by J. J. Murray
As if you could ever scare her, Filardi. And it is so disrespectful not to stand in the presence of a lady.
“Miss Smith, I understand that you’ve been under a psychiatrist’s care,” Filardi said. “Would you care to elaborate?”
Just as I expected. Filardi is trying to put the idea of “crazy witness” into the jury’s minds with his first question. He has no idea how this line of questioning is going to backfire on him. Matthew looked at his feet. Hey, now my feet are dancing! Let’s box!
“I have been receiving counseling from Dr. Kenneth Penn about once or twice a week for the last two years,” Angela said. “I’ve also received extensive therapy from my fiancé, Matthew McConnell.”
Both Filardi and Warrick swiveled in their seats to look in Matthew’s direction.
Hi, Robbie. Remember me? You are going down today. Dude, is that your nose, or do you have an eggplant growing on your face?
Warrick winked and turned away.
Yeah, practice that wink, Robbie. You’ll have to make friends quickly in prison.
Filardi swiveled toward Angela. “Isn’t Matthew McConnell a lawyer and not a psychiatrist?”
“Yes, but you don’t need to be a psychiatrist to help people get better, do you, Mr. Filardi?” Angela asked.
Nice touch, Angela. He can’t disagree or he’ll look like a bigger ass than he already is.
“Oh, I agree,” Filardi said. “So you’ve been a patient of Dr. Penn for two years. Didn’t the alleged attack happen four years ago?”
“Yes,” Angela said.
“Why did you wait two years to begin intensive therapy with a psychiatrist?” Filardi asked.
“I thought I could get by on my own,” Angela said. “It’s not in my nature to ask anyone for help.”
“It’s not in your nature,” Filardi repeated. “Tell us about your therapy. It sounds intense. How intense is your therapy?”
“It’s not very intense,” Angela said. “Dr. Penn asks questions, and I answer. I ask him questions, and he answers. It’s kind of like a court case.” She smiled. “Only in my particular case, the verdict may never be handed down.”
I couldn’t have reeled him in any better! Take the bait, Filardi. She’s dangling it right in front of your hooked nose.
“Please elaborate, Miss Smith,” Filardi said.
He took the bait! Yes!
“I may never be cured,” Angela said. “I suffer from PTSD, post-traumatic stress disorder.”
Filardi flipped hurriedly through a few pages of a legal pad.
She beat you to it, didn’t she, Filardi? You wanted to spring that on the jury, and she beat you to it. Angela stole your thunder, and you’re about to be lit up by her lightning.
“Were you ever in the military, Miss Smith?” Filardi asked.
“No,” Angela said, turning slowly to her right.
This is the moment she has chosen to face Warrick. I’m getting goose bumps.
“I had a different kind of battle, one I believe that I will win.” She stared directly at Warrick for the first time. “Yes, I am definitely going to win this battle.”
Angela timed that perfectly. She’s setting her jaw. I’ll bet her hands are fists. God help you both now. The battle has begun, and you have no idea how many weapons she has in her arsenal.
“Oh?” Filardi finally stood, all five-feet-five of him. “You may never be cured?” he said to the jury.
“No,” Angela said, “but I get stronger and stronger every passing second as I confront my past.”
Good! Challenge the man to ask you the wrong question. If Filardi is wise, he’ll change directions in a hurry.
“Miss Smith, do you recognize the defendant?” Filardi asked. Filardi changed directions. It’s okay. He’ll mess up eventually. He’s too cocky.
“No,” Angela said, “I do not recognize the defendant.”
Filardi shook his head and sighed in front of the jury. “How then do you know without a shadow of a doubt that he’s the one who attacked you?”
“I don’t,” Angela said.
Whispers flowed around Matthew, and Judge Pedroia cleared his throat. The whispers died down.
“You don’t?” Filardi asked.
“No,” Angela said.
“Did you ever do a police lineup?” Filardi asked.
“No,” Angela said.
“Why, then, are you on the stand as a witness against my client in this trial?” Filardi asked.
Angela smiled. “Good question.”
If Filardi is wise, he’ll say, “No further questions” and sit down. If he’s the fool I know he is, he’ll use this moment to gloat and badmouth the state’s case.
