If You Only Knew (32 page)

CHAPTER 78

ALL SHE KEPT HEARING
from guards was “You're going to be somebody's bitch. You get up there to the state prison and you'll be raped repeatedly, beaten, and sold for sex and cigarettes.”

Vonlee was more fearful than she had ever been in her life. The things she was hearing while waiting to go to trial painted a future in hell. She thought,
If there is anything I can do to keep from going to prison, I need to do it.

There was a part of Vonlee, however, that had been satisfied with not testifying against Billie Jean. “It would have been a betrayal, in my grandmother's eyes,” Vonlee explained.

She did not mind betraying anyone else in her family, even her own mother; but when it came to her grandmother, Vonlee was loyal to a fault. Beyond that, Billie Jean had convinced the grandmother that Vonlee was making it all up because she was so drunk. It was all a fabrication. And now, Billie Jean had the support of a verdict of not guilty—“See, even the jury believed me!”—to back up her argument.

Regarding the plea deal she had made after admitting her role in the crime, Vonlee claimed Toca had never explained to her that her prior admission was basically going to curtail any chance for a verdict of not guilty.

“When I looked at this later on,” Vonlee reflected, “it was clear to me that a plea deal was not a good end to the story if we're talking movie and book deal. Toca wanted drama for his ending.”

According to what Vonlee claimed, in selling the idea of a new plea to her, Frederick Toca had said, “Look, I know Richard Lustig and spoke to him. He told me if he was younger and had more energy, he would have taken your case to trial himself.”

“In fact,” Vonlee explained, “Toca told me one day he had just come from lunch with Mr. Lustig, and he said Lustig was ‘so glad' that he (Toca) was now representing me. . . .”

Lustig later provided a document to the court stating he had never spoken to Toca, and Toca had never asked for any of the documents from Vonlee's case “until five weeks
after
the plea had been withdrawn.”

Vonlee also made the accusation that when Toca withdrew from her case, he told her that the book deal and film had fallen through.

“I was so shocked when the judge allowed him to withdraw.”

After Billie Jean's verdict, Vonlee wondered, “How could they possibly say I aided and abetted her if she was found
not
guilty?” Vonlee had never been charged with the “actual” crime, she said. “I was always charged with helping Billie.”

There had been a part of Vonlee, she admitted, “that was . . . Well, I was hoping Billie would be found guilty. I felt like she needed to pay for what she did.”

Vonlee had been in jail, waiting her turn in court, going on a year.

“And Billie had spent all of a few hours behind bars,” Vonlee said. “Was that fair? I am the one in jail, and she is the one that killed Don! I'm the one that had a conscience. I'm the one that went crying to my boyfriend and told him I couldn't live with this. She's the one that lied. I'm the one that passed the polygraph. I'm the one that tried to do the right thing.”

It was Vonlee's counselor at the jail that called her in on that evening, sat Vonlee down, and then told her: “Your aunt has been found not guilty.”

Vonlee dropped her head. How was she supposed to react to it?

“Bittersweet” was the way Vonlee later put it. “Part of me felt that maybe I'll be found not guilty because she was. And part of me felt like, ‘Wow, is this woman working with the Devil or what?'”

In Bill Cataldo, Vonlee found a “very nice guy.”

When they first sat down, Cataldo said, “Just unbelievable. You had a deal for seven to fifteen and you withdrew it.” He shook his head in disbelief. All the air had been sucked out of the room with that one comment. But looking back was not going to change the future. Vonlee was facing the fight of her life and Cataldo was in charge. They needed a plan.

“I know” was all Vonlee could say.

“I feel especially bad, because if I lose and you get more time . . . well, let's just talk about the case. You know, what [Toca] did, that wasn't aboveboard. I just need to look at all this, go through everything and see where we stand.”

Vonlee said she'd help, obviously, in any way she could.

What became a focal point right away in their discussions was the idea of Vonlee testifying. Was there any way around her sitting and explaining to the jury her version of the events that had led to Don's death? Could she do it? Was she emotionally prepared?

“Nothing is ever cut-and-dry,” Cataldo told her. “Look, it's going to be tough.”

“I know,” Vonlee said. “I'll think about it.”

CHAPTER 79

WHEN THE FIRST DAY
of her trial arrived, Vonlee sat in the courtroom goosed up on so many psychotropic medications, she later said, the numbness actually helped her deal with the anxiety and fear associated with what was the possible outcome she faced. The feeling inside the room was one in which everyone seemed to know the ending was not going to be what was expected. Concurrently there was a dismal feeling that it would not end happily for the defendant.

