Half of the commenters fiercely maintained that a man couldn’t be raped by a woman. The other half insisted that, yes, a man could be raped by a woman and the determining factor was consent.
Consent was legally correct.
But could Yuki prove her case?
The light changed, and as Cindy crossed the four-lane street and approached the wide front staircase, she tugged on the chain around her neck, freeing her press pass so that security could see it.
She worked her way through the gathering of people at the base of the Hall of Justice steps. She guessed that most of them were hoping to glimpse one of the major players in the trial: Marc Christopher, Briana Hill, either of the attorneys who would be trying the case, or Judge Rathburn, who was known to make colorful, off-the-cuff remarks.
The courtroom itself held only fifty people in the gallery, and as the senior crime reporter for the Chronicle, Cindy generally got a seat. Today, with a trial attracting so much media attention, those precious seats would go fast on a first-come, first-served basis.
Breathless, Cindy joined the line, which went from the steps into the courthouse, and slowly climbed toward the security station just inside the doors. When she got to the walk-through metal detector, she placed her computer bag on the table, showed the guard her pass. He ran the wand alongside her body, and when her bag appeared at the end of the conveyor belt, she slung it over her shoulder and sprinted to catch an elevator.
It was only eight fifteen. Court wouldn’t convene until nine. She would be standing outside the courtroom door when it opened.
Right now, getting a seat in Judge Rathburn’s courtroom was the most important appointment of her day.
CHAPTER 39
COURTROOM 23 WAS a no-frills wood-paneled room with two flags flanking the California state seal on the wall behind the bench, two counsel tables facing it, and eight rows of upholstered, metal-frame seats behind the bar that were divided by the center aisle.
At 8:45 Yuki and Arthur Baron were at the prosecution’s counsel table, and Yuki was nerved up. She felt like an athlete coming into the stadium before the big game against the current champions. Or like a BASE jumper pushing off the cliff into the wide-open air, wearing only a wingsuit. Would the wingsuit support her flight? Or would a stiff breeze dash her into the rocks?
As the hands on the clock over the side door notched ever closer to 9 a.m., Yuki thought about her preparation for this trial.
Since Briana Hill’s arraignment, she and Arthur had dug into relevant case histories of rape trials in California. They had prepped their witnesses and they had fine-tuned their arguments. Yuki had rehearsed her opening statement with Arthur until she could hit every beat without consulting her notes, but not sound mechanical when it really counted.
Last week had been devoted to voir dire.
Judge Rathburn had made good on his promise to help counsel select unbiased jurors, and up to a point, both attorneys were satisfied. As always in picking jurors, attorneys were making calculated guesses but could often be surprised by the decisions the jurors made.
No one knew what a jury was going to do, as Yuki had first learned by watching the film of the O. J. Simpson trial when she was in law school. She would never forget the stunned look on criminal defense attorney Robert Kardashian’s face when his client was found not guilty. His team had won. Their client had been found not guilty—but Kardashian was blindsided.
This morning Yuki had been awake before Brady. She had dressed in her fighting red suit and awoken her husband for a good-luck kiss.
“Today’s the day,” she said.
“I wish I could be there,” he said. “You look hot.”
Yuki hadn’t really expected Brady to show up for her first day of trial, but she would have loved it if he had. She hid the pang of disappointment, kissed him, and minutes later drove to the Hall of Justice.
Art had been waiting for her inside courtroom 23. As Yuki settled into her seat at the prosecution table, she shot a quick look across the aisle.
Giftos was at the defense table with Madison Benson, his second chair. He was speaking softly to Briana Hill, no doubt assuring her that everything would go well.
Until her world had come crashing down, Hill had been on the success track in advertising. She was dressed today as though she weren’t out on bail and unemployed but rather still on the executive payroll at the Ad Shop. Her patterned gray-and-white skirt suit was smart, and her wavy chestnut hair hung to her shoulders, adding to her already very young, even innocent appearance.
Behind the bar, at Yuki’s back, the gallery filled with spectators, who conversed and laughed as they found their seats. Unlike with murder trials, there was no sense of solemnity or tragedy. Instead Yuki picked up the daytime-talk-show giddiness in the air. The audience was titillated, as if they were hoping there would be goody bags under the seats.
When she last scanned the gallery, Yuki had picked out Marc Christopher’s parents, Lily and Fred Christopher, sitting two rows back from the rail.
Yuki had also spotted Cindy in the last row, with Lindsay right beside her. Yuki felt a rush of gratitude toward her friends for being here.
Just then Arthur nudged her with his elbow, and Yuki turned around as the bailiff took a stance in front of the bench and intoned, “All rise.”
The spectators, the attorneys, the victim, and the defendant all got to their feet as Judge Rathburn came through the door behind the bench and took his chair.
The bailiff called court into session.
CHAPTER 40
YUKI WATCHED THE judge swivel in his chair, getting comfortable. He poked at his laptop, spoke a few words to his clerk, then greeted the jury.
After saying how important jury duty was to the justice system and thanking the jurors for their service, the judge began to explain the case that would be presented to them.
