“It’s an old habit of mine. I used to do it all the time in civil cases, and most civil lawyers do. You never know who you’re going to need to call from their side and you don’t want to be caught without a name on the list.” Bennie shifted gears. “Now, let’s get to what I wanted to talk to you about, because this case is not just a simple murder case, though it looks that way.”
“You’re trying to spin this?” Karen’s eyes narrowed.
“No, I’m trying to make sure you understand that the story has a much larger dimension than you think, because you don’t have all the facts. Do you want to write a big story or small story?” Bennie didn’t Pulitzer, because she didn’t have to. It was the first thing on any reporter’s mind, especially with all the changes in the newspaper business. Winning a big prize was the only way to keep your job these days.
“Obviously, I’d rather write a big story.”
“Then you need to talk to me, because I was there when this all began, over a decade ago in Luzerne County. It was right after 9/11 and the very beginning of the war in Afghanistan. I represented Jason Lefkavick in his juvenile action.”
“You did?”
“Yes.”
“Is that why you’re representing him now? I admit, I was surprised to see you in a run-of-the-mill murder case.”
“Yes, and now you know.” Bennie prepared herself to eat crow, if it helped Jason’s case. “The truth is, I have history with this defendant, and that’s why this case is about a lot more than a run-of-the-mill murder case.”
“What do you mean?” Karen reached into her bag, extracted her skinny reporter’s notebook, and flipped it open. She’d stored a ballpoint pen in its spiral coil, and slid it out neatly.
“Well, you heard me talk in there about Kids-for-Cash, and how both my client and Mr. Grusini were victims of that scandal. I can give you details, right now, and I’d be happy to, exclusively.”
“Great.”
“To me, the real story here is about justice, and whether it can be attained in the wake of a judicial corruption scandal like that. It’s a scandal that sent two judges to jail for decades, but when you see what’s happening in that courtroom, you really have to wonder what justice means.” Bennie warmed to her topic, which she believed in, even though she felt like a fisherman baiting a hook. “I can give you the transcripts and even the pleadings of the juvenile case. I have my client’s waiver of his attorney-client privilege with respect to that action. You couldn’t ordinarily get those papers because they’re sealed and now the records have even been expunged, since the scandal came to light.”
“I would really appreciate that.” Karen smiled, scribbling away.
“You might also be interested to know that my client, and presumably Mr. Grusini, received compensation for their wrongful incarceration, to the tune of about $5000. But you really have to ask yourself how you can compensate somebody for a childhood. You really have to wonder how you can do justice, even now. Or ever.”
Karen kept taking notes, and Bennie didn’t need encouragement to continue. It was what she wished she could say in court but was restrained not to, and it never hurt to have public opinion on Jason’s side. If she won an acquittal, it could even make Martinez think twice before filing an appeal.
Bennie continued, “You really need to ask in this story, isn’t it true that when there is no justice, there is no peace? Is there a better illustration than in this case? Because in my opinion, I do not think we would be in this courtroom today, if it were not for the judicial corruption scandal that took place in Luzerne County.”
“Really.” Karen looked up from her notes, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “Are you prepared to say that on the record?”
“I just did.”
“Okay, I have a few specific questions about that.”
“Take your time,” Bennie said, with another smile.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
The trial resumed after the lunch break, and both Judge Patterson and the jury seemed fresher to Bennie, as well as more comfortable, having settled into the courtroom. She was also happy to see that the Commonwealth’s next witness, an expert named Dr. Liam Pettis, was one she had faced before and even liked. Dr. Pettis came off like everybody’s favorite uncle: bright blue eyes behind tiny gold glasses, an egg-shaped bald head with bright white tufts of hair above each furry ear, and jowls that had grown even softer with age. He had on a seersucker suit that she would have sworn he wore the last time she saw him, and it fit tightly on his small, pudgy frame.
