A Writer's Life (54 page)

“Now, on the morning of 23d June, did you hear anything?” asked James Lowe.

“Yes, sir, I did,” said Dibblee, mentioning that the Bobbitt couple seemed to be “having sex,” except that, every few seconds or so, Lorena “would blurt out a scream.” Dibblee said his girlfriend slept through the noise the entire time, while he continued to drift in and out of sleep as he tried to reassure himself that what he was hearing through the wall were “just two folks having sex.”

“Did you think it was
normal
sex?” Lowe asked, the implication being that it might have been
forced
sex.

Before Dibblee could reply, the prosecutor, Paul Ebert, got to his feet, frowned in Lowe's direction, and called aloud to Judge Herman A. Whisenant: “Your Honor, I would object to
that
.…”

“Sustained,” the judge said without hesitation.

Ebert sat down, contented, but he still seemed to be rankled by the defense attorney's line of questioning. Paul Ebert rarely repressed his feelings
in a courtroom, or anywhere else in this part of Virginia, where he had been born and reared and where, since becoming the county prosecutor twenty-six years before, he had been recognized as a formidable force for probity, if not always justice with compassion. A large man with graying blond hair, blue eyes, and the ruddy complexion of the outdoorsman that he was—his office was decorated with carved ducks and wildlife photos and was strewn with hunting magazines—Ebert had so far sent seven convicts to death (a record for a Virginia prosecutor), and, together with his thirteen assistants, he had prosecuted 2,416 new cases during the previous year, which was a 55 percent increase from a decade earlier. An outside attorney named Daniel Morissette, having competed unsuccessfully against Ebert in a capital murder case, said that Ebert usually “destroys defendants” during cross-examination.

When it came time for the cross-examination of Michael Dibblee, Ebert got up from his chair slowly, smoothed out the wrinkles from the back of his dark suit with his big hands, and ambled over to the witness stand.

“Mr. Dibblee,” he began, speaking in a leisurely manner and with a slight southern drawl, “you said you heard people having sex, and you had heard similar noises, except this was not rhythmic?”

“As I heard before in hotel rooms, sir,” Dibblee said.

“Now, is it fair to say that the other instances you heard were people having sex, at least they were making noises, loud noises?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Both parties?”

“More so the woman than the man,” Dibblee said.

“And the woman would be screaming?” Ebert asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“… And would it be fair to say that, from your experience, when people have sex, they scream?”

“No, sir, I guess it wouldn't be. I'm sure people have had sex in a hotel room next to me when I haven't heard them.”

“But there are people that have sex and they scream, you've heard that?

“Yes, sir, I have.”

“Now,” Ebert continued, “you
speculate
they're having sex, I take it.”

“Okay,” Dibblee conceded.

“You didn't see them having sex?”

“No, sir.”

“You heard screams.”

“Yes, sir.”

“It was your opinion that these persons were engaged in sexual intercourse where these screams were being uttered.”

“Correct,” said Dibblee with a casual nod.

“When
you
have sex,” Ebert quickly asked, “does
your
partner scream?”

Dibblee's face reddened. Up until this point he had been courteous and cooperative, responding in the amiable manner that he practiced on airplanes; now, however, Dibblee had lost his composure, and, turning toward Judge Whisenant, he asked in a high-toned voice almost trembling with indignation, “Sir, do I have to answer
that?”

“If it please the Court,” Ebert interrupted, “
he's
the one who brought this up.”

The judge agreed with Ebert, and ordered Dibblee to respond.

“… On occasion,” Dibblee said sheepishly.

“
What's that
?” asked Ebert, as if unable to hear.

“On occasion, I would say.”

“Every time?”

“No, sir,” Dibblee said, shifting on the stand, “not
every
time.”

“And do you
force
your girlfriend to have sex?”

“No, sir, I do
not
!” Dibblee declared.

“But she screams whether you force her or not?”

“Is this
arousing
to you that you're asking me these kind of questions?” Dibblee asked, glaring at the prosecutor.

“What's
that
?” shouted Ebert, unaccustomed to being challenged.

