Sly Fox: A Dani Fox Novel (40 page)

When I offered the photograph into evidence, Pisani asked the court for a voir dire examination of the young photographer to determine if there were any inaccuracies or misleading features in the photograph. Pisani interrogated Hector, asking if the photo had been magnified or reduced in size to create a distortion. To a casual observer, these questions might have seemed redundant and a waste of the court’s time. But Pisani was doing a thorough job. He asked Hector whether Benita had put on makeup or combed her hair or otherwise “freshened up” for the photograph. Hector replied that she had not—it was taken spontaneously after hours of shopping.

When he finished, Pisani objected to the photograph’s introduction on the grounds of relevance. But the judge overruled him and the photograph was admitted.

I then asked Hector a few questions about the night that his stepmother had died but didn’t keep him on the stand long and neither did Pisani. He had been only twelve years old at the time. When Hector stepped down, I suspected the jurors didn’t have a clue why we had made such a fuss about the Polaroid.

But I knew the photo would be significant later in the trial when I planned to take full advantage of the photograph’s hidden importance.

My next witness was Dr. Susan Treater, a New York psychiatrist with an impressive background. A petite woman in her early forties, Dr. Treater had worked at the Menninger Clinic in Topeka, Kansas, before moving east to join the psychiatric staff at Bellevue Hospital. I quickly established her as an expert witness in matters regarding suicide, which was her specialty.

“What is depression, Doctor Treater?”

“Depression is a serious mental disorder. Any of us can suffer from occasional depression, such as sad feelings that happen when a relative or pet dies. But ninety percent of people who die by suicide have clinical depression or another diagnosable mental illness, such as manic depression or schizophrenia. That is much different from feeling badly because your dog Rover died.”

“What are the signs, typically, of clinical depression?”

“Clinical depression negatively affects how you feel, the way you think, and how you act. Individuals with clinical depression are unable to function as they once did. Often they have lost interest in activities that were once enjoyable to them, and they feel sad and hopeless for extended periods of time. It can change your eating habits, how you think, your ability to work, and how you interact with people.”

I showed Dr. Treater the autopsy report, amended report, autopsy photographs, and the Polaroid that I’d already gotten introduced as evidence. “Have you seen each of these exhibits before, Doctor?”

“Yes, at your request, I read the autopsy report and examined the photographs. In addition, I conducted interviews with Benita Gonzales’s children, her mother, and several neighbors of the Gonzales family who knew Benita before she died, and I spoke to the police officers who responded to the emergency call.”

“Does a person have to be depressed in order to commit suicide?”

“Ninety percent of people who die by their own hands have clinical depression or another diagnosable mental illness. Suicide is not something a person just wakes up and decides to do one day. There are warning signs.”

“What are these signs?”

“Traditional warning signs would be talking and always thinking about death, trouble sleeping and eating, loss of interest in things that a person once cared about, making comments about being hopeless, helpless, or worthless. Visiting or calling people to say good-bye.”

“For the record, Benita Gonzales was not your patient, correct?”

“That’s true, I never met her.”

“But you did study the exhibits that I just introduced, plus you interviewed her children and her neighbors. Did you interview the defendant, Carlos Gonzales?”

“No, he declined to talk to me.”

“Did you reach any conclusions based on your research?”

Turning and looking squarely at the jurors, Dr. Treater said, “Because of Benita Gonzales’s personal appearance, her actions immediately prior to her death, and interviews I conducted as a mental health professional, I do not believe this woman was clinically depressed or suicidal on the day she died.”

Pisani attacked quickly. Because he knew it would be difficult to undermine the facts that I’d presented, he went after Dr. Treater’s credibility.

“Doctor Treater, does the name Randy Rollins mean anything to you?”

The psychiatrist, who had been poised, suddenly looked uncomfortable. “Mr. Rollins was a hospital patient of mine. But I am not at liberty to discuss his case, given doctor and patient confidentiality laws.”

Pisani smiled and I knew why. Lawyers love it when nonlawyers try to hide behind the law. “Doctor Treater, I have not asked you to divulge confidential information. I merely asked if you knew him. Now, isn’t it true that his parents filed a multimillion-dollar lawsuit against you and the hospital?”

I objected, claiming that such questions were not relevant, but I knew Judge Morano would overrule me because Pisani had a perfect right to attack her credibility and professional qualifications through a prior malpractice case.

Still trying to outmaneuver Pisani, Dr. Treater said, “I was sued but confidentiality agreements were signed so I can’t discuss it.”

Pisani smirked and said, “Those confidentiality statements only apply to the settlement. I have a copy of the original lawsuit if you would like to refresh your memory.” He lifted up a four-inch-thick file.

“That won’t be necessary.”

“Why did this young man’s parents sue you?”

“Their son committed suicide after being discharged from the hospital.”

