He shook is head, pantomiming disbelief at how badly Lola had been treated.
‘Miss Fitzgerald and her father had always had an extremely close, loving relationship. Many people might well envy their bond. Like any caring father, Ben Fitzgerald wanted his daughter to have every benefit that he could afford to give her. Perhaps he spoilt her. That is his fault, not hers, if you can really consider it a fault for a loving father to lavish care and attention on his beloved only child, to make sure that she would never want for anything. He made clear, with every action towards her, that her well-being was one of the most important focuses of her existence.’
Lola swallowed hard in an effort not to cry.
‘Miss Fitzgerald begged and borrowed funds to get her to New York, to see her father. She had to go through her lawyers to be allowed to visit him! Incredible, isn’t it? But it’s true, sad to say. Miss Fitzgerald had to use the weight of the legal system to force her stepmother to allow her to visit her comatose father. And when, eventually, a visit was arranged, Miss Fitzgerald found herself at the centre of an appalling plot. Not content with having cut off her stepdaughter’s access to the trust funds her father had established for her, Mrs Fitzgerald—’
He gestured to Carin, who returned his stare of loathing with a small, contemptuous smile—
‘Mrs Fitzgerald and the nurse she had engaged to look after her ailing husband plotted to frame Miss Fitzgerald for the murder of her father. Because, ladies and gentlemen, the prosecution had one fact right. It is undeniable, from the levels of insulin in Mr Fitzgerald’s body, that he was indeed murdered from an overdose. But it was not my client who killed him. It was his wife.’
Lola heard a gasp from someone in the jury box, but she was looking at Carin as the allegation was made, not at the jury members. Carin barely changed expression; her eyes narrowed fractionally, but that was all.
She should have shaken her head, Lola thought. That’s what an innocent person would do when they were accused of killing their own husband.
‘With the co-operation of the unfortunate Mr Scutellaro, murdered overseas in a freak incident that can have no possible bearing on this case whatsoever, ’ Simon Poluck continued, ‘Mrs Fitzgerald planned and executed the murder of her husband. My client will testify that she only handled the hypodermic needle in question, of which we have heard so much, because the nurse Scutellaro handed it to her. That is why her prints are on it, and that is why those prints are not the ones of a person holding the hypodermic in the way they would if they were injecting someone, but simply as if they were holding it for a moment, as you would a pen.’
He smiled triumphantly, with the air of a man who had made a crucial point.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, ’ he concluded, ‘there is really no case for Miss Fitzgerald to answer. She had no motive to kill her father: we are prepared to bring an eminent witness who will testify that she knew she would win her case against her stepmother and regain control of the trust funds that were rightfully hers.’
Lola knew he meant George Goldman, who couldn’t be present as a spectator because he was on the defence witness list.
‘Miss Fitzgerald adored her father, and he adored her. Losing him has been one of the most painful experiences she will ever undergo. Please, don’t compound her suffering by taking this charge remotely seriously. She is not guilty. The idea that anyone could ever have thought she was guilty is so ludicrous that it is only understandable by the fact that she was framed by the unreliable testimony of a dead witness in the pay of her stepmother, who has demonstrated all too clearly her dislike of her stepdaughter. After you have heard the testimony for the defence, I am more confident than I have ever been in my entire career that you will have no hesitation whatsoever in finding her’ – he paused, momentarily, for full effect – ‘not guilty.’
‘That was pretty good, ’ the second chair, who had returned in time to catch his opening statement, muttered to Lola. ‘He made the best of things.’
‘More confident than he’s ever been in his entire career!’ Lola whispered back, encouraged.
‘Oh no, he says that every time, ’ the second chair hissed, deflating her immediately.
‘Calling Lola Fitzgerald to the stand!’ the court officer said.
Heart pounding, Lola rose, smoothing down her skirt, walked over to the witness stand and was sworn in. She stared across its wooden rim at Simon Poluck, her eyes wide and dark and full of apprehension.
‘Miss Fitzgerald . . .’ Simon Poluck was looking very serious. ‘I was planning to start by talking to you about your father. About your love for him, and the bond between you, as shown by the care he took to make sure you would always want for nothing. And then to move on to the events of that terrible day when he passed away, and you realised that your life would never be the same.’
