The Things We Don't See

by Jessi Brazzell

  “Oh, my God,” I exhaled, starting ahead at the chaos of what used to be the court house parking lot. There were news crews and cameras flooding the court house steps and I watched the reporters talking into their padded microphones. The noise of them and all the nosey pedestrian chanting was blurred together like a loud static, making it impossible to distinguish what any one person was saying. I felt my face warm with irritation. Irritation and anger that these people could take something as terrible and painful as murder so lightly as to build it up for their own entertainment.

  Brian hurried to open my door and I watched, terrified, while the crowd made their way toward us. A small woman, impressively small and notably less than a hundred pounds, pushed her way through the crowd. I watched, amazed at her resilience and she ran right over to us while somehow managing to keep the crowd back.

  “I am Sue, your victim liaison. Let’s get in there,” she yelled over the background noise.

  We ducked our heads as she led us inside. The questions flying were ringing loudly in my ears and my chest started to cramp with anxiety. The entire situation was overwhelming enough, but adding all of the lights and cameras to it was making it much harder. I hurried across the sidewalk and up the stairs and exhaled when I finally heard the door of the court house quiet the noise of the crowd. We stood in line and I looked ahead at everyone going through security. I didn’t know any of them, which was a relief, the first relief I had gotten today and probably the last.

  Brian took my hand and my heart raced as we made it closer to the front of the line. The guard waved the metal detector in front of Brian and I waited until it was my turn to step in front of him. He smiled, somewhat inappropriately, and took his time to hover his wand in front of my chest. If he would have patted me down, he would have gotten a hard knee to the groin. He thumbed through my purse and I flashed him a get a life, pervert look when I stepped away.

  I wonder how many people have actually been caught carrying in a weapon, anyway. I can see why they would, honestly. I just don’t know how they would think they could get away with it.

  The liaison had a quick briefing about the trial arrangements. The jury had been selected last week and she predicted the trial to only last a couple of days because there was so much hard evidence against Mila. Which I had learned from this experience, meant evidence that could be proved forensically and scientifically. I sure hope she is right.

  “Before we go in, you are welcome to quietly exit the room any time you feel uncomfortable,” she told us and I took a deep breath in as we walked to sit down directly behind Mila.

  Before I could mentally psych myself out, the judge entered and the room stood. I looked around at the jury. Six men and six women, clearly not completely random, and I thought of how they must view Mila. Her petite figure hid behind clothes that were now too big for her frame. She had always been beautiful but in this court room she just looked lost. She didn’t have that glow she used to have. Her demeanor was almost cold. The way she had gone from someone so full happiness to what stood in front of me now should have brought a sadness to me, but it didn’t. It made me even more angry with her.

  The prosecutor addressed the jury and I fought back tears while he gave his speech of Carson. He described him as a kind, loving man and husband and my stomach tightened as I looked at the jury, knowing that they didn’t know any different. The prosecutor pointed to Mila and explained how their love affair had resulted in a pregnancy and my face burned with embarrassment. Being the woman whose husband cheated is not ideal. When Carson was first murdered, I could feel it. The way the eyes would peer into me, searching for what terrible thing there was wrong me that would cause my husband to seek another woman. The cheating husband does not catch the brunt of the negativity from an affair as he should, the wife does. Because even though the man is clearly at fault, people assume the wife must be faulted for him to wander. It is sickening really. He closed with confidently telling them that substantial evidence would prove Mila’s guilt for him. “This will be the easiest case I have ever had to prove,” he said.

  Mila’s defense attorney must have been appointed by the state because his introduction was very brief. The young attorney stood confidently in front of the jury in his navy-blue suit that seemed to be lacking a few inches on the inseam. His arms crossed on his chest with his chin resting in his hand. He quickly told the jury his take on the charges. Mila was an impressionable woman whom Carson took advantage of. Their relationship had reached a level of mental abuse that threatened not only Mila, but her unborn child. “All the evidence that will be presented by the prosecuting team against Mila is circumstantial,” he said before he turned back to take his seat.

  I watched the jury while they all studied her. Some of their faces gave no sign of emotion but a few of them had sympathy written all over them. I followed their gazes to see Mila sitting with her head down and although I couldn’t see her face, I knew that she was crying and it infuriated me. She had no right to cry. We were here because of her.

  The coroner was the first witness called to the stand and I watched him focused solely on Mila while he entered the room. His stare was not judgmental, it was curious and I couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking about as he watched her.

  “Carson Damichi suffered five stab wounds across his abdomen and one large laceration to his heart,” he said emotionless into the small microphone in front of him.

  My mind scrambled to take in what I had just heard. Five stab wounds and one large laceration to his heart. I felt queasy then and hurried to wipe the tears from my face.

  “And was there a specific wound that led to Mr. Damichi’s death?” the prosecutor asked.

  “I believe all of the wounds would have proven fatal with time. But Mr. Damichi’s death was a direct result from the laceration to his heart.”

  A noise escaped me and I quickly covered my mouth with my hand as it shook frantically against my lips. I had not asked details of Carson’s death and I had never even asked if he had been stabbed more than once. Hearing it was terrible and I felt the entire room staring at me for my outburst.

