by Scott Turow
"And Rusty, to the best of your knowledge, did your wife have any history of suicide attempts?"
"Because of the depth of Barbara's depressions, Dr. Vollman had always advised me to keep my eyes open. And yes, I was aware of one attempt that had taken place in the late eighties when Barbara and I were separated."
"Move to strike," says Molto. "If it took place while they were separated, Judge Sabich cannot be testifying from personal knowledge."
"Sustained," says Yee.
Stern nods agreeably and says, "Then we shall have to call another witness."
Molto stands again. "Same motion, Your Honor. That was not a question. It was stage directions."
"Was that an objection, Your Honor, or a review?" responds Stern.
Yee, who has a sense of humor, is smiling broadly, revealing his small teeth. "Boys, boys," he says.
"Question withdrawn," says Stern.
During this byplay, my father's eyes have again found mine. I know now why he was apologizing yesterday. The move to Detroit when I was ten did not make my mother any happier, whatever she might have anticipated. As kids always do, I knew something was desperately wrong. I had frequent nightmares and would awaken with the covers in turmoil and a screaming heart and would shout out for my mom. Sometimes, she came. Sometimes I had to get up to find her. She was almost always sitting in her bedroom in the dark, so lost to herself that it took her several seconds to see me standing right in front of her. More and more often, I would simply wake up to check on her. One night I couldn't find her. I went from room to room, screaming her name, until I thought about the bathroom. She was there, in a full tub. It was an amazing moment. I was not accustomed any longer to seeing my mother naked. But that mattered far less than the fact that she had a small lamp in her hand, which had been plugged in across the room with an extension cord.
I want to say I stood there for a minute. I'm sure it was actually far less than that, only seconds, but she waited far too long before turning back to me, and life.
'It's okay,' she said then. 'I was going to read.'
'No it isn't,' I said.
'It's okay,' she said. 'I was going to read, Nat.'
I cried, wild with despair. She stood up in the nude to hug me, but I had the good sense to go straight for the phone to call my father. My mom was diagnosed as bipolar within a few days. The road back to my dad, to our family, to our former life, began then. But that moment, like a specter, was never fully banished from the times my mom and I were together for the rest of her life.
"Did you and your wife ever discuss the fact that she had been suicidal?"
"Objection," says Molto. "Hearsay."
"Did you and your wife ever discuss whether she would commit suicide?"
Across the courtroom, Tommy frowns. But he is finally stuck. For reasons I could never understand in law school, what my mother said about the past is hearsay and what she said about the future is not.
"When we began living together again in the late 1980s, she assured me repeatedly that she would never do that again to Nat-that he would never walk into a room to confront that." I know this is true, because she made the same promise hundreds of times to me.
"Was Nat living at home last year when Barbara died?"
"No."
"And does your wife's promise concerning Nat also inform your belief about why she would prefer to make her suicide appear to be a death by natural causes?"
"It does."
"To the best of your knowledge, Rusty, did Barbara make any attempt at suicide while you were living together?"
"No."
"And so, you had no experience with the outward behavior your wife might exhibit if she were intent on taking her life?"
"I did not."
"But if she had made it apparent that she were bent on such a course, what would you have done?"
"Objection. Speculation," says Molto.
"Would you have attempted to stop her?"
"Of course."
The second question and answer are interjected quickly before Judge Yee can rule on the initial objection.
"Sustained, sustained," says Yee.
"And so if Barbara was intent on killing herself, Rusty, she would have had to hide that fact from your son and you?"
"Judge!" Molto says sharply.
On the stand, my father's head shoots around in Molto's direction and he answers, "Yes?" He draws back at once, flabbergasted by his own mistake. "Oh, my God," he says.
Yee, that merry fellow, is wildly amused, and the entire courtroom chortles along with him. It's comic relief in a grim discussion, and the laughter goes on for a while. At the end, Yee shakes a finger at Stern.
"Enough, Mr. Stern. We all have point."
Stern responds by declining his head, a hobbled effort at a humble bow, before he goes on.
"Was your wife familiar, if you know, with John Harnason's case?"
"We talked about the matter when it was before me and afterwards. She was interested because she'd read about the case in the papers, and also because I'd described the way Mr. Harnason had accosted me after the oral argument. And of course in the weeks before Barbara died, Mr. Harnason was the subject of television ads being aired by my opponent in the election for the state supreme court. My wife complained to me often about the ads, so I know she saw them."
"Did Mrs. Sabich read the Court's decision in the Harnason case?"
"Yes. I dissented very rarely. Barbara didn't take great interest in my work, but, as I said, she'd followed the case and she asked me to bring home a copy of the decision."
"And to review what is already in evidence, the decision discusses the fact that certain drugs, including MAO inhibitors, are not covered in a routine toxicology screen?"
"It does."
Stern then turns to other subjects. My dad explains at some length that he and my mom ended their separation in 1988 with an agreement that she would stay on her meds for bipolar disease, and that was why he was so involved in picking up her pills and even putting them away. All this is clearly meant to explain why his prints are on the bottle of phenelzine. Stern then whispers to Marta, who steps across the courtroom to speak to Jim Brand. She returns with an exhibit in its glassine envelope.
