Let Darkness Come (25 page)

“No, he lives in a supervised group home.”

“That must be expensive. How does Roger pay for his living arrangements?”

“Jeffrey—my husband—and I pay the bill every month.”

Briley watches the jury to be sure they are absorbing this testimony. They have to see Erin as a generous person, not a cold-blooded killer. “Let's talk about your relationship with your husband. How long were you married to Jeffrey Tomassi?”

Erin tilts her head. “Five years.”

“Did you love him?”

“Yes…yes, I did, though our relationship was often…difficult.”

“How was it difficult?”

“Jeffrey was a difficult man to please. I tried, though, because when he wasn't happy, I couldn't be happy. When he lost his temper, he would hit me.”

“You have a bruise and scratches on your face now.” Briley softens her tone. “Surely you don't want us to think your husband caused those.”

“No.” Erin's hand creeps to the worst welt on her cheek. “Last night at the jail…apparently some of the women don't think I have the right to wait in line for the telephone.”

“Some of the other inmates beat you up?”

She nods.

“For the record, Erin, we'll need you to answer verbally.”

“Yes.”

“You seem to frequently be a victim. Do you go around picking fights?”

Erin shrinks visibly, her shoulders hunching as she draws into her self. “I don't fight with anyone. I hate violence. Always have.”

“I see.” Briley surveys the jury. All fourteen of them are focused on the woman in the witness box. “Erin, do you think it's fair to describe yourself as an abused wife?”

Erin's eyes narrow as a flush colors her cheeks. “I don't
like those words, but I suppose that's what I am. Or was. I suppose that's what I was.”

“If you were being abused and mistreated, why didn't you walk away from the marriage?”

A disbelieving smile crosses Erin's face. “You don't walk away from the Tomassi family. Besides, Jeffrey told me he'd never let me leave. He said he'd do anything to track me down and make me regret the day I thought about walking away. I knew he wasn't kidding, so I never even considered leaving.”

Briley paces behind the lectern, giving the jury time to ponder Erin's answer. “Did your husband ever strike you in public?”

“No. Jeffrey would never let anyone see behind the mask. No one, that is, except his brother and a couple of other close friends. Jason saw Jeffrey smack me several times. But he never said anything to me about it.”

“Erin.” Briley stops pacing. “Why did you marry Jeffrey Tomassi?”

“Because I loved him.” Erin looks at the jury, but only for a moment, as if she were afraid to let her gaze rest on the questioning countenances in the jury box. “When Jeffrey and I were dating, I thought he was perfect. He was thoughtful, handsome, charming, and he wanted to take care of me.”

“Did you marry Jeffrey for his money?”

“No. I never wanted his money, though I was attracted to his lifestyle. But Jeffrey asked me to sign a prenuptial agreement, and I agreed. I understood I would never have any claim on the money he brought to the marriage.”

Aware that some jurors might consider money a motivation for murder, Briley pushes ahead. “If you are acquitted in this trial, what will you do with your inheritance?”

Surprise flickers in Erin's eyes. “Jeffrey's money?”

“Yes.”

“But I don't have any right to that. I signed a prenup.”

“A standard prenuptial agreement applies if a couple
divorces,” Briley says, keeping her voice matter-of-fact. “As a widow, aren't you entitled to your late husband's assets?”

Erin shakes her head. “Our contract wasn't standard—the Tomassis wanted to guard their money. Our agreement states that if Jeffrey dies, I don't get anything that originated with the Tomassi estate. Besides, I don't want their money. The family can keep it.”

“Objection, Your Honor.” Bystrowski is on his feet again, his eyes gleaming with interest. “This is hearsay. The agreement must speak for itself.”

Briley shakes her head. “This testimony is necessary to explain Mrs. Tomassi's motives. Her understanding of the agreement is relevant to this line of questioning.”

The judge sits quite still, his eyes narrow, then he nods at Briley. “Objection overruled. Continue, Ms. Lester.”

Briley smiles in relief, grateful that today, at least, the judge seems to be favoring her side of the argument. Now to drive the point home. “Erin,” she asks, “do you know who will inherit Jeffrey's portion of the estate?”

Erin looks at the line of Tomassis seated on the front row of the gallery. “I…I suppose Jason does. I don't know. I never handled the money. Jeffrey told me to let our accountant deal with our finances.”