Vonlee did not look like the female she had in the past. She was a bit heavier, with her hair dyed blond, short and curly, and her more manly features showing prominence on her face and plump body. She looked like a transsexual, which, Bill Cataldo knew, was not going to help.

People judge by appearances. By looks. By what they
think
a person might want out of life. Jurors, of course, were no different.

The trial's date had been pushed back, but on March 11, 2002, things got under way with a daylong voir dire as a jury of fourteen was chosen. Following that, Judge Wendy Potts asked everyone to return the next morning, March 12, for opening statements and the state's first witness.

Regarding his rival in the courtroom, Bill Cataldo viewed APA John Skrzynski as a skilled competitor and reliable colleague.

“He is thoughtful, professional, personal and a
very
good trial lawyer,” Cataldo later said. “He doesn't play games and does not engage in trickery. If anything, I would like to think I have modeled [part of my career] on him. We both have this certain bravado when it comes to trials. We love providing complete discovery, then going to trial, mano a mano. . . .”

Both lawyers agreed that “winning feels better when talent and facts” usurp “cheating.” Playing by the rules and coming out on top always felt better than the alternative.

Before entering into the world of law, quite interestingly, APA Skrzynski toured nationally with various rock acts as a horn player. Colleagues and friends said he did not involve himself in office politics and was a loyal soldier to those assigned to supervise him.

“He has a humility and understanding for the defense attorney plight that comes with having to ask for leniency,” Cataldo explained. “He takes no pleasure in saying no. He treats all in our field with respect, including defendants. Some in our position love to point fingers and derogate those charged with crimes. He doesn't stoop to it. Neither do I. Respect isn't [just] a buzzword for John. He listens to all sides before forming opinions and is evenhanded in an environment that rewards pathological ideology.”

Still, running alongside the charming, complimentary verbiage he spouted for his archfoe, Cataldo also claimed that there was a fair amount of “aggression” between the two men when they practiced in a court of law, on opposite sides. And yet, this was how lawyers, Cataldo added, at least the passionate ones, played the game.

* * *

The following morning, first thing, two words dominated the APA's opening: “aiding” and “abetting.” This was the state's focus.

Vonlee helped her aunt kill her uncle.

“Now,” APA Skrzynski said, “the law says that if you intentionally help another person commit a crime—even though you yourself are not the person that actually commits the crime—if you intentionally help someone else commit the crime, you are as
guilty
as if you had committed the crime yourself.”

Was there anything left that the APA needed to say?

Vonlee looked on, terribly lost in an abyss of gloom and doom. When it was put that way by the APA, she felt, there was no chance for her to come out of this unscathed.

Of course, the APA didn't stop there. He banged on and on, carefully uttering that same narrative he had utilized throughout Billie Jean's trial, or one could say the “dress rehearsal” for this event. He hammered the same points home: the money, the cars, the casino, Danny Chahine.

“She helped her aunt kill her uncle to get money for a sex change operation—and, in fact, she
got
the money.”

Thunderous.

Direct.

Condensed.

The APA was on his game here. And it was obvious that Skrzynski did not want to lose this case, too. As he worked his way through what was a brilliant opening statement, pointing out the law repeatedly, he won over the jury.

Then, upping the ante for himself (perhaps when he didn't need to), Skrzynski spoke of how Vonlee was on trial for a vicious, premeditated, planned-out murder with her aunt; she was here today to face that
and
the charges of aiding and abetting.

Skrzynski worked in the recorded conversation with Danny Chahine near the end. And just like that, the icing was sugary and sweet, capping off the charges she faced.

If there was one fault in APA Skrzynski's opening, it was that he went on for maybe just a bit too long, went over some pieces of evidence twice. In culinary terms, he seemed to be putting too many eggs into the pudding. Yet, finally, as he concluded, the APA asked for jurors to consider a few simple facts: “And when I come back at the end of the trial, after you've heard all the evidence, I'm going to ask you to render the verdict . . . of first-degree premeditated murder and that will be the verdict that you'll want to return.”

From manslaughter to first-degree murder was all Vonlee could think as she stared at jurors. She couldn't get it out of her head, no matter how many meds she had taken. Rewinding the clock would be something she might make a deal with the Devil to achieve. Such a contrast in reality: her life for Don's life.