“In California the rape statute broadly defines rape as nonconsensual sexual intercourse accomplished by means of threats, force, or fraud.
“It’s common to think of rape as a sex act committed by means of physical force. But other situations can also lead to rape charges in our state.
“A woman is passed out, drunk. A man has sex with her. That’s rape. A doctor or a psychologist tells a patient that having sex with him or her will cure an illness. That’s rape.”
Rathburn went on to explain clearly and forcefully to a rapt audience that if a cop pulled over a motorist and told the driver there would be no ticket if said motorist agreed to have sex with him, that was rape, too.
“Now, it is commonly believed that only men can commit rape. That’s not true,” said Rathburn. “The defendant in this case is a woman, and she is charged with forcing a man to penetrate her without his consent.”
Rathburn cleared his throat before telling the jury that he had a duty to instruct them on the elements defining penetration, which he would read to them from the California penal code.
The judge pulled his laptop close and read, “Sexual penetration, however slight, of the genital or anal opening of the other person or causing the other person to penetrate the other party’s genital or anal opening—”
The language of the statute was more than one man in the gallery could handle. He laughed sharply, igniting titters from the back of the room. Even one of the jurors grinned before clapping her hands over her mouth.
Rathburn’s face darkened. He slammed down his gavel, the cracks sounding like gunfire and having a similar effect.
“Enough,” Rathburn barked. “Will the court officers show the man in the red tie to the door?”
The man with the red tie and matching complexion sputtered an apology, but Rathburn ignored him. When the disrupter had been marched out and the doors had been closed, the judge addressed the spectators.
“Anyone who cannot sit quietly in this courtroom, who cannot control their emotions, please leave now. Likewise, any members of the jury who are having second thoughts about serving in a case
about rape, let me know now.”
Rathburn waited.
The spectators were mute and motionless. The jurors as a body seemed to have stopped breathing.
There was no question in Yuki’s mind that His Honor, Kevin Rathburn, had laid down the law in his court.
CHAPTER 41
JUDGE RATHBURN WAITED out the dense silence, cleared his throat, and, after putting down his gavel, directed his attention back to the sixteen jurors and alternates in the jury box.
He said, “Here’s the crux of the matter. In order to prove that the defendant is guilty of rape, the People must show that Ms. Hill caused Marc Christopher to sexually penetrate her, however slightly, and that Mr. Christopher did not consent to this sexual act. Specifically, the People must show that Ms. Hill accomplished this sexual act by force or violence, duress, or menace.”
Yuki exhaled as Rathburn resumed his explanation of the charges and the responsibilities of the jury. This time no one in courtroom 23 sniggered or even twitched.
“I’m going to define some terms,” Rathburn said.
The judge listed and defined the terms. “If the victim was reasonably afraid that he would be harmed, his consent was not freely given.
“Furthermore,” he said, “if Ms. Hill and Mr. Christopher were intimate previously, that in and of itself does not constitute consent.”
“So what exactly is consent?”
“Consent means that the person acted freely and voluntarily and understood the nature of the act. The People must prove beyond a reasonable doubt that Ms. Hill did not reasonably believe that Mr. Christopher had consented to this sexual act.
“If the People have not met this burden, the jury must find the defendant not guilty.”
Yuki shot a look at James Giftos. In a word, he looked pleased.
Rathburn told the spectators again about proper decorum and then swiveled his seat so that he was directly facing Yuki.
He leaned back in his chair. Springs squeaked, and when he said, “Ms. Castellano. Are the People ready to make their opening statement?,” Yuki felt an adrenaline rush—and she liked it.
“Yes, Your Honor,” she said, “the People are ready.”
CHAPTER 42
YUKI PUSHED BACK her chair and walked around the counsel table to the podium that stood at the midpoint of the well, facing the jury box.
She adjusted the mike attached to the stand, greeted the jurors, and introduced herself and her second chair, Arthur.
Feeling the wind beneath her wingsuit, Yuki took a breath and launched the prosecution’s version of the events that had brought the defendant to trial.
“The defendant, Briana Hill, committed rape,” Yuki said. “She may not look like a rapist, a criminal, but that is exactly what she is.
“The defendant and Marc Christopher both worked at an advertising agency called the Ad Shop. Ms. Hill was head of the TV production department, and Mr. Christopher reported to her. They started dating, going out to dinner once a week for a couple of months and often spending the night together.”
Yuki continued, “On the night of October eleventh the defendant and Mr. Christopher had dinner at a restaurant called Panacea, and afterward they hung out in the bar, talking and drinking. According to the bar tab, which has been preadmitted into evidence, the defendant had three shots of Jameson and Mr. Christopher drank five beers.
“Mr. Christopher will tell you that at about midnight they went back to his apartment, where, if things had progressed according to their habit, they would have had sex and fallen asleep. In the morning the defendant would have gone home to change her clothes, and separately they would have gone to work.
“Now, here’s the critical piece of this incident. The defendant customarily carried a registered Smith and Wesson .38 revolver in her purse for protection. You will see and hear evidence,” Yuki said, “that the defendant had that gun in her possession on the night in question.”
