Love Her To Death (31 page)

They—reporters and their DA—talked back and forth for a minute or two more about public records and why Stedman had decided to release certain affidavits and warrants, while keeping others under seal, basically sending the message that the public had a right to know.

Then a reporter asked if Angie had an alibi for the night of the murder—that is, other than Randall Funk.

“That’s
not
in the public record,” Stedman said, “so I cannot comment on it.”

Next.

Larry Martin took several questions before the brief press conference ended. Stedman was happy with how it had gone and where his case was headed. Not everyone watching and listening in on the press conference, however, was slapping high fives, jumping for joy, and pleased with what Craig Stedman had to say.

56

Allan Sodomsky must have been stewing as he watched his archenemy, Craig Stedman, because when Sodomsky held his own press conference two days later, it was clear from the first words out of his mouth that he was disappointed in what Stedman had told reporters.

Sodomsky stood, alone, in front of a flashy, gold-lettered (with black outline), embossed sign bearing his name, four bloated microphones pitched on a lectern in front of him. Sodomsky was a good-looking man, esteemed in law circles for the work he did, and known, quite good-naturedly, as a bulldog in the courtroom. His gray-and-black hair, receding profusely in some spots, totally gone in others, suited him well. Sodomsky was a good public speaker. He had done this before, and it was obvious that he and his client were not going to curl up in a ball and cave in because of this prosecutor’s charges.

The high-priced defense attorney opened by reading from a prepared statement, saying that because of all the inquiries his office had received from the media, it was high time he spoke up about what was quickly turning into the most high-profile murder case Lancaster County had seen in more years than anyone could remember.

He said his office wanted to make “one statement” to clarify any of the misconceptions floating around about his position on the matter of Michael Roseboro’s arrest.

“‘Contrary to published reports and widespread speculation,’” the lawyer said, looking down at his notes, stretching certain words for their intended effect, “‘Michael Roseboro … did …
not
… kill his wife.’” A quick pause. Slight smile. Then, “‘In fact, upon finding her in the family pool, Michael did everything in his power to seek medical assistance and revive his wife. Despite rumors of marital discord, Michael and Jan were married for nineteen years and had four children. It goes without saying that this tragedy has deeply devastated Michael and his children.’”

After a bit more Roseboro family PR, Sodomsky said his client was in the middle of assembling a “team of experts and investigators” to get to the bottom of what happened to Jan Roseboro, perhaps insinuating that there was much more to this soap opera than what had been portrayed in the media and promulgated by the DA’s office.

“‘It is not our intention to try Michael in the polls of public opinion,’” Sodomsky said matter-of-factly, reading words on the page in front of him as if he were a politician making a speech after a great scandal. “‘To do so would belittle our Constitution and the freedom that protects us all.’”

From there, Sodomsky spoke (or warned, actually) about the public not following the lead of the government just because those in power had said it was so. Then he encouraged everyone, sounding a bit like a parent scolding his child, “‘Not to churn the rumor mill,’” which had indeed been running at full power, night and day, “‘and continue the speculation that begins with an accusation.’”

Such a great turn of phrase:
“the speculation that begins with an accusation.”
Just because someone in the community has been accused of a crime, that accusation did not mean the person was guilty; and it should shed no bias on the individual judging him. Quite true—on paper. Reality, though, was another thing. The moment a perp did that walk, the public began to cast doubt and to judge. Human nature is a fragile feather, easily corrupted and malleable.

After that, Sodomsky explained the rules of law and the government’s need to prove its case, and how we, as a people, should give anyone accused of a crime that proverbial benefit of the doubt.

This was all well-intentioned rhetoric. The sincerity Sodomsky tried to project came out preachy, sounding like he was backpedaling. Sodomsky stood tall, doing his best to seem like the be-all and end-all to law, innocence, and what constituted justice. The fact that Sodomsky rattled on about our forefathers and our rights, and how each man deserved a fair shot at justice, didn’t help his cause. It came across hackneyed and charged with sarcasm and resentment. Here was the big man, once again, walking on the little guy. Michael Roseboro seemed to be saying from his prison cell:
How dare you accuse
me—
a Roseboro!—of such a heinous crime…. You watch, I’ll prove all of you wrong.

