“State of mind,” he says. “This is absurd.” Unless Nelson comes up with something more persuasive, this ship will sail.
Acosta raises his gavel like some auctioneer. “Motion denied,” he says.
The only one who catches the delicacy of this in the jury box is Robert Rath. I think for a moment that he has flashed the briefest, almost imperceptible, wink in my direction.
“Mrs. Campanelli, do you recall how much money was referred to in this letter?”
“Not exactly,” she says, “but it was a lot.” She’s shaking her head now trying to recall the figure. “It was more than a hundred thousand dollars. I know that.”
“Did you later type this letter?”
“Yes.”
“And did Mr. Potter sign it?”
“In my presence,” she says, “and he asked me to deliver it in a sealed envelope to Tony’s-Mr. Skarpellos’s-secretary.”
“And did you?”
“Yes.”
This letter is starting to look like a little CYA (cover your ass) on Ben’s part. If anyone screamed too loudly, or if the bar launched an independent inquiry, Potter could hide behind this letter, say that the minute he found out, he did the right thing. Though some might question whether waiting forty-eight hours was exactly the right thing. Potter himself might now question this, given his fate.
“On the day that you typed this first letter, did Mr. Potter dictate a second letter?”
“Yes.”
“And to whom was that letter addressed?”
“To the state bar.”
“And what did it say?”
“It contained much of the information that was in the first letter, but in the form of a complaint to the bar. He told the bar that the writing of this letter caused him a great deal of pain, but that it was necessary given the conduct of Mr. Skarpellos.”
“Did Mr. Potter give you any instructions regarding this second letter?”
“He told me to postdate it.”
“Could you explain for the jury?”
“He wanted me to date the letter two days later than the actual date that I typed it and then to give it to him.”
“Did Mr. Potter tell you why he wanted you to do this, to postdate the letter?”
“Objection, hearsay.” Nelson’s back up. “And don’t tell me this is state of mind.”
I shrug a little concession his way. “You caught me, what can I say.”
A little lighthearted laughter from the box. It won’t take a mental giant or a Ouija board to figure out why Ben would do this, other than to give the Greek time to gather the money and meet the forty-eight-hour deadline imposed in the first letter. It is the picture of a partner doing all he could to save a friend from his own demons.
“Did you ever see this letter, the one to the bar, again?”
“No. I typed it and gave it to Mr. Potter.”
“So you don’t know whether he had a chance to mail it”-I pause for a little effect-“before he was murdered?”
“No,” she says.
I look to the box. The jury has gotten the point.
Before I leave her, I have Jo Ann identify Ben’s will, her signature as a witness at the bottom. Strangely Nelson makes not even an effort at any objection on this. I suppose that since the Greek has admitted in open court that he was aware of the terms of this document, and his interest in Ben’s estate, there is little to be gained in Nelson’s mind by keeping the document itself out of evidence. It goes in without a hitch. One of the foibles of trial law. Problems never develop where you expect them.
“Your witness,” I say.
There are no surprises here. In his approach to Jo Ann, Nelson is entirely predictable.
“Mrs. Campelli,” he butchers her name.
“Campanelli,” she says.
“Excuse me. Mrs. Campanelli. Isn’t it true that you were fired by the Potter, Skarpellos firm for acts of insubordination?”
“No,” she says, “that is not true.”
“Isn’t it a fact that you were making inquiries into confidential client matters in the firm that you knew you had no business knowing about, that you had been instructed not to involve yourself in these, and that you were fired for that reason?”
“No,” she says, “I was fired after I asked questions about the client trust account. After Mr. Potter was killed, I went to one of the partners about this. I was never told why I was fired. You can draw your own conclusions.”
Nelson is not having his way with her.
“Isn’t it true that after you were fired, you harbored a deep hatred for Anthony Skarpellos?”
“I wouldn’t call it hatred,” she says. “It was more like contempt.”
There’s some snickering in the jury box.
“Fine, you harbored contempt for Mr. Skarpellos. Tell me,” he says, “didn’t this contempt play just a little role in your testimony here today?”
“I testified truthfully,” she says, “to every question.” There is a perfect look of righteous indignation about her, the kind that only older women can project well.
“Come now,” he says, “you’re not going to sit there and tell us that you didn’t enjoy saying some of the things you did today about Mr. Skarpellos?”
“I enjoy telling the truth,” she says.
“Tell me, Mrs. Campanelli, if this information, your testimony, was so important, why didn’t you go to the police with it immediately after Mr. Potter was killed?”
“I,” she stumbles here a little, “didn’t think I had enough evidence.”
“I see. You didn’t think this testimony was worth anything until Mr. Madriani approached you and told you he needed it for his defense, is that it?”
“No,” she says.
“But he did come to you, didn’t he?”
“Yes.” The indignation is gone now. Nelson is beginning to burrow in.
“Let’s talk about these letters,” he says. “There were two of them, is that right?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have copies of them?”
“No.”
“Well, you’re a secretary, don’t you usually keep copies of correspondence you prepare? Don’t you usually file it somewhere?”
“These were confidential letters,” she says. “They were highly personal. They were not filed in the usual manner.”
“I see, so Mr. Potter trusted you to type these letters, but he didn’t trust you enough to keep copies of them?”
He’s pummeling her now. Jo Ann is looking at him, meanness in her eyes. There is no way she can answer the question-like asking whether she still beats her husband.
“Isn’t it a fact,” he says, “that you never heard any argument between Mr. Potter and Mr. Skarpellos, about trust accounts or anything else?”
“That’s not true …”
“Isn’t it a fact that you concocted this entire story to provide Mr. Madriani with a defense and to get back at Mr. Skarpellos, who fired you?”
“Was he the one?” she says.
Nelson looks at her, taken aback for a moment.
“They never told me who did it,” she says. “They didn’t have the guts.”
Nelson has left himself open for this one. I don’t know whether the jury is buying it, but Jo is playing it for all it is worth.
“If I’d known, I would have been here sooner,” she says. “But my testimony would have been the same.” Her neck is bowed, like a rooster in a cock fight. She looks him dead in the eye. And after several seconds it is Nelson who blinks, then finally looks away.
No, I think, this will not come off as sour grapes.
After the morning break, Acosta asks me if the defense has any more witnesses. I have left them in the dark about Talia’s intentions, whether she will take the stand or not.
“Your Honor.” I rise from behind the counsel table, and I look down at my client with a purposeful gaze, as if pondering at this last moment what to do, whether to put Talia up or not.
“Considering the evidence, Your Honor, I see little purpose in subjecting Mrs. Potter to any more trauma. She’s been through a great deal. We have decided that in light of the state’s case we see no purpose whatever to be served in putting her on the stand.”