Misty River, page 14
“No, Mr. Sweeney, you’re twisting everything around.”
“Ms. Spencer, it doesn’t take twisting to figure out what happened that night. As I told this jury in my opening statement, there are always two sides to a story.”
He stepped from the witness stand. “I have no further need to question this witness, Your Honor.”
Blake watched Sweeney peeking at the jurors’ reaction as he returned to his seat. In the front row, juror number eight, an older woman, was taking notes on his cross-examination. He only needed one “not guilty” vote to hang the jury. He pulled up his chair at the defense table, looking pleased with himself.
Judge Croghan said. “Mr. Moretti, I suspect you have redirect examination of this witness. Would you like to take a break first?”
Blake appreciated the judge’s suggestion, but he had only one simple question for Olivia, and no need to discuss it with her. He had asked her that question at their first meeting and she was certainly ready to answer it again now. If Sweeney’s drivel created doubts in the minds of the jurors, the sooner he responded, the more likely he could put it to rest.
“Thank you, Your Honor. I have only one question for Ms. Spencer and would like to proceed without a break.”
“Very well, please do.”
Blake gazed at Olivia with sympathetic eyes. “Regarding Mr. Sweeney’s claim that you invited the defendant to celebrate Saint Patrick’s Day and engage in a tryst, I have one question. Before you respond, I ask you to reflect on your state of mind on the evening of March 17, 1987, as well as your current state. Please do your best to explain your state of mind then and how it has been affected since that nightmare.”
Her response could sink his defense. Sweeney was on his feet. “Your Honor, I object. This question goes beyond my cross-examination of the witness.”
Blake turned to the judge. “You’re Honor, may I respond? I fully anticipated Mr. Sweeney would object to this question for the reason he stated. But he opened the door to this question during his cross-examination when he salaciously attempted to mislead this jury into believing she’d planned a one-time affair with the defendant. I am simply allowing Ms. Spencer to respond to Mr. Sweeney’s unsubstantiated slander.”
Sweeney shot out of his chair like a rocket. “Your Honor, if I may?”
“No, Mr. Sweeney, you may not. I heard your objection, and I am overruling it. Mr. Moretti is correct. You opened the door to his question during your cross-examination of the witness. What’s good for the proverbial goose is good for the gander. Please sit down. I will not hear further arguments on this issue. Ms. Spencer, I am permitting you to answer Mr. Moretti’s question. And Mr. Sweeney will not need to continue to object during your response. For the record, I take his objection as a continuing one. Do I make myself clear?”
Blake thought, Sweeney get ready to hit the ground. I just sawed off that limb you climbed out on.
“Olivia, do you recall my question?” he asked.
“Yes, I do.” She took a moment to gather her thoughts. Blake didn’t need to stand near the jury box to remind her to face them. He returned to his table and waited for her response so that the stage belonged to her. It was her last opportunity to convince the jury she was telling the truth and nothing but the truth. She had waited months for this opportunity to have her voice heard. She was prepared to end this nightmare.
She turned to the jurors and spoke to them directly in a slow, deliberate tone. “Mr. Moretti, you ask what my state of mind was. I was terrified when that man,” she pointed at Owens “attacked me from behind, stuck his gun in my back, and made me climb into my car and drive to some god-forsaken place to violate me. He said vile things and threatened to kill me if I didn’t comply with his demands. He beat me with his hands and pistol whipped me to submit to his depraved desires. He stripped me of my clothes and my dignity. I kept thinking how repulsive he was as he lay on top of me, repeatedly violating my body. He smelled like he hadn’t taken a bath in weeks. While he lay on top of me, breathing directly into my face, the stink of alcohol was overwhelming. I’ll never forget that stench, not because I don’t want to, but because I am unable to.”
She took another sip of water. No way Blake would come to her rescue by asking some meaningless question. Too often, he’d witnessed prosecutors interrupt a witness overwhelmed with emotion just when the jurors had begun to sympathize. He glanced at the jurors and spectators and saw that Olivia’s words were tugging at every heart. No one stirred or made a sound. Her emotions were real, and her words were heartfelt.