Filardi shook his head at the jury. “A good question indeed. The police found no DNA evidence of his presence at your apartment, is that correct?”
“Yes,” Angela said, “not that they didn’t do a thorough job. They were at my apartment and shop for about three hours. They even pulled up a few floorboards.”
“And they still found none of my client’s DNA,” Filardi said. “I wonder why that was. Do you have any idea why none of Mr. Warrick’s DNA was found at your apartment?”
What a monumental blunder! Angela can talk for days now, and I’m glad O’Day is sitting on his thumbs. Paddy could be saying, “Calls for a conclusion.”
O’Day turned to look at Matthew. He nodded once and smiled.
Yes, Paddy, Filardi is an idiot! He asked Angela a vague question to elicit an opinion from Angela, so now Angela can say whatever she wants to say for as long as the judge allows her to say it.
“I think I have an idea,” Angela said.
“Won’t you please enlighten us?” Filardi asked.
You’re about to be enlightened, and you’ve just lost this case. You just don’t know it yet.
“I think they didn’t find any of the cowardly Mr. Warrick’s DNA,” Angela said, “because I burned my clothes, which had his smoky stench and his semen on them.”
“Objection!” Filardi shouted.
Yep. You’re screwed now, Filardi. Duh! You can’t object to the answer to your own question!
Judge Pedroia stared at Filardi. “You asked her to enlighten us, Mr. Filardi. That’s what she’s doing.”
Filardi looked lost. “Your honor, I disapprove of her calling Mr. Warrick ‘cowardly.’ ”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Angela said. “Did I call Mr. Warrick ‘cowardly’? I won’t call Mr. Warrick ‘cowardly’ again. I don’t know why I said the word ‘cowardly’ in reference to Mr. Warrick. ‘Cowardly’ isn’t a word I even use that often, and here I am applying it to Mr. Warrick. I wonder what made me say it today.” She glared at Warrick.
And the word “cowardly” will echo in the jury’s mind for days. Ooh, that punch had to hurt!
Filardi blinked several times.
Angela looked up at Judge Pedroia. “May I continue my answer?”
Filardi rushed back to his legal pad and lifted it up. “You had never seen Mr. Warrick until you saw his picture in the paper. Is this correct?”
Angela sighed. “Your honor, I wasn’t done with my previous answer. I wasn’t through enlightening the court about why Mr. Warrick’s cowardly DNA wasn’t found at my shop or apartment.”
“She used the word again!” Filardi shouted.
“I referred to his DNA as being cowardly,” Angela said. “I didn’t say Mr. Warrick was cowardly this time.”
I wish I could see Warrick’s face. I’ll bet he’s ready to foam at the mouth. Keep swinging, Angela. Don’t stop now.
“Your honor,” Filardi pleaded.
Judge Pedroia looked down at Angela. “Miss Smith, I don’t think DNA can be considered cowardly. It is what it is.”
“Oh, I agree, your honor,” Angela said. “I was just considering the source of that DNA.”
“Your honor!” Filardi shouted loudly.
That was definitely a head shot. Wow!
Judge Pedroia leaned his consid
erable bulk to his left. “Miss Smith, continue your explanation, but please avoid the use of the word ‘cowardly.’ ”
“I will.” Angela faced Warrick again. “Another reason no DNA was found at my place was that I used bleach to scrub my stairway landing, which had his blood all over it.”
“No blood was ever found!” Filardi shouted.
“Because I cleaned it up,” Angela said. “I run a coffee shop in Williamsburg. I have to keep the place clean at all times or the health department will shut me down. Besides, I wasn’t going to track his gutless, spineless blood up my stairs into my apartment.”
“Your honor!” Filardi shouted.
I wish I had some popcorn. This is a great show!
Judge Pedroia sighed. “Miss Smith, please avoid using language of an inflammatory nature.”
“I didn’t think I did,” Angela said. “Blood doesn’t have guts or a spine, so therefore, it’s gutless and spineless. Especially his.”
I love this woman! Go . . . go . . . go!
“Your honor, I want her testimony stricken from the record,” Filardi said.
“You originally opened this can of worms by asking for her opinion, Mr. Filardi,” Judge Pedroia said. “Miss Smith, I warned you not to use inflammatory language.”