What could Bill Cataldo do? He had to pull out something substantial here. But where should he begin? As a defense attorney, one had to be careful with overpromising and then not delivering.

* * *

Cataldo stood, looked down at his notes one last time, and then conveyed his first line, a rather stark, terse piece of factual insinuation: “The state of Michigan, through Mr. Skrzynski, has improperly aimed their case of Vonlee Nicole Titlow.”

Don't reach for the stars. Try to grasp onto a small piece of the pie and feed it to jurors. They might bite. Make them feel as though the state was stepping over a line and overcharging Vonlee.

Cataldo focused the early portion of his opening on the cause of death, or, rather, the lack of evidence. If he could prove, same as Billie Jean's lawyer had, that Don died naturally, then there was no murder to charge his client with.

Another strategy, one that Vonlee totally got on board for, was Vonlee taking responsibility for what she had done. She was entirely willing to do that, which that first plea bargain had proven, though Cataldo could not mention it.

“At best, or at worst, what Vonlee did was stupid. What Vonlee did was inappropriate. But there are appropriate charges that would hold her responsible for what she did. But those appropriate charges are
not
the state's worst-possible charges, first-degree murder.”

As he continued, Cataldo talked about how the APA had focused his argument on the allegations Danny Chahine had made that, of course,
supported
the state's case. The APA did not reference everything else said between Danny and Vonlee, which would
refute
the idea that Vonlee was a murderer. Rather, these other conversational exchanges revealed that Vonlee had simply behaved in a stupid and ignorant fashion. Moreover, Vonlee would not be denying her involvement in what Billie Jean was doing. But once she realized her aunt actually wanted to hurt Don, Vonlee backed off and told her to stop. Only she then walked away—her mistake—and unknowingly left Billie Jean to finish the job.

“You're going to learn that Billie Rogers was married [several] times. That she had liver cancer. That she knew Vonlee Harry Titlow, who is actually now Vonlee Nicole Titlow—that she's a freak. That she's a drunk. That she's a person easily manipulated. She attempted to use her to do what she wanted to have done, and that was what she had to accomplish herself, the death of Don Rogers, so that she could collect the money.”

Blame Billie Jean Rogers.

Could it possibly work?

CHAPTER 80

AS FOR THE STATE'S
witnesses on day one, for the most part APA Skrzynski kept to the same script he had during Billie Jean's trial: The first responders came in and set the scene. Then Danny Chahine took to the stand to speak his truth. There were no surprises here. The direct testimony mimicked what they had said the previous year during Billie Jean's case. The APA walked each witness through his or her story, step-by-step, this time piling the culpability for the death of Don Rogers on Vonlee's shoulders, instead of her aunt's.

After a day off on Thursday, March 14, 2002, Bill Cataldo went to work on Danny Chahine. By far, Danny was the state's most incriminating witness against Vonlee. He held the cards deciding her fate. Cataldo knew this. Vonlee knew this. The APA knew this. Danny? Maybe not so much.

Cataldo kept on point with what was a familiar narrative: Danny's business, criminal history, problems with citizenship and lying to INS, his accent and English being a second language, the “pornographic tapes” Billie Jean had given him, and Billie Jean and Don's relationship. One important factor Cataldo was able to bring out during his cross-examination was that by Danny bringing forward the information he had about Vonlee, and then participating with police in recording her, would it ultimately “look good” for him in the eyes of the government when they checked to see if he was a “good citizen” before deciding whether to give him permanent citizen status?

Danny did not agree with this idea.

Cataldo moved on.

Later, Cataldo explained that part of what he wanted to accomplish with Danny involved “embarrassing him” on the stand. With his client, Vonlee, in the predicament she faced—an uphill battle, and Danny the one stopping her at the top of that hill—it was one of the only approaches the defense attorney could take, really, in order to try and cast as bad a light as possible on the state's most powerful witness.

This began when Cataldo asked Danny about a hotel room the TPD had bought and paid for on the night Danny recorded Vonlee. Vonlee's lawyer wanted to know if Danny had asked for the room because of “safety concerns,” as he had once said during a preliminary hearing.

After argument and an objection, Danny answered: “Yes.”

