Sly Fox: A Dani Fox Novel (42 page)

Friday morning would be hell for her.

Carmen Gonzales did not look at her father when she took the witness stand. I asked her to recall the day when her stepmother died.

“My stepmom took us to the shopping mall. It was almost Christmas and my stepmom had given me some money to buy presents for my brother and stepsister and stepbrother and my dad and her. We were happy when we got home. We put extra decorations on the tree that we’d bought and I told my stepmom that I loved Christmas. She told me, ‘Carmen, I’m going to leave the lights on the tree burning all night from now until Christmas because I know you kids love seeing them.’ And then my dad came in.”

“What happened next?”

“My stepmom had made meatloaf for dinner. My dad took a taste of it and got really angry. He stood up and threw his plate on the floor and said, ‘How dare you serve me this fucking garbage!’ All of us kids ran up to our rooms to hide because we knew there was going to be a fight.”

“They were going to argue?”

“No, my dad was going to beat her. That’s what he did when he got angry. I heard them go into the bedroom and my father say, ‘I’m going to keep hitting you, you fucking bitch, until you start bleeding.’ I could hear her screaming. It was awful.”

“Did anything else happen that night?”

“I was woke up by my father after midnight. He came into my bedroom and told me to get up because my stepmom was sick. He said I needed to get her a glass of milk in the kitchen. He said he’d poured one for her but she was angry at him, so he wanted me to get it from the kitchen and take it to her. I went downstairs and got the glass of milk on the counter and took it to my stepmom.”

“Did she drink it?”

“When I went into her room she was crying. She took the milk and drank a sip of it and thanked me and told me to go back to bed.”

“Did you tell her that your father had told you to bring her the milk?”

“No. I went back to bed, and about two hours later, he woke me up again and said, ‘Something’s wrong with your stepmom.’ I went into the bedroom and she was lying on the bed and not moving; there was vomit near her mouth. It was whitish, not yellow like most vomit. And there was white powder all over the night table. The covers on the bed were all messed up, too.”

“What was your father’s state of emotion?”

“He was calm. He told me to get my brother, so I ran down to his bedroom and got Hector. My father told us to clean up the room. He told me to sweep up all the white powder on the nightstand and floor. He told me to take the glass of milk to the kitchen and wash it out. When Hector and I were finished, he told us he was going to call the police, and if they asked any questions, he told us to tell them that we were a happy family and that my stepmom had been depressed and sad because it was the holidays.”

“Is that what you did?”

“Yes, I was fourteen and I was afraid of him. I told the policeman that my stepmom had been sad and we were a happy family.”

“Did your father ever tell you how your stepmother died?”

“After my stepmom’s funeral, my father took my brother and me into his bedroom and he said that my stepmom had killed herself. He said she had committed suicide because she was sad and depressed.”

“Did you believe him?”

“No. She’d been happy at the mall. I’d seen him use drugs, but never her. She was sweet to us.”

“Was she a moody person?”

“No, she was always a happy person except when my father was around.”

“When you were at the shopping mall, did you buy anything that afternoon?”

“I asked my stepmother what she wanted us kids to give her for Christmas and she told us she wanted Shalimar perfume, so I took the other kids because I was oldest and we put our money together and got her a bottle of Shalimar. I wrapped it and put it under the tree. After we got home that day, she went over to the tree and picked up the package and she told us, ‘What did my darlings buy me?’ She said she couldn’t wait to open it Christmas morning. She said, ‘I can’t imagine what it is.’ And then she smiled and said, ‘But it’s got to be special because it’s from you all.’ After she died, I took it from under the tree and hid it in my closet. It reminded me of her.”

I kept Carmen on the stand the entire morning and felt good when we broke for lunch.

Pisani began his cross-examination as soon as court reconvened. “You testified this morning that your father fought with Benita and you heard your father say, ‘I’m going to keep hitting you, you fucking bitch, until you start bleeding.’ Is that correct?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what he said.”

“That’s very dramatic,” Pisani said. “Now is it your testimony that he was physically beating her?”

“Yes,” she said, moving her eyes from Pisani to her father for the first time. “I know he was hitting her with a belt.”

“Really?” Pisani said with a curious voice. “I wonder if you can explain to us why the autopsy report doesn’t mention bruises or marks on your stepmother? How is that possible if your father was beating her the night that she died?”

Carmen looked puzzled and so was I. I’d not noticed that inconsistency. Was it possible that young Carmen had mixed up the dates in her memory? That she had remembered her father beating Benita and had merged that beating with the night’s events by accident in her young mind? Regardless, Pisani had caught her in what appeared to be an exaggeration.

“I object,” I said. “This witness is not the medical examiner. She had nothing to do with his report.”

Having raised doubt in the jurors’ minds about Carmen’s credibility, Pisani said, “I’ll withdraw the question.”

