"I said she sometimes used it for brief Web searches because it was right outside our bedroom."
"Mr. Brand reminded me during the break. Wasn't there a lot of confidential information from the court of appeals on your PC?"
"There was. Which was why we had two computers in our house, Mr. Molto. Barbara understood that she wasn't supposed to look at my documents or e-mails. But she didn't have to, if she was doing a quick Web search."
"I see," said Molto. He shows the same smug little smile that's appeared now and then when he's found my dad's explanation too tidy. "Now, you heard Dr. Gorvetich testify that after doing a forensic examination of your PC, he concluded that several messages had been deleted from your personal e-mail, and that based on dates in the registry, that had been done the day before your wife died. Did you hear that?"
"I did."
"And in fact he says they were not simply deleted, but that a shredding software called Evidence Eraser was downloaded and used to accomplish the task, so that there could be no forensic reconstruction of what had been on your computer. Did you hear that?"
"Yes."
"And you deny doing that?"
"I do."
"And who else lived at home with you, Judge?"
"My wife."
"And you said your wife and you had an understanding that she would not go near your e-mail."
"That's true."
"Your testimony doesn't make much sense, Judge, does it?"
"Mr. Molto, none of this makes sense, frankly. You say I carefully shredded the e-mail on my computer so it couldn't be reconstructed, and at the same time, I didn't bother to erase my searches about phenelzine, not to mention carelessly leaving my fingerprints on the pill bottle. So, yes, Mr. Molto, it all sounds ridiculous."
This cannot quite be classified as an outburst, because my dad has reeled all of this off in a fairly patient tone. And he's right. The contradictions in the prosecutors' theories are heartening. It is the first time my dad has really pinned Molto's ears back. Tommy stares at him as he says to Judge Yee, "Move to strike, Your Honor. The defendant will have an opportunity to give a closing argument."
"Read back, please," Yee tells the court reporter. This only makes it worse for the prosecution, since the jury gets to hear my dad's little rant again. And at the end, Yee shakes his head.
"He was answering, Mr. Molto. Better not to ask what makes sense. And Judge-" He addresses my dad with the same patience and courtesy he's shown throughout. "Please no arguments."
"I'm sorry, Your Honor."
Yee shakes his head to dismiss the apology. "Fair answer, bad question. Many good questions, but not that one."
"I agree, Your Honor," says Molto.
"Okay," says the judge, "everybody happy." The line, in the middle of a murder trial, strikes everybody in the courtroom as hysterical, and the judge, who is said to be a card in private, laughs hardest of all. "Okay," he says when the laughter has passed.
"Now, Judge, were there e-mails on your home computer you wouldn't want anyone else to see? That is, before they were deleted?"
"As I said, a lot of confidential court material."
"I meant personal material."
"Some," says my dad.
"What, exactly?"
The first thing that crosses my mind is his messages to the girl he was screwing. They were probably there, too, but there is clearer evidence from another source.
"For one thing, as he testified, Mr. Mann confirmed my appointments with him by e-mail."
"And Judge, were Mr. Mann's e-mails on your home PC when it was seized, to the best of your knowledge?"
"I know the testimony is that they were not."
"In fact, because he could place the time of those messages, Dr. Gorvetich was able to determine that Evidence Eraser had been used on those messages."
"So he claimed."
"You doubt him?"
"I think our expert will question his conclusion that shredding software was used. Obviously, the message wasn't there."
"And you deny deleting it?"
"I don't recall deleting Mr. Mann's messages, but clearly I would have a reason to do that. I know I didn't download any shredding software or use it at any time on my computer."
"So without the use of Evidence Eraser, an investigator looking through your e-mail might realize you had been thinking of leaving your wife?"
I see now where Tommy is going. He will argue that my dad was employing a kind of belt and suspenders, sanitizing his computer in case the authorities recognized the phenelzine poisoning. But if things got to that point, it seems to me my dad would already have been in a lot of trouble.
"Possibly."
"Possibly," says Molto. He minces along again.
"Now, Judge, on September 29, if I understand what you told the police, you awoke to find your wife beside you dead. Correct?"
"Yes."
"And for the next day, close to twenty-four hours, actually, you called no one. Is that correct?"
"Yes."
"You didn't call paramedics to see if she could be revived?"
"She was cold to the touch, Mr. Molto. She had no pulse."
"You made the medical judgment yourself, and didn't call the paramedics. Right?"
"Yes."
"You did not let your son or any of your wife's relatives or friends know she'd passed, correct?"
"Not then."
"And according to what you told the police, you just sat around for a solid day thinking about your wife and your marriage. Right?"
"I straightened up a little so that she looked better when my son saw her. But yes, for the most part, I just sat there and thought."
"And finally, virtually a day later, you called your son?"
"Yes."
"And as he's testified, when you spoke to Nathaniel"-I quake a little at hearing my name from Molto's mouth-"you argued with him about whether to call the police."
"He didn't call it an argument and neither would I. It hadn't dawned on me that the police should be called, and frankly, at that point I wasn't looking forward to outsiders coming in."
"How many years were you a prosecutor, Judge?"
"Fifteen."
"And you're saying that you didn't realize that the police should be summoned in the case of any suspicious death?"
"It was not suspicious to me, Mr. Molto. She had high blood pressure and heart problems. Her father had died the same way."
"But you did not want to call the police?"
"I was confused, Mr. Molto, about what to do. I hadn't had a wife die lately." There is a snicker from the jury, which is a bit of a surprise. Stern's eyebrows are furrowed. He doesn't want my dad to be a smart guy.
"Now, you say you knew your wife had health problems. But she was in outstanding shape, wasn't she?"
"She was. But she worked out because she knew she was at risk genetically. Her father barely made it into his fifties."
"So not only did you make the medical judgment your wife was dead, without any qualified assistance, but you also decided the cause of death."
"I'm telling you what I was thinking. I'm explaining why I didn't consider calling the police."
"It wasn't, of course, Judge, to delay an autopsy?"
"It wasn't."
"It wasn't to allow the gastric juices to wash away all traces of the foods you'd fed her that would interact with the phenelzine you poured into the wine she drank?"
"It was not."
"And you say, Judge, that you straightened up a bit. Did your straightening up perhaps include washing out the glass in which you'd dissolved the phenelzine the night before?"
"No."
"Whose word do we have besides yours that you did not wash out the glass that contained the traces of the poison you gave your wife?"
"Is your point that it's only my word, Mr. Molto?"
"Whose word do we have, Judge, that you didn't scrub the counter where'd you crushed the phenelzine, or the tools you used to do it?"
My dad doesn't bother to answer.
"Whose word, Judge, do we have that you didn't spend that twenty-four-hour period doing your best to hide every last little bit that would reveal how you'd poisoned your wife? Who, Judge? Who else's word do we have but yours?"