Further along, Cataldo was able to bring out the fact that the TPD had offered the room at the casino because Danny might be “emotionally exhausted” after recording his girlfriend with a wire. But through his expert way of questioning, the lawyer pushed forward the contention that Danny had bartered for the hotel room as a potential payment for what he had done—a trade that neither Danny nor the TPD had ever admitted or would agree to.

Then it was on to the sex Danny had with Vonlee. This was an area where Cataldo could show, perhaps by the most intimate of examples, how naïve and ignorant Danny Chahine was at the time—not to mention how easily fooled he was by Vonlee's lies.

“The first time there was intimate contact, it was a matter of her giving you oral sex?” Cataldo asked, gradually leading into the raw, truly embarrassing material.

“Yes, sir.”

“At that time she was
not
naked?”

“Top,” Danny said, confusing just about everyone in the courtroom.

So Cataldo clarified, “She was top
less
? So you could see her breasts, but you
didn't
see her vaginal area or the groin area?”

“No, sir.”

“And this was at your apartment?”

“My house,” Danny answered.

“And then there came a time when you engaged in greater physical, intimate contact with her?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And . . . this time it included an insertion . . .” Cataldo asked, looking up from his notes, waiting for Danny to answer.

Quite a way to put it:
“an insertion.”

“Yes, sir.”

Cataldo finished: “. . . of your penis into what you
thought
was her vagina?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And this was done in some sort of Greek style—doggie style—from behind?”

“Yes, sir.”

“This was done at your house?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you're indicating that you
didn't
know the difference between a vagina and an anus at that time?”

“I didn't indicate that.”

“Did you believe you were having
vaginal
sex or
anal
sex?”

“I thought I was having vaginal sex.”

“Okay. And so at that time, you
didn't
know the difference?”

“When we're engaged in sex, no, I didn't know.”

“I would assume for her to participate in this act she had to be naked?” the lawyer wanted to clarify.

“Yes, sir.”

“And so she was naked. You were naked.” He paused here, which brought a great deal of attention to his anticipated next statement: “And you
still
didn't notice a penis?”

“No, sir.”

“You didn't notice an erection?”

“No, sir.”

“You did no reaching around or touching down there yourself?”

“No, sir.”

“While you were having intercourse with her?”

“No, sir.”

“And that would have happened on a couple of occasions, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Now, I understand from your direct testimony that [Vonlee] had made some statements to you . . . that there was some sort of medical condition that made her embarrassed to show her vagina?”

“Yes, sir.”

“But she had, or was at least on these two occasions without pants—without underwear—in front of you?”

“Yes, sir.”

Feeling confident in pointing out the most embarrassing moments of Danny's life by showing how Danny had been misled by Vonlee on more than one occasion, the defense attorney moved on. He asked about the jewelry Danny had given his girlfriend.

Still, had the damage to Danny's credibility as a witness, if the jury chose to see it that way, been accomplished?

If there was one point Danny made that helped the state, it was when he testified that he had never seen Vonlee wasted. This was important for the state's contention that Vonlee knew exactly what she was doing when she did it. If her boyfriend had never seen her “tipsy,” as Cataldo put it, how could the jury believe she was drunk on the night Don died? Or drunk when she tattled to Danny about what she and Billie Jean had done?

For the next hour, Danny and Cataldo split hairs on common, well-worn subjects and facts related to the case. The one new piece of information that came out was that Danny had said during one pretrial hearing that he thought Vonlee had told him she held Don down while her aunt smothered him with a pillow. This was not an image Cataldo wanted the jury to have. Thus, he was able to get Danny to retract that statement by now claiming he had said so much over the course of the case that he couldn't possibly recall everything.

But a bell had been rung, nonetheless.

Cataldo pressed Danny on the subject of the money Billie Jean had promised to pay Vonlee for her help, focusing on what Danny had actually heard Vonlee say. And maybe he pressed Danny too hard here, because no defense attorney wanted the answer Danny subsequently gave.

“So,” Cataldo asked, “what you're saying is while Billie's got the pillow, she's negotiating with [Vonlee]? If you want the money, I'll make it higher, and if you want the fifty [thousand], you're going to have to do more?”

“Well, it's probably hard to believe, but they were negotiating while they were killing the man,” Danny said.

The APA cracked a slight smile out of the corner of his mouth, noting to himself, possibly, that the image Danny Chahine had just provided the court consisted of a passed-out husband on the floor, unable to defend himself, while the two moneygrubbing women in his life were trying to decide the best way to kill him and split his money.