Martinez took Dr. Pettis through his expert qualifications, which only made the witness flush with a modesty that Bennie knew was completely genuine, and she marveled again that such a sweet old man could be an expert in one of the most gruesome areas of forensic science, blood spatter analysis.
Martinez faced the witness box. “Dr. Pettis, we have established that you are a licensed physician, as well as a lecturer at police academies across the country on blood spatter analysis. Would you please explain to the jury, in layman’s term, what is blood spatter analysis?”
“As I always say, blood spatter analysis is simply an analysis of the pattern of bloodstains.” Dr. Pettis spoke directly to the jury, his voice creaky and soft, so they listened harder. “All it means is that when blood is acted upon by physical forces, it will deposit itself on items at a crime scene or the clothing of a perpetrator in a distinct pattern. We re-create and study these patterns in a lab, using the blood of pigs and other animals. By understanding these patterns, we can surmise much about the way in which the crime occurred.”
“And Dr. Pettis, is this true whether the murder was committed with a gun, knife, or even a fist?”
“Yes, that’s true.”
“There has been testimony in this case that this knife, recovered from the scene, was in fact the murder weapon.” Martinez picked up the bagged knife from counsel table and held it high again. “Dr. Pettis, have you had a chance to examine this exhibit?”
“Yes, I have.”
“The medical examiner, Dr. Chien, testified that the wound on the victim’s neck was consistent with this knife and—”
“I read the autopsy report, so I am familiar with that conclusion.”
“I’m also going to show Commonwealth Exhibits 20 and 21, the parka and T-shirt worn by the defendant on the night of the murder.” Martinez set the knife down, and picked up the bagged T-shirt, which he made a great ceremony of sliding from the evidence bag, unfolding, and holding up. He did the same to the bag that held Jason’s parka, and the clothing had gone stiff with bloodstains that covered the front of the shirt.
The jury recoiled, even though they had seen both the T-shirt and parka during the testimony of Detective Gallagher, and Bennie noticed that the opening of the bloody clothes had released a stale odor of dried blood.
“Dr. Pettis, have you had the chance to examine this T-shirt and this parka?”
“Yes, I have.”
“There has been testimony in this case that this is the T-shirt and parka that was worn by the defendant on the night of the murder. You can see the bloodstains on the shirt, and there has been testimony that the stains match the defendant’s blood in particular. Is that consistent with your findings, Dr. Pettis?”
“Yes, I am aware there is some evidentiary overlap in this regard. But for the record, it is part of my function to perform a number of tests on the blood, conventional bloodwork for typing and so forth, as well as DNA testing.”
“Dr. Pettis, did you test the blood on the sweatshirt and T-shirt and compare it for identification purposes with this sample of the victim’s blood supplied by the Commonwealth?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Dr. Pettis, in your considered expert opinion, to a reasonable degree of medical certainty, can you say that the blood on the T-shirt and parka is that of the victim?”
“Yes, and that’s what I told Detective Gallagher and Dr. Chien. I wasn’t in the courtroom when the
y testified, but they may have testified to that already.”
“Dr. Pettis, my question to you is, is the spatter pattern on the defendant’s clothes consistent with someone who stabbed the victim’s throat?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Dr. Pettis, can you explain to the jury why this is so, and how you arrived at your conclusion?”
“Spatter analysis is a fascinating subject, and the shape of the droplets, the pattern, the appearance, and the many other details of blood spatter can give an expert much information.” Dr. Pettis gestured to the center of the T-shirt, making a circular motion. “Briefly put, this spatter pattern is consistent because it shows the generalized drenching that would’ve occurred from such a grievous and mortal injury. Anytime the carotid artery is severed, as it was in this case, a horrific volume of blood is produced, pulsing out in a rhythm in time with the heartbeat of the victim.”
Bennie felt Jason shifting uncomfortably, but the jury was rapt by the expert.