“I’m sorry, your honor,” Angela said. “I’m sure Mr. Warrick’s blood is extremely courageous and extremely brave.”
Sarcasm has many uses, especially in a courtroom.
“Your honor, I disapprove of her sarcasm,” Filardi said.
“You’d be sarcastic, too,” Angela said, “if you had a man pinning you into a corner and trying to put his microscopic penis inside you.”
And this is what is called an uproar! Yes! Oh, listen to the gallery! Even the jury is laughing!
Judge Pedroia banged his gavel. “Miss Smith, if you continue to use such language, I will hold you in contempt of court.”
“Then that wasn’t his penis?” Angela asked. “I wonder what it was.” She looked at her pinkie.
The courtroom exploded in noise and laughter again, and Judge Pedroia had to bang his gavel repeatedly until the crowd quieted down.
“Miss Smith,” Judge Pedroia said. “You will be civil. This is your last warning.”
“Yes, your honor,” Angela said. “I’m sorry.”
“Mr. Filardi,” Judge Pedroia said, “please continue.”
Filardi approached the jury, his face significantly redder. “Let’s get back to the evidence. Where is there any evidence that my client was even in your shop that night?”
“He called Matthew from the jail the day the crime tech team was there, and in that conversation he admitted being there,” Angela said.
Filardi smiled. “Yes, we’ve all heard that tape, and in that tape, my client insisted it was a date gone bad. Wasn’t it a date, Miss Smith?”
“No,” Angela said. “It wasn’t a date.”
Filardi walked across to Warrick. “You didn’t have a date with my client?”
“No,” Angela said. “In fact, I had to remove two doors from my shop and replace them with steel security doors after what you and Mr. Warrick call a ‘date.’ There’s less light in my kitchen because of that. I like lots of light in my kitchen. I wish I could spend more time in the light. But my condition keeps me inside.”
Angela is a genius! She answered and deflected his question by baiting him to ask another question.
“Ah, yes,” Filardi said. “I understand you haven’t left your apartment in, how long has it been?”
“Until I met Matthew McConnell,” Angela said, “I hadn’t left my apartment in four years, ever since that gutless, spineless attack during the blizzard.”
Filardi threw up his hands. “She did it again, your honor!”
“I called the attack gutless and spineless, Mr. Filardi,” Angela said. “I didn’t refer in any way to your client.”
Filardi started to speak and stopped.
“You agree that the attack was gutless and spineless, don’t you, Mr. Filardi?” Angela asked.
“I want those words stricken from the record,” Filardi said.
“You’re the one calling attention to them,” Angela said.
“Your honor,” Filardi said.
Judge Pedroia hesitated. “Overruled. Please continue, Mr. Filardi.”
Filardi returned to his table and pulled out another legal pad. “Miss Smith, did you report this alleged incident?”
“No,” Angela said.
“Why didn’t you report this alleged incident?” Filardi asked.
“I wasn’t raped,” Angela said. “My attacker couldn’t finish the job. He failed. He came up short. And there was a blizzard outside. No one could get to me anyway, not for a few days. The police had so many other worries that night.”
“But what about your alleged injuries?” Filardi asked. “Didn’t you seek medical treatment?”
“No,” Angela said, “but they were only bruises that healed eventually. The bruise on my knee took about a week to heal. I got that one when I kneed Mr. Warrick in the face.”
Filardi’s body shook. “Do you have any proof you did this?”
Angela pointed at Warrick. “Look at his nose. That has to be the most crooked nose I’ve ever seen.”
The jury’s eyes are glued to Warrick’s nose. I hope some of them are thinking, “Yep, she splattered that man’s nose all over his face.”
“The police found no blood of any kind where you said it would be, not even under the floorboards,” Filardi said quickly. “Where was all this alleged blood?”
“I cleaned it up,” Angela said, “but I already told you about that, and it really hurt to clean up because I had a nasty bruise on my heel.”
She’s amazing again. I’ll guarantee Filardi wasn’t going to ask about her heel. Now it’s in the court transcript.
“I’m looking at a list of your alleged injuries, Miss Smith,” Filardi said. “Aren’t these injuries consistent with a fall of some kind? Did you perhaps slip and fall down your stairs that evening? It was an awfully icy, snowy day, and you were wearing your father’s boots, which were five sizes too big for you.”
