“On that we agree,” I say. “This was no suicide. We agree, whoever perpetrated this dark crime did so with cold and calculated premeditation.
“But you have seen the inconsistencies in the state’s case, the holes in their evidence, the unexplained facts. What does this evidence portend, ladies and gentlemen? What does it tell you?”
“Mr. Madriani.” The Coconut is on me from the bench, warning me again.
I ignore him and answer my own question.
“It reveals, as we will demonstrate by our evidence”-I turn to Acosta, my language now back on track in the formula of an opening statement, what we will show-“that someone has gone to great lengths to make it appear as if Talia Potter has committed this crime. Someone with a great deal to gain, someone with a compelling reason to murder Ben Potter.
“What you have heard thus far is highly circumstantial, bits and pieces of information, from which the state expects you to make quantum leaps in logic, to draw inferences that defy reason, to find Talia Potter guilty of a murder she did not commit.”
Acosta is fuming from the bench.
“But I would ask you to wait, ladies and gentlemen, to wait until you have heard and seen all of the evidence including that which we will now present.
“At the conclusion of this case, I will ask you to contrast the circumstances as portrayed by the state with what you will see and hear in the next several days. From this point on, ladies and gentlemen, you will receive hard, compelling evidence, evidence demonstrating beyond all reasonable doubt who killed Ben Potter, and why.”
With this there are a dozen sets of round eyes staring at me from beyond the railing. In making this promise I am venturing no calculated risk. From the beginning, we have been committed to this theory of the case. Now we must either prove it, or suffer the consequences.
I am being given a second bite at the apple. Acosta’s ruling that the terms of Ben’s will are irrelevant, and his refusal to allow me to question Matt Hazeltine on the subject, have been major impediments to our case. Unless I can show that Skarpellos stands to inherit vast sums from Potter’s estate if Talia is convicted, I cannot lead the jury to the obvious conclusion that the Greek has framed her.
“She knows about it,” says Harry, “every period and paragraph.”
We are in the hall outside the courtroom. The Coconut is off the bench, on a bladder call. Harry has been talking to Jo Ann Campanelli. It seems that Jo is privy to the terms of Ben’s will, one of two witnesses who signed it in the office the day it was drafted. I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of this, the subscribing witnesses. In this state two are required to validate any will, and Jo Ann’s name was on the bottom of this one. Harry has discovered this while I was busy shoveling myself out of the various pits dug for me by Acosta.
“Not only did she sign it,” he says, “but she typed it from notes supplied by Hazeltine after he met with Potter.” Harry is ecstatic. I tell him to bring his feet back down to earth. We still have to deal with Acosta, to whom any discussion of Ben’s will is utterly beside the point.
I have subpoenaed the will, but cannot get it into evidence without a foundational witness. Jo Ann is now clearly my best shot to accomplish this. But this latest revelation now affects the order of my witnesses. From the beginning I have been torn, whether to put the Greek up first, to nail him down on his alibi, expound upon his warm relations with Potter, and then impeach him with successive witnesses and evidence-Jo Ann, who heard Ben and Tony brawl in the office, and the trust account records showing that the Greek had stolen regularly from these funds-or to take Skarpellos up last, in a dramatic confrontation that would give him the advantage of seeing these earlier witnesses, reading accounts of their testimony in the local papers, and conforming his own responses accordingly.
From the beginning it had been my plan to take Tony up first. Now this changes. I need something to distract him, to make him believe that I am impeaching him, but with something less than I actually have.
Kim Palmer is one of those small-boned women, lean and tan, wiry, with a kind of athletic beauty born only in spas and weight rooms where the chic distaff set hangs out. Before Talia’s arrest, she and Kim were thick as thieves. Now the relationship is more restrained. Still, I’ve not had to twist arms to get Kim to come here and vouch for an old friend. She is one of several character witnesses we’ve put up. Two of Talia’s commercial associates have already laid in a measure of good repute, Talia as the serious, upstanding businesswoman. Both have stated that they would trust her with their lives and fortunes.
Kim Palmer is a special case. The only one of Talia’s social set I will use.
“So you’ve known Talia Potter for a number of years?” I say.
“Eight,” she says.
“And during that time you’ve been close?”
“Good friends,” says Kim.
“How frequently would you see Mrs. Potter, during this period?”
“At least twice a week. We worked out together at the gym and had lunch at least once a week.”
“Do you know her to be a truthful person?”
“I would trust her with my life,” she says.
“As friends did you confide in each other, things that you might not tell other, less intimate friends?”
“I think so.”
“Did Mrs. Potter ever talk about her marriage?”
“Oh yes.”
“And what did she tell you?”
“That she was very happy, that she loved her husband. She told me this many times. Her life revolved around her husband.”
“Did Mrs. Potter ever tell you that during the course of her marriage, while she was married to Ben Potter, she’d gone out with other men?”
“Absolutely not. As I say, she was happily married.”
There are a few smiles in the jury box. Robert Rath, my alpha factor, has his hand to his mouth, unable to keep the mirth from his face. This testimony may not be worth much, except as a diversion with the Greek, to make him think that my sole point of attack will be to his credibility on the issue of Ben’s planned divorce.
“Mrs. Palmer, did Talia Potter ever tell you that her husband was considering a divorce?”
“Never,” she says.
“Given the nature of your relationship, is this something that she would have shared with you, the fact that her husband might be considering a divorce?”
“Absolutely. We were like sisters,” she says.
There are jurors looking at the ceiling, counting the tiles.
“But she never told you at any time that Ben Potter was considering a divorce?”
“No. Never. Absolutely not.”
“Did you know Ben Potter?”
“I’d met him on several occasions. My husband and I had gone to parties at the Potter residence. They’d been dinner guests at our home on at least three or four occasions.”
“Did Mr. and Mrs. Potter appear to you to be in love?”
“Objection.” Nelson is up. “Calls for speculation.”
“Very much,” she says. “He doted on her, and she loved it.”
“Sustained,” says Acosta. He smiles at Kim Palmer. “When the other attorney objects …” She nods pertly like a precocious child, attentive to his every instruction. “You’re supposed to stop talking until I rule on it.”
“Sorry,” she says.
“It’s all right.” He smiles, a big wolfish grin. Then in his most manly tone he instructs the court reporter to strike the witness’s response. I think he is taken with her. I have visions of Don Juan in black spandex, haunting Kim Palmer on the health club scene. It is not a pretty sight.
I pause to consider the next question, a tactic to get me around Nelson’s objection.
“What would you say if someone other than Mr. or Mrs. Potter had told you that Ben Potter was considering a divorce?”
“I would say that they were either terribly misinformed, or else they were lying.”