‘Your Honour, if there’s a question here I’m not hearing it!’ Joshua Greene piped up.
‘He’s right, Mr Poluck. Fewer speeches, more questions, ’ reprimanded the judge.
‘I apologise, Your Honour, members of the jury, ’ Simon Poluck said. ‘But – quite simply – I had a shocking piece of news from my client just before I stood up to make my opening statement. I’ll come straight to the point, Your Honour.’
Everyone was now agog in the courtroom. You could have heard a pin drop.
Lola, sitting in the witness box, had a bird’s eye view of them all. The jury, ranged to her left in two lines of seats, were staring at her avidly, taking in every detail of her appearance. The girl in the front had started to copy Lola’s outfits; her pale-brown hair was scraped back, her stud earrings were pale yellow and large enough that they had to be cubic zirconia, and her simple dark dress had a wide collar not unlike the Marc Jacobs dress that Lola wore in rotation with the other outfits that had been approved by the witness expert. The girl’s eyes were fixed on Lola, eating her up: Lola sketched a little smile at her, and saw her eyes go even wider in amazement at having been noticed by her goddess.
Joshua Greene, resuming his seat, looked wary. Carin, who was sitting a couple of rows behind the prosecutor’s desk, looking spectacular in huge, dangling, sapphire earrings that caught the pale blue of her eyes, had raised her light-blonde eyebrows at Simon Poluck’s words, but showed no other signs of being affected. India had slipped back into the courtroom, and was sitting by Suzanne, whispering to her, Suzanne blanching as she heard the bad news.
Simon Poluck said:
‘Miss Fitzgerald, you just gave me a disturbing piece of information, knowing that as an officer of the court I am duty bound to ask you about it on the stand. Would you tell us first why you volunteered this information to me?’
Lola’s voice was very small at first. She cleared her throat and tried to make it louder.
‘Because I was about to swear an oath to tell the whole truth, ’ she said. ‘And I realised that I had to be completely honest.’
Simon Poluck nodded.
‘And can you please tell us what it is that you have to confess?’
Everyone leaned forward, as if choreographed, irresistibly drawn by the word ‘confess’ used in the context of a murder trial. Even the judge swivelled in her seat to look fully at Lola.
Very clever of him, Lola thought approvingly. Now that he’s put the idea in their heads, anything I say that isn’t a confession of murder is going to come as an anticlimax.
‘I left the country a few days ago, ’ she admitted. ‘I went to Italy to visit Joe Scutellaro.’
Maybe it hadn’t been such an anticlimax after all. The judge had to pound with her gavel again to quiet down the exclamations of surprise in the courtroom.
‘Miss Fitzgerald, you are aware that you skipped bail by leaving the country, even though you duly returned for this trial?’ Simon Poluck thundered over Joshua Greene, who was already on his feet and practically shouting.
‘I just wanted to talk to him – to beg him to tell the truth about what really happened to my father—�
�
‘I demand that her bail be revoked immediately!’ Joshua Greene was yelling, pointing accusingly at Lola. ‘And forfeited!’
‘Agreed, ’ the judge said, looking sternly at Lola. ‘Miss Fitzgerald, your bail is revoked with immediate effect. You’re on remand from this moment.’
Suzanne started to sob on India’s shoulder.
‘Miss Fitzgerald, ’ Simon Poluck was saying loudly, to cut through the hubbub, ‘can you tell us more about your meeting with Mr Scutellaro?’
‘I begged him to tell the truth, ’ Lola said. ‘I didn’t kill my father, and he knew it.’ She stared angrily at Carin. ‘She did, ’ she said, pointing at Carin. ‘My stepmother. She killed him for his money. And Joe Scutellaro was going to tell the truth at this trial.’
There were gasps heard round the courtroom at this accusation. Carin didn’t move a muscle, but sat there, stony-faced, as if even to react to Lola’s words would be beneath her.
‘You mean he lied in the grand jury testimony that we heard read out yesterday?’ Simon Poluck demanded.
‘That’s right!’ Lola said defiantly.
