"Right."
"And do you know where the four missing pills went?"
"If you're asking, Mr. Molto, whether I had anything to do with removing those pills, the answer is no."
"But you heard Dr. Strack's testimony that four pills of phenelzine taken at once would constitute a lethal dose?"
"I heard that."
"Do you have any reason to disagree with that?"
"I understand that if taken at once, four tablets of phenelzine could constitute a lethal dose. But you pointed out that I picked up the prescription on September 25. And a single pill is the recommended daily dose. The twenty-fifth, the twenty-sixth, the twenty-seventh, the twenty-eighth." My father counts it out on the four fingers of his left hand.
"So are you contending, Judge, that your wife took the phenelzine daily prior to her death?"
"I'm not here to contend anything, Mr. Molto. I know that Dr. Strack, your expert, conceded that it's possible that a combination of a single dose of phenelzine taken in combination with certain food or drink could induce a fatal reaction."
"So your wife's death was an accident?"
"Mr. Molto, she was alive when I went to sleep and dead when I awoke. As you know, none of the experts can even tell for sure whether it was phenelzine that killed Barbara. Not one of them can say she didn't die of a hypertensive reaction like her father."
"Well, let's consider the possibility it was an accident, Judge, can we?"
"Whatever you like, Mr. Molto. I'm here to answer your questions." Again there is a little too much acid in my dad's response. Tommy and I-and now the jury-all know the same thing about my father. After twenty years on the bench and a dozen as chief judge, he is not accustomed to answering questions from anybody. The faint whiff of arrogance helps Molto because it implies that beneath it all, my dad may be a law unto himself.
"You mention there is a severe poisoning reaction when phenelzine is consumed with certain foods, right?"
"So I have learned."
"Speaking of what you've learned, did it surprise you, Judge, when Dr. Gorvetich testified, that information about the danger of phenelzine when it's taken along with any one of a number of foods containing tyramine-red wine and aged cheese and herring and dry sausage-did it surprise you to see that that information is freely available on the Internet?"
"I knew, Mr. Molto, that one of the drugs Barbara took from time to time could interact with certain foods. I knew that."
"Exactly my point. And we do know, Judge, don't we, because of Dr. Gorvetich's testimony, that the two websites you visited in late September specify those interactions, don't they?"
Molto nods, and the two pages from the Net, with yellow highlights drawn in on the slides, appear next to my father.
"I can see what's on the pages, Mr. Molto."
"Are you denying you visited those sites in late September last year?"
"I don't know exactly what happened, Mr. Molto. My wife took about twenty different drugs, and some were more dangerous than others. It was not completely unusual for me to check on the Internet after picking up Barbara's medications to remind myself of the properties of one or the other, so I could help her keep track of them. But if your question is whether I visited those websites on my home computer in the days before Barbara died-"
"That's exactly what I'm asking, Judge."
"My best recollection is that I didn't."
"You didn't?" Tommy is surprised. I am, too. My dad has already given a plausible explanation for going to those sites. It seems unnecessary to deny it. Stern has not stopped writing, but I can see from the way his lips have folded, he is not pleased.
"All right," says Tommy. He strolls a little bit, running his hand across the prosecution table, before he faces my dad again. "But we have no dispute, Judge, do we, that the night before your wife died, you in fact went out and purchased red wine, aged cheddar cheese, pickled herring, yogurt, and Genoa salami. Correct?"
"I remember doing that."
"That you do remember," says Tommy, one of those nice courtroom jabs meant to show the inconsistencies in my father's memory.
"I do. My wife had another prescription to pick up and she asked me to buy those items while I was at the store."
"You don't have the shopping list she handed you, Judge, do you?"
"Objection," says Stern, but my dad makes the point for him.
"I didn't say there was a shopping list, Mr. Molto. My wife asked me to buy a bottle of red wine that she liked, aged cheddar, Genoa salami, and multigrain crackers because our son who was coming to dinner enjoys those things, and to get some herring-which she liked-and yogurt to make a dip for the vegetables she already had."
It's true I love cheese and salami and have since I was four or five. The family legend is that I wouldn't eat much else when I was that age, and I will say that when I'm called again to testify later this week. From the time Debby Diaz first visited, I have had a clear memory of my mom removing the items from the white cellophane bags my dad carried in that night, and of her inspecting each. Although I wonder at times about the desperate suggestibility of my memory, and how much my hope that my dad is innocent is influencing things, I'm nearly as sure I recall my father asking her, 'Is that what you wanted?' I will say that, too, when I get back up on the stand. But what I don't know is whether my mom requested those items or simply told him to get some wine and appetizers, or even whether he'd proposed getting hors d'oeuvres in the first place. Each alternative would be possible, although the truth is that my mom, being my mom, would have been most likely to name exactly what she liked and even told my dad the brands and what aisles they were in.
"Now, Judge. Who managed your wife's drug regimen for her manic-depression? Who selected the drugs on a day-to-day basis?"
"My wife. If she had questions, she called Dr. Vollman."
"Was she a bright woman?"
"Brilliant, in my opinion."
"And did you hear Dr. Vollman's testimony that he warned her repeatedly that when she was taking phenelzine, she had to be very careful about what she ate?"
"Yes, I heard him."
"In fact, Dr. Vollman testified that it would have been his regular practice to warn you as well. Do you remember him warning you about phenelzine?"
My dad looks at the coffered courtroom ceiling with its crisscrossing decorated walnut beams.
"It's vague, Mr. Molto, but yes, I think I do remember that." This is another fact my dad has no need to admit. I wonder if the jurors will give him credit for his candor, or just take it as a sly device from someone who has spent most of his adult life around courtrooms.
"And so, Judge, you want us to believe that she asked you to get wine and cheese and salami and herring, knowing she was taking phenelzine? And more than that, that she drank the wine and ate the cheese and salami?"
"Excuse me, Mr. Molto, but I don't believe anyone has testified that my wife drank wine or ate cheese. I certainly didn't, because I have no memory of that happening."
"Your son, Judge, testified that your wife drank the wine, sir."
"My son testified that I poured a glass of wine for my wife. I didn't see Barbara drink it. Nat and I went outside then to grill the steaks, so I don't know who ate what."
Tommy stops. This is the first time my dad has really zinged him. My dad is right, too, about all of this. But searching my memory of that night, I seem to recall my mom with a wineglass in her hand, certainly at dinner.
"But let's be clear, Judge. Assume your wife was taking the phenelzine once a day as you've suggested. Does your own testimony make sense to you, sir, that she would send you to the store with a shopping list full of items that could kill her? That she would ask for herring, for instance, or yogurt, which you tell us she intended to eat?"
"You're asking me to guess, Mr. Molto, but I would bet that Barbara knew just how much she could 'cheat' without an adverse reaction. She'd probably started with a sip of wine, or half a piece of herring, and over the years figured out how much she could tolerate. She'd taken this medication from time to time for quite a while."