes behind glasses, a pleasant smile, and a British accent that enhanced the impressiveness of his qualifications. He could have ordered a cheese pizza and sounded smart.

“Now, Dr. Patel, you were the assistant medical examiner who examined the body of Angelo Coluzzi, were you not?” Santoro asked.

“Yes.”

“And you prepared a report of that postmortem examination, did you not?”

“I did.”

Santoro approached the witness stand. “May I approach, Your Honor?” he said needlessly, as Vaughn nodded. “I am showing you a copy of your report on the examination of Angelo Coluzzi, and I ask you to identify it, Dr. Patel.”

“It is mine.”

Santoro moved the report into evidence without objection and addressed the witness. “Please describe briefly for the jury your examination, in layman’s terms, if you would.”

“Briefly, the first step in an autopsy is the external examination,” Dr. Patel began, then described in detail the procedure that Judy had witnessed at the morgue, beginning with the inspection of the deceased’s clothes, and ending with the weighing and sectioning of the internal organs. It sounded even more revolting in description, with the imagination working its wizardry. By the time Dr. Patel was finished, Santoro was pulling out autopsy photos like a proud father.

Judy half rose. “Objection, Your Honor, as to prejudice.”

“Overruled,” Judge Vaughn said. It was by now established law that the Commonwealth had the right to gross out the jury.

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Santoro said, and he moved the exhibits into evidence without further objection. He set the first one before Dr. Patel and broadcast it on the overhead projector. “Dr. Patel, you see before you Commonwealth Exhibit Ten. Is this, in fact, the body of the deceased, Angelo Coluzzi?”

“It is.”

“Dr. Patel, did you form an opinion, to a reasonable degree of medical certainty, as to the cause of death of Angelo Coluzzi?”

“I did.”

“What was your opinion, Doctor?”

“I found that it was homicide, and that the cause of death was a fracture to the spinal column, at C3, in the cervical vertebra.”

“And how did you determine this, Doctor?”

“By inspection and by X ray.”

Santoro looked grave, and Judy had the sense that he’d practiced. “What was the mechanism of death, sir?”

“Death resulted from a blunt-force injury, that is, a rapid forward snap that broke the neck. Death was instantaneous.”

Santoro nodded. “Dr. Patel, just so the jury understands, when is this type of injury often seen?”

“This injury is similar to the whiplash type of injury one sees in auto accidents, when a car is struck from behind, or even in child abuse cases, with so-called Shaken Baby Syndrome. In this family of injury, undue stresses are placed on the cervical spine, and it ruptures, as it did in the case of the deceased.”

Judy made a note. She should have objected but she hadn’t seen it coming. She didn’t want Angelo Coluzzi equated with a baby in the jury’s mind.

Santoro changed to a slide of the top half of Angelo Coluzzi’s body, showing the neck and shoulders. The head was hideously askew. The jury reacted instantly. “Dr. Patel, I show you Commonwealth Exhibit Eleven. What does this view tell us?”

“It shows the looseness of the neck, which is clearly at an abnormal angle, as it is now severed from the shoulders. A broken neck can be difficult to detect. There is often little bruising, so X rays are indicated to confirm the conclusion.”

Santoro showed the slide of an X ray, which he moved into evidence, and Judy didn’t object, as repetitive as it was. She would lose anyway, and in fact the X ray was abstract in a way the photographs weren’t, reducing the whole human being to a black-and-white segment. If anything, it was a relief from the autopsy photos, and the jury returned to the fold. Judy bet Santoro wouldn’t have it up there long.

“Dr. Patel, I now show you Commonwealth Exhibit Twelve. What does this teach us?”

Dr. Patel shifted around and lifted a steel pointer from the witness stand. “As you can see, the human vertebrae interlock almost like a thick chain, except that one of the links has been broken.” He pointed to a break in the chain. “It determines positively that the spinal column has been broken.”

“Thank you.” Santoro nodded. “I have no further questions.”

Judy stood up, armed with notes and a report from an expert osteopath she had worked with in preparation for trial. “Good afternoon, Dr. Patel. My name is Judy Carrier, and if you recall, I was present at the postmortem of Mr. Coluzzi.”

“Yes, hello, Ms. Carrier.” Dr. Patel smiled.

“I have only a few questions for you. Dr. Patel, do you recall the age of Angelo Coluzzi at the time of his death?”

Dr. Patel nodded. “He was eighty, I believe.”

“In your opinion, how are the bones of an eighty-year-old man different from those of, let’s say, a thirty-year-old man?”

“Well, the bone mass of older people is, in general, markedly different from that of younger people. Bones become more brittle as we age. They lose mass and resiliency.” Dr. Patel cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably in his chair when he looked in Santoro’s direction. Judy could guess that the D.A. wasn’t happy with the lecture, but Dr. Patel was his own man, a dangerous thing in an expert.

“Specifically, how is the spine of an eighty-year-old man different from that of, let’s say, a thirty-year-old man?”

“Like other bones, the spine weakens with age in general, becoming more fragile. This is because the vertebrae lose some of their mineral content, making each bone thinner. Also, between each pair of vertebrae, the intervertebral disk, a gel-like cushion, loses fluid gradually, making these thinner as well. The spinal column therefore becomes curved and compressed. In addition, as we age, the likelihood of arthritis and osteoarthritis increases.”