Mistaken Identity (59 page)

“Objection, Your Honor,” Hilliard said. “Ms. Rosato misstates Dr. Pettis’s testimony.”

“Sustained,” Judge Guthrie ruled, before Bennie could argue, but she had too much momentum to stop now.

“Let’s consider the laundry list of other facts the Commonwealth didn’t prove. One, the Commonwealth didn’t prove motive. A fight? Every couple has rough patches. I myself haven’t spoken to my boyfriend in days, but I’m not killing him.” The jury smiled, and Bennie forced one, too. “Secondly, the Commonwealth didn’t prove how the blood spatter got on the sweatshirt. Third, the Commonwealth didn’t prove what time Alice ran by Mrs. Lambertsen’s door. Fourth, the Commonwealth didn’t prove it was Alice who ran by Mr. Munoz’s window. Who can forget Mr. Munoz?”

The videographer laughed, as did the young black man in the back row. It was Mr. Speaker, the talkative one. Bennie smiled in spite of the tightening in her chest.

“Unlike the prosecution, I don’t think conspiracy involves little green people. You know that there are many crimes that take more than one person to commit. Think of the Mafia. Think of the Oklahoma bombing. Those are criminal conspiracies, and you don’t have to believe in little green people to know that conspiracies are real.” Bennie made eye contact with the jurors, and an inquisitive tilt to the librarian’s chin encouraged her, so she went for the jugular. “Ladies and gentlemen, the defense believes there is a police conspiracy behind this murder which included Officers McShea and Reston, and that members of this conspiracy murdered Anthony Della Porta—”

“Objection, Your Honor!” Hilliard shouted. “There’s no evidence in the record to support these allegations! The only evidence in the record is that Officers Reston and McShea were the arresting officers. Anything else is an unfair inference from the record and pure conjecture on the part of defense counsel!”

Bennie pivoted angrily on her heel. “Your Honor, this is proper argument in a closing. The jury may draw reasonable inferences from the Commonwealth testimony, including what the defense elicited on cross-examination. If I can give the jury an alternative scenario—”

“The objection is sustained.” Judge Guthrie’s mouth closed firmly, setting his jowls like a French bulldog. “Comment no further on the arresting officers, Ms. Rosato, and resume your argument.”

Bennie was dumbfounded. “Your Honor, is it your ruling that I can’t present my theory of the way I believe this murder was committed? I’m not bound to the prosecution’s theory. That denies the defendant the right to a fair trial.”

Judge Guthrie frowned deeply. “You may present an alternative scenario, counsel, but there is no record evidence that any specific police officers were involved in Detective Della Porta’s death. You may not confuse or mislead the jury in closing argument. You can present your theory without mention of any purported role of the arresting officers. Please proceed.”

Bennie swallowed her anger, thought on her feet, and faced the jury. “Consider this, then. Consider that someone—we don’t know who—comes to Detective Della Porta’s apartment about fifteen minutes before eight o’clock on the night of May nineteenth, fights with Detective Della Porta, and shoots him point-blank. The killer wants to frame Alice Connolly, so he runs to the closet, which he knows is in the bedroom, grabs one of Alice’s sweatshirts, and dips it in Detective Della Porta’s blood in a typical spatter pattern he has learned something about. Somewhere. Then he leaves, unseen, and plants the bloody sweatshirt in a nearby Dumpster, knowing it will incriminate Alice.”

Bennie spoke urgently to the jury now. She had to make them understand. “Picture that Alice comes in and discovers Detective Della Porta lying dead on the floor. Terrified that the killer is still in the apartment, she panics and runs for her life. Remember, there are ten to twelve minutes between the sound of the gunshot and the time Mrs. Lambertsen sees Alice run by. That’s more than enough time, isn’t it?”

The videographer inched forward on his seat, but the librarian hung back.

“Think about what I’m saying, ladies and gentlemen. If you can understand how someone else could have killed Detective Della Porta and framed Alice for it, then you cannot, under the law or in good conscience, convict Alice Connolly. And I suggest to you that Alice is being framed—by a police conspiracy.”

“Your Honor, objection!” Hilliard said, and Judge Guthrie leaned across the dais with a deep frown.

“Sustained,” he ruled. “Ms. Rosato, I warn you.”

Bennie bore down. She couldn’t win if Guthrie tied her hands, and she had to win. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, reflect for a minute on the testimony of Officers McShea and Reston. They said they were in Detective Della Porta’s neighborhood, halfway across town, while they were supposed to be on duty. Does it ring true that a cheesesteak was the reason they left their district?”

“Objection!” Hilliard shouted. “Your Honor!”

“Sustained,” Judge Guthrie said, reaching for his gavel and holding it poised over the dais. “Ms. Rosato, you may not refer specifically to the arresting officers.”

Bennie turned on him, gritting her teeth. “Your Honor, is it your ruling that the defense cannot argue that the arresting officers lied on the stand? The jury is always free to disbelieve the officers, as it is any of the Commonwealth witnesses.”

“Ms. Rosato.” Judge Guthrie set his gavel down. “You may
not
argue that the police officers were involved in the underlying murder. Any inference the jury would draw in that regard would be unreasonable and speculative. Move on, counsel, before you are cited for contempt.”

Bennie ignored the threat. “Ladies and gentlemen, isn’t it at least possible that Officers McShea and Reston were on the scene because they were the ones who shot Detective Della Porta—”

“Objection, Your Honor!” Hilliard said, reaching for his crutches and standing now behind counsel table. “Defense counsel is boldly flouting your rulings, Your Honor!”

Judge Guthrie banged the gavel.
Crack!
“Ms. Rosato, this is your final warning. The very next improper reference and you will be held in contempt!”

