“No questions for this witness, Your Honor.”
“All right, Ms. DeAngelo, you are excused,” said the judge. “And I assume, Mr. Carl, at some point in these proceedings you’re going to ask a question or two.”
“I haven’t needed to yet, Judge, but I’m guessing that eventually Ms. Dalton will come up with something in this trial that’s actually relevant to the murder.”
“I’m sure she will. Next witness, Ms. Dalton.”
“The prosecution calls Arthur Gullicksen to the stand.”
This was trouble, totally expected, but trouble still. Arthur Gullicksen was an out-and-out shark, with three rows of pointy teeth and a shiny gray suit. Normally these are traits I greatly admire and do my best to emulate, but Dalton wasn’t calling Gullicksen to the stand to show off his bite.
Beth stood up as soon as Dalton stated the name. “Can we approach, Judge?” she said.
“Will this take a while, Ms. Derringer?”
“I suspect it will,” she said.
“Let’s have a recess, then. Fifteen minutes. Lawyers in my chambers.”
“Mr. Gullicksen, the prosecution’s next intended witness,” said Beth when all the lawyers, along with the clerk and the court reporter, had been wedged uncomfortably into the judge’s chambers, “was Leesa Dubé’s divorce attorney.”
“And your point is?” said the judge.
“In light of that unique relationship,” said Beth, “we believe it necessary to limit the bounds of his testimony.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” said the judge. “Mr. Gullicksen will not be able to testify about his privileged communications with the deceased. It would all be hearsay anyway. Is that satisfactory, Ms. Derringer?”
“As a start, yes, Judge. But we’d also like to limit any testimony that can be seen as the fruits of those privileged and hearsay communications.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning, we would like the prosecution to be barred from asking Mr. Gullicksen about the pleadings in the divorce case, as they would necessarily be based on statements you have already barred.”
“Interesting. Ms. Dalton?”
“The pleadings are public records, Judge,” said Dalton calmly, “and we intend to introduce them not to show the truth of the allegations within but as proof of their very existence and of their effect on the defendant’s state of mind.”
“But, Your Honor,” said Beth, “some of these allegations are so inflammatory as to be unduly prejudicial to our client.”
“What exactly are we talking about here, Counselor?”
“There was an allegation of harassment, of infidelity, of failure to pay child support, all of which had not yet been litigated at the time of the murder, and so no legal determination had yet been made.”
“I see,” said the judge.
“And there was also a rather spurious allegation of physical abuse of both Mrs. Dubé and the couple’s daughter, lodged by Leesa Dubé against her husband, along with a request for a restraining order.”
“Yes, I do see.”
“Your Honor, there was never any evidence presented in the divorce proceedings to support these allegations. They are entirely unsubstantiated, unduly prejudicial, and based solely on the hearsay statements of the deceased. Their introduction would unfairly inflame the jury and irrevocably taint these proceedings against our client.” Beth reached into her briefcase, pulled out numerous copies of a thick memorandum. “There are cases that support our position, and I have briefed the issue.”
“Anything in this jurisdiction on point?”
“Not directly, Judge, but there is a case from Alaska that is startlingly similar.”
“Which would be useful if we were trying this case in Nome. Ms. Dalton?”
“I understand Ms. Derringer’s anger. These are hurtful accusations that would upset anyone, especially if untrue. Which is the whole point here, Judge. Mr. Carl, in his opening, seemed to indicate that the Dubé divorce was amicable, which is absolutely false. This was a brutal, no-holds-barred fight for money and custody, with the direst accusations being thrown about.”
“And you believe the nature of the proceedings is an important part of the defendant’s motive?”
“A crucial part, Judge.”
“What will Mr. Gullicksen be testifying to?”
“The allegations in the divorce case coming from both sides and his observations of Mr. Dubé’s reaction to his wife’s accusations.”
“He wasn’t pleased, I take it.”
“No, sir, he was not. In fact, threats were made.”
“This is why I stay away from family court, criminal trials are so much more civil. And what would you have Mr. Gullicksen limited to testifying about, Ms. Derringer?”
“The weather?” said Beth.
“Okay,” said Judge Armstrong. “I’ve heard enough. I will read your memorandum, Ms. Derringer, because I so enjoy your writing, but I can tell you all now, I am inclined to give Ms. Dalton a free hand here. I, too, took note of Mr. Carl’s characterization of the divorce proceedings in his opening. He said the Dubés were working it out. The jury has the right to see exactly how. I will instruct the jury not to consider the truth of the accusations, only their effect on the defendant, but that’s as far as I will go.”
A few minutes later, as we waited in the courtroom for the judge to finish reading Beth’s memorandum before he could dismiss it outright and rule against us, Beth was still fretting over Gullicksen’s testimony.
“Calm down,” I told her. “It will be all right.”
“He’s going to kill us,” she said. “I don’t care how the judge instructs the jury, once they hear the claim of spousal and child abuse, the jury will never look at François the same again.”
“How about you? Do you see him differently?”
“I know it’s a lie.”
“How do you know?”
“I just know,” she said, steely voiced.
“Then maybe the jury will be able to tell it’s a lie, too.”
“The judge is getting it wrong,” she said, “flat wrong.”
“That’s what judges do, but we’ll be okay. Maybe we can turn this whole thing to our advantage, build some sympathy for François.”
“How?”
“I’ve been doing some research. That year, four of Gullicksen’s other clients made the same claim of physical abuse by their spouses. It was a standard ploy in his practice before he was sanctioned for it by the bar association.”
“You have the proof?”
“The pleadings are in my bag, along with the sanction. The language in each case is startlingly similar.”
“Why didn’t you tell the judge?”
“And spoil the surprise? No, this cross-examination should be fun, me going after Gullicksen, shark to shark.”
“You think you’ll draw blood?”
“Oh, I hope so, but it doesn’t really matter. This is all just the preliminary fencing. None of this really matters.”
“Then what does?”
“Sonenshein,” I said. “Everything depends on little Jerry Sonenshein. You want to worry about something, worry about him.”
49
Horace T. Grant stood on the corner in front of Tommy’s High Ball, his chin up, his creased face creased with concern. It was not a good look for Horace. His natural expression was one of repugnance, disdain, his features were generally etched with a sweet scorn for the general stupidity of the world. I watched him a moment as he worriedly fingered his bow tie. I almost felt something for him then, some sort of empathic pity, before I beeped the horn and he saw my face in the window and his normal derisive expression returned.
“You get lost, boy? Seems like I been standing here since Truman was president.”