The Things We Don't See

by Jessi Brazzell

  “Yeah,” he said, studying the vending machine like it were a five-star buffet.

  I knew that he wasn’t okay. I knew that hearing the texts had to have been hard for him and I knew that watching his ex-wife sit in front of a jury for murdering his best friend was also indescribable. He was being villainized because we had fallen in love and he was being made out to look like a killer in a courtroom that already carried enough negativity. But on top of all of that, the knife was tucked away in his living room and he had no idea. Neither of us had really been given details on the evidence. But neither of us wanted to know. And now that it was all being brought out, we should have prepared ourselves for at least part of what we were going to hear, if there is any way to prepare for such a thing.

  “Well, it seems to be going pretty quickly,” I tried to offer but his attention was understandably elsewhere.

  We snacked on corn chips while we waited outside of the court room. Brian would drop his head uncomfortably when Mila’s family would approach and I would exhale in relief every time none of them stopped. I don’t know why I expected they would, what would they even say?

  “You ready?” I asked, looking down at my watch.

  “Sure.”

  We sat down and I looked over to Janet who was purposely keeping her head down to avoid making eye contact with me. I rolled my eyes and looked back to the door. Mila walked in and Brian shuffled next to me. Her attorney walked closely with her and I sarcastically thought to myself, hope he isn’t married.

  “All rise…”

  I stood and took Brian’s hand while we waited for the judge to be seated.

  “I would like to call the county coroner back to the stand,” the defense said.

  I looked over to our liaison and she shrugged her shoulders as the coroner entered the stand for the second time.

  The coroner swore into oath again and the prosecutor whispered to the man sitting next to him.

  “Were you able to confidently conclude that Mila Whitmore matched the height and weight consistent of the wounds inflicted on Carson Damichi?”

  “No, I was not,” he said, looking over to Mila again. “The wounds were consistent with that of someone several inches taller than Mila Whitmore.”

  I felt my face crinkle into utter confusion and I saw several jurors looking suspiciously at Brian.

  “So, you are telling me and the jury that you cannot conclude, without a doubt, that Mila Whitmore did in fact inflict those injuries on Carson Damichi?”

  “No, I cannot,” he answered calmly.

  “Coroner, can you testify whether or not Carson Damichi’s body had been moved postmortem?”

  “I cannot professionally conclude this because I do not have the proper crime scene investigatory credentials. But it is within my professional opinion as the coroner that Carson Damichi’s body was in fact moved postmortem.”

  “And do you think that a woman of Mila Whitmore’s stature would be able to move Carson Damichi’s body without any help?”

  “Objection!” the prosecutor shouted again and the judge nodded in agreeance.

  “No further questions.”

  The prosecutor was quick to stand and make his way in front of the coroner.

  “You question the height of Mila Whitmore, correct?” he asked him as he stood sideways to keep his eyes focused on the jury.

  “That is correct.”

  “You can also agree that a woman of Mila Whitmore’s social status is likely to wear high heels?”

  The defense attorney shot up from his seat. “Speculation!”

  “Sustained.”

  I looked over to Brian again and he looked back at me but his face was calm which settled my worry slightly.

  “You also openly admit that you cannot say without a doubt that the body was or was not moved, correct?”

  “That is correct.”

  “Coroner, for the sake of entertaining speculations on the stand that the defense has so carelessly brought to light, adrenaline is in fact a powerful stimulant that can at times cause excessive strength that someone would not normally possess. Do you agree?”

  “Objection. Irrelevant,” the defense said calmly.

  “Sustained.”

  “No further questions, your honor.”

  “We will proceed tomorrow morning at 9:00am,” the judge stated with a loud smack of his gavel.

  Mila watched us again as she walked out but this time there was a smugness in the way she looked at Brian. I quickly reached for his hand and could feel his body tightening from her glare.

