The jurors filed in from the jury room and took their seats in the jury box.
“Madam forelady, has the jury reached a verdict?” the clerk asked.
The forelady stood, a piece of paper shaking in her hand. “We have,” she said.
“Madam forelady, is that verdict unanimous?” the clerk asked.
“It is,” the woman said.
“Please hand your verdict sheet to the court attendant,” the clerk said.
A court officer walked over to the forelady, took the piece of paper from her, crossed the floor, and handed it to the judge.
Judge Grosso took the paper and read it. His face gave no clue as to what the verdict was. He handed the paper back to the court officer, who carried it back to the forelady.
“Will the defendant stand, face the jury, and listen to the verdict,” Judge Grosso said.
Lisa and I stood and faced the jury. I was more nervous than I’d ever been before as I waited for the answer. I looked over at Lisa. Her face seemed frozen, hardened, as if to withstand the blow of terrible news.
“How say you by your verdict?” Judge Grosso asked. “Is the defendant, Lisa Altman, guilty or not guilty of the charge of murder?” Having seen the verdict sheet, Grosso was the only person in the courtroom, other than the jurors, who knew the answer.
The forelady cleared her throat. “We the jury,” she said, “find the defendant not guilty.”
Some of the spectators gasped. Several reporters ran out of the courtroom on their way to telephones.
Lisa allowed a slight smile.
“Members of the jury,” the clerk said, “you have said through your forelady that you find the defendant, Lisa Altman, not guilty of murder, and so say you all.”
The jurors nodded.
“The jury is excused with the thanks of this court. You may return now to the jury control room,” Judge Grosso said.
The jurors stood and filed out of the jury box. Some of them smiled and some nodded at Lisa as they walked past her. She watched the jurors leave the courtroom.
Judge Grosso glared at me. “Well, you won this one, Mr. Roehmer. I’ll see you next time.” He stood and stormed into his chambers.
John approached me. We shook hands.
“Well done, Michael,” John said.
“Thank you, John.”
“I can’t say I was surprised by the verdict. I’m sorry I had to leave it to a jury, but you understand,” John said.
“Of course,” I said. “You had no choice.”
“Well, in the end, it’s just as well,” John said. “See you on that armed robbery in a couple of weeks.” He gave a little wave and left the courtroom.
I turned to Lisa and smiled.
“Congratulations, Michael,” Lisa said. “You did a great job. As I knew you would.”
“Thank you. I’m relieved,” I said, and started to put my arm around her. “Relieved for both of us.”
“I’m glad you are,” she said. She seemed to stiffen from the touch of my arm across her shoulder, so I pulled it back.
“Now that this ordeal is over, we can finally talk about us,” I said.
“Tell me, Michael, do you feel you’ve redeemed yourself?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you finally feel freed of your guilt for what you did to me in the first trial?”
I studied Lisa. “Maybe so,” I said.
“The prosecutor feels better, too, don’t you think?” Lisa asked.
“I guess so.”
“All neat and tidy, isn’t it, Counselor?”
“So it seems.”
“Right. Michael, I need some time alone. I’ll call you in a few days.”
Lisa stood and walked out of the courtroom.
I remained at my seat at counsel table for a moment, dumbfounded. Finally, I slowly began to gather my papers.
“What’s wrong, Michael?” the court clerk asked.
“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong,” I said.
“Congratulations,” he said. “Here’s your exhibits.” He handed me the torn yellow blouse and the photograph of Lisa showing her scratches.
I nodded. “Thanks.”
“That was a nice win, Michael. You don’t lose many of them.”
“Thank you.”
“I see some lawyers come in here, time after time, they don’t know what a ‘not guilty’ verdict sounds like. Not that they don’t try to win. Lord knows, they try everything. You’re just better than they are.”
“Thank you.”
“It makes such a difference,” the clerk said.
“What’s that?”
“Having an innocent client. It justifies all the bullshit built into the system.”
“An innocent client? Yes, I guess so,” I said.
I don’t remember what I said to the reporters who were waiting in the corridor outside the courtroom.
Chapter 32
THE NIGHT AFTER THE verdict I was at home sitting in the comfortable stuffed chair in my study. I picked up a law journal and flipped through the pages. I quickly realized that the last thing I wanted to do was read about the law. I threw the journal on the table beside me.
I got up from my chair and put on the videotape I had made of Molly’s last birthday party. I watched the children playing and hopping like bunnies on the floor of the room just outside my study. That was almost six months ago. It was odd to recall that as I was filming that scene Lisa had been outside the house, waiting and watching. So much had happened since then.
“Why don’t you put the camera down,” I could hear Jenny telling me on the tape, as I kept filming. Someday Molly would enjoy watching these tapes, I thought, although she’d never see me on them, since I was always behind the camera.
