Every Reasonable Doubt (23 page)

B
right and early on Monday morning, a long line of reporters, spectators, and courthouse gadflies lined up outside Judge Graciano’s courtroom as if it were Caesar’s Palace and they were awaiting for admission to the heavyweight fight of the year. We were already seated at the defense table when the bailiff finally allowed the spectators to flood into the courtroom. We turned around to watch as they scurried for the best possible seats.

I looked over at Neddy, seated next to me. She showed absolutely no sign of fear. I, on the other hand, was a ball of nerves. Neddy was wearing a powder blue skirt suit with a gray blouse and black leather pumps. I’d changed three times before finally walking out of the door in a double-breasted, navy blue skirt suit that made my hips look too big. I wished I’d worn something else.

Tina, seated next to Neddy and flanked on the far side by David, was professionally dressed in a lavender Evan Picone dress, with a wide belt. I smiled. I guess Tina’s idea of dressing down was wearing something that cost less than five hundred bucks. I noticed age lines in her face that hadn’t been there during our first meeting. Her makeup, as usual, was flawless. Her eyes were no longer puffy. I guess she wasn’t crying herself to sleep anymore. David drummed his fingers on the table. He was probably experiencing caffeine withdrawal. We’d been at the office since six that morning and he wasn’t able to make a second Starbucks run.

A quiet commotion hit the room as Julie strolled in, obviously intent on making an entrance. I had to admit she looked good in black. She was wearing her trademark long-waisted jacket and a short skirt, with a black and white pinstriped blouse. Her hair was pulled back into a conservative bun. Her lipstick was an enticing rose-colored shade that matched her nails. Her co-counsel, Sandy, trailed awkwardly behind her, struggling with a box of documents too heavy for one person to carry. I’d heard her only role would be to hand Julie exhibits and perform whatever gofer tasks Julie demanded.

Julie looked in our direction and politely nodded before taking a seat. A move intended solely for the benefit of onlookers.

When Judge Graciano finally took the bench, it was clear that she, too, had spent some extra time in front of the mirror that morning. She was a tiny woman whose smooth skin did not betray her fifty-plus years. Her hair had a fresh cut and the collar of her pink silk blouse peeked out of the top of her drab black robe, giving it a bit of life. Her only makeup mistake was having applied too much blush to her cheeks.

The judge rushed through the administrative matters and made it clear that she wasn’t going to allow us to take forever to pick a jury. And she stuck to that vow. We had the jury seated in two and a half days.

Julie used all of her preemptory challenges carefully, excluding any potential juror, male or female, who’d had any kind of run-in with domestic violence. For Neddy, anyone who seemed to have an unusually strong religious conviction was stricken. The Bible said “thou shalt not kill” and didn’t mention any exceptions for cheating husbands. We couldn’t take a chance on someone interpreting that verse literally.

When
voir dire
ended, seven women and five men were seated. There were four whites, six Hispanics, and two blacks. Four of the Hispanics were men, and there was only one black female and one black male. The rest of the jurors were female. The alternates were all white women. Based on the jurors’ responses to the
voir dire
questions, my non-scientific study pegged Juror No. 7, a black woman in her fifties, and Juror No. 9, a Hispanic women close to forty, as our best bets for a hung jury. There was something about them, something I couldn’t precisely pinpoint, that told me they had experienced the pain of betrayal. I only hoped their personal experiences gave them enough empathy to reject the circumstantial evidence against Tina.

Following the lunch break, Julie gave a brief opening statement that sounded like one of her press conferences. She began by discussing her theory of the case, methodically describing the evidence she planned to produce during the trial. Evidence that she claimed would prove Tina Montgomery was a murderer. Neddy decided to waive opening statement, which didn’t seem to faze the jurors. At least not as far as I could tell.

The first two days of testimony posed no surprises. The crime scene investigator and the coroner presented exactly the same testimony they had offered at the prelim, only longer. Neddy crossed the crime scene investigator and David took the coroner, both without incident. Ernestine Frye, Max’s personal assistant, didn’t lay any smoking guns on the table either. On cross, I cautiously honed in on the fact that Frye had no evidence that Tina Montgomery knew about her husband’s many affairs. The jurors seemed to be paying close attention to the testimony and none of them had dozed off yet.

During an afternoon break on the second day of testimony we convened in a small conference room we would be using throughout the trial to discuss matters in private.

Neddy looked worried.

“You okay?” I asked.