  The liaison walked with us down several flights of stairs until we were in the basement of the courthouse. I looked around, impressed with how it seemed to be a hidden corridor even though there were no real efforts at keeping it secretive. She left us in a small room with an oval table and chairs that were significantly preferable to the bench I had just spent hours sitting on.

  “What do you think he was getting at with the height?” I asked Brian. I still couldn’t get that out of my mind.

  “I don’t know. It seems silly to assume a woman’s shoes wouldn’t affect her height,” he said and I let my shoulders relax. He was probably right.

  We both turned anxiously when the prosecutor walked in. “I think things are going really well and I am fairly certain that the ruling will be made early this week,” he smiled to us.

  “Is there still a question on whether or not Mila murdered Carson?” I asked him quickly.

  The thought of this not being resolved was eating away at me. And the possibility that she could be found ‘not guilty’ was even scarier when I thought of Harper waiting for us at home.

  “The defense’s only strategy of hoping for a lighter sentence was to plant reasonable doubt into the jury before they gave a term recommendation. I knew my shoe comment would be thrown out but I still felt it was important to point out that heels are a common footwear for women to undo that doubt with jury. We have all the evidence we need to stick this guilty verdict.”

  I exhaled deeply and relaxed back in my chair. He was right and I didn’t need to dwell on possibilities.

  “I will see you both tomorrow,” he said when a woman peeked her head in.

  The liaison led us out through a side door to avoid any run-ins with the news crews. That was the last thing I wanted to deal with. But even more so, it was the last thing I wanted Brian to have to deal with.

  Neither of us spoke on the drive home. I couldn’t get the idea of the height not matching out of my head and I had no idea what Brian was thinking.

  Rosalie greeted us when we walked in the door and I hurried to take Harper from her. I swayed back and forth until I felt my nerves settling. The day did not go very well at all. I hadn’t expected them to still be pointing fingers at Brian.

  Chapter Twenty

  I walked down the stairs to see Brian holding a piece of paper in his shaking hands.

  “Brian? Who was at the door?”

  He didn’t say anything but slowly reached it out to me. “You were subpoenaed?” I asked, staring down at the order in my hand.

  “Yes, I have to testify tomorrow.”

  I wasn’t completely surprised by this. Brian was the last person to be with Carson before his murder. He also was at home when Mila got in that evening. Him testifying was almost inevitable even though we had thought at this point he wasn’t going to be called.

  “Brian, do you want to talk about anything?” I asked, seeing how troubled he was.

  “No. Maybe. I just don’t understand how I was married to that woman and didn’t even know who she was,” he said, dropping his head into his hands.

  “I didn’t know either, Brian. About either of them. Mila was my best friend and Carson was my husband and I never imagined…”

  He looked up at me warily and forced a smile. “I am sorry, Chloe. I know this is a terrible situation for both of us. Do you need to talk about anything?”

  I sat down beside him and for some
reason I felt like I should keep my voice to quiet whisper, like Harper would hear us and know what we were talking about. “What if Mila is not found guilty? What if they argue more about height and she takes Harper from us?”

  He took my hand, “Chloe, we are Harper’s legal parents. No one can take her away from us. Legally, there is nothing Mila could do. But she is guilty,” he said sternly.

  “I know she is, I am just so worried that they will find a loophole.”

  “I promise, they won’t.”

  Neither of us slept from the stress for the next day and the still sporadic cries that found Harper throughout the nights. I was making much needed coffee when Rosalie opened the door. She walked in quietly and looked around for Harper. “She is still sleeping.”

  She looked at me worriedly and hurried over to finish brewing the coffee. “Oh, you must rest, Mrs. Chloe,” she said in her natural motherly tone.

  I smiled back and sat down on a barstool to wait for the coffee. Brian walked out and greeted her with a kiss which caused her to get flustered as usual. I smiled watching her with him and thought of how lucky I was to have him through all of this. He just made everything better. He made every terrible situation seem less terrible.

  We pulled into the parking lot to see an even larger crowd of news cameras than yesterday and I sighed heavily trying to prepare myself. Brian locked his arm in mine and pushed us through the crowd while I tried to block out the questions flying at us.

