Steve Martini - Compelling Evidence

“Not only did she sign it,” he says, “but she typed it from notes supplied by Hazeltine after he met with Potter.” Harry is ecstatic. I tell him to bring his feet back down to earth. We still have to deal with Acosta, to whom any discussion of Ben’s will is utterly beside the point.

I have subpoenaed the will, but cannot get it into evidence without a foundational witness. Jo Ann is now clearly my best shot to accomplish this. But this latest revelation now affects the order of my witnesses. From the beginning I have been torn, whether to put the Greek up first, to nail him down on his alibi, expound upon his warm relations with Potter, and then impeach him with successive witnesses and evidence-Jo Ann, who heard Ben and Tony brawl in the office, and the trust account records showing that the Greek had stolen regularly from these funds-or to take Skarpellos up last, in a dramatic confrontation that would give him the advantage of seeing these earlier witnesses, reading accounts of their testimony in the local papers, and conforming his own responses accordingly.

From the beginning it had been my plan to take Tony up first. Now this changes. I need something to distract him, to make him believe that I am impeaching him, but with something less than I actually have.

Kim Palmer is one of those small-boned women, lean and tan, wiry, with a kind of athletic beauty born only in spas and weight rooms where the chic distaff set hangs out. Before Talia’s arrest, she and Kim were thick as thieves. Now the relationship is more restrained. Still, I’ve not had to twist arms to get Kim to come here and vouch for an old friend. She is one of several character witnesses we’ve put up. Two of Talia’s commercial associates have already laid in a measure of good repute, Talia as the serious, upstanding businesswoman. Both have stated that they would trust her with their lives and fortunes.

Kim Palmer is a special case. The only one of Talia’s social set I will use.

“So you’ve known Talia Potter for a number of years?” I say.

“Eight,” she says.

“And during that time you’ve been close?”

“Good friends,” says Kim.

“How frequently would you see Mrs. Potter, during this period?”

“At least twice a week. We worked out together at the gym and had lunch at least once a week.”

“Do you know her to be a truthful person?”

“I would trust her with my life,” she says.

“As friends did you confide in each other, things that you might not tell other, less intimate friends?”

“I think so.”

“Did Mrs. Potter ever talk about her marriage?”

“Oh yes.”

“And what did she tell you?”

“That she was very happy, that she loved her husband. She told me this many times. Her life revolved around her husband.”

“Did Mrs. Potter ever tell you that during the course of her marriage, while she was married to Ben Potter, she’d gone out with other men?”

“Absolutely not. As I say, she was happily married.”

There are a few smiles in the jury box. Robert Rath, my alpha factor, has his hand to his mouth, unable to keep the mirth from his face. This testimony may not be worth much, except as a diversion with the Greek, to make him think that my sole point of attack will be to his credibility on the issue of Ben’s planned divorce.

“Mrs. Palmer, did Talia Potter ever tell you that her husband was considering a divorce?”

“Never,” she says.

“Given the nature of your relationship, is this something that she would have shared with you, the fact that her husband might be considering a divorce?”

“Absolutely. We were like sisters,” she says.

There are jurors looking at the ceiling, counting the tiles.

“But she never told you at any time that Ben Potter was considering a divorce?”

“No. Never. Absolutely not.”

“Did you know Ben Potter?”

“I’d met him on several occasions. My husband and I had gone to parties at the Potter residence. They’d been dinner guests at our home on at least three or four occasions.”

“Did Mr. and Mrs. Potter appear to you to be in love?”

“Objection.” Nelson is up. “Calls for speculation.”

“Very much,” she says. “He doted on her, and she loved it.”

“Sustained,” says Acosta. He smiles at Kim Palmer. “When the other attorney objects …” She nods pertly like a precocious child, attentive to his every instruction. “You’re supposed to stop talking until I rule on it.”

“Sorry,” she says.

“It’s all right.” He smiles, a big wolfish grin. Then in his most manly tone he instructs the court reporter to strike the witness’s response. I think he is taken with her. I have visions of Don Juan in black spandex, haunting Kim Palmer on the health club scene. It is not a pretty sight.

I pause to consider the next question, a tactic to get me around Nelson’s objection.

“What would you say if someone other than Mr. or Mrs. Potter had told you that Ben Potter was considering a divorce?”

“I would say that they were either terribly misinformed, or else they were lying.”

She smiles up at Acosta.

He nods, like “This is fine.” She is doing it just the right way.

Then I turn her over to Nelson.

“Mrs. Palmer, isn’t it true that the defendant had numerous affairs with other men?”

“No,” she says.

“Isn’t it true that you yourself had affairs with other men and that the two of you, Talia Potter and yourself, actually double-dated with these men on several occasions?”

“Absolutely not, I resent the implication,” she says. She is looking up at the judge for protection. There is wonderful indignation here. Acosta is reserving his most disapproving expression for Nelson, the look of a man being summoned to fight the town bully for the honor of a woman scorned.

“ Mrs . Palmer.” Nelson says this as if to emphasize the fact of her marriage, that this too is a fallen woman. “Do you know a man named Raul Sanchez?” he asks.

With this there are large round eyes on Kim Palmer. “I don’t recall …” She’s speaking slowly, thinking, or pretending to. “That name does ring a bell,” she says.

“It should,” says Nelson. “The tennis pro at the club you and Mrs. Potter attended.”

“Oh yes. Now I remember him.”

“Good,” says Nelson. “To your knowledge, did Mrs. Potter ever date Raul Sanchez?” He rolls the name “Raul” off his tongue like this is some exotic elixir, some Latin aphrodisiac.

She laughs at this, a high giddy cackle that leaves half the jury smiling.

“I don’t think so,” she says. “Not likely.” She seems amused by this thought.

“Would it surprise you if I told you that the defendant was seen checking into a motel on more than one occasion with Raul Sanchez?”

“Oh, that,” she says. She laughs again. “Is that what this is all about? No, it wouldn’t surprise me in the least.”

Nelson is taken aback by this sudden burst of candor. He is looking at Meeks, wondering if he has somehow stepped in it.

“And why would this not surprise you?”

“Raul, Mr. Sanchez,” she says, “went with many of his clients to that motel.” She thinks for a moment, then comes up with the name of the place, without any help from Nelson.

“And why was that?” says Nelson.

“There were available courts there,” she says.

“Excuse me?”

“He was a tennis pro,” she says. “When the club was full, when its courts were all in use, this motel had the closest available private courts. The club had an arrangement with the place. There was no locker room, no public showers, so we rented rooms.”

Nelson turns and gives Meeks a deadly look. It seems one more piece of sloppy police work, something their motel clerk did not tell them, or a question which Lama, in his rush to judgment, failed to ask.