“In addition, because the victim was stabbed in a standing position and the blood was being pumped upward from the heart to the brain, it is under a significant amount of pressure. As soon as the knife was removed from the victim’s throat, as I understand it was here, blood would have gushed from the arterial and other slicing wounds, producing the drenching that you see on the T-shirt and the parka.”
“I see.” Martinez set the items down slowly, undoubtedly letting the information sink in to the jury. “I have no further questions, Dr. Pettis.”
Bennie was on her feet. “Your Honor, I have a few questions, if I may.”
Judge Patterson nodded. “Please proceed, counsel.”
“Dr. Pettis, good to see you again.”
“You as well, Ms. Rosato. You haven’t aged a bit. I wish I could say the same for myself.”
“Thank you.” Bennie managed a tight smile, appropriate in the circumstances, but she was pleased that the expert had remembered her because it increased her credibility with the jury. “Dr. Pettis, isn’t it true you cannot tell from the blood spatter on the defendant’s T-shirt and parka whether or not the lethal stab wound was administered in self-defense?”
“Yes. That is true.”
“Dr. Pettis, did you happen to know the blood alcohol level of Mr. Grusini’s blood on the night in question?”
“Yes, I did.”
“And isn’t it true that his BAC was .16, twice the legal limit?”
“Yes, that’s true.”
“Dr. Pettis, didn’t you also analyze my client Jason’s blood alcohol content?”
“Yes, I did.”
“And what was his blood alcohol content that night?”
“It was .10.”
“So it was lower than Mr. Grusini’s?”
“Yes, I reviewed the file and the defendant was a smaller man. I think he weighs 165 pounds to the victim’s 205.”
“Thank you.” Bennie had gotten more than she hoped for, but Martinez didn’t move to strike. “I have no further questions, Your Honor.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Martinez squared up with the dais. “The Commonwealth calls Doreen Grusini to the stand.”
Bennie kept her expression impassive, but Jason squirmed beside her, and everyone straightened in their chairs. Judge Patterson nodded gravely, and the jurors’ faces fell into uniformly sympathetic lines, their collective gaze shifting toward Doreen, who stood up and left the pew. Even the court stenographer stopped her ceaseless tapping of the keys, and the courtroom fell completely silent as Doreen walked to the witness box, took the stand, and was sworn in. Bennie and Martinez had agreed, in light of the fact that Doreen was Richie’s mother, to permit her to sit in the courtroom during the trial and not be sequestered in the hallway, as were the other witnesses. Her simple grayish-black wool dress, which she had on with a nubby black wool sweater, black tights, and black flats, made a somber and classy figure in the jury box. Bennie didn’t know how, or if, she would cross-examine Doreen without appearing heartless to the jury.
Martinez linked his fingers together in front of him. “Mrs. Grusini, thank you very much for your testimony today. I know this must be very difficult for you.”
“Thank you.” Doreen’s voice sounded predictably shaky.
“If you speak into the microphone, Mrs. Grusini, this might be easier on you.”
“Thank you,” Doreen said again, then glanced at the jury. “I’m sorry. I’m getting over a cold.”
“That’s okay,” the grandmotherly juror said softly, then covered her mouth, realizing she’d spoken out of turn.
Bennie knew it wasn’t a good sign, so she didn’t react and neither did anybody else. The jurors had yet to choose a foreperson, which wasn’t done until deliberations began, and it was a critical decision in any trial because a foreperson tended to sway the group, if not lead them. Usually, jurors would choose a man, deferring to a male authority figure out of habit or sexism, but they also tended to choose the most senior woman. If they picked the grandmother, Bennie could be in trouble.
Martinez cleared his throat. “Mrs. Grusini, you are the mother of the murder victim in this case, Richard Grusini, isn’t that right?”
“Yes, he was my oldest son.”
“How many other children do you have?”
“Two twin boys, both in college.” Doreen gestured at the pew, and Bennie looked over to see only Declan sitting there. “They were in court today with their uncle, my brother, but I sent them out in the hall. I didn’t think they should be here when I testified. You know how it is, when kids see their mom upset…” Doreen didn’t finish the sentence.
