When Yee had been appointed to this case by the supreme court, Brand had been excited. Yee's record in bench trials, where he decided guilt or innocence himself, was astonishingly one-sided in favor of the prosecution, and thus they knew that Stern would be deprived of the option of allowing the judge, rather than a jury, to decide the case. But over the years, Tommy had learned that there were three interests at stake in every trial-those of the prosecution, the defense, and the court. And the judge's agenda frequently had nothing to do with the issues in the case. Yee was chosen for this assignment almost certainly on the basis of statistics, since he was the least-reversed trial judge in the state, a distinction of which he was fiercely proud. But he had not achieved that kind of record by accident. It meant he would take no chances. In the criminal world, solely the defendant had the right to appeal, and thus Judge Yee would rule against Sabich on evidentiary questions only if the precedents were unequivocally in Tommy's favor. Yee remained a prosecutor at heart. If they convicted Rusty, he was going to get life. But until then, Judge Yee was going to cut Sabich every break.
"Better I ask, Mr. Molto." The judge smiled. He was by nature a gentle man. "Will be faster," he said. "Judge Sabich, when your wife die, were you having an affair, romance, whatever"-Yee threw his small hands around to make the point-"any kind of being involved with another woman?"
Rusty had turned about fully in the witness chair to face the judge. "No, sir."
"And back, say, three month-any affair, romance?"
"No, sir."
The judge nodded with his whole upper body and lifted a hand toward Molto to invite further questions.
Tommy had retreated to the prosecution table beside Brand's seat. Jim whispered, "Ask if he hoped to see any woman romantically."
When Tommy did, Yee responded as he had before, with a steady head shake.
"No, no, Mr. Molto, not in America," said the judge. "No prison for what in man's head." Yee looked at Rusty. "Judge," said Yee, "any talk with another woman about romance? Anytime, say, three months before missus die?"
Rusty took no time and said, "No, sir," again.
"Same ruling, Mr. Molto," said the judge.
Tommy shrugged as he glanced back at Brand, who looked as though Yee had put a shiv through him. The whole deal made Tommy wonder a bit about Yee. As square as he appeared with his rayon shirts and out-of-date plastic glasses, he might have wandered. Still waters run deep. You could never tell with sex.
"Bring in jury," Judge Yee told the courtroom deputy.
Ready to start, Tommy felt suddenly at sea.
"How do I address him?" he whispered to Brand. "Stern said to call him 'Rusty.'"
"'Judge,'" Brand whispered tersely. That was right, of course. First names would play right into the vendetta stuff.
Tommy buttoned his coat. As always, it was just a bit too snug across the belly to really fit.
"Judge Sabich," he said.
"Mr. Molto."
From the witness stand, Rusty nonetheless managed a nod and a Mona Lisa smile that somehow reflected the decades of acquaintance. It was a subtle but purposeful gesture, the kind of little thing jurors never missed. Tommy suddenly remembered what he had pushed out of mind for months now. Tommy had come into the PA's office a year or two after Rusty, but they were close enough to being peers that over time they might have competed for the same trials, the same promotions. They never did. Tommy's best friend, Nico Della Guardia, was Rusty's main rival. Tommy didn't rank. It was obvious to all that he lacked Rusty's smarts, his savvy. Everybody had known that, Molto remembered. Including him.
CHAPTER 25
Nat, June 22, 2009
As soon as I hear what Tommy Molto wants to raise with Judge Yee, I move to the defense table and, crouching there, whisper to Stern that I'm taking a time-out. Alert to the proceedings, Sandy nonetheless nods soberly. I hustle to the doors before Molto can get very far.
Within a few hours after Debby Diaz's visit on election day, my dad had found out he was going to be indicted. In the weeks following my mom's death, he'd largely suspended his campaign. Koll followed suit briefly, but put his attack ads on the air in mid-October. My dad responded with his own tough commercials, but the only actual event he participated in was a broadcast debate for the League of Women Voters.
Election night, however, required a party, not for his sake, but for the campaign workers who'd knocked on doors for weeks. I showed up a little before ten p.m., because Ray Horgan had asked me to come down and pose for pictures with my dad. Knowing Ray would be there, I didn't push it when Anna asked me to go alone.
Ray had booked a big corner suite at the Dulcimer, and when I arrived there were about twenty people watching TV as they hovered around the chafing dishes with the hors d'oeuvres. My dad was nowhere to be seen, and I was eventually directed to a room next door, where I found my father in sober conversation with Ray. They were the only people in the room, and as I would have figured, Ray beat it as soon as he saw me. My dad had his tie dragged down his shirtfront and looked even more vacant and worn out than he had in the weeks since my mom had died. My parents were never easy with each other, but her passing seemed to have depleted him to the core. He was sad in this total way I might not have foreseen.
I hugged him and congratulated him, but I was too nervous about Debby Diaz not to bring her up immediately.
'I did,' he said when I asked if he'd found out what all that had been about. He motioned for me to sit. I grabbed a piece of cheese from the tray that was on the coffee table between us. My father said, 'Tommy Molto plans to indict me for murdering your mother.' He held my eyes while the hard drive spun uselessly inside my brain for quite some time.
'That's crazy, right?'
'It's crazy,' he answered. 'I expect they're going to end up calling you as a witness. Sandy was over there late today. He got a little courtesy preview of their evidence.'
'Me? Why am I a witness?'
'You didn't do anything wrong, Nat, but I'll let Sandy explain. I shouldn't be discussing the evidence with you. But there are a few things I want you to hear from me.'
My dad got up to turn off the TV. Then he plunged back into the overstuffed easy chair he'd been in. He looked the way elderly people do when they're struggling to find the thread, with the uncertainty spreading through their face and adding a tremble near the jaw. I was not any better. I knew the tears would be coming any instant. Somehow, I've always been embarrassed about crying in front of my father, because I know it's something he would never do.
'I'm sure it will be on the news tonight and in the papers tomorrow,' he said. 'They searched the house around six, as soon as the polls closed. Sandy was still at the PA's office. Nice touch,' my father said, and shook his head.
'What are they searching for?'
'I don't know, exactly. I know they took my computer. Which is a problem because there's so much internal material from the court. Sandy has already had several conversations with George Mason.' My dad looked off at the heavy drapes, which were made of some kind of paisley brocade, ugly stuff that was somebody's idea of what looked rich. He tossed his head around a little, because he knew he had wandered off point. 'Nat, when you talk to Sandy about the case, you're going to hear things I know will disappoint you.'