"Now, Rusty, Mr. Molto asked you about your visits to Dana Mann. Do you recall that?"
"Of course."
"And was your wife acquainted with Mr. Mann?"
"Yes. Dana and his wife, Paula Kerr, were both law school classmates of mine. We had socialized a lot as couples, especially then."
"And did she know Mr. Mann's specialty in practice?"
"Certainly. Just one example, but five or six years ago, while Dana was president of the Matrimonial Bar Association, he'd asked me to give a speech to the organization. Paula came, and so Barbara had also attended the dinner."
"Now, Mr. Molto asked you on cross-examination about your two visits with Mr. Mann. And I believe you indicated that the second time you saw him, September 4, 2008, you briefly thought you were going to file for divorce. Correct?"
"Yes."
"And Mr. Mann sent you bills for his services."
"At my request. I didn't want him to make a gift of his services, for many reasons."
"You get what you pay for?" Sandy asks.
My father smiles and nods. The judge reminds him to answer aloud, and my dad says yes.
"And calling your attention to People's Exhibit 22, is that the latter invoice he sent you September 2008?" It comes up on the screen at that moment.
"Yes."
"And it's addressed to you at your home address in Nearing, correct?"
"It is."
"Is that how you received that bill-at home?"
"No, what I received was an e-mailed copy. I'd asked that all correspondence be by e-mail to my personal account."
"But you paid that invoice, People's 22, is that right?"
"Yes. I made two ATM withdrawals and bought a cashier's check at the bank."
> "What bank was that?"
"First Kindle in Nearing."
"And this is the cashier's check you sent, People's 23, correct?"
"Correct." It comes up on the screen. In the memo section is the invoice number and the words "9/4/08 Consultation."
"And again, Rusty, you sent a cashier's check, rather than a personal check, for what reason?"
"So I didn't have to tell Barbara that I'd seen Dana, or why."
"Very well," says Stern. He shoots just a tiny glance toward Tommy, to let him know that he'd picked up on yesterday's imitations.
"And finally, calling your attention to People's Exhibit 24, which was also admitted during Mr. Mann's testimony. What is that?"
"That's a receipt for my payment."
"And again, it's addressed to your home in Nearing. Is that how you received it?"
"No, I received it by e-mail."
"Now, Rusty, all of these exhibits that you received by e-mail-People's 22, 23, 24, and two confirmations of your appointments-all those records were deleted from your personal computer. Is that right?"
"I heard Dr. Gorvetich's testimony to that effect."
"Did you delete those e-mails?"
"It makes sense, Mr. Stern, that I would have done that, because, as I testified, I did not want Barbara to know about my visits with Dana until I was sure I was going to proceed with a divorce. But my best recollection is that I didn't do that. And I know for certain that I never downloaded any shredding software to my computer."
"And you never discussed with Mrs. Sabich those visits to Mr. Mann or the fact that you were contemplating divorce?"
"No."
Stern leans down to speak to Marta. Finally, he tells the judge, "Nothing further."
Yee nods to Molto, who springs up like a jack-in-the-box.
"Judge, as to your theory that your wife killed herself by taking an overdose of phenelzine. Are there any fingerprints of hers on the bottle of phenelzine that was in her medicine cabinet?"
"No."
"Whose fingerprints are on that vial, Judge?"
"Mine," my father says.
"Only yours, correct?"
"Correct."
"And the websites about phenelzine-they were visited on whose computer in late September 2008?"
"Mine."
"Was your wife's computer also forensically examined?"
"As Dr. Gorvetich testified."
"Any searches about phenelzine on her computer?"
"None that were identified."
"And about this idea that your wife killed herself, Judge. For twenty years, from 1988 to 2008, she made no attempts on her life, right?"
"To the best of my knowledge."
"And in late September 2008, had anything with Mrs. Sabich changed, so far as you know?"
My dad looks hard at Tommy Molto. I don't know exactly what's happened, but this is clearly a moment my father has been waiting for.
"Yes, Mr. Molto," says my father, "there had been a significant change."
Tommy looks as though he's been slapped. He asked a question he thought was safe and walked off a cliff instead. Molto glances at Brand, who below the prosecution table opens his palm and lowers his hand an inch. Sit down, he's telling Tommy. Don't make it worse.
That's what Tommy does. He says, "Nothing further," and Judge Yee tells my father to step down. My dad closes his coat and slowly descends the three stairs from the witness stand. He looks like a proud soldier, shoulders back, head high, eyes forward. However impossible it might have seemed late yesterday, my dad suddenly seems to have won.
CHAPTER 32
Nat, June 23, 2009 Judge Yee tells Sandy to call his next witness, and Marta springs up and calls Rosa Belanquez, who proves to be a customer service representative at my parents' bank.
Mrs. Belanquez is a pretty woman in her thirties, a little round and nicely put together for her moment in the big time. There is a small cross at her throat and a tiny diamond on her ring finger. She is America, the good America, a woman who probably came here or whose parents did, who worked hard and for whom the right things happened, a solid job in the bank, some success, a little money, enough to help her family, whom she raises the way she was raised, to work hard, to do the right things, to love God and one another. She is a real nice lady. You can see it just in the way she settles herself on the stand and smiles at Marta.