  “Did you know your wife murdered Carson Damichi?”

  “What do you want the sentence to be?”

  “Did you know they were sleeping together?”

  “Did you have open marriages?” someone shouted above the crowd and I shot my head around to look for the reporter who had asked that question.

  My face burned with complete appall as I shouted back, “Absolutely not!”

  “Let’s just get inside,” Brian said. I felt him pulling me back toward him and I struggled hard to discard the question entirely.

  Our liaison was waiting inside and she quickly apologized for the crowd out front. “Today is a big day for reporters,” she chirped on the way to the court room. She stopped uncomfortably and turned to Brian, “You will have to stay out here until your testimony is over. I am very sorry.”

  I turned to Brian in almost a panic when I realized I was going to have to sit in there without him. His face was apologetic and he hugged me tightly before taking a seat on the bench next to the door. Mila was already sitting in the court room when me and the liaison entered and her attorney was having a heated conversation with the prosecutor.

  “This is going to be a very short day,” the liaison told me quietly.

  I felt a small rush of guilt when I couldn’t remember her name but I soon accepted that it didn’t matter when the judge was announced. We all stood and waited for him to sit before we followed suit. He addressed the jury and gave instructions for the day. I watched the prosecutor and defense attorney getting things ready and felt an even higher level of anxiety than yesterday without having Brian for comfort.

  The defense attorney and prosecutor had finally come to an agreement and the young attorney turned to face the judge, “I would like to call witness, Brian Whitmore, to the stand.”

  I had a mix of emotions while I waited for Brian to swear in. I was relieved he would be testifying first thing so I wouldn’t have to spend the day in the court room without him. But I was also nervous for him because I knew this was going to be hard for him to sit in front of Mila and condemn her, no matter how much he had moved on from her.

  “Mr. Whitmore, can you describe your relationship with Carson Damichi?” the attorney asked.

  “Carson and I had been best friends since high school. We went to Brown together and graduated with law degrees, then opened our partnering firm here in Rhode Island.”

  “Did you know that Carson and your wife were also such close friends?” he asked.

  Brian’s face flushed, “No. Not until after Carson was murdered.”

  “Where were you the night Carson was murdered?”

  “Home.”

  The attorney turned back to the jury. “An alibi that cannot be corroborated.” He turned back to Brian, “You also had access to Mila’s car and obviously, your home. Correct?”

  “Obviously,” Brian snarled. His irritation was apparent and I held my breath hoping that he wouldn’t lose his temper.

  “How did you feel when you found out Mila and Carson were having an affair?”

  Brian’s knuckles were turning white in his tightly flinched fists and he briefly closed his eyes. I knew this routine. He was trying to calm himself and I wanted to be able to stand up and stop this for him, but I couldn’t. “I was surprised to hear it,” he finally said.

  “Was it before Carson Damichi was murdered that you heard the news?”

  “Again, no.”

  “Is it true that you are now married to Mr. Damichi’s widow?” he asked. His eyes glanced briefly back to the jury and I looked to see their reactions. Faces of shock and even amusement, like they had just tuned in to some reality dating show or soap opera.

  “Yes, Chloe and I are married.”

  I suddenly felt every set of eyes burning into me and I looked around uncomfortably. Mila’s head was turned just enough to look over her shoulder at me and my breath caught when I saw her eyes boring into me. I wanted to leave the room entirely but I knew that I couldn’t.

  “Brian, what happened with the firm when Carson passed?”

  Brian shifted around and briefly looked at me before answering. “I took ownership of the firm. But I never wanted sole ownership. We opened our firm together because neither of us wanted to carry the whole responsibility. And it is still a responsibility that I do not want.”

  “And when did you and Carson take out the insurance policy that would secure assets in the event of a partner death?” the attorney asked.

  I stared at Brian, waiting for him to answer. I hadn’t brought up the accusation Detective Burns had made at the boat house but I was shamefully curious to hear what he had to say.