  I stood up and Brian looked at me, full of concern. “I am just going to take a minute,” I whispered to him as I made my way out of the bench.

  I stepped out into the hall and inhaled deeply attempting to get the thoughts of Carson’s stabbing out of my mind.

  “Chloe,” a woman said and I jumped, turning to face Janet.

  “Janet,” I breathed out, stepping forward to hug her.

  She quickly stepped away with her eyes pressed to a squint as she stared back at me. “You already remarried, I hear.”

  Her voice was full of judgement as usual, but this time I did take it personally. Normally I could ignore her snobbish attitude. But not this time because she was right. For the first time, the judgement was justified. I had not only remarried within the same year Carson was murdered, but I had remarried to his best friend and business partner. If I were her I would think pretty badly of me too.

  My face warmed when her silent accusation hit me and I tried to offer a smile but it was wasted. “I know how it seems, Janet. But I really did love your son. Brian and I never thought that our friendship would turn to anything more.”

  “Well I am sure Carson and Mila never thought that either.”

  I really do hate this woman and her snarky attitude. Carson and Mila could have never planned for their affair to become serious enough to have a child, but they still had the affair. Brian and I would have never done that to either of them. We were not the same as them. What they did was devastating. What Brian and I did was sensible.

  I followed her back into the room and she shuffled passed Brian to sit next to strangers that none of us knew. The coroner stood from the witness stand and watched Mila again as he exited the center of the room. The door closed loudly behind him and everyone sat in wait for the defense attorney to speak.

  “I would like to call witness, Detective
Pete, to the stand.”

  Brian and I both watched the door while we waited for him to enter. He had a calmness and confidence about him while he smiled to the jury. He casually straightened his suit jacket and watched the prosecutor review his notes. He placed his hand on the Bible and swore the oath. His eyes locked with Brian’s just before he removed his hand and he was obviously excited for the opportunity to fill Detective Burns’ shoes. I had no doubt that the eye contact with Brian was a sign he was going to relay her suspicions as his own. I slowly directed my eyes to Brian and watched as he sat completely untouched by the attempted intimidation.

  “Detective Pete, you were the co-investigator on this case, correct?” the attorney asked, standing behind Mila.

  “Yes.”

  “You worked alongside the fallen detective, Francis Burns?”

  “That is correct.”

  “Do you feel confident in your knowledge and familiarity of the case facts to give a truthful testimony to the jury?”

  “Yes. Detective Burns and I worked as partners. We didn’t pull rank on any cases.”

  “Okay, Detective Pete. Was Mila an original suspect in your investigation?”

  “No, she was not.”

  “Who was the initial person of interest?” he asked.

  Detective Pete looked over in our direction and back to the attorney. “Chloe Damichi and Brian Whitmore were both interrogated. Spouses are always initial suspects in cases like these. But Brian Whitmore was interrogated specifically for motive and was detained for a short period because of evidence at the scene.”

  “Detective Pete, for the jury, I would like to highlight that Brian Whitmore is Mila Whitmore’s husband…” he paused and a smile played on the corner of his lips. “I apologize for my mistake. What I meant to say was that Brian Whitmore used to be Mila’s husband. He is now remarried to…”

  “Objection!” the prosecutor shouted, slamming a brown folder viciously against the desk in front of him.

  “Sustained,” the judge said with a warning look to the young defense attorney. But he wasn’t defeated. He smiled, accomplished.

  “My apologies to the court. Detective Pete, what evidence was there that specifically raised suspicions against Brian Whitmore?”

  “There was a shoe print within three feet of the body that matched the shoe size of Brian Whitmore and when Carson Damichi’s cell phone location led us to the Whitmore residence, we made the connection.”

  “And Mr. Whitmore was eliminated as a suspect because evidence cleared him?”

  “Mr. Whitmore was cleared as a suspect when we made the arrest of Mila Whitmore.”

  “So, you are saying to the jury that there was no actual proof that eliminated Brian Whitmore as a suspect?”

  “No.”

  What the hell is this? Brian is not on trial, Mila is. The defense is making it seem like Brian wasn’t fairly investigated.

  “How did you find out that Mila was romantically involved with Mr. Damichi?”

  Detective Pete looked over to me before he answered. “Detective Burns was with Mrs. Damichi when Mila was visiting. Mila’s behavior when talking about a hotel lead was suspicious and she eventually broke out into tears before leaving Mrs. Damichi’s residence. Detective Burns believed then that the lead from the hotel would prove Mila to be Mr. Damichi’s mistress.”

  “And did you and Detective Burns follow the lead and prove that Mila was the woman from the hotel stays?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did Mila ever deny the accusation?”

  “Of the affair?” Detective Pete asked.

  “Well, I was referencing the hotel, yes.”

  “Mila was honest about her relationship with Mr. Damichi.”

  “And was there other evidence pointing to Mila’s guilt prior to finding the murder weapon?”

  “Yes, we found the same lipstick that was stained on Mr. Damichi’s neck in Mila’s home. We also had motive through text messages exchanged the night of his murder.”