“‘It is important in an adversarial system that the playing field be leveled,’” Sodomsky said, this after saying it would be premature for him to comment on allegations without a full investigation of his own. “‘We believe,’” he added, perhaps beginning an argument for a future appeal, “‘that the government’s position in all media sources has created the potential for community bias.’” He had an angry look on his face, as though someone had made erroneous accusations against his client without any merit whatsoever. “‘As such, we believe this statement’”—his—“‘is necessary.’”

For the next few moments, he spoke of his client’s
eagerness to answer the government with the
truth
of what had happened. When it came time for Roseboro to tell his side, Sodomsky’s tone implied, heads were going to roll, and the community was going to have egg on its face for doubting such a gracious, respected, innocent man.

What else could Sodomsky say? The charges were not just accusations. There was not just a trial in the future. The Roseboro name and its reputation, which the family had spent a century building, was on the chopping block. Sodomsky was doing his best to begin putting a shine back on the family’s respected reputation.

Allan Sodomsky had a cockiness about him, which was hard to hide. It was part of the nature in defending murderers, thieves, and criminals of the worst sort. Perhaps it was a raise of the eyebrows when he said something, or maybe a twitch of his right shoulder, the folding of his hands in front of himself when he shrugged, possibly a slight smirk or curl of his bottom lip. Whatever the tic, Sodomsky’s confidence was unmistakable. He was certain of himself and his concern that Craig Stedman had opened up a can of whoopass on his client and had potentially let loose too many details about the case, disallowing his client a fair trial. Regarding Stedman’s request that reporters leave Angie Funk alone, Sodomsky chuckled a bit when he repeated himself, smiling off to the corner of his mouth, adding quite cockily, “Let me say this”—then he reached down, looked at his buttoned jacket and fidgeted with it, just stopping short of brushing a piece of lint off his shoulder with a finger flick—“‘for the time being, we will adhere to the district attorney’s request to consider Miss Funk’s privacy as she
struggles
to gain credibility with the people who know her best.’” As he spoke, Sodomsky went back to his prepared statement, looking down, refraining from speaking off the top of his head. He
wanted to be sure that what he said here was exactly what he meant to say.

A simple question—which deserved a simple answer—was asked by a female reporter: “Can you confirm whether Mr. Roseboro was having an affair with her?”

Sodomsky smiled, bounced on his heels, gently rocked back and forth. He took on the look of a boy who had a secret but felt the time wasn’t right to share. “Again, let me reiterate
one
more time,” he began, then looked off to the side. “And … I … appreciate the question. But so we don’t have that question predominate this time, I want to once again tell you that ‘for the time being’”—and his eyes now returned to that prepared statement on the lectern—“‘we will adhere to the district attorney’s request to consider Miss Funk’s privacy’”—that was
twice
he had said Angie’s name and
twice
he had called Randall Funk’s wife miss—“‘as she
struggles
to gain credibility with the people who know her best.’”

What was Sodomsky saying? Was he implying that Angie was a liar? That she had lied about certain things, and that she had some sort of integrity to protect and rebuild herself? Was he suggesting that Michael Roseboro had some kind of hidden truth about this woman he had been connected to romantically, and was just waiting for the right time to unleash it?

Sodomsky was asked if a change of venue might be in order.

To that, he gave a minute answer which, basically, said nothing more than
Maybe, we’ll see. Perhaps. It’s up to the judge.

A reporter tossed out the next question, which begat a becoming rise on his toes once again: “The DA’s theory,” the reporter asked, “… is that nobody else could have done it. Uh … could you give us a
hint
as to what your approach or your defense might be?”

Allan Sodomsky dug through his paperwork quickly, smiling, shaking his head, obviously eager to answer.
Judging from the way in which Sodomsky answered questions with his emboldened, overconfident demeanor, one had to consider, had Michael Roseboro lied to him? Had Roseboro told Sodomsky what the attorney wanted to hear before the press conference? You know, loaded the defense attorney with all sorts of denials and claims of
you just wait until my day in court.