“Is this
arousing
to you that you're asking me these kind of questions?”

“
You
answer my question, sir!” Ebert insisted, and at the same time he gestured toward the judge, who then turned toward Michael Dibblee.

“Mr. Dibblee,” Judge Whisenant said softly but formally, “just answer the question.”

“Can I hear the question again?”

“The question is,” said Ebert, “does your girlfriend scream whether you force her to have sex or not?”

“Your
Honor,”
said Lorena's attorney Blair Howard rising to his feet, “I've got to object to this … this is totally irrelevant.”

“If it please the Court,” Ebert said, “… it's not
his
witness, and, for that matter, I ask the Court to admonish Mr. Howard and have him sit down.”

As Blair Howard sat down, his colleague James Lowe got up to say, “Your Honor, I think we
are
reaching a point where going into his sex life is a little
much
on cross-examination—”

“If it please the Court,” Ebert cut in, “the very purpose for this man's testimony is to establish that he heard somebody having sex, although he
didn't
see
it. He assumed from the noises that he heard that these people were having sex. And I think I'm entitled to inquire as to how he reached his opinion or conclusion. And
they
brought it out, I didn't.”

“All right, sir,” said Judge Whisenant, “I'm going to allow that question because that was the purpose on direct examination. He was called and he so testified as to what was going on. There was no objection to that question. Go ahead, sir.” The judge nodded toward Dibblee, instructing him to answer Ebert.

“… Yes,” said the crestfallen Dibblee, “on occasion my girlfriend would scream while having sex.”

“More often than not?” Ebert asked.

“It varies, sir.”

“It
varies
?” asked Ebert. “And would it be fair to say that when you have sex she screamed more often than not?”

“Yes,” Dibblee went on, “I guess that would be fair to say.”

“Would she scream loud enough for other people as far as you're concerned to hear it in the apartment project?”

“I wouldn't know.”

Dibblee seemed to be almost listless at this time. He had entered the courtroom in the morning touted as a strong witness for the defense, but while on the stand he had been embarrassed and humiliated, and, when Ebert finally finished, Dibblee sighed with relief. After the judge had thanked him for his testimony, Dibblee left the courtroom and headed for the lobby. Along the way a reporter for the
Washington Post
caught up with him, and in the next day's story Dibblee was described as “distressed.” Dibblee had told the reporter that he was en route to see his girlfriend, who was at home watching the trial on television. The Court TV Network was providing gavel-to-gavel coverage of the daily proceedings. The network had a national audience of approximately 14 million viewers.

The procession of defense witnesses who followed Dibblee to the stand were more successful than he had been in voicing their support for Lorena and emphasizing to the jury that her marriage to John Bobbitt had depressed her, had dehumanized her, and had brought her much physical suffering. Lynn Acquiviva, a customer at the nail salon that employed Lorena, recalled seeing her at work “with extensive bruising” on the top and sides of her head. Another customer, Roma Anastasi, described Lorena as characteristically “tense, nervous, and very sad.” A onetime neighbor of Lorena's, Mary Jo Willoughby, had remembered her at times as “… hysterical … crying, just shaking.” The assistant manager at the Bobbitt couple's apartment building, Beth Ann Wilson, told the jury that
“Lorena seemed to be intimidated by John, had a hard time looking towards him.” One of Erma Castro's daughters not only denounced John Bobbitt to the jury but presented them with some of the Polaroid pictures that she had taken of Lorena's bruised body in 1991 after Lorena had quarreled with her husband and had sought refuge in the Castro household. These photos were offered in evidence by Lorena's attorneys.

More than a dozen witnesses would testify on behalf of Lorena before she herself took the witness stand on the afternoon of the third day of the trial—Wednesday, January 12. For two and a half hours on this day, and well into the following day, Lorena sat answering the cordially posed questions of her attorney James Lowe, who was hoping to present her to the jury as a virtuous young woman who had been raised in a Latin American family that subscribed to the moral teachings of the Catholic Church.

“What is the family view concerning premarital sex?” Lowe asked.

“My family wouldn't allow it,” said Lorena.

“What is the family view concerning unchaperoned dating?”