“There’s still nobody on the D.A.’s list of witnesses who can corroborate that Tina knew about her husband’s affairs. Without that, the prosecution has no motive. This case is too important for Julie to let that point slide.”

David pulled a chair out from the table and sat down. “Well, that can only mean Julie has a surprise witness for us.”

“But how can she surprise us?” I asked. “We’ve seen her witness list. She can’t just introduce a new witness mid-trial.”

“Technically,” David said, “but there’re ways to get around that. All she’ll do is tell the judge she just discovered some vital witness she didn’t know about. There’s no way she’s closing her case without showing that Tina knew about Max’s infidelities.”

Tina closed her eyes, but didn’t speak.

Neddy turned to her. “I know we’ve asked you this before, but is there anyone who can testify that you knew about your husband’s affairs?”

Tina looked off into the distance, as if she was mentally running through a list of friends and acquaintances. “I guess there could be somebody, but I can’t think of a single person who’d voluntarily come forward. Unless…” Tina’s voice trailed off and a look of dread covered her face.

“Unless what?” Neddy asked.

“Kinga,” she said slowly. “I’m sure Kinga must’ve overheard some of the arguments between Max and me.”

We all looked at each other. How had we forgotten about Kinga?

Neddy reached for a legal pad, and started jotting down some quick notes. “Did the police ever question her?”

“Yeah,” Tina said, still worried. “Right after Max died, and also on that day when they searched the house. But I don’t think they asked her all that much about my relationship with Max.”

“Yeah, but they took you away in handcuffs,” I reminded her. “They could’ve questioned her after you left.”

“Kinga would’ve told me. We have a really good relationship. She was as upset about Max’s death as I was.”

“Is Kinga at your place now?” Neddy asked.

“Probably. She lives in the back house.”

Neddy glanced at her watch and turned to me. “The judge is calling a recess around four. I need you get over to Tina’s place as soon as we break and find out if Kinga talked to the police or the prosecution. And if she did, find out everything she told them. We’ll be back at the office waiting for you.”

I
t took me more than an hour to make it from downtown L.A. to Brentwood. I jogged up the walkway of Tina’s house and leaned on the doorbell for what seemed like an eternity. I was about to give up and check the back house when I heard the muffled sound of footsteps. Even after I announced my name, Kinga stared at me through the peephole for several seconds before opening the door.

“Mrs. Montgomery isn’t here,” she said, as politely as before, but with much less of an accent. All traces of her East Indian ancestry were camouflaged by a pair of jeans, tennis shoes, and a short-sleeved, V-neck top that exposed ample breasts for a woman her size. Her shiny, thick black hair was now curled about her face. She looked like a hip, attractive college student. Not somebody’s housekeeper.

“I’m here to talk to you,” I said. I boldly stepped inside the foyer since Kinga gave me no indication that she planned to invite me in. “Let’s have a seat in the living room.” This time, I led the way.

There was a look of uncertainty on Kinga’s face as she sat down across from me in the purple room. “I don’t think I should be talking to you without clearing it with Mrs. Montgomery first.”

This time, I heard absolutely no trace of an accent.
What was that about?

“Don’t worry,” I said, “Tina knows I’m here. I need to ask you a few questions that could help us with her defense.”

I pulled a yellow legal pad from my bag and settled into the purple couch. Kinga took the chair where I usually sat. During my prior visits, Tina had always sat alone on the couch. Now I understood why. It had a cushy, luxurious feel to it. Like it was stuffed with down feathers.

I explained to Kinga that I needed to ask her some questions about the Montgomerys’ relationship that would be crucial to Tina’s defense. She confirmed that the police and someone from the prosecutor’s office had questioned her about the Montgomerys’ marriage right after Max’s death. Kinga said she told them both that she didn’t know much since she spent most of her time in the back house. The police talked to her again on the day they searched the house, and had asked where Tina kept her shoes and clothes. They also wanted to know the location of every trash can, both inside and outside the house.

Did you ever hear Mr. and Mrs. Montgomery arguing?” I asked.

She seemed surprised at the question. “No, not that I can remember.”

When her eyes avoided mine I knew that she was lying. “Kinga, this is very important,” I said, my voice was stern but gentle. “If you were called to testify, could you swear to that on the Bible?”

She averted her eyes again and didn’t answer.

“It’s okay if you did. Tina was the one who told us you might’ve overheard their fights. Can you tell me what they argued about?”

She rearranged herself in the chair, curling her feet underneath her body. “Max had other women,” she said finally. Her statement sounded very casual, as if she personally accepted that as part of the male psyche. “But Mrs. Montgomery didn’t like it.”