He moved on. “Now, Miss Gonzales, did you see your father pour the glass of milk that you claim you took and gave to your mother?”

“No. He told me there was a glass of milk on the counter but I didn’t see him actually pour it.”

“So you don’t know if your stepmother might have poured that milk earlier, do you?”

“I don’t think she did.”

“But you don’t know, do you?”

“No.”

“Now, you said your father told you that your mother had committed suicide. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“You said that you’d never seen your stepmother take cocaine, but that you had seen your father take it, is that your testimony?”

“I saw him take it several months after my stepmom was dead. But not before that night. There was white powder on the nightstand that night, though, and the floor.”

“But you don’t know who put it there, do you? You weren’t in the room when it was being used, isn’t that correct?”

“Yes.”

Pisani spent the next two hours quizzing Carmen, looking for the slightest contradictions. He got her to confirm that Benita had been alert and awake when Carmen had delivered the milk to her. Because Carmen had gone back to bed, she acknowledged that she had no idea what happened after that.

Pisani was skillfully planting seeds of doubt with each question. He was suggesting through his interrogation that Benita could have added cocaine to the milk after Carmen had returned to bed. It was also possible that Carlos and his wife had both taken drugs. He was carefully punching holes, creating uncertainties, sowing doubts. He was also trying to show that Carmen was either confused or was lying. He reminded jurors that she was only fourteen when Benita died.

“When the police came that night you told them that you had a nice family and your mother was depressed, is that right?”

“That’s what my father told us to say.”

“You were fourteen; surely you knew telling the police a lie was wrong. Are you now testifying that you lied to the police?”

“Yes, I was frightened. I was more afraid of my father than of the police.”

Finally, Pisani asked, “Do you hate your father?”

Carmen said in a calm voice, “Yes. I hate him.”

“Do you hope he goes to prison?”

Without flinching, Carmen said, “Yes.”

Pisani was finished.

Rising from my seat, I asked Judge Morano if we could approach the bench. He waved us forward.

“Mr. Pisani just asked this witness if she hated her father. I believe he has opened the door for me to ask her why she hates him.”

“Your Honor, you know where she’s going. She’s trying to find a way to have this witness testify about her father’s conviction for rape and abuse. If she does that, you’ll have to declare a mistrial.”

In his stern voice, Judge Morano said, “Mr. Pisani, I don’t have to do anything that I don’t want to do. And Miss Fox is correct, you did open the door, but I’m not going to allow this witness to talk about the defendant’s earlier conviction. I’m going to handle it my way.” He sent us back to our seats.

Addressing the jurors, Judge Morano said, “You just heard this witness say she hates her father. I’m going to have that stricken from the record and you are not to consider it when you deliberate.”

I thought,
Thanks, Judge
. Pisani gets to make his point and I can’t tell this jury why his daughter has a good reason for hating her father’s guts. Meanwhile, you’re covering your butt by deleting it from the jurors’ minds. Right.

53

I couldn’t sleep friday night. Pisani had done a good job cross-examining my witnesses. All it would take would be one juror having a single reasonable doubt. Just one juror.

At seven a.m., my phone rang and I silently cursed as I reached for it, assuming it was Mom. I was supposed to meet her for lunch and drive into the city to watch
The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas
, which had just opened at the 46th Street Theatre. I wasn’t a big fan of musicals, but Mom was insisting that I take a night off from worrying about the trial.

“Sorry to call so early,” Will Harris said, “but this is important.”

“Don’t reporters ever sleep?”

“Not ones who want to eventually get hired by the
New York Times
. I have ambitions, you know,” he said in a painfully chipper voice.

Continuing, he said, “I told you that I was going to talk to the wife of one of those cops who got busted in the thirty-fourth precinct. I got hold of her Friday night and she said her husband’s been reading my coverage of the Gonzales trial and he claims he can help you.”

“How?”

“She won’t tell me. Says her husband will only talk to you. But she said it’s enough to guarantee a conviction.”

I was wide awake now. “Where’s this cop?”

“That’s the bad and good news. He’s doing time in Attica, which is a good six-hour drive from here.”

“And the good news?”

“I can drive you there as soon as you’re ready.”

“You just said he wants to talk to me alone.”

“That’s right, but no harm in me tagging along. We can grab some breakfast and then make a day of it.”

I wasn’t sure if Harris was interested in spending time with me or was simply after an exclusive. Either way, I felt going together was not a good idea.

“Will, I really appreciate the tip, but this is something I need to do by myself.”

“Dani, this would be a great chance for us to talk. Sorta like a date, actually.”

I said I was uncomfortable mixing business and pleasure. “But I will let you know exclusively if it leads to something. I promise.”

After I hung up the phone, I called O’Brien. I broke into a grin when a woman with a familiar voice answered.