I wondered what it would be like if I had tapes of me with my parents when I was a young man. Would my mother be as warm and lovely as I remembered her, and my father as strong and solid as I pictured him now? I couldn’t summon up an image of myself when I was Molly’s age. I would have been intrigued to see and hear a tape of our family when I was her age.
I wondered if in fact Molly would ever take the tapes of herself to a shrink, as I had often joked she would one day.
I put on a different tape. I had made this one the day before Molly’s third birthday. Jenny and Molly were in the kitchen baking chocolate chip cookies. Both of them were wearing pretty aprons with bright printed flowers on them. Molly had white baking powder all over her apron and on her face and hair. She and her mother were both giggling. We were all happy then, or at least I had thought so. There was nothing on the tape to give a clue that the day after the birthday party, just two days after the scene I was watching on the tape, Jenny was going to tell me she was leaving me. Jenny was laughing! Where was the evidence?
I turned off the tape. How could I be so perceptive in my professional life in the courtroom and so obtuse in my personal life? My good friend from law school, Charles, whom I hardly ever saw anymore, had once told me that I was eager to shoot videos of Molly so that I would be giving myself the best defense. But the truth was that the videos were not exculpatory. They were an indictment, proof that I had totally missed what was really going on in front of my eyes.
I went upstairs. As I passed Molly’s room I noticed that her light was still on. I opened the door and entered the room. She was in her bed, leafing through a large picture book.
“Hi, sweetheart,” I said.
“Hi, Daddy.” She smiled at me, with a smile that would have melted the heart of a snowman.
“You should be asleep. It’s past nine.” I walked over to her and sat down on her bed.
“I’m having a little trouble going to sleep.”
I asked her if she remembered when I used to sing her to sleep.
“I sure do, Daddy,” my darling four-year-old daughter said.
“Hush, little baby, don’t say a word,” I began to sing, “Papa’s going to buy you a mockingbird. And if that mockingbird don’
t sing, Papa’s going to buy you a diamond ring.”
“Yes, I remember. It was when I was a little baby,” Molly said, suddenly sounding quite old.
“I used to love to sing to you,” I said.
“I know, Daddy.”
“I knew very few songs.”
“I know, Daddy.”
“Did you like the song about the mockingbird?” I asked.
“No,” she said. “I guess I really didn’t like it very much.”
“You didn’t? How come?”
“I always thought it was very sad. Things kept breaking or getting lost.”
“Why didn’t you ever tell me? I always thought you loved it.”
“I knew you liked to sing it, and I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”
I was very touched. At four years Molly was more sensitive and considerate than I often was at my ripe old age. “You should know you can tell me whatever you’re feeling, sweetheart,” I said, and kissed her good night.
As I was walking out of her room, Molly said, “Daddy, I’ve been missing you.”
“I’ve missed you, too,” I said. “I was very busy with a case, but that’s over, and I’m home now.”
I walked back to the bed. I scooped Molly up into my arms and hugged her tightly. “You’re the most precious and dearest thing in the world to me,” I said as I held her in my arms.
“I love you too,” she said.
When Molly rested her head again on the pillow, we smiled at each other for a few moments. I stared at my darling daughter, and I thought how peaceful and innocent she seemed. I had tried so hard over the years to make her life as perfect and secure as I could. I had scrupulously sheltered her from the harshness of the life I moved in. Of course, I told her nothing of the violence and the lies. I never told her about death. I had done everything I could to limit her awareness of such things. At some point, soon enough, she would learn all about the world’s tragedies. Now, as I looked into Molly’s vulnerable and trusting face, I wondered how long it was wise to wait before telling her about how people could be cruel to one another.
“Daddy, why are you crying?”
“Am I crying?” I asked. “I guess I was thinking about how glad I am that we’re together. I suppose I’m being silly. You should go to sleep, and so should I.”
I kissed Molly on the forehead again. I got up from the bed, turned off her light, and went to bed.
Chapter 33
I DIDN’T HEAR FROM Lisa for days.
I had been totally unprepared for the anger I sensed behind her question about whether the acquittal had freed me from guilt. Here I was, a professional who made a living out of quick responses and could think on his feet faster than anyone else, and I had no answer. I could find no “objection” to her attack on me. I had simply been totally unprepared.
Everyone had congratulated me on the verdict. Even Jenny had called me.
And when I returned to my office the following week, Sylvia did the unthinkable and told me she was proud of me.
When I sat at my desk, I just stared straight ahead. I sat like that for several minutes. I didn’t have the interest or the energy to focus on a new case.