“And who signed his discharge papers?”

“I did.”

“When you signed them, did you believe he was suicidal?”

“I did not.”

“Did his parents try to stop him from being discharged?”

“They did.”

“How long was it between the time when you discharged him and the moment when he stuck a twelve-gauge shotgun into his mouth and pulled the trigger?”

Dr. Treater looked as if she was about to become teary eyed. “Fifty-five minutes.”

“This young man killed himself fifty-five minutes after you declared, in your professional opinion as an expert on depression and suicide, that it was safe for him to be discharged from the hospital because he was not depressed and not suicidal, even though his own parents said otherwise?”

“Yes,” she said in a sad voice.

“Based on what you’ve just testified, I would conclude one or two things happened—either it is impossible to predict when someone is going to commit suicide or you are not very good at your job, wouldn’t you agree?”

“He was not showing any traditional signs or symptoms of clinical depression and suicidal thinking when I discharged him.”

“For the record, this young man was someone who you were treating and personally knew. You never met Benita Gonzales. And you were wrong about him, isn’t that right?”

“Yes.”

My next witness was White Plains police officer Whitey McLean, the first patrolman to respond to the Gonzaleses’ house. After I asked him some rudimentary questions, I had his official police report introduced as evidence. I then asked Officer McLean, “What was the defendant’s demeanor when you got to his house?”

“To me, he didn’t seem that upset. He seemed more nervous. I got the feeling he wanted us to hurry up and get her body out of there. He didn’t want to leave his kids alone with us, which, at the time, I assumed was because he was protective of them.”

I asked him if he had found an empty drinking glass in the room or any evidence of illegal drugs.

“No, the place was really tidy.”

Had he questioned any of the Gonzaleses’ children? He said that he’d talked to both Carmen and her brother, Hector.

“What did they tell you?”

“They said they had a good family.”

“Was the defendant in the room when you questioned them?”

“Yeah, that was probably a mistake in retrospect, but he was standing right there with them. At the time, I didn’t think anything of it.”

“Did the defendant mention how his wife used cocaine?”

“Yeah, I remember exactly what he said because I thought most people snorted it or shot it in their veins, but he said she used to chew it like candy, like rock candy. That was a new one to me.”

I considered that a crucial bit of testimony based on Dr. Swante’s earlier testimony about a lack of any tooth decay in Benita’s mouth. Satisfied, I sat down.

Pisani began his cross-examination by asking Officer McLean if either Carmen or Hector had seemed afraid of their father.

“The kids had both been crying, which was understandable, but no. I didn’t think either of them was afraid of him. I asked them if they wanted to speak to a counselor and they both said no.”

“If you would have suspected foul play, you would have called for a homicide detective, isn’t that right?”

“Normally, one of them would have come that night. That’s routine, but we were told it was a suicide and we had a bunch of other calls. There was a couple of shootings, so when the M.E. showed up, the body got taken away and, well, that was the end of it. I filed my report and the case was closed.”

“The case was closed because no one suspected anything improper had happened, isn’t that true?”

“Yeah, I figured the woman had killed herself.”

“Did you ask Mr. Gonzales if his wife ever took cocaine some other way besides orally? For instance, in her milk at night to help her sleep?”

“No,” Officer McLean said. “He told me that she used cocaine because she was depressed. That she sucked on it. That was all he said.”

After Officer McLean stepped down, Judge Morano adjourned court for lunch. I noticed Agent Longhorn standing at the courtroom’s double wooden doors. When Pisani reached him, they walked out together.

I hoped they both choked on a pastrami sandwich.

51

I began the afternoon with Yolanda Torres. After the allegations in the rape trial, I didn’t want to call her. O’Brien had interviewed her during Gonzales’s first trial, but I wasn’t comfortable calling her. Even now, I knew it was risky putting her on the stand but she had called O’Brien and shared a story with him that could help our case. Just to make sure that she’d show up sober, I had O’Brien pick her up that morning, buy her breakfast, and babysit her until I called her as a witness.

Yolanda Torres was from Guatemala. She had dark skin and long black hair that she’d woven into a single braid and coiled around the back of her head. She took the witness stand wearing a plain black cotton skirt and a pink, long-sleeved blouse. Both were well worn but, I suspected, were the best clothes that she owned. She was currently unemployed but worked sporadically cleaning houses.

I asked her a series of questions that established how she knew the defendant.

“Did you know Benita Gonzales?”

“Yes, I knew her for years, but then we lost touch. She called me one day and asked if I wanted to see Carmen and Hector. She brought them to the park and I saw them there. I hadn’t seen them since their mother died and now they are much older.”

“Why didn’t you stay in touch with them?”

“I was afraid—of Carlos. He didn’t want me near them. He’d never liked me because I didn’t like how he had treated Rosita, who I loved like a sister. I was devastated when she died during childbirth.”