“I felt so helpless and sorry for myself,” she continued. “I began to feel anger. I had so much physical pain, and when I begged him to stop, he just smiled, enjoying every second of agony he caused me.
“I asked him why he wanted to hurt someone he didn’t even know. I thought of my mom and dad, my fiancé, my friends and associates, and the students at the school where I teach, and I believed I would never see them again, never have the chance to say goodbye and that I loved them so much. My entire life flashed before my eyes.”
She paused again, holding back tears. Then she rhetorically asked everyone in the courtroom, “Do you know what it feels like to wish yourself dead? To think you’d be better off dead. I do.”
Blake noticed that several of the jurors had tears in their eyes. None of them were taking notes. He knew they didn’t need notes to remember Olivia’s story. They wouldn’t forget her ordeal any more than she would.
“I’m still physically and mentally traumatized by the Defendant’s violent physical attack.”
She felt as though she were waging an incessant war, perpetually standing on the battlefield, looking over her shoulder to see if anyone was advancing on her. She wanted to disappear, to hide from prying, judging eyes. Why was it so achingly difficult for a wound to heal? Aside from her parents, sister, and a few close friends, no one wanted to hear the story because they already knew it or thought they did. No one knew what to say, especially her fiancé. She didn’t know whom to trust or where to turn for help. She was broken.
“I’m attending counseling sessions to address both the short- and long-term effects of the trauma. I’m plagued with fear and shame and feel very much alone. I’m tormented by nightmares, and no longer feel safe anywhere. The simple act of going to the neighborhood grocery store is impossible for me. I trust no one, including myself. Sometimes I even blame myself for what happened and feel like damaged goods. I find myself questioning my judgment, self-worth, and sanity. My engagement broke off, mostly because I could no longer maintain a relationship with a man. That is the world I live in today. At night, when I’m alone, I often play over how this happened. I went to the supermarket that night because I was too busy teaching all day long to go earlier. At times, I wonder if this would have happened had I parked somewhere less isolated. Sometimes I blame myself for being raped, like somehow, I should have prevented it. Then my common sense screams, ‘My goodness! He’s not the victim; I am.’”
Olivia fell silent, and Blake said, “No further questions, Your Honor.”
She turned to the defense. “Mr. Sweeney, do you care to ask anything further?”
As Sweeney began to reply, Owens tugged his arm and handed him a legal pad with questions he wanted the lawyer to ask on re-cross examination.
“Your Honor, please, with your indulgence, would you give me a moment to confer with my client?”
“Yes, be my guest.”
Blake knew that Sweeney had just fallen on his sword. The defense had nothing to be gained by keeping Olivia on the stand, and Sweeney certainly wouldn’t ask her to answer Owens’s dumbass questions. He’d had enough.
After pretending to consider Owens’s questions, Sweeney rose and said, “No, thank you. No further questions.”
“Very well. The court stands in recess for fifteen minutes.”
Blake called Zelene Elliot to corroborate Olivia’s story. She’d been the first-person Olivia encountered after surviving the brutal attack. When she saw her standing naked on her front porch, she’d been shocked, and when Olivia begged for help, saying she’d been brutally assaulted, Zelene was devastated. She was ready and willing to testify.
Blake opened with, “Mrs. Elliot, would you kindly share with us how and under what circumstances you encountered Ms. Spencer on the evening of Saint Patrick’s Day 1987?”
“I’ll never forget it. Around midnight, I was awakened by my dog Rocco’s incessant barking. Someone was pounding on my front door. I got up, found my twelve-gauge shotgun under the bed, then turned on the house lights as I proceeded downstairs to my front door.
“At night, I keep the front of my house and yard lit up like a ballpark to ward off trespassers. When I peeked out a window, I saw a young woman— you’ll excuse me— ‘buck naked’ on my front porch, begging for help, repeatedly saying she’d been kidnapped, beaten, and raped. I told her I was coming, give me a second.