Briley steps closer to the witness box. “Let's talk about December 2, the night Jeffrey died. According to Detective Malone's testimony, you told him that you went to the fundraiser for Jeffrey's congressional campaign, and there you had an argument with your husband. Do you remember what the argument was about?”

Erin lowers her head. “Jeffrey was upset because I forgot to pack his silk socks. Later, I told him I had a terrible headache and didn't want to sit at a head table in front of all those people. I asked if I could go lie down in the hotel suite, but he said no. I had to sit through his speech, and then we had to dance.”

Briley moves closer. “Did you argue with him at the event?”

“I didn't dare. I started to cry though, out of sheer frustration, and Jeffrey grabbed my arm. He squeezed it so tightly he left a mark.”

“Did anyone see him grab you?”

“I don't think so. We were standing behind a velvet curtain, and everyone else was in the banquet hall. Jason or Antonio might have been around, but I wasn't looking for them. I was trying not to lose sight of Jeffrey.”

“Why?”

“I was afraid.”

“Of what?”

“Afraid that if my attention wandered, he'd hit me. Maybe not at that exact moment, but later, when we got back to the house. He always let me know if I did something to upset or disappoint him.”

Briley turns to the jury. “Erin, do you read what reporters write about you?”

“Sometimes.”

“Have you ever read that you usually watch your husband with ‘a wide-eyed look of adoration'?”

Briley turns in time to see her client blush. “Yes.”

“That's not true, is it?”

“Objection,” Bystrowski stands. “Your Honor, counsel for the defense is supposed to be questioning the witness about facts, not soliciting comments on gossip columns.”

“I'll withdraw the question.” Satisfied that the jury has taken her point, Briley retreats to the lectern. “What happened when you and your husband arrived at home in the early hours of December 3?”

Erin shudders slightly. “I was exhausted, so—”

“Mrs. Tomassi,” the judge interrupts, “you'll have to speak up. Move closer to the microphone, please.”

Erin obediently slides her chair forward. “I was exhausted,” she repeats, her voice ringing through the sound system, “and Jeff was all wound up. He was on the phone, calling his brother and some other staffers, so I went into the
bathroom and took a double dose of Ambien. I hoped I'd be asleep by the time he got off the phone. I figured maybe he wouldn't take things out on me if I were unconscious.”

“Do you know why Jeffrey was wound up?”

“Objection!” Bystrowski stands, vexation evident on his face. “Counsel is asking for personal opinion, not facts.”

Judge Trask rubs a hand over his face, then lifts a finger. “Objection overruled. I want to hear this.”

Briley repeats the question. “Can you tell us why your husband was wound up?”

Erin winces. “I—Do I have to say?”

Briley steps forward and rests her hands on the railing of the witness box. “Erin,” she says, filling her voice with as much intensity as she can muster, “I know this is painful, but you have to tell the jury the truth.”

Erin shivers, reminding Briley of a puppy that's been kicked too many times. “Could you repeat the question?”

“Certainly. Will you please tell the jury why your husband was wound up?”

Erin stares into the empty space between the judge's bench and the attorney's lectern. “He was wound up…because he'd just beaten me.”

“Beating you…excited him?”

“Objection, leading!” Bystrowski roars this time, accenting his cry with a knock on the table.

But Judge Trask, who hasn't taken his eyes off Erin in the past several minutes, replies automatically: “Overruled.”

Briley glances at the jury. Like the judge, they are watching Erin, and several of the women have tears in their eyes.

Rather than repeat the question, Briley simply looks at Erin and waits.

Erin nods, her lower lip trembling.

“Let the record show,” Briley says, her own voice breaking, “that the witness has nodded in assent.” She reaches out to squeeze Erin's arm, then thinks better of the impulsive action and takes a step back. When she is certain
her own emotions are under control, she begins again. “After you took the sleeping pills and lay down, did you speak to your husband again?”

“No. I closed my eyes and pretended to sleep. I could hear Jeffrey talking to his brother as I drifted off. The next thing I knew, the sun was up.”

“You didn't wake until morning?”

“That's right. I got out of bed and left Jeffrey alone—I didn't want to bother him. I went into the kitchen and made breakfast, then put his meal on a tray and carried it into the bedroom. Jeffrey still wasn't awake, so I left the tray on the dresser and went back into the kitchen to eat my breakfast.” She rubs her arms as if she's caught a sudden chill. “He hates being rudely awakened.”