“How often did you hear them arguing about that subject?”

She looked up at the ceiling as if she were counting the fights in her mind. “Many times.”

“Tell me about them. What did you hear?”

She looked away. “I can’t remember anything specific.”

“Just try,” I urged.

She inhaled, then complied. “It was always the same. Mrs. Montgomery yelled at him and accused him of seeing other women and he just told her she was paranoid.”

“So she was angry?”

Kinga nodded.

“How angry?”

“I don’t know,” she said tersely. “I don’t have an anger meter.”

Kinga’s attitude was beginning to bother me. I noticed that her eyes nervously moved to my legal pad whenever I began taking notes. I stopped writing and placed my pen on the coffee table, hoping she would open up to me. “Do you think Tina was angry enough to kill her husband?”

Her eyes widened and her brow furrowed. “How would I know that?” Her words were non-committal but her eyes said yes.

“When was the last time you heard then arguing?”

Kinga swallowed hard. “I heard Mrs. Montgomery on the phone screaming at Max, telling him she hated him. That he couldn’t treat her like some whore and that he would get what he deserved.”

Get what he deserved?
I reached for my pen, then stopped. “When was that?” I asked.

“Early in the morning,” Kinga said, pausing, “the day before Max was murdered.”

This time I felt Kinga studying me, waiting for my reaction. My first thought was anger. This was something Tina should have told us. I couldn’t remember if we had specifically asked her the last time she argued with her husband, but even if we hadn’t, Tina should have volunteered that information. As I pondered this news and how this information might damage Tina’s defense if Kinga was ever called as a witness, tears started to roll down Kinga’s cheeks.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

She nodded.

Kinga had worked for the Montgomerys for five years. I hadn’t even stopped to realize how close she might have been to Mr. Montgomery. His death was obviously painful for her, too. “I only have a few more questions,” I said. “Is that okay? Maybe we should take a break?”

She limply waived her hand, instructing me to continue.

I pulled a tissue from my purse and handed it to her. She took it and dried her cheeks. She seemed embarrassed by her tears, but suddenly loosened up and began to share with me many intimate details of the Montgomerys’ marriage. Details Tina had neglected to disclose.

“When they had dinner parties, he brought women he was sleeping with here to the house,” she said, with astonishment in her voice. “Said they were business acquaintances, but they weren’t. And Mrs. Montgomery knew. She had to know. A woman knows when her man is screwing around. She may not have admitted it to herself or to anybody else, but she knew.”

I heard spite in Kinga’s voice. Spite aimed at Tina, not Max. I was too stunned to say anything, so I didn’t.

“Mrs. Montgomery spent all her time trying to be the perfect wife. But that wasn’t what Max wanted or needed.” It struck me as odd that she called Max by his first name, but not Tina. “She was plastic, phony,” she continued, disparaging Tina. “All she cared about were her fundraisers and her elegant little dinner parties. I did all of the work and she got all of the credit. He didn’t give a damn about that stuff, or her either.” She smiled in a wicked kind of way that unnerved me. “And no matter how hard she tried, there was nothing she could do to make Max give a damn.”

She curled up in an upright fetal position and hugged her knees to her chest. I waited for her to continue, but she began to cry. Just a whimper at first, then her sobs quickly intensified.

“Kinga, are you going to be okay?”

“She didn’t deserve him,” she bawled, pressing her face into her knees. She continued to speak, but her hiccup-filled sobs made it impossible for me to make out her words.

I pulled more tissues from my purse and handed them to her. “Maybe we should take a break,” I said.

She lifted her head weakly. “No. I don’t need a break. You asked me if she were angry enough to kill him? Yes. Yes, she was,” Kinga sniveled. “And she killed him. I know she did!”

“What? What are you saying? You think Tina killed Max?”

Her whole body nodded
yes
.

I didn’t know what to say. “Why? Why do you think that, Kinga?”

“Because she hated him,” Kinga continued to sob. “And she didn’t want any other woman to have him.”

She was so distraught now that I was praying she would retract her words once she calmed down.

“I loved that man so, so much,” she said. “And he loved me, too.”

I stared at her, the significance of what she was saying slowly registering. “Kinga, are you telling me you were seeing Max?”

“I wasn’t
seeing
him,” she said indignantly, as if that word cheap ended their relationship. “He was my lover. I loved him and he loved me. I was supposed to be with him that night,” she said, crying out again. “He was waiting for me in that hotel room.”