  The defense attorney pulled out several packets of paper and walked to the jury to hand each of them one. I looked curiously at the packets and waited to hear what was in them.

  “These are text message logs between Mila and Mr. Damichi that began just one hour before his presumed time of death,” the attorney said as he handed Detective Pete and the judge a copy.

  I watched while Detective Pete flipped through the pages quickly and he looked back to the defense attorney in approval.

  “Detective Pete, can you please read the first text message Mila received at 6:02pm?”

  He looked back at the paper in front of him and read aloud, “I cannot do this anymore, Mila. I have let this go on for too long and I am ending it now.”

  I pressed my eyes closed thinking of the words he had just read.

  “Carson Damichi sent three text messages to Mila Whitmore before she responded to him. Can you go ahead and read the remainder of the conversation to the jury?”

  “Yes. From Carson: You need to end the pregnancy so Chloe and Brian do not find out. I cannot hurt them like this.

  Again, from Carson: If you do not end the pregnancy, I will sue you for custody and win. Your life will be ruined for no reason at all. End it.

  From Mila: What are you talking about?

  Also from Mila: You cannot take my baby from me. I will not allow it. I will do whatever is necessary to keep you from ruining my life. I will leave Brian if I have to, but you will never take this child away from me.”

  I slowly reached over and took Brian’s hand as he kept his eyes fixed on Mila. It must have been so hard for him to hear that and I knew that he hadn’t heard the text messages before because I hadn’t either.

  “No further questions your honor.”

  The prosecutor looked at him suspiciously as he stood to cross Detective Pete. A look I was also giving. The text messages should have been brought into evidence by the prosecution, not the defense. But seeing as how that was her motive, he must be trying to get ahead of the game. Not a bad play on his behalf.

  “Detective Pete, can you describe the events that led to the formal charges against Mila Whitmore?”

  “Upon the initial detainment of Brian Whitmore, we conducted a search of the Whitmore’s property. We found blood in Mrs. Whitmore’s vehicle as well as Mr. Damichi’s cell phone under the driver’s seat. She was taken into custody while we conducted DNA analysis but she was released on bond during the process. When the tests came back a positive match to Carson Damichi, we issued another search warrant and brought in several teams to do an extensive sweep of the home. We located the murder weapon and formally charged Mila Whitmore with first-degree murder.”

  “Can you describe Mila Whitmore’s behavior when you found the murder weapon in her home?” the prosecutor asked.

  “Mila was very unresponsive when we pulled the knife from behind a picture hanging in her living room.”

  “A picture?”

  “Yes, the knife was tucked in the back of a painting that hung above the fireplace.”

  I looked over to Brian and thought of the painting that hung there.

  “Can you describe the picture?” the prosecutor asked.

  “The painting is a well-known piece from that artist, Stanley Spencer.”

  The prosecutor walked to the front of the court room and pulled down a projector screen and I watched the image of the painting fill it. “I am no art critic. But I can say this painting is known as The Resurrection. The kiss is meant to be symbolic that they would be brought back to each other through love even after death,” he explained while the jury studied the painting.

  I had complimented that painting every time I was in their home. I had never been a big fan of art but I personally found this painting to be symbolic of the strength in love, something I envied at the time.

  “Detective Pete, can you testify that Mila Whitmore did not deny any claim of knowing the knife was hidden behind the painting?”

&nbs
p; “No, she did not offer any denial.”

  “And for the jury, Detective Pete, can you state whether or not the shoe print alone would have been enough to make an arrest of Brian Whitmore.”

  “No, it would not have.”

  “Because there are roughly 4,748 males within a hundred-mile radius who are also a size ten and a half shoe, correct?”

  “I cannot testify to the statistics,” he said, annoyance clear in his voice from the obvious insinuation of their unwarranted arrest of Brian.

  “And there is also an average of three hundred visitors to that park every twenty-four hours. As a member of law enforcement in the area, is that something you could testify as true?”

  “That is true, yes.”

  “Would you also agree that the only reason Brian Whitmore was ever taken into custody was because the cell phone location on his property was unjustly presumed to be a sign of his guilt all while it was actually hidden away in Mila Whitmore’s vehicle?”

  Detective Pete shifted in the witness stand and I knew that he had no other way to answer that question without making himself look incompetent. “Yes.”

  “No further questions.”

  The judge called for a recess and we sat while Mila stood from her chair. Her legs seemed so weak and fragile, almost like they couldn’t support her underfed body. Her usual makeup was replaced with only a barely distinguishable coat of mascara and the sockets around her eyes seemed deep and hollow. Her eyes held mine while she made her way out of the room and my stomach twisted with anger for her. I didn’t want to hate anyone. I didn’t want to be that kind of person, but how could I not hate her? How could I forgive her for what she had done?

  Our liaison led us out of the room and we stopped to watch the camera crews still bombarding people as they exited the courthouse.

  “Vending machines it is,” Brian said plainly.

  I followed him and could tell he was troubled by what had been said in the court room but I couldn’t decide which part was most upsetting to him. “Are you doing okay?”