‘Miss Fitzgerald, ’ Simon Poluck said challengingly, ‘it’s a very convenient story that you’re telling the jury, isn’t it? After all, Mr Scutellaro is sadly no longer here to contradict what you’re saying. Haven’t you just jumped on the opportunity presented by his death?’
‘No, it’s the truth!’ Tears started to form in Lola’s eyes. ‘That’s why I went to Italy – to make him tell the truth! I didn’t kill my father – she did, and he knew that!’
‘Your Honour—’ Joshua Greene objected.
‘Yes, yes, ’ the judge cut in. ‘The jury will disregard that last statement. You can’t tell us what Mr Scutellaro knew, Miss Fitzgerald. This entire line of questioning is skirting much too close to hearsay, Mr Poluck. I’ve given you some latitude because I allowed Mr Scutellaro’s grand jury testimony to be read into evidence, but we’re crossing a line here and we’re going to have to pull back.’
Simon Poluck nodded.
‘Miss Fitzgerald, I have to ask you this question, ’ he started, his tone of voice very grave. ‘When you illegally – as you have yourself admitted – jumped bail and travelled to Italy, did you offer, or pay, Mr Scutellaro, any money at all to change his testimony?’
‘Not a penny, ’ Lola said, her chin high, staring directly at Carin.
And there’s no way you can prove I did, you bitch, she thought vindictively. If you produced that copy of the contract I gave him, it would incriminate you.
And the mere fact that he’d signed it would mean that no one would believe a word of his grand jury testimony.
‘So your intent was not to bribe him, ’ Simon Poluck prompted.
‘No! Not at all!’ Lola said. ‘I just wanted him to tell the truth! I didn’t kill my father!’
Tears started to form in her eyes, and she wiped them away. As she did so, she found herself making eye contact with Joshua Greene. He looked like a cat who’s got a mouse between its claws and is about to tear it limb from limb; his eyes were glinting, a little smile played on his lips, and as he tilted his head sideways to whisper something to Serena Mackesy, Lola saw with rising fear that Mackesy’s expression was exactly the same.
Panicking, she darted her eyes sideways at the jury. No one would meet her gaze: they all looked away.
Even the girl who was dressed like a cheap copy of Lola wouldn’t meet her eyes. Lola had heard that when the jury was filing back in with a guilty verdict, they wouldn’t look directly at the prisoner. And this was just the same – only earlier. It was as if they had already decided on a guilty verdict.
As soon as she had confessed to skipping bail, they hadn’t believed a word she said.
From the grave, Joe Scutellaro’s lies were going to convict her.
She looked back at Greene and Mackesy, both of them glowing with smug satisfaction.
They’re going to eat me alive in cross-examination, she realised.
‘We should seriously consider taking this plea, ’ Simon Poluck said, his thin dark features concentrated into a knot of tension.
Lola couldn’t speak. She could barely breathe.
‘It’s not looking good, Lola, ’ the jury consultant said quietly. ‘I’m sorry, but I’ve been watching the jury for the last two hours and their body language is very, very negative.’
They were sitting in a small room in the bowels of the courthouse, its walls painted a fading pale yellow, peeling and stained. Outside the closed door waited a court officer, ready to take Lola back to her cell when this meeting with her lawyers was over. At the end of the day, she would be on a prison bus, going back to the Tombs, with all the other prisoners on remand who were currently on trial.
And now Simon Poluck had come to tell her that Joshua Greene, scenting victory, had come to offer a plea bargain. Fifteen years, if she confessed to killing her father.
‘It’s really not a bad deal, ’ Simon Poluck said unhappily. ‘A hell of a lot better than twenty-five to life. I’m sorry, Lola. But we’re all looking at that jury and reading the same thing.’
Nods from her legal team were silent confirmation.
‘They’re going to convict, ’ the jury consultant said. ‘Inasmuch as you can ever predict these things, I’m reading conviction. My advice is absolutely to take the deal.’
‘I won’t do it, ’ she said, swallowing hard, her voice thin and frail. ‘I won’t take the plea.’
Simon Poluck’s frown deepened.
