“Of course, but where’s the damage? The jury knows that Mr. Suarez and Joan Richardson were lovers.”
“I’m not concerned with who sustains what damage as a result of evidence. The fact that evidence is not good for a particular side’s case doesn’t make it legitimate or illegitimate evidence. You may remember, Ms. Rematti, even though you’ve shared with me your view that your client has not had a fair trial, that I excluded the evidence that your client assaulted a man in New York with a long knife. Although that would have been compelling evidence for the state, I didn’t allow it. I said on the record that its prejudicial impact outweighed its probative value. Maybe you forgot that?”
Knowing that she was losing the opportunity to call Kathy Schiavoni, Raquel used a gambit: “Ms. Schiavoni would also testify that Ms. Harding knew about the results, knew that there was the semen of an unknown person, another man who must have had access to the house. And that Ms. Harding deliberately decided not to pursue it. I know Ms. Harding didn’t once tell us about this.”
“So what, Ms. Rematti? Another person who had access to the house? Apparently half of East Hampton had access to the house. It seems there were people who had lots of private access to Brad Richardson and Joan Richardson and their bedroom. This is not a trial about adultery or homosexuality.”
Raquel felt a sense of futility. “And, again, Judge, Ms. Harding and her office knew there was exculpatory evidence and never gave it to us. We learned about it through Ms. Schiavoni voluntarily coming forward to tell me this evidence existed but was never developed or revealed.”
“Judge,” Margaret Harding said, “I’ve tried to maintain a professional relationship with Ms. Rematti. But now this is getting personal. I have no obligation to provide the defense with irrelevant evidence, only evidence that might exonerate her client. She’s suggesting that I did or failed to do something I had an ethical obligation to do. She’s calling into question my ethics.”
“The lady doth protest too much, methinks,” Raquel said, regretting as she spoke the quote from Shakespeare.
“Ms. Rematti,” Helen Conley said, “stop that. It’s been a very difficult, wrenching trial to everyone. Don’t start poisoning the well. Your client is on trial. Ms. Harding isn’t. If she’s done something wrong, she’ll have to answer for it either with a reversal of the conviction or before the disciplinary committee, or both. Her conduct has no bearing on this case now, unless you want to move for a mistrial. If I grant that, then we can go through all this process again.”
Raquel’s mind raced. Was there enough evidence in the case Margaret Harding had presented to convict Juan Suarez beyond a reasonable doubt? Or would these jurors-most of them retired from government jobs as clerks, assessors, and the county public works department-ever understand what reasonable doubt meant or were they hard-wired in their isolated world on the East End of Long Island to convict? And, Raquel thought, what about me? I’ve been over-invested in this man. Do I really want a mistrial? Do I really want to go all over this again?
Move on, Raquel Rematti said to herself, move on.
“We’re not asking for a mistrial, Judge.”
Kathy Schiavoni was so angry that there was a tremor in her hands as she and Raquel Rematti stood at the microphones on the concrete steps of the courthouse after Helen Conley ruled that Kathy wouldn’t be allowed to testify.
She stood just to Raquel’s left, a shy woman with bushy hair worn in the style of the late seventies. Raquel spoke into the cluster of microphones. “We were prepared today to offer the testimony of a forensic specialist employed by the District Attorney’s office. Her name is Kathy Schiavoni, and she is here with me. She is a whistleblower. She performed most of the forensic examination on materials at the Richardson home. Among the things she reviewed, and she would have testified to this today if her testimony had not been ruled out of the case, was that she examined sheets that were found on the bed in the Richardson home on the day of Brad Richardson’s death.”
As Raquel spoke, her cold breath slipping out into the bright air, Kathy Schiavoni stared, almost defiantly, into the lens of a CNN camera held aloft by a cameraman.
Raquel continued: “She found semen stains on the sheets from two identifiable men. One was Brad Richardson. The other was my client, Juan Suarez. The third semen stain was from an unknown man. Ms. Schiavoni would have testified, but was prevented from doing so, that she brought those results to the District Attorney’s office. She expected that further search warrants would be issued to obtain evidence from men such as Senator Rawls to locate a match for the unknown semen. The prosecution refused Kathy Schiavoni’s request for those warrants. And Ms. Schiavoni would have also testified that, when she sought to re-examine the sheets, they were missing from the evidence locker maintained and strictly controlled by the DA’s office.”
Raquel paused briefly while a jet roared overhead, leaving a vapor trail across the acutely blue winter sky as it headed out and over the Atlantic. When the sound could no longer submerge her voice, Raquel said: “Bravely, when Ms. Schiavoni realized she wouldn’t be able to complete her report and certainly would not be called as a witness by the prosecution, she approached me to disclose the results of her work. While she can’t be called as a witness for my client’s defense, I wanted to acknowledge, publicly, that she stepped forward to do what was obviously right-let the public know crucial information was suppressed by the state about the events surrounding the death of Brad Richardson. Her information, while no longer able to assist Juan Suarez, reveals not only her integrity but also the obvious lack of integrity that has afflicted this prosecution.”
One of the reporters, Gloria Arroyo, wearing a baseball cap on which the word “Fox” was woven, asked, “Raquel, is there any information about the missing man?”
“None. That was precisely what Ms. Schiavoni wanted to learn.”
Her blonde face squinting in the harsh sunlight, Gloria asked Kathy, “Ms. Schiavoni, who did you show your report to in the DA’s office?”
Kathy Schiavoni stepped slightly to her right, toward the microphones, as Raquel moved to make room for her. Her voice was defiant. Kathy had her chance. “I gave the report to Margaret Harding.”
37.
Bo Halsey actually smiled as he sat across the scratched wooden table from Gary Upchurch and Vanessa Strong, who tersely had introduced themselves as Assistant United States Attorneys leading a criminal investigation. They were in their mid-thirties. Santangello and Arena stood behind them. Halsey had often used this bleak and windowless room as the place where he interrogated men and women.
“Hey, guys, I guess I’m under arrest,” Halsey said.
Upchurch responded, “To be honest with you, Mr. Halsey, you should be aware of the fact that you are the target of a federal criminal investigation that was initiated when the video was released. We have reliable information that you saw this video months ago and instructed someone who worked for you to hide it. So you’re the target of a federal criminal investigation for obstruction of justice.”
“Hot shit.”
“You don’t have to speak with us today. You know that, don’t you?”
“Do you think I need a twelve-year-old to tell me that?”
Upchurch glanced at Vanessa Strong. He didn’t respond to Halsey. Instead, he gave a signal to Santangello to open a laptop and turn the screen toward Bo. On the small screen the scene of Cerullo and Cohen, who stumbled around almost like comic characters in a silent movie, was played from start to finish, a span of no more than three minutes. At several points they were crawling on the floor, rear ends up in the air like clowns. At other points they were glancing furtively around the room in search of cameras. And, through most of the video, they were carrying packets of cash.