At this point in the trial the jurors were uncommitted to the outcome because they had not heard the story. Yuki had to engage them, inform them, and leave them with an indelible vision of how Marc Christopher had been victimized by the defendant.
Putting a gun on Briana Hill’s person had set the hook.
From here on Yuki would lay out the scene so that the jurors would not just hear but visualize, even feel, what the defendant had done to the victim—how Briana Hill had derailed the trajectory of his life.
CHAPTER 43
YUKI CASTELLANO WAS five foot two in heels, but she commanded the room in her fire-engine-red suit as she left the podium and took a position ten feet away from the jurors. Then she began to lead them directly into the heart of her case.
Yuki said, “On October eleventh, after their evening out, Marc Christopher opens his apartment door and the defendant follows him inside. He strips off his clothing in the living room, and after using the bathroom, feeling the effects of dinner and much beer, he goes into the bedroom and falls facedown on his bed.
“He wakes up because the defendant is sharply calling his name. He turns over and sees the defendant is holding a gun pointed right at his face and saying that she wants to have sex. At that moment Mr. Christopher thinks she’s just kidding around.
“He tells the defendant that he is wasted. Can’t. Doesn’t want to. Needs to sleep. So what does the defendant do? She opens Mr. Christopher’s closet and brings out a handful of his neckties. She demands that he tie his feet to the footboard or she will shoot him.”
Yuki continued, walking slowly in front of the jury box, taking the time to look at each of the jurors.
She went on.
“Mr. Christopher says, ‘You’re being ridiculous, Briana. Come to bed.’ But that’s not what happens. The defendant taunts Mr. Christopher, tells him that she is going to do whatever she wants with him. Again Mr. Christopher asks her to ‘knock it off.’ He says, ‘Briana, stop.’
“But she doesn’t stop. She waves her gun in his direction and again orders him to tie his ankles to the footboard. Mr. Christopher knows that the defendant is drunk and maybe she’s crazy, too. He figures that the gun is loaded and might even go off by accident.
“The defendant is not slurring her words, but she is acting totally unhinged, and now Mr. Christopher has gone from stupefied to irritated to terrified. This crazy woman may actually fire the gun. That, Ladies and Gentlemen, goes directly to the victim’s state of mind.
“Mr. Christopher will tell you that he tries to convince himself not to panic; rather, he tries to mollify her. He says, ‘Jesus, Briana, what’s gotten into you? Are you okay? You’re freaking me out! Please put the gun down.’
“That’s when the defendant screams at him, ‘Do what I tell you, you little bitch.’”
Yuki paused and saw that the jurors looked stunned.
Then she went on.
“Mr. Christopher gets it. The defendant is not joking. He is shaking, and as he ties up his ankles, the defendant makes her next demand. She tells him to tie up his left wrist to the headboard.
“Thinking he may be in his last moments on Earth, Mr. Christopher reaches over to his nightstand”—Yuki acted it out—“and surreptitiously presses the Record button on his clock, which is in fact a disguised spy cam. He will tell you that he’s thinking if the defendant murders him, at least the police will be able to find who killed him.
“And the terror does not stop. Now that Mr. Christopher’s left hand is tied to the headboard, the defendant secures his right hand, leaving Mr. Christopher lying naked, spread-eagle, faceup on the bed.
“He’s staring down the barrel of a gun.
“I urge you to imagine how that must have felt.”
CHAPTER 44
YUKI HAD NOT taken her eyes off the jury since she began her opening statement, and she didn’t do it now. Nor had the jurors taken their eyes away from her.
She wanted to keep it that way.
She said, “At this point the defendant puts down the gun and und
resses. Then, naked, she advances on Mr. Christopher, who is trussed to the bed and utterly helpless. The defendant takes her victim’s genitals into her hands and mouth and manipulates him until he is erect. But she’s not done. Not yet.
“Even though Mr. Christopher begs her to stop before she does something she will regret, the defendant mounts him and succeeds in having him penetrate her. She has sexual intercourse with him without his consent.”
Yuki paused to let her narrative sink in. Then she asked rhetorically, “So what happens after that?
“Just before the video recorder runs out of space, we see that both parties are asleep. Mr. Christopher will tell you that in the morning, when he wakes up, the defendant is gone and his wrists are untied. He releases his ankles, and although still shaken to his core, he goes to work—where both parties avoid each other. Like the legendary plague.”
Yuki said, “What is the defendant thinking? We will probably never know, but the victim will wonder for the rest of his life.
“For his part, Mr. Christopher will testify that he feels mortified and he’s worried—what if the defendant is now pregnant? Is he responsible? What will happen to him at his job? Who is he now that he has been violated by a woman that he cared about, when it is clear to him by her actions that she didn’t care for him at all?
“Days go by and Mr. Christopher is having nightmares and a crushing depression. He neglects his job. He stops socializing with friends. It takes a couple of weeks for him to fully understand and get angry about what was done to him.
“He understands now that he has been raped,” Yuki told the jurors, “sexually assaulted, and he is ashamed. He blames himself for not knowing the woman he was dating at all. And as rape victims often experience, the pain doesn’t fade in the passing days. In fact, it gets worse.
The 17th Suspect Page 9