“I set my rifle down, grabbed a blanket, and unlocked the door. There stood the woman, whom I now know as Olivia Spencer, shivering in the cold night air. Her face, head, arms, and legs looked like she’d gotten run over by a Mack truck. I covered her with the blanket, called the sheriff and waited with her until they arrived. The entire time Ms. Spencer appeared numb. Who could blame her?
“I did what little I could to comfort her until the medics took her to the hospital. It was difficult for me to witness her in so much pain. I became sick to my stomach when she described the sexual degradation her assailant had put her through.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Elliot. No further questions.”
Blake couldn’t wait for Sweeney to challenge Zelene’s testimony. She was not the sort of woman who would buy his consensual sex story.
As Sweeney approached the lectern, she gave Blake a look that said, “I got this.”
Blake whispered to Detective Barnes, “Watch this.”
Sweeney approached the witness with a brash attitude. “Isn’t it true, Mrs. Elliot, that you were not with Ms. Spencer and my client, Mr. Owens, when the two were engaged in consensual sex?”
“Well, Mr... What did you say your name was?”
“Sweeney.”
“Well, Mr. Sweeney, that’s two questions. I’ll try my best to answer them both. First, you’re right; I was not in the woods with your client and Ms. Spencer the night this happened. Second, I would not call putting a gun to a woman’s head and forcing her to engage in sex consensual.”
Sweeney appealed to the bench. “Your Honor, I object and move to strike the witness’s wisecrack. Non-responsive answer.”
“You asked the question, Mr. Sweeney. You didn’t like the answer. Overruled. Ask your next question.”
“Mrs. Elliot, since you were not present in the woods with my client and Ms. Spencer, you don’t know what happened, isn’t that true?”
“No, that’s not true. When I discovered Ms. Spencer standing naked on my front porch, covered in mud with fresh swelling on her face and head, sobbing and pleading with me to call the sheriff because a man beat and raped her, it didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to figure out what happened, and that the sex hadn’t been consensual.”
“Come now, Mrs. Elliot, you can’t know that Ms. Spencer wasn’t acting and making up the story. Isn’t that true?”
“Mr. Sweeney, in my humble opinion, if Ms. Spencer had been play-acting, she would have to be a better actress than Audrey Hepburn. Lord knows that isn’t the case. I’ve been around long enough to know when someone’s trying to hoodwink me, and all I can say to this jury is that given her appearance and demeanor, poor Ms. Spencer wasn’t faking.”
Blake loved watching Sweeney get sucker punched and sensed that the jurors enjoyed it even more.
Sweeney returned to the defense table, set his notepad down, and retired to his seat.
“Any further questions, Mr. Sweeney?’ Judge Croghan asked.
“No, Your Honor.”
On her way out of the courtroom, as she passed his table, Zelene winked at Blake who nodded his thanks.
“Very well, Mr. Moretti, you may call your next witness,” said the judge.
“Thank you, Your Honor. The state calls Dr. Jeff Price.”
A thin man with sparse gray hair and wire-rimmed spectacles was ushered to the witness stand.
“Doctor Price, please share with the members of the jury your observations of Ms. Spencer’s demeanor and injuries when you met her in the hospital emergency room on the night of March 17, 1987.”
“Yes, certainly. When I first observed Ms. Spencer, she was dressed in misfitted clothes provided by Mrs. Elliot. She’d told our trauma team that she had been pistol-whipped, slapped, and punched, forced to remove her own clothing, and sexually assaulted. She was extremely distraught and in a great deal of pain, having suffered severe blunt-force trauma to her head and face, consistent with the information she provided. My physical examination revealed tearing and contusions in her genital and anal areas.”
“Thank you, Doctor. Your witness, Mr. Sweeney.”
Blake knew that Sweeney would ask the doctor a question to bolster his consensual encounter defense. He’d prepared his witness for that question and wasn’t worried about the doctor’s response.
As he suspected, Sweeney asked, “Isn’t it true that Ms. Spencer’s injuries could also be consistent with consensual rough sex?”