Bennie saw with dismay that the grandmother nodded.
“Now Mrs. Grusini, I think it would be helpful if you told the jury something about Richie’s reputation for peacefulness, as you have heard that the defense elicited that sort of testimony with regard to the defendant.”
“Yes, okay.” Doreen turned to the jury, resting her manicured fingertips on the black stem of the microphone. “Richie wasn’t the person that is being portrayed by the defense, not at all. Growing up, he was a strong, happy kid, an excellent athlete, but he had a really soft heart. He was a big guy, and even if he was big, he could be hurt easily, very easily.”
“Mrs. Grusini, can you please explain to the jury what you mean by that?”
Bennie wished she could object, but she’d have to keep her objections to a minimum and not cross at all, depending on how the testimony went in. Better to get Doreen off the stand as soon as possible, since she was probably the last witness of the day.
Doreen turned to the jury again, with a pained frown. “Richie had a hard childhood because his father left us when he was little. The twins had just been born, and it just put his dad over the top and he was never responsible enough in the first place, he just, walked out”—Doreen’s voice faltered, and her eyes began to film, but she held back her tears—“anyway, the point is that when Richie’s father left, Richie was very hurt. They used to do a lot of things together, and Richie never got over it. It really wounded him, like, for the rest of his life. If he lashed out, it was only because he was hurting inside. He was a good person, with a good heart and it was a heart that was easily wounded. They say that anger really hides pain, and that was really true with Richie.”
Bennie saw that Doreen had changed from the out-of-control, angry mother she’d been so long ago. She was coherent, but emotional, and the combined effect was working magic on the jury, who looked rapt.
“Mrs. Grusini, take us back to the origin of the history of conflict between your son and the defendant, if you would.”
“You mean from middle school?” Doreen asked, sounding remarkably uncoached, and Bennie wondered if Martinez was improvising.
“Yes, briefly.”
Bennie raised a finger, staying seated. “Relevance, Your Honor,” she said, keeping her tone quiet.
“Overruled.” Judge Patterson didn’t even wait for Martinez to respond
. “I’ll allow it, briefly.”
Doreen nodded, shifting forward. “Yes, I think that is an important thing to bring up, because the defense is making it sound like Richie was the instigator of the bad blood, but that’s not the truth. The opposite is the truth, and I just can’t sit and hear that my boy was anything but a peaceful, loving person.” Tears sprang to Doreen’s dark eyes, and a vein in her neck bulged. “It’s just not the truth about Richie, about his character, and I want the jury to know, everyone to know, that it wasn’t Richie who started the fight so long ago. It was Jason, not Richie.”
“You’re talking about the fight in the cafeteria, that sent both boys to juvenile detention, wrongly?”
“Yes, yes, truly.” Doreen answered, her tone agonized. She looked every inch a mother defending her son, leaning closer to the microphone and holding on to it for dear life. “Even back then,” she said, her voice breaking, “the boys were in the same seventh-grade class, but it was Jason who pushed Richie in the cafeteria. That’s why Jason got a longer sentence than Richie did. Jason was sentenced to juvenile detention for ninety days, but Richie only got sixty.”
Bennie doubted that she would cross Doreen about the real reason the cafeteria fight started. Doreen had known the real reason the fight had started, but she’d never admit it, not now. Besides, Bennie wanted to keep the jury’s focus on the present, not the past. She was trying to do the same thing, herself. She didn’t even think of looking at Declan while Doreen testified.
Doreen continued, speaking directly to the jury. “You all heard what they said, it was the same thing that happened in the bar. It was Jason who went up to Richie, not the other way around. You saw it on the videos, too, it’s a pattern. It was Jason who went into that alley after Richie, it was never my son who started it. It was Jason, always Jason, and my son ended up dead in an alley, his throat sliced open—”
Bennie raised a finger again. “Your Honor, move to strike. This is argument, not testimony.”