Finally, I got up and walked over to the table where I’d thrown the accordion file containing the evidence I had submitted in Lisa’s trial. I brought the file back to my desk. I removed the photograph showing Lisa’s wounds. This had been the single most important piece of evidence in saving Lisa’s life. If there had been physical evidence like this photograph or the torn blouse in the trial against Betz, I would have probably lost that trial, and Betz would still be alive.
I stared at the photograph. The most crucial contribution I had made to Lisa’s acquittal had probably been my insistence that she have that picture taken. I reached into my desk drawer and pulled out a magnifying glass. I held the glass over the part of the photograph that showed the scratches. There were three narrow furrows, each about four inches long—reddish brown gashes that were already starting to heal, beginning just under the rib cage and running straight down to the middle of her stomach.
I pulled the yellow silk blouse from the folder and spread it out on my desk. I stared at it for a moment. I bent forward to smell the blouse, but I detected no odor. I buttoned it up the front. All the small pearl buttons were still intact above and below the wide horizontal tear across the front. I folded the blouse and arranged it neatly on my desk like a blouse on a shelf in a store, lining the upper and lower torn halves up with each other.
I stared at the three bloodstains running down the front of the blouse. The stains radiated out like drops spreading on an ink blotter, leaving three columns that were almost wide enough to touch each other. The upper half of the blouse where the stains began lined up perfectly with the bottom half of the torn blouse where the columns of bloodstain continued.
I looked again at the photograph. The wounds matched in length, width, and location where the stains appeared on the blouse. That was the problem. They matched too perfectly. How could she have bled like that before the blouse was torn?
Chapter 34
SHE MERELY NODDED AT me when I opened the door to her dressing room at the theater. She didn’t seem at all surprised to see me. She was seated at her dressing table in front of the mirror. It was after a rehearsal, like the first time I had been in that room.
“You ripped the blouse yourself, didn’t you?” I asked as I stepped inside the room.
She just watched me and waited.
“Grosso was more right than he realized,” I said.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“I mean you learned a great deal from me in the first trial,” I said.
“You’re a better teacher than you realized,” Lisa said.
“All it took you was a few scratches from a dead man’s hand to convince me that he had tried to rape you again.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“The stains on the upper and lower halves of the blouse were continuous. To get that kind of pattern in the stains, the blouse would have to be torn after you got the wounds.”
“His mouth and eyes were open,” she said without emotion. “I took each finger, one at a time, and made the scratches. I buttoned the blouse and blotted it against myself. I tore the blouse when I got home.”
“So this was revenge. You murdered him for what he did to you before?” I asked.
“He could have tried to rape me, Counselor. I could have shot him in self-defense and found it necessary to do something to make the jury believe me this time.”
“Is that what happened?”
“You’ve got to admit that my having those scratches this time around made a big difference in the cross-examination.”
“And the call to the prosecutor? That was you pretending to be another woman who had been raped by Betz?”
“I could have done that to secure a cheap bail even if I were innocent.”
I stared at Lisa, trying to find in her face some clue to what she was thinking. It was as if she were a total stranger, as if we had not spent hundreds of hours together, eaten meals together, made love together, slept together, talked endlessly. I didn’t know this woman at all.
Lisa smiled. “How would you feel if I told you this wasn’t a revenge murder because he didn’t rape me even the first time?”
“That never occurred to me.”
“Well, those are the two options. Which would soothe your conscience more? Would you feel better believing that he was guilty in the first trial?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Tell me when you decide.”
“Then what?”
“I’ll tell you the answer you want to hear.”
“And our relationship? What was all that about?”
“It was nothing personal. I needed you to represent me, and I was sure you’d do a better job if you loved me.”
“I can’t believe you could be that calculating.”
“Oh c
ome on, Michael, we’re not that different. I was no more calculating, no more a performer, than you’ve been all your life.”
“You’re that cold?”
“We’re both professionals, remember? Maybe when I get older, I’ll suffer little pangs of guilt like you.”
I watched Lisa shove some things into her tote bag. She nodded at me and left.
Suddenly I was alone in Lisa’s dressing room. She had just used some of my own language about my detachment from “monster clients” to explain her behavior with me. The irony was not lost on me. She must have been waiting for months to throw some of those phrases back in my face.
I couldn’t accept the fact that she had hated me so much for so long. If I was capable of being such a good judge of a witness on the stand, how could I have been so blind for so long in such an intimate relationship?
The image of the young lawyer I had seen months before in the lawyers’ conference room of the jail came to mind. I remembered my condescending observation about how naive he sounded—when he had simply wanted to be reassured by his client that he’d been telling him the truth. I had not only stopped looked for that kind of reassurance a long time ago, but I must have also stopped looking for the truth altogether, it seemed. How else could I have been so blind?
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Question of Consent: A Novel Page 18