"Thank you, Judge." Molto's tone is suddenly triumphant as he stands there peering at my dad. "But if your wife didn't drink the wine and she didn't eat the salami and she didn't eat the cheese or the herring or the yogurt, Judge, then there's no chance, is there, that she died accidentally?"
There is just a second dropped before my dad answers. He-and I-realize something significant just occurred.
"Mr. Molto, you're asking me to speculate about things that happened when I was out of the room. It would have been odd for Barbara to eat or drink those things in any quantity. And I don't remember her doing it. But she was very excited about seeing my son and his girlfriend. She thought it was a great match. So I can't say she couldn't have forgotten herself. That's why they call it an accident."
"No, Judge, I'm not asking you to guess. I'm trying to confront you with the logic of your own testimony."
"Objection," says Stern. "Argumentative."
"Overruled," says the judge, who's pretty clearly saying my dad got himself into this mess.
"You told us your wife might have been taking a regular dose of phenelzine and died accidentally, didn't you?"
"I said that was a possibility raised by the testimony."
"You told us that it was your wife's decision to have you get all that stuff to eat that was dangerous to her, despite the fact that she was taking phenelzine. Right?"
"Yes."
"And then you told us that maybe she did that because she was not going to have any of it, or minuscule amounts that she knew wouldn't hurt her. Right?"
"I was speculating, Mr. Molto. It's only one possibility."
"And you told us you didn't see her eat or drink any of it. Right?"
"Not that I remember."
"And, Judge, if your wife didn't eat or drink anything containing tyramine, then she couldn't have died accidentally from a phenelzine reaction. Correct?"
"Objection," says Stern from his seat. "He's asking for an expert opinion from the witness."
Judge Yee looks up to think and sustains the objection. It doesn't matter, though. My dad cornered himself and has taken a pounding as a result. Molto is doing a great job of harping on the little pieces of evidence that have nagged at me all along. The PA lets what he's accomplished sink in as he shuffles through his notes.
"Now, Judge, one reason we are having this discussion about what your wife might have eaten and might have drunk is because the autopsy of the contents of her stomach didn't answer that question. Right?"
"I agree, Mr. Molto. The gastric contents were unrevealing."
"Didn't show if she ate cheese or steak. Right?"
"True."
"But normally, Judge, if an autopsy was performed within the first twenty-four hours after her death, we would have a better idea of what she'd eaten the night before, wouldn't we?"
"I heard the coroner's testimony, Mr. Molto, and without giving anything away, you know that our expert, Dr. Weicker from Los Angeles, disagrees with him, especially about how fast the salami or the herring would have broken down in the gastric fluids."
"But you and I, Judge, and the experts can agree on this much, can't we? The twenty-four hours you sat with your wife's body without notifying anybody of her death-that delay could only go to make it harder to identify what she ate."
My father waits. From the way his eyes move, you know he is trying to figure a way out.
"It made it harder, yes." This point, too, registers in the jury box. Molto is doing well.
"Now let me go back to what you told us only a moment ago, Judge. You said your wife was excited that night about seeing your son and his girlfriend."
"I did."
"She seemed happy?"
"'Happy' is a relative term, Mr. Molto, when we're talking about Barbara. She seemed very pleased."
"But you told the police, didn't you, Judge, that your wife did not seem clinically depressed at dinner, or in the days before? Is that what you said?"
"I did tell them that."
"And was that true?"
"That was my impression at the time."
"And the phenelzine, Judge-you heard the testimony of Dr. Vollman that she referred to that drug as the A-bomb, to be used for her darkest moods."
"I heard that."
"And after thirty-five-plus years with your wife, Judge, did you think you were good at gauging her moods?"
"Very often her serious depressions were obvious. But I can recall occasions when I had totally misread her state of mind."
"But again, Judge, accepting the fact that the phenelzine was reserved for her darkest days, you saw no sign that night as you four were having dinner that she was in that condition, did you?"
"I didn't."
"Or in the days before?"
"True."
I've already testified to the same thing. Thinking back to that night, I would have called my mom 'up,' frankly. She seemed to be looking forward to things.
"And so, Judge, based on what you observed and reported to the police-based on that, Judge, there was no reason for your wife to be taking a daily dose of phenelzine."
"Again, Mr. Molto, I never thought my estimates of her emotional state were perfect."
"But when you had picked up the phenelzine three days before, did you ask her if she was feeling depressed?"
"I don't remember such a conversation."
"Even though you'd picked up the A-bomb for her?"
"I don't recall taking particular note of what I'd picked up."
"Even though your fingerprints are on the bottle?"
"It was mechanical, Mr. Molto. I brought home the scrips. I put them on the shelf."
"And even though you visited websites and searched for information about the drug in late September, you're saying you didn't notice what you picked up?"
"Objection," says Stern. "Asked and answered. The judge already testified about what he remembers about those searches."
The pause, if nothing else, disturbs Molto's rhythm, which is why Stern has struggled to his feet. But everybody here knows that Tommy Molto is beating the crap out of my father. It doesn't make sense. That's the long and short. My father can have the rest of it his way. Maybe he missed her moods. There were times, especially when my mom was angry, that you didn't know it until the rage broke surface. And since I made those runs to the pharmacy myself when I was living at home, I can side with him about not noticing which of the dozens of medications she took he was picking up. But the Web searches-those are devastating. About the best thing to say, which I'm sure Stern will put out there in closing argument, is that it would be an odd thing for a judge and former prosecutor elaborately planning murder to use his own computer that way. To which Molto will respond in rebuttal with the obvious: He was not planning on getting caught, he was planning on passing this off as a death by natural causes.
But all of this depends on the screwy epistemology of the courtroom, where the million daily details of a life suddenly get elevated to evidence of murder. The truth is that my dad, and just about everybody else, could have noticed the phenelzine, taken a spin through those websites three days before just to remind himself this was in fact the A-bomb, and then just let it go, especially in the kind of marriage my parents had. There were oceans of stuff that went unspoken in my parents' house-the air there always seemed full of things struggling not to be said. And my mom never liked to be questioned about her medications. I heard her say a million times she could take care of herself.
Judge Yee overrules the objection, and my father repeats placidly that he has searched his memory and does not recall visiting those sites. The response rankles Tommy.
"Who else lived in your house, Judge, in late September 2008?"
"It was my wife and I."