Bennie told herself to calm down, but she couldn’t. Her adrenaline pumped, her heart thumped hard. She was fighting for Connolly’s life. The responsibility hit like a freight train. She ignored judge and prosecution, in favor of the jury. “Ladies and gentlemen, think critically about the Commonwealth testimony. Nobody but the arresting officers heard any alleged confession. Nobody but the arresting officers heard any alleged bribe. Nobody but the arresting officers saw a plastic bag. Only the arresting officers testified to these points and that was because they
lied
to you.”

Bennie rested her hand on the polished jury rail, its support unexpectedly inadequate. “The Commonwealth’s case rests entirely on those lies and it will ultimately collapse of its own weight. I didn’t even think it was worth responding to, and this is a
capital murder case
in which the defendant is—”

Bennie caught herself. She was going to say “my twin.” She tried to keep a lid on her emotions, then realized she was struggling to suppress the truth. Her own truth. She flashed on the first day she met Connolly, then finding her father’s cottage. Reading her mother’s note; the drop of blood in the crevice of her arm. And then Bennie knew. She finally let herself acknowledge it.

“Ladies and gentlemen, in my opening argument, I told you I did not know whether Ms. Connolly is my twin. Well, that is no longer true.” Bennie’s voice grew hushed and she felt suddenly as if she were talking to herself, instead of holding the most intimate of conversations with total strangers, in open court. She was thinking clearly, standing in her own truth. “Though I have no proof, I
know
that Alice Connolly is my twin, as surely as I
know
that she did not commit this murder—”

“Objection, Your Honor!” Hilliard said, rising on his arms. “Move to strike! I demand that Ms. Rosato be cited for contempt.”

Crack! Crack!
Judge Guthrie pounded the gavel to the desktop, them slammed the gavel down, handle and all. “Ms. Rosato, I’ve warned you and you’ve disregarded my warnings. I find you in plain contempt of court! Mr. Deputy, take Ms. Rosato into custody!”

In the jury box, the librarian gasped, the videographer looked stunned, and the other jurors looked equally shocked. Judy and Mary leapt to their feet. Connolly stood up, openmouthed, before an astonished courtroom as a shaken Bennie was taken roughly away.

T
he deputy in the courthouse holding area had seen many a strange sight in his cells, but he’d never seen a sight as strange as this one. He looked through the bulletproof window of his station at the two cells, each holding a pretty blonde in a gray suit. Each woman sat on the white bench in her cell, rested her chin on her hands, and crossed her legs left over right, at the knees, the same way as the other. But though the women looked and acted like twins, it was obvious they were barely friends.

The guard peeked again. Their heads were turned away from each other, in opposite directions, like newspaper photos of couples in the middle of a divorce. One twin faced the stainless steel sink in the left corner of her cell, and the other faced the stainless steel sink in the right corner of hers. The guard forgot for a minute which broad was the defendant and which the lawyer, then gave up trying. As far as he was concerned, the Lord would be the judge of them both.

“Now what happens?” Connolly asked. She stared straight ahead, not looking at Rosato. Her voice, curiously devoid of emotion, carried through the white-painted bars between their holding cells.

“I’m not sure.” Bennie shrugged listlessly.

“Does the case go forward with us sitting here?”

“No. I’m dispensable, but you have a right to be present at your own trial. The judge will calm down and let me out with a fine, or he’ll stay pissed, have Carrier take over the case, and leave me locked up. Either way, it doesn’t matter. The case is going to the jury.”

Connolly nodded. “What the fuck happened to you out there?” she asked after a minute.

Bennie rubbed her face. Her skin felt oddly strange to the touch. “I lost it, I think.”

“In
my
case, you
lost
it?”

“Why would I lose it in anybody else’s case? I got another twin?” Bennie looked over with a slightly crazy grin, and Connolly rolled her eyes.

“Right.”

“There you go.” There was nothing else to do but laugh, and Bennie did, briefly.

Connolly raked her hair back. “So, am I fucked?”

“You mean, did I just lose it for us?”

“I mean did you just lose it for
me.
”
Connolly’s voice grew quiet, her features still.

“No, I don’t think so. I got my closing out, and the jury didn’t like what Guthrie just did. He overplayed his hand. I think the defense is in good shape. In a funny way, what just happened in there could help.”

“Why?”

“The jury won’t forget it. Also, I was right. I was telling them the truth, and they can feel that. I could feel it.” Bennie thought a minute. “It happened.”

“What happened?”

“I can’t explain it, I just feel it. Sometimes I get the feeling, like a little
click
during a closing, and sometimes I don’t. This time I felt the
click.
”

“Are you ever wrong, when you think you feel it?”

“Sure.”

Connolly blinked. “You’ve been wrong?”

Bennie leaned her head back against the unforgiving wall of cinderblock. “Sure. I’m human.”

Connolly fell momentarily silent. “You didn’t mention Shetrell in your closing.”

“Harting? No.”

“You did it for spite.”

“No, not for spite. I might be your twin but I won’t be your accomplice.”

Connolly slumped slightly and rested her hands between her legs. “You really into this twin thing, huh?”

“That we’re twins? Yeah.”

“You got all blubbery out there. I thought you were gonna cry like a baby, right in front of the jury.”

Bennie smiled sadly. “Are you surprised by that, that I might shed a tear about you being put to death?”

Connolly snorted, then looked away.

“It doesn’t mean anything to you, our being twins, does it?” Bennie asked, and watched as Connolly’s eyes focused out the door, to the guard’s station.

“What if we’re not twins, huh? Remember that DNA test we took? What if it comes back and says we’re not twins?”

“It can’t. It won’t. I know that now. I think I always did. Our father—”