“Yes, that is possible as it relates to the tearing and contusions I described, but only if one looks at those injuries in a vacuum. Before I render a medical opinion, I look at all the injuries the patient sustained, then compare that with the patient’s report of the events that led to the injuries, as well as all other relevant accounts, such as reports from Mrs. Elliot and the initial responding officer, both of whom provided consistent corroborative information.
“I learned that the victim escaped her assailant and ran naked for approximately a mile, searching for comfort and medical and law enforcement assistance. Therefore, counselor, it is possible that her sexually-related injuries could have been caused during consensual sex, but given the history I collected, my expert opinion remains that the injuries Ms. Spencer sustained are consistent with a forced violent attack.”
The doctor’s testimony had damaged Sweeney’s assertion of consensual sex. He’d stood poker-faced as the witness’s response hit him in the head.
Blake wasn’t surprised that Sweeney overtried his case. He was banking on it. Most defense attorneys overtry their cases.
“Your Honor, that concludes my cross-examination of this
witness.”
Judge Croghan refrained from making a derogatory statement. “Great,” she said. “The State may call its next witness.”
“The people call Valerie Fleming to the stand.”
Valerie Fleming had dressed for the occasion. Her conservative blue dress and heels could not have been staples of her regular wardrobe. She testified that she’d been the defendant’s on and off girlfriend for the past six years.
Blake asked, “Directing your attention to March 17, 1987, going into the early morning hours of March 18, 1987, tell us where you were when you came in contact with the defendant.”
“Billy and I were back together, living at my place. When I got home from work around six p.m., he wasn’t there, and I didn’t know where he was. It wasn’t like he was working. He didn’t have a job. So, I made supper for the both of us, but when he still didn’t come home, I suspected he was out carousing.”
Sweeney stood to object that Blake was asking the witness to speculate.
“Let me do this,” the judge said. “Ms. Fleming, do you know firsthand that the defendant was not at home for supper because he was out carousing?”
“Hell, yeah. I know he was out drinking. Bill’s a drunk. When he’s not home drinking beer, he’s at some funky neighborhood bar mooching off the regulars. He has no money unless I give him some or he steals it from my purse.”
Blake wondered how long it would take for Sweeney to object.
Right on script, he rocketed out of his chair. “Your Honor, I vehemently object and move for a mistrial.”
The judge was becoming impatient. “Ms. Fleming has testified that in her experience, as a matter of routine, when the defendant is at home, he is drinking, and when he is not at home, he is drinking elsewhere. She provides first-hand knowledge of the defendant’s behavior, so your objection is overruled.
“In addition, her comment that the defendant does not have any money of his own because he is not employed, will remain in evidence. The jury may assign any weight they choose to that remark. I will also note that the victim testified that the defendant smelled of alcohol when she was in contact with him. Mr. Sweeney, during your cross-examination, you attacked Ms. Spencer’s credibility, which has been bolstered by Ms. Fleming’s comment concerning the defendant’s drinking habits.
“For the record, as it relates to the witness’s testimony concerning the defendant stealing money from her purse, I will sustain your objection, and I advise the jury to disregard that comment and not to consider it during their deliberations.”
Blake was nonplussed. Any trial lawyer knows that even if the judge instructs jurors to disregard evidence, it remains in their minds.
“Mr. Sweeney, your motion for a mistrial is overruled. Finally, Ms. Fleming, I would caution you to answer only the question put to you by the lawyers. You may continue.”
Valerie thought for a moment. “As I was saying, I was at home asleep in bed. Sometime after midnight, I woke up because I heard Billy—the defendant, I should say—come in the front door.
“I hadn’t seen him all day, so I got up and went into the living room. His clothes were filthy and disheveled. He was sweating and out of breath. When I asked him where he’d been, he didn’t respond. Instead, he tried to divert my attention. He reached into one of the front pockets of his jeans, pulled out an expensive-looking engagement ring, and said he wanted to marry me.
