Trap (9781476793177) (37 page)

“I said, I took the money,” Stone snapped.

“Yes. I believe you said that you didn't think anybody would be hurt with a little skimming off the top. So exactly what do you consider ‘skimming a little off the top'? The mansion in Long Beach you purchased for three point five million?”

“It's more than a little.”

“Indeed, and what about the property in Key West, which according to the last tax assessment was worth about two million?”

Stone just sat without speaking.

“More than a little? What about the beachfront home in Grand Cayman, or the bank accounts. It all adds up to another five or six million. Right?”

“Yes. Like I said, I'm not denying that I stole the money.”

“No, not now you're not,” Karp said. “Now you're hoping that admitting to a lesser crime will get you off the hook for murder. But until about an hour ago, you'd been telling the press, these jurors, and anybody else who'd listen that you were completely innocent of all of these crimes. So why should you be believed now?”

“Because now I'm telling the truth?”

“Really? And do you have any evidence to back you up?”

“I think the evidence can be interpreted in more than one way.”

“Well, even the defense computer expert said that's not very probable. In fact, it was just a theory without any evidence.”

Again Stone was silent, so Karp continued. “You know what I believe, Mrs. Stone?”

“Yes, that I'm involved in the murder.”

“That's right. I think all of the evidence, the real evidence, says just that, and the only reason you're on the witness stand today is because you've decided that some time in prison is better than spending the rest of your life in prison, isn't that true?”

“No. I've told you what the truth is.”

“Really? The whole truth and nothing but the truth?”

“Yes.”

“Mrs. Stone, one of those ‘truths' is that you deny having a sexual relationship with Yusef Salaam, and that your only contact with him was as the messenger between him and Monroe?”

“That's right.”

“And is that as true as the rest of your testimony?”

“Definitely!”

Karp walked over to the prosecution table and picked up two photographs. “Mrs. Stone, do you have any tattoos on your body?”

Judge Rainsford looked at Karp and raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Karp, where are you going with this inquiry?”

“Your honor, I'm laying the foundation to impeach this witness,” he said, pleased to see Stone blanch.

“Then proceed.”

Karp stalked up to the witness stand and handed Stone one of the photographs. “I'm handing you People's Exhibit 33 to ask if you can identify the person in the photograph and where it was taken.”

Stone frowned. “This is a photograph of me in the Cayman Islands a year ago with my husband. Where did you get it?”

Karp shrugged. “We found it on your Facebook page. The photograph shows you in a bikini, does it not?”

“It does.”

“And is that a tattoo above your left breast?”

“Yes.”

“What does it depict?”

“It's a mermaid.”

“Thank you,” Karp said. He held up his hand for the photograph and then handed her the other. “I'm now handing you People's Exhibit 34. For the record, your honor, this photo was taken from the computer of Yusef Salaam, and will be so authenticated by ADA V. T. Newbury in the People's rebuttal case if necessary. Mrs. Stone, would you describe what the photograph depicts for the jurors, please?”

Stone sat staring at the photograph. She didn't look up or speak.

“Mrs. Stone, I asked you to describe the photograph.”

Instead, she shook her head. “No. I won't.”

“No?” Karp asked. “This wasn't a yes or no answer. I asked you to describe what you see in the photograph.”

Stone crumpled the photograph and flung it at the floor. She then sat glaring at Karp.

“Mrs. Stone,” Judge Rainsford said. “You are under cross-examination and are required to answer Mr. Karp's questions. If you do not, your entire testimony may be stricken.”

Stone sat mute. Finally she said, “I'm not mentally able to respond to that question or subject matter, your honor.”

“Very well then, your honor,” Karp said, bending over to pick the photograph up off the floor. “I'd like to show the blowup of the photo exhibit to the jury and describe it for the record.”

“Go ahead, Mr. Karp.”