"Calling your attention to September 23, 2008, did you have any occasion to have a conversation with a woman who identified herself to you as Barbara Sabich?"
I do the math. September 23, 2008, was the Tuesday before my mother died.
"I did."
"And what did Mrs. Sabich say and what did you say?"
Jim Brand, big and solid, wearing a heavy plaid suit in the dead of summer, stands up and objects, "Hearsay."
"Judge," says Marta, "none of this will be for the truth. Only to show knowledge."
Judge Yee nods. Marta is claiming that the defense is not attempting to use my mom's statements to prove that anything she said is actually true, just that she said them.
"One answer at a time," he says. He means he'll rule on the hearsay objection with each answer, an advantage for the defense, who will get to trot all of this out for the jury, even if the judge ultimately decides it shouldn't have been heard.
"First of all," says Marta, "did Mrs. Sabich have anything with her?"
"Mrs. Sabich had a receipt from a lawyer's office."
"Calling your attention to what has been marked and admitted as People's Exhibit 24, do you recognize that document?" The receipt from Dana Mann's office, which was on the screen a few minutes ago at the end of my dad's testimony, reappears there.
"That was the receipt that Mrs. Sabich had."
"And did Mrs. Sabich tell you how she had received it?"
"Objection, hearsay," says Brand.
Marta gives him a simpering frown but withdraws the question.
"All right," she says. "Do you recall how Mrs. Sabich produced the receipt?"
"She had it in an envelope."
"What kind of envelope?"
"Standard commercial window envelope."
"Do you remember if there was a stamp on it?"
"Pitney Bowes, I think."
"Did you see any return address on the envelope?"
"How it was," says Mrs. Belanquez, "was she handed me the envelope and I took out the receipt. It was from the mail. You could see."
Brand stands up to object again. Molto puts his hand on his sleeve, and Brand sits down without a word. Tommy doesn't want it to look as though the prosecutors are hiding something. More than his boss, Brand is inclined to fight even the facts that are obvious. Prima Dana's office fucked up and mailed a receipt to my parents' home for the invoice my dad had paid, and my mom, who ordinarily handled all the bills, opened the envelope and went to the bank, trying to figure out what was going on.
"Now tell us, please, about the conversation you had with Mrs. Sabich."
"There's a cashier's check number on the receipt." Mrs. Belanquez has revolved in the chair and is pointing at the screen beside her. "She wanted to know if that was our number. I said I thought so, but I had to see. I went and looked at the record, and then I told her that I needed to talk to the manager."
Marta takes a plastic envelope off the defense table and goes over to Brand. He studies it and comes to his feet.
"Judge, we haven't seen this."
"Your Honor, that document was produced to the defense by the prosecution last November during initial discovery."
That must be true, because Detective Gissling is motioning to Brand and nodding. Marta whispers to Brand, he throws out a hand, and the paper is received in evidence, and a slide of it is lit up on the screen for the jury by Sandy's paralegal. It's the requisition for a cashier's check. I saw the document last fall. It really didn't count for much compared with the check to the outfit that tested for STDs.
"Calling your attention to Defendant's Ex
hibit 1, what is that?"
"It's the record I looked at. The backup on our bank check."
"Now, you say you had a discussion with your manager."
"Yes."
"And after you spoke to the manager, did you speak further to Mrs. Sabich?"
"Yes, sure."
"And what did you tell her?"
"I telled her-" Mrs. Belanquez smiles and licks her lips and apologizes for being nervous. "I told her what the manager said."
"Which was what?"
Brand objects that this is hearsay.
"I'll hear it," says Judge Yee.
"Well, see. The judge bought the bank check with cash he had in hand and a three-hundred-dollar ATM withdrawal that he made right there. I mean, you could tell from the time of the ATM record. So it was basically a withdrawal from the account. And we didn't charge him to issue the cashier's check because he was an account holder. So the question was, well, Is this an account record, and what can she see and what can't she see, because she, Mrs. Sabich, was on that account, too. And the manager just said, Well, if we gave him a free cashier's check because he had an account, and she's on the account, then it's an account record and show her whatever she wants to see.
"So I told her that. And I showed her the purchase invoice for the bank check and the actual check."
"And calling your attention to People's Exhibit 23, is that the bank check you showed Mrs. Sabich?"
Made payable to "Mann and Rapini," the check reads in the memo section, "Payment-Invoice 645332."
Mrs. Belanquez says, "Yes," and Marta says she has nothing further. The courtroom is silent. Everyone knows something just happened, something huge. My dad said my mom committed suicide, and now there's a reason why. Because she knew he'd been to see Dana the divorce lawyer, that he was getting ready to leave her.
Across the courtroom, Jim Brand is not happy. Prosecutors rarely are when the defense turns out to know something they don't. He sits in his chair with his legs splayed and actually tosses his pen in the air and catches it before he gets out of his seat with the air of a cowpoke about to get after unruly livestock.