‘It’s a journal, kept by Frank Avellino in the last months of his life,’ said Sagrada.
A murmur rippled over the masses in court. This was new. This was very crucial new evidence.
‘This journal came into the possession of the District Attorney’s office a few days ago. It was provided by Hal Cohen, who found it during a search of the victim’s personal papers. He did not get the opportunity to comment, for the record, or appear in this trial, to give his opinion on the authenticity or otherwise of this journal. But are you able to tell us if this is indeed Frank Avellino’s journal?’
‘In my opinion, yes, this is Frank Avellino’s journal.’
People shifted in their seats, moving forward, eager to hear this testimony. It sounded like an army getting ready to march. It began behind Kate, from the gallery, and spread like a brush fire.
‘Silence in court,’ said Judge Stone.
‘And with the materials provided, which you mentioned, what did you do to examine the journal, Doctor?’
‘I carried out a forensic examination of the control samples, the known examples of Frank Avellino’s handwriting, and I compared it with the handwriting in this journal.’
‘And what were your findings?’
Before answering, Sagrada picked up the water jug in the witness box, poured some into a plastic cup and took a drink. She set the cup down and angled her gaze to the jury.
‘The control samples were all good. Some letters, some signatures. This gave me a good base of comparison for the victim’s handwriting. I then took into account known factors. From reading the toxicology report, I knew the victim had Haloperidol in his system, and this accorded with some of my observations of the handwriting in the journal. There were passages in the journal that very clearly correlated with the victim’s handwriting, and some, which did not. These passages looked like the author was under the influence of drugs or alcohol, although the style was the same, the hand was clearly loose and difficult to control. But, in my view, the same.’
‘Just to be clear, Doctor, what was your conclusion regarding the identity of the author of the journal?’
‘In my professional opinion, Frank Avellino wrote this journal,’ she said.
‘How certain can you be?’
‘In this case, because of the influence of drugs, I can only say that in my professional judgment, authorship lies with Frank Avellino. There is enough consistency in the formation, construction and pattern of letter formation, syntax and sentence construction to lead me to that belief.’
‘Thank you. Would you read the last entry in the journal please? October second, I believe. Two days before the murder.’
Kate fixed her view on the jury. She’d already read the entry. She wanted to see how the jury would react.
‘October second,’ began Sagrada. ‘I know what’s been going on. She’s been poisoning my food. I saw her tonight. She poured something into the soup from a white bottle. Then hid it in her purse. She thought I didn’t see. I bet she’s been putting it in my smoothies too. I’m going to change my will, then I’m going to call the cops. I’m not crazy. I’m not sick. It’s her. I asked her what she put in my soup. She said I was imagining things. I need to act fast, so I didn’t push the issue. My God, I never thought it would have been her who betrayed me …’
Sagrada looked up from the notebook; she didn’t need to read along with the last sentence. She knew it by heart.
‘It was Sofia.’
A wail erupted. Kate turned and saw Sofia on her feet, Eddie holding her back. She was screaming, her face red, hair stuck to her skin as she pointed at the witness, then shouted again and pointed at Alexandra.
‘No, it’s all lies. It’s Alexandra. She’s the murderer! I’m innocent!’
Alexandra sat passively beside Kate, ignoring Sofia. For the first time in the history of this trial, Kate saw her client sitting in a relaxed, almost calm state. Kate knew then, without question, that this journal was what Eddie had predicted. This was the get-out-of-jail-free card for Alexandra. A piece of evidence that frames an innocent woman. Kate would have no part in it. She couldn’t directly challenge her own client in court. She had to trust Eddie to do something and the best Kate could do would be not to get in his way. Her first case as lead counsel. Her very first murder trial, and all Kate could think was that she hoped she would lose.
FORTY-SIX
EDDIE
‘We know the journal is a fake. We just have to prove it,’ I said.
The red blotches on Sofia’s face looked raw and angry. Her eyelids were swollen, along with the skin around them. She hadn’t stopped shaking all day. I’d called a friend, got Sofia something to level her out.
The Valium was taking her down a notch. Straightening her out of a hyper-tense state. At least she could speak now. She could breathe more easily. The panic had stopped choking her.
Sofia looked back into her apartment, and Harry was closing her blinds, checking the doors, making sure the place was secure. ‘Eddie, tell me straight – am I going to jail?’ she asked.
‘No,’ I said. Right then, it felt like a lie. ‘You’ll be fine. Put on one of those old black and white movies you like so much. Order in. Harry and I need to work tonight. We need to concentrate and we won’t be able to do that if we’re worrying about you.’
Sofia rushed forward, letting go of the door. She threw her arms around my waist, her head rested on my chest. I was surprised by this, and at first I didn’t know what I should do. Then I put my arms around her, and patted her on the back, told her things would be okay.
She let go, thanked me, and Harry came out of the apartment into the hallway.
‘Don’t worry, sweetheart, this guy is the best trial lawyer I’ve ever seen. He’s not as good as me, he’s not perfect, but he’s pretty damn good,’ said Harry.
‘How can I be in second place to you if I’m the best trial lawyer you’ve even seen?’ I asked.
‘Well, I’ve never seen myself. How could I?’
For a second. A split second. A smile appeared on Sofia’s face as Harry and I argued good-naturedly.
‘Thank you,’ she said, and closed the door.
I followed Harry to the elevator. We got in, and before the doors closed I asked, ‘Do you think you got everything?’
‘I got the kitchen knife, and a pack of razors from the bathroom.’
He opened his jacket. Sofia’s kitchen knife was secreted in his inside pocket.
‘We’ve done everything we can. She’ll be okay. We just have to figure out how we’re going to win this,’ said Harry.
The 2nd Avenue Deli is no longer on 2nd Avenue. Hasn’t been since 2006 when the landlord and the owners couldn’t come to an agreement. The restaurant moved to East 33rd and 3rd Avenue, and New York moved with them. Abe Lebewohl, an immigrant to New York, had worked his way up from busboy to counterman in a deli on East 10th Street, and finally opened his own place in 1954. Abe loved food, people and New York City. Everybody loved Abe. He was murdered on the street in 1996, on his way to the bank with the cash from the restaurant’s takings. New York mourned him, and family took over the business.