Starting at one end of the jury box, Karp strolled along the rail holding the photograph up so that they could see it. Some looked away after a glance, others continued to watch in fascination. “The photograph is of a nude blond woman lying in what appears to be a motel room bed. If you look closely you can see an ashtray on the nightstand with the words ‘Seahorse Motel' on it; there's also a pair of sunglasses on the stand and what appears to be a brunette wig. The woman's hands and wrists are bound above her head; her legs are spread-eagled and also bound to the bottom corners of the bed. Her head is turned away from the camera, but you can see she is wearing a blindfold over her eyes; she appears to be completely at rest. But you can clearly see the image of a tattoo above her left breast.”

Karp stopped walking and turned toward Stone, holding up the photograph as he spoke. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you will be able to view this photograph yourselves again during your deliberations. At that time, I think you'll be able to see for yourselves the tattoo of a mermaid above the left breast of the defendant, which you can then compare to the photograph the defendant identified herself in.”

Looking at the witness, Karp said, “Mrs. Stone, I'm going to ask you again. Have you told us the whole truth today?”

Stone's lips pulled back as she snarled, “Go fuck yourself, Karp.”

Judge Rainsford snapped, “Mrs. Stone, you're under oath in this courtroom and you will comport yourself with the dignity and respect it deserves.”

Walking over to the prosecution table, Karp picked up a bag and returned to the witness stand. “Your honor, if you'd please direct the defendant to put these on for the purpose of engaging in an in-court identification,” he said, and pulled out a brunette wig and sunglasses.

The final door of the trap was slamming shut. The day before when he met with FBI Special Agent Shannon Fitzgerald, Vincent Newbury, and Islay Kennedy in the meeting room adjacent to his office, the FBI agent had asked him if he wanted to watch while she added the “variables” to something she'd been working on with the motel owner. That something was a computer-assisted “sketch” of the mystery woman Islay Kennedy had seen with Yusef Salaam.

Fitzgerald was considered the best in the business when it came to computer-assisted forensic modeling. Her specialty was creating three-dimensional, lifelike images of people, particularly suspects, as well as missing persons.

Starting with a witness's basic description—man/woman, heavyset/thin, dark-complected/light—she'd step by step add physical characteristics, including racial distinctions, the contour of the head, the size of the nose, the shape of the eyes and lips, the eyebrows and facial hair. Her computer held thousands of variations of faces that she could call up with a few clicks of the mouse.

She was such a technological whiz that Newbury was in awe, but what made her “the best” was the way she could pull information out of witnesses that they might not have even remembered at first. Kennedy's “amazing” assessment of the job she'd done creating a computer sketch of the mystery woman was par for the course.

However, she wasn't done. The variables she'd mentioned that morning in the DA's meeting room had been to add a wig and sunglasses to the image. Once again, she'd reached into her computer's files to locate short brunette wigs until Kennedy found the one he said was a perfect match. She'd then called up sunglasses—narrowing the choices to those similar to the description provided by Kennedy until, again, he spotted a pair he thought were the same the woman had worn.

She'd then applied them to the sketch and stood back smiling as Kennedy's jaw dropped. “That's her,” he whispered. “That's the woman.”

“Mrs. Stone, I'm ordering you to place the wig and sunglasses on your head,” Rainsford said. “If you won't do it voluntarily, I'll ask court security to do it for you.”

Stone's face contorted with rage, but she grabbed the wig and pulled it down onto her head, then shoved the glasses onto her face. “There,” she snarled at Karp. “Are you happy?”

“Almost,” said Karp, turning to Fulton, who was standing at the back of the courtroom. The detective pulled open one of the doors and nodded to someone standing outside. He then stepped back as Islay Kennedy entered and began walking down the aisle. However, the Irishman didn't get far before he looked at the witness stand and stopped.

“It's her,” he shouted. “That's the woman! She's the one who came to my motel.”

Karp raised his eyebrows as he turned back to Stone. “So, Mrs. Stone, are you sure you've been telling us the
whole
truth, as you have so self-righteously testified?”

Stone's face had turned white. Her jaw clenched as she stared at him full of anger and hatred. “I'm not answering any more questions, you chauvinist bastard.”