I would have objected on the grounds that Filardi was being argumentative, but what an opening he’s given Angela. Within every lawyer is a fool who can’t stop talking.
“Outside later a couple of times, yes, I slipped and fell,” Angela said. “I slipped and fell trying to escape my attacker, but my injuries weren’t consistent with a fall, Mr. Filardi. They were consistent with an attempted rape. Mr. Warrick had a little premature ejaculation, nothing to be ashamed of, happens to the best of men.”
“Your honor!” Filardi shouted.
“Miss Smith,” Judge Pedroia said, “I’m almost at the end of my patience.”
“I’m sorry,” Angela said.
No she isn’t!
“Proceed, Mr. Filardi,” Judge Pedroia said.
“Miss Smith, didn’t you fail to report this attack because there was no attack?” Filardi asked.
“There was an attack,” Angela said.
“Didn’t you fail to report this attack because you and the defendant had a date that evening,” Filardi said, “and you led him to believe the date would end with sexual intercourse, and when the time came, you changed your mind?”
“Well, if it was a date, and I’m not saying it was,” Angela said, “it ended very badly for Mr. Warrick.”
Filardi scowled. “You mean the broken nose you allegedly gave him.”
“No, it ended badly for Mr. Warrick,” Angela said, “because of the heel I kicked up into Mr. Warrick’s balls.”
And we have another uproar! Oh, it’s even louder than the last one! I hope Judge Pedroia doesn’t cite Angela for contempt. He has every right to do so. Please let her keep talking!
Judge Pedroia banged his gavel, and the tumult died down. “Miss Smith, I have been very patient—”
“I’m so sorry, your honor,” Angela inte
rrupted. “I didn’t know what else to call them. Should I have said scrotal sac? Testicles? Where I come from, they’re balls, and either you have them . . .” She stared hard at Mr. Warrick. “Or . . . you . . . don’t.”
Warrick is turning in his seat, and that isn’t a smile on his ugly mug anymore. She’s getting to him. I have never heard a quieter courtroom.
Judge Pedroia shook his head. “Miss Smith, please respect the decorum of this courtroom.”
“I was just telling you how I injured my heel, that’s all,” Angela said. “I feel bad about it. I hope your limp isn’t too noticeable, Mr. Warrick. With a little surgery, you can be up and about in maybe a year.”
Warrick jumped out of his chair and shouted, “You bitch!”
Yes! She got him out of his seat!
“I’m sorry if I ruined you for life down there, I really am,” Angela said quickly. “Did you want to have children?”
Warrick leaped away from his chair and shuffled awkwardly toward Angela shouting, “You bitch! I hate you! You bitch!”
Two bailiffs intercepted Warrick before he could get within six feet of Angela, escorting him roughly back to his chair.
Angela turned to the jury. “He does limp, doesn’t he?”
Yep. The man’s junk has been junked, and now he’s headed to jail. No jury on earth could ever forget this moment.
“Your honor!” Filardi screamed.
Judge Pedroia stood to bang his gavel this time. “Order, order in the court!”
Keep going, Angela! Now, when there’s chaos everywhere!
“I am so sorry, Mr. Warrick,” Angela said. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I don’t know if there are any words I can say to return your manhood to you, if you ever had any, that is.”
Judge Pedroia pointed at Angela with his gavel. “Miss Smith, that is enough. Mr. Filardi, anything further?”
Filardi shook his head. “No, your honor.”
O’Day jumped to his feet, his fat face one big smile. “Redirect, your honor?”
Judge Pedroia sat in a heap. “Keep it brief.”
“Miss Smith,” O’Day said, “please describe the last four years of your life for the jury.”
Angela looked at Matthew. “I have suffered.” She sighed. “I have suffered four years of self-lockdown, four years of guilt, four years of pain, self-hate, fear, nightmares, and grief. The attack changed my life for the worse. But you know what? It didn’t ruin my life or even cut it short. I’m free now. I’m free. And after this moment, my attacker, Mr. Warrick, will be nothing to me.” She turned to stare down Warrick. “You . . . are . . . nothing.”