  “We had been discussing it for years. We hadn’t settled on a policy until recently.”

  “The policy was purchased less than two weeks before Carson Damichi was found murdered, is that correct?”

  “I am not sure the exact dates, but that could very well be true. It was a recent decision that was actually Carson’s. He suggested the company and the policy. I only signed the paperwork. Perhaps Carson and Mila had planned to kill me?”

  My chin tucked back and I sat completely dumbfounded by the possibility. The defense attorney just smiled and I watched the prosecutor sitting in wait for his chance to cross examine. I hoped whatever he had was good because even though I know none of this is merited, these accusations are rather suspicious.

  “So, you certainly benefited from Carson’s death. You got the company…” he laughed sarcastically, “you even got his wife!”

  “Objection, Your Honor, leading the witness, speculation…” the prosecutor spouted and was quickly obliged with the judge sustaining.

  “No further questions,” the defense attorney said. He smiled sweetly to Mila and I watched his hand brush against hers as he reached for his paperwork, an obvious body language that suggested romantic involvement. Classic Mila.

  “Brian, did you kill Mr. Damichi?” the prosecutor asked bluntly.

  “No, I certainly did not.”

  “I would like to call into evidence article 943,” the prosecutor stated. The man who had been sitting behind him throughout the trial stood and pulled a small briefcase to rest on the table. My stomach tightened when the clasp echoed through the room and I looked anxiously to see what piece of evidence they were admitting.

  “Brian, have you ever seen this knife?” the prosecutor asked, turning to reveal the large blade and black handle to the court. I fought to breathe in air and couldn’t keep the tears away as I looked at
that knife that had taken my husband’s life.

  “Yes, I have.”

  “Brian Whitmore’s fingerprints are nowhere to be found on this knife. In fact, the only fingerprints on this knife are from the defendant, Mila Whitmore,” the prosecutor said to the jury. “Brian, even though evidence is already backing your claim and you could not have killed Brian without touching this knife, I will ask you to clarify one more time for the jury. Did you kill Carson Damichi?”

  “No, I did not.”

  It was an obvious observation but I was still concerned that the defense had raised enough suspicions to plant doubt in the jury’s minds. And doubt, is all they needed to let Mila walk.

  “No further questions.”

  The judge excused Brian and I scooted over in the bench, but he didn’t sit with me. He marched right out of the room without even looking at me. I grabbed my purse, ready to follow but the liaison raised her hand softly to stop me from leaving.

  “Mila has decided to not testify,” she said leaning over to me.

  “What?”

  She nodded her head in approval, like it was a good thing, as she leaned back on the bench. She was satisfied with her decision. I was not. I have waited nearly a year to hear her testify and now, she is not going to? I was furious. Of everything she had done, she had nothing to say? I fell back into the bench, defeated, and stared ahead at the prosecutor while he stood to make is closing statement.

  “Mila Whitmore brutally murdered Carson Damichi,” he started. “I do not need to convince you of that because the evidence does not lie. But it is my burden to prove beyond any reasonable doubt that she planned and executed a deliberate attempt to take Carson Damichi’s life, and succeeded. It is not my goal to stand before you and hear a second-degree murder charge. This was no heat of the moment crime. I am here to prove to you that this woman,” he pointed, his face disgusted, at Mila, “should never have a chance at freedom again. You have seen the text message logs that triggered Mila Whitmore. The text messages are a clear indication that Mila and Carson were not together that evening, which means Mila sought him out with the intention of taking his life. Mila Whitmore did not stumble upon Carson Damichi in that tree line with a kitchen knife in hand by accident. She lured him there and she brutally murdered him, ladies and gentlemen. Six times she shoved that knife into him, until she knew for certain that she had finished what she started. She felt no remorse for her actions when she placed the murder weapon in her living room like a trophy for her killing. This was not a heat of the moment act, it was deliberate. It was planned. It was premeditated.”