Karp nodded and looked at Rainsford. “Your honor, you heard the lady, no further questions.”

T
HERE WAS A MOMENT OF
silence when the last notes of “Va, pensiero” faded into the recesses of the synagogue. Then the congregation was on its feet, clapping and voicing their appreciation for Giancarlo's contribution to the bar mitzvah ceremony.

Joining in the applause, Karp and Marlene turned to each other and smiled. “That's our boy,” she whispered.

“Simply amazing,” he replied.

Rabbi Hamilburg appeared, clapping along with the others until he made a motion for everyone to sit back down. “I think we all agree that was truly beautiful,” he said. “Like listening to an angel. But we have one more presentation tonight, and so we must move on.”

Karp glanced at the eight boys sitting in a row, the first six thirteen years old and then the two largest on the end, Giancarlo, and next to him, Zak. His “oldest” son looked nervous, but determined. His brother had offered to go last, only half kidding when he teased “so you don't have to follow me,” but Zak had insisted on having the last word.

As the rabbi asked Zak to come forward, Karp thought about the change that had come over his son since their conversation not quite a year earlier when Zak wasn't sure about going through with his bar mitzvah. But a lot had changed since then.

After Stone's meltdown during his cross-examination, Mendelbaum had beseeched the judge to take an early lunch break so that she could pull herself together for redirect. “She's under a lot of stress,” he told the judge as if it wasn't readily apparent.

Rainsford had looked at the witness, who was holding her head in both hands, and nodded. “We'll see everyone back here at one p.m.”

The break served to calm Stone down. She now admitted that she'd carried on an affair with Salaam, but had been “too embarrassed to talk about my private life.” She maintained that she didn't know about her lover's “other life.”

The new attempt was so pathetic that Karp didn't bother to ask her any more questions. He'd point out the charade in his summation.

Mendelbaum had done his best during his summation, though it was something of a potpourri he asked the jury to consider. The possibility that Lars Forsling committed the murder. “After all, the district attorney thought he was a viable suspect.” Or that Monroe and, possibly, Gallo, had conspired to kill Lubinsky. “It was the union that was being threatened by the charter school bill, not the Kings County District Attorney.” And even that Salaam had been acting alone “knowing that his friends—Monroe and Stone—were concerned about the charter school bill and took it upon himself to kill its champion.”

He noted that Stone had “laid herself bare” confessing to crimes, knowing it would cost her many years in prison and end her political aspirations. “But being a thief, an adulteress, and, quite frankly, a lousy district attorney who should have known better does not make her a murderer.”

However, Karp had quickly dispatched the “other scenarios” by pointing out that there wasn't any evidence to back them up. “Only words, and words don't mean much when stacked up against the facts,” he said. “Nor do the defendant's words that she was merely a thief mean much when all she's trying to do is avoid the full consequences of her actions.”

Karp had then proceeded to build his case one last time, only now fitting each piece of the mosaic together where it belonged in the structure and showing how they interrelated. And he did so recalling Dirty Warren's movie trivia about John Quincy Adams's admonition to tell the better story. “It's a story,” he told the jurors, “about the corrupting nature of power and the lust for what it can give someone who lacks the moral character to do the right thing when faced with temptation. It's a story with heroes like Rose Lubinsky, Goldie Sobelman, and even Micah Gallo, who turned back from the path he was on before it was too late. And there are villains—Lars Forsling, who showed us the dark side of hatred, and Yusef Salaam certainly. But also the people who used Salaam to their own ends.”

Karp had walked slowly along the rail and looked each juror in the eyes. “But it will be up to you to write the final chapter. It's the chapter that you can go home and tell your friends, business colleagues, and family about when they ask you why you made the decision you did in this case. The chapter that says you examined the evidence and determined that the defendant was guilty of murder beyond any and all doubt. Only when you do that will this story come to a close. And that close occurs when the defendant understands that the trap she created for herself came about when she acted on the belief that she could steal, cheat, misappropriate, manipulate, and murder with impunity. By your verdict you will disabuse her of her delusional belief system.”