It certainly seemed so.

“That’s an interesting question … and, um … I … noted, when the district attorney was having his press conference, that the statement was made that their investigation”—and again, Sodomsky began to smirk and lean forward in an I-know-something-you-don’t-know manner, before squinting his eyes—“is not over and has not concluded, which is a tad strange, when you consider that they’ve already made an
arrest
! …
“

Any good lawyer worth his weight knew that an arrest was only the beginning; the real work came postarrest, when investigators reinterviewed witnesses, developed new sources, and began to put a legal case together.

Craig Stedman, Kelly Sekula, Keith Neff, Larry Martin, and all those involved in law enforcement knew, while listening to the press conference, it was going to be a war of words and accusations for a few weeks before they got down to brass tacks. The one thing Stedman was clear about was that he was not going to be running to Sodomsky with any deals. Residents of the county deserved better.

To Allan Sodomsky’s credit, defense attorneys had no other alternative, truly, but to come out swinging. Sodomsky had started his press conference on a somber note, looking glum and withdrawn, talking about kids and family and poor Michael Roseboro being wrongly accused. But here he was—now halfway through—jumpy and smiling and raising his eyebrows as if to say that the DA’s office was out of its mind with these charges.

Near the middle of the press conference, Sodomsky pulled out the probable cause affidavit—the Roseboro arrest document. He had a smile from cheek to cheek. He rocked side to side. “One of the things,” he began, referring to a problem he had with the arresting document, turning to the page, reading from it, “is … um … that she ‘was discovered beaten, strangled and drowned in her pool with no signs of forced entry, robbery or sexual assault.’” Here he stopped for a quick pause, smiled, leaned forward. “That is of note—because, as soon as the body was released to the family”—he stopped again, pinched his face, closed his eyes tightly—“it was noted that there was
approximately,”
and here he slowed his tone down, speaking in drawn-out syllables and a deliberate inflection, as if speaking to people who did not understand the language, “forty thousand dollars of jewelry missing from Jan’s person that she had on! Now, the police
knew
about that before Saturday night, August the second, when they arrested Mr. Roseboro. Yet the affidavit … continues to say that there are no signs of robbery!”

For the next eight or more minutes, Sodomsky took questions, many of which he would not answer, understandably so, based on his belief that he wasn’t going to try his case in the court of public opinion. One statement he kept repeating was “Michael Roseboro did
not
kill his wife,” adding that his team knew what happened that night, but he was not going to be talking about it until the appropriate time and place.

Closer to the end, a question about the jewelry raised Sodomsky’s eyebrows somewhat: “So she was wearing them (the jewelry) around the pool?” the reporter wanted to know.

Sodomsky did not hesitate. “That is correct! And anybody who knows Jan knows that she wore them all the time.”

“Have you inquired as to where they might be?”

Another one of those sideburn-to-sideburn smiles
from the overly confident lawyer as he said, “Well, we’re doing the best we can….”

“Did police ever see any of that stuff on her?”

More serious now, “I don’t know that anybody was looking for it at the scene, all I know is what happened when the body was released.”

Allan Sodomsky had explained that when a body is taken to the morgue, all of its personal effects go along. He said Jan Roseboro’s jewelry should have been with her because she was wearing it that night. And it was clear that this was going to be one of many contentious issues a jury was going to have to make sense of.

“So … she was wearing that jewelry earlier that day?”

“I think you’ll find that anybody who knows Jan knows she wore those things all the time.” He paused. Gave his response some thought. Then: “But yes, Michael says it also….”

He thanked everyone and ended the press conference.

57

To put it mildly, Angie Funk had been walking carefully through a thorny patch of her young life. Her man was in prison. She was pregnant with his baby. The affair and all those e-mails were about to become fodder for the media and Internet, destroying her integrity, calling into question her ethics. Her husband was still at home, supporting her. And yet, one could argue based on her behavior, Angie was still wrapped up in that dream Michael Roseboro had sold her.