“My family wouldn't allow it.”

“Did you have any unchaperoned dates before you came to America?”

“No, I didn't.”

“What is the family view on abortion?”

“My family would not allow it.”

“On divorce?”

“My family would not allow it.”

“Was there any background of violence in your family as you grew up?”

“No, no.”

“How do you believe that differences should be resolved within the family?”

“My parents will close the door or just talk about the matter. Just resolve the problems talking. No yelling, no screaming, no violence.”

Her first experience with screaming and violence came via her husband, she said, adding that he was easily infuriated. She recalled a time when she was preparing Thanksgiving dinner in their new home in Manassas during her second year of marriage. Her mother was then visiting from Venezuela, and her husband, John, was sitting in the living room watching a football game on television. Lorena decided on her own to switch the channel to the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade, explaining to her husband as she did so that her mother would find this program more enjoyable than football. He reacted by jumping up from his chair, shoving her across the room, and then—after he had run out of the house and had climbed up on the roof—tearing down the antenna.

Lorena remembered that John had also behaved wildly and had manhandled her after they had gotten into an argument over what kind of Christmas tree they should purchase and display in their home during the holiday season. He had wanted a pine tree. She had preferred a plastic tree.

“To me, a plastic tree is a tradition,” she explained to James Lowe. “In South America, you can't have pines. It's not cold weather. So, I guess it meant a lot to me, because I grew up with a plastic tree.”

And how was this issue settled?

“He squeezed my face really tight, and he said, ‘Don't tell me what to do,' and he pushed me around,” said Lorena. “And he told me again, ‘Don't tell me what to do.' And he slapped me and then he pulled my skirt up.”

“Did that put you in a mood to have sex?” asked James Lowe.

“No,” she said. “I escape. I ran away from him.”

James Lowe later asked Lorena to describe the morning of June 23, 1993, when, after her husband had allegedly raped her and had then fallen asleep, she had gotten out of bed and walked into the kitchen.

“I just tried to calm myself down,” she said, “and I pour some water from the refrigerator, and … the only light that was on was the refrigerator light, and I saw the knife.…”

“Do you remember cutting him?” Lowe asked.

“No, I don't remember that. No, sir, I don't remember that.…”

During the cross-examination, conducted by the assistant prosecutor Mary Grace O'Brien, Lorena was questioned further about what she remembered from the morning of June 23.

“You don't remember cutting your husband's penis off?” O'Brien asked.

“No, ma'am, I don't.”

“It's your testimony that the last thing that you remember was being in the kitchen, holding a knife?”

“Yes, ma'am. I was in the kitchen holding the knife.…”

“After time passed, you calmed down some, didn't you, over the months that have passed since then?”

“Ma'am, it's really hard to, even now, go through the situation. I really wish that I could forget about it.”

“I'll
bet
you do,” O'Brien said sarcastically.

“Yes, ma'am,” Lorena said, tearfully. “I wish I could just forget about it.…”

O'Brien's cross-examination continued for more than an hour, touching upon many phases of Lorena's life—her girlhood in Latin America; her settling in Virginia under the guardianship of Castro; her working for
Janna Biscutti as a nanny and nail sculptress; her involvement with John Bobbitt and her willingness, while claiming to be a practicing Catholic, to marry him outside the Church (“It was
his
idea,” Lorena told the jury). But O'Brien kept returning to the main question in this case: What was Lorena's state of mind when she severed her husband's penis on the morning of June 23? Had she been so traumatized and depressed as to be governed by what her attorneys called an “irresistible impulse”? Or did she attack her husband in a spirit of maliciousness? If the jury found her guilty of “malicious wounding,” she could be fined and could serve twenty years in prison. There was no doubt in the minds of Mary Grace O'Brien and Paul Ebert that Lorena had known what she was doing at the time, and had approached John Bobbitt calculatedly and maliciously. “This is a man who was asleep in his own bed,” O'Brien told the jury; “he was defenseless.” Instead of using a knife, O'Brien went on to say, Lorena should have left the apartment after the alleged rape and gone directly to the police station to file a report.