‘It’s really not a bad offer, ’ he said. ‘I doubt Greene’ll make one this good again. You’re up against a big machine. I’m trying to get you out of the way as best I can before it rolls right over you.’
‘I won’t!’ she said, her voice higher now, more determined. ‘I won’t admit to something I didn’t do! I didn’t kill my father!’
The jury consultant sighed.
‘Unfortunately, ’ she started, ‘it’s about what other people believe—’
‘I don’t care!’ Lola pushed back her chair and stood up from the table. ‘I didn’t do it, and I won’t say I did! It’s my father we’re talking about here, and no one, no one, is going to make me admit to killing him, when I didn’t do it! They can convict me if they want—’
‘They will, ’ muttered the consultant.
‘—but they can’t make me say that I killed him!’ Lola overrode her passionately. ‘Because I didn’t! And nothing in the world will ever, ever make me say that I did! Even if I rot in prison for the rest of my life!’
She turned on her heel and went to the door, wrenching it open.
‘Can I go back to my cell, please?’ she said to the court officer.
‘Lola – please, just think it over—’ Simon Poluck called to her as she strode off. ‘Just do me a favour, and think it over—’
‘I won’t!’ She stopped in the corridor, swivelling back to face him, hands on her hips. ‘You can go right back to him and tell him that there won’t be a deal, ever. I’ll do twenty-five years in prison if I have to. But I’ll never, never admit to killing my own father!’
As she turned back to follow the court officer, she caught the glance he threw at her. He had seen everything in his time working for the New York State judicial system; he looked world-weary, his uniform straining at the seams, his movements slow. Like a corrections officer or a cop, he had heard everything there was to hear, every protest and excuse and attempt at evasion that a defendant could try to pull.
Which made it even worse that Lola had seen what she had seen in his eyes.
It was pity.
Even the court officer knew that she was going to be convicted of patricide.
Chapter 40
‘Miss Fitzgerald, once and for all: did you kill your father?’
‘No!’ Lola leaned forward, holding onto the edge of the polished wooden witness stand, turning so that she could look directly at the jury as she answered Simon Po
luck’s question with so much fervency that her voice throbbed and broke as she reiterated:
‘No, I did not! I loved my father! I could never do anything to hurt him!’
Simon Poluck’s narrow dark face was drawn tight for a moment, as if he were listening to what Lola had just said, taking it in. And then he nodded, slowly, as if he had heard the truth in her words, and decided to believe her.
‘Your Honour, I have no more questions for Miss Fitzgerald, ’ he said dramatically, turning on his heel and striding back to the defendant’s table with a theatricality that suggested clearly that there was obviously no need to ask her anything else.
His abrupt end to Lola’s testimony had the courtroom in turmoil, exactly as he had intended. Joshua Greene and Serena Mackesy were exchanging stares of shock, Mackesy ruffling frantically through the stack of papers in front of her, Greene twisting to look at the clock hanging behind them on the far wall. Two-thirty p.m. Hopefully, much too early for the judge to do anything but insist that the prosecution start their cross-examination this afternoon.
‘I’m going to throw Greene a curve ball, ’ Simon Poluck had muttered to Lola before her trial resumed after the lunch break. ‘He’ll be expecting me to keep you on the stand for a day, at least. Building you up, going over all the allegations, establishing a strong defence. So I’m going to make him start his cross before he’s ready. Just a few questions, then I’ll say we’re done. I can always come back to you after Greene’s done, if it’s necessary. I want to throw him off-balance, so he doesn’t come on with all guns blazing from the get go.’
Casting a quick stare of dislike across the aisle at Simon Poluck, Joshua Greene heaved his small round body to his feet. His balding head was damp, his glasses and his suit cheap and badly made by comparison to the expensive accoutrements of Simon Poluck and Lola’s whole defence team, who charged huge fees and as a result could dress much better than anyone on a paltry ADA’s salary. The defence attorneys and jury consultants were razor-sharp in DKNY, Armani, and Michael Kors; the closest the DAs could get to those labels was on deep discount, rifling through the packed sale rails and dodging sharpened elbows in the crowded, fluorescent-lit surroundings of T.K. Maxx.
Divas Page 40