Briley studies the jurors' faces. Most of them are wide-eyed and intent upon Erin. Are they imagining themselves in her position? Are they experiencing the horror of that abusive relationship? Juror number four is clutching a handkerchief, as if she expects to burst into tears at any moment, and juror number eight has her hand pressed over her mouth. Two men in the back row, however, have crossed their arms, a sign of defensiveness.

Either the men are not buying this story or they're guarding against emotional involvement.

“Erin—” Briley turns to face her client “—I know this is painful, but can you tell us what happened next?”

Erin rubs her arms again. “When I heard the clock strike nine, I began to worry. I knew Jeffrey and Jason had a racquetball court reserved for nine-thirty, and Jeffrey was usually up in time to shower and shave before heading to the gym. So I went into the bedroom to wake him up. But when I got there—” her voice quivers, and tears gleam in the depths of her eyes “—I saw that he was gray and his lips were blue. I went over and shook him, but his skin was cold. That's when I ran for the phone and called 911.”

Briley strides toward the defense table and picks up a
copy of a cassette tape. “Your Honor,” she says, delivering the tape to the court clerk, “this is a copy of the 911 call Erin placed that morning.” She looks at the jury. “With the court's permission, we'd like to play it for you now.”

The judge looks at Bystrowski. “Any objection?”

The prosecutor shakes his head. “We have stipulated that the tape is a copy of the 911 call in question.”

As the clerk prepares to play the tape, Briley leans against the lectern and folds her hands. What is
wrong
with her? A few moments ago she almost lost control, almost wept in the middle of a direct examination. She couldn't have made a more egregious mistake if she'd jerked handsome juror number six from the box and launched into an impromptu tango in the middle of Judge Trask's courtroom.

Professional lawyers remain in control of their cases, their clients, and their emotions. She's been working too hard, that's all; she's been under too much pressure. She's even been mugged.

Fortunately, as Wills would say, they have entered the home stretch.

E
rin closes her eyes as the sound of her own panicked voice rips the curtain that has protected her from memories of that cold December morning. The woman on the other end of the line was calm, eerily so, and Erin had to repeat herself before the dispatcher seemed to understand the urgency of the situation.

“He's cold, he's blue, he's not breathing,” Erin had said, pacing in the bedroom.

“Can you feel a pulse?”

Erin halted in midstep. Touch Jeffrey? Wake him up? He always got so angry when she disturbed him….

But this wasn't sleep, this was something else. Something wrong.

“Just a minute. I'll check.” Clutching the cordless phone, Erin crept toward her husband's sleeping form. Jeffrey lay flat on his back, the covers pulled up to his chest. She caught her breath as she leaned forward and pressed two fingers to the side of his neck. The flesh felt like chilled leather. Nothing moved beneath the skin, no pulse, no breath, no life.

Frantically she jabbed at his shoulder, as if she might restore some loose connection and set everything to rights. “There's nothing,” she told the emergency operator. “No pulse, no breath. He's cold and blue.”

“Do you know how to do CPR?”

“Maybe, but you have to send someone!” Erin's voice broke. “He'll kill me if I mess this up. You need to send someone who knows what they're doing.”

“I've already dispatched the rescue squad, ma'am. But you can help us if you calm down. Can you get him flat on his back?”

“He's already flat. He's…stiff.”

The phone slipped from Erin's fingers as the truth struck with the ferocity of a blow. Her husband, her lover, her tormentor is dead. The center of her life throughout five years of marriage is gone.

And the thought of freedom brings unspeakable relief in its wake.

“Erin?”

Briley Lester's voice draws her back to the present. She lifts her head and sees the black microphone, the smooth grain of the oak railing, the box filled with more than a dozen sets of curious faces. She sees her lawyer, wide-eyed and alarmed. “Yes?”

Briley inclines her head, her eyes snapping with concern. “You okay?”

“Yes.”

The lawyer seems to doubt this, but she turns toward the judge. “The defense has no further questions at this time, Your Honor.”

Erin grips the armrest of her chair as the tall prosecutor stands. But instead of stepping out from behind the table, Travis Bystrowski simply looks at her with challenge glittering in his eyes. “We have no questions at this time,” he says. “But we reserve the right to recall this witness.”

The judge voices his approval, and Erin is free to step down.