Under the Bridge (44 page)

Kelly said that by Thursday, the wellspring of rumors was causing her to become very “cautious and scared.” Soon after, Warren told her she was being a “bitch” and should “keep her mouth shut.”

Then with a series of loud no's, she denied beating Reena, throwing her head into a tree. No. Telling anyone she killed Reena Virk. No. Killing Reena Virk. No, she said, and that was the end of her evidence in chief, Kelly saying no.

Catherine Murray was already asking questions before she was on her feet.

Her voice was staccato and sudden, so different from the voice she had used with her own witnesses.

“Why were you so worried about protecting Josephine Bell under the bridge?”

“Well, she's small and dainty.”

“So?”

“Well, she was one of my good friends. I didn't want her to get hit.”

“You knew full well at the beginning of the night that you and your friend Josephine had cooked up this little plan to get Reena to go out with you and beat her up, didn't you, Miss Ellard?”

“No,” Kelly said primly.

“Well, I put it to you that you were well aware that there was a plan that night, and you were part of the plan.”

“Um, actually, no, I wasn't,” Kelly said, less primly. “Or I would admit that right here. I would not lie about it.”

“You and your friend Josephine Bell had talked earlier that week about digging a hole and burying Reena alive, correct?”

“No,” Kelly said, grimacing.

“You find that distasteful?”

“Yeah, quite,” Kelly said, and her tone had now veered from British nanny to sullen Valley Girl.

“Reena wanted to go home. You knew that.”

“Obviously,” Kelly snarled.

“Well, we weren't there. What was obvious about it?”

“She wanted to use the phone and go home.”

“You knew she didn't have any friends there. You knew she was an outsider. The atmosphere under the bridge was a very unfriendly one toward Reena Virk. She was not being treated well. And you, of all people, are very sensitive to not being treated well, correct? You're a sensitive person, aren't you?”

“Where did you get that from?” Kelly said. And then, as if sensing the trap, she quickly interjected. “I am. I am sensitive. Somewhat, yes.”

“Now, all this yelling is going on. Laila is yelling at her. Laila's a tough girl. Dusty is mad at her. And she's a big girl. And Reena is scared, and that's when you think, ‘Oh my God. Reena Virk, who doesn't have any friends here, is going to hurt my friend, Josephine Bell, the dainty girl?'”

“I don't know,” Kelly said, and it was at this time that court was adjourned for the lunch break.

*

Later people would wonder what occurred in those minutes between 12:30 and 2:00, for when Kelly returned to the courtroom, it was as a different girl—nothing like the girl on the stand in the morning. “She just looked like she hated Catherine,” a courtroom observer noted. With her eyes flashing and her head tilted in an arrogant,
don't fuck with me way,
Kelly marched to the stand.

“Could you show us how you punched Reena?”

Kelly swung up her hand, easily and suddenly, and several journalists raised their eyebrows, surprised at the natural way her fist rose, like she wanted to smash the air.

“Why didn't you just grab Reena to prevent her from getting to Josephine? How does that punch help?”

“It obviously doesn't. I told you already! I didn't know what I was thinking. It was stupid.”

As if she had not heard the answer, Catherine contemplated out loud, “What I don't understand is—”

“I already told you,” Kelly screamed, suddenly. “It obviously doesn't make sense!”

“Well, let's move on,” Catherine said, as if oblivious or unconcerned with the impending tantrum. “You said while the fight was going on, you were just standing there, watching Reena. Why were you watching Reena?”

“Maybe I just wanted to watch.”

“You like watching people get beat up?”

“No,” Kelly said, and she glared at Catherine, as if offended by the insinuation.

After a few more questions about the fight, she began to cry.

“Is it the recollection of Reena getting beaten that's causing you distress?”

“You, and her, yeah,” Kelly said, pulling at a tissue.

“Do you want to take a break until you stop crying?”

“No, keep going,” Kelly barked.

“Eventually, Reena came flying down a couple of stairs, right into you. I imagine with some force. She's a big girl, we've heard, 180 pounds, but she doesn't knock you down?”

“I almost fell. She almost knocked me over, but I did not fall, and that's my answer.”

“So you pushed her back into the crowd, where she got punched some more. Do you want another break?” Catherine said tauntingly, as Kelly was in tears once more.

“No, keep going. I want to get this over with,” Kelly replied, as if to say,
I can handle you, bitch.

“Do you recall Laila telling people to stop? And most people listened, because Laila was pretty tough.”

“I don't know her. I just met her once before at Shoreline. She came to visit.”

“Oh, was this at one of those gatherings where someone was thrown in the water?”

“Yes,” Kelly said haughtily, “that happened quite often.”

“Did it?” Catherine said gleefully. “Regularly?”

“At parties. It happens.”

“So
party
to you is kind of a loose term? It doesn't mean a happy gathering?”

Unaware of the trap she'd wandered into, Kelly snapped back, “Not all parties are happy. Bad things happen sometimes. Kids are cruel.”

“Mm-hmm,” Catherine said.

“You heard what I said,” Kelly snapped, once more irritated by the steely derision of her opponent, this blonde. “You heard what I said. Kids are cruel. They can be cruel.”

“You,
Kelly Ellard, can be cruel,” Catherine noted, seizing the implication.

“I used to be,” and realizing, too late, the trap she'd fallen into, she quickly added, “sometimes.”

“You were cruel on this night.”

“But I didn't kill Reena Virk.”

“We'll get to that.”

“How many times do I have to say it?” Kelly sighed.

“Now, after Laila stopped the fight, you say Reena is in a heap in the mud. She's crying. That was upsetting, to see her like that?”

“Obviously. I'm not a monster.”

“But at this point, you're still concerned about Josephine Bell, not Reena Virk.”

“You keep wasting time!” Kelly suddenly screamed. “I just want to get this over with!” She then told the prosecutor: “Quit repeating yourself, please!”

Again, Catherine appeared oblivious to the outburst. “Did Reena say anything to you?”

“You know what?” Kelly said, with an exaggerated air of exasperation. “I don't remember. It's seven years ago. Do you remember what you were doing seven years ago?”

“Well, unfortunately, here, I get to ask the questions, and you have to answer them. You saw Reena wasn't well. Did you ask her if she needed help?”

“Not at that time.”

“You stayed back to take some extra shots at Reena Virk. You were the main aggressor in that first beating. Your story is that you were an onlooker?”

“I was the first one to punch her, and I pushed her back into the group. That's all I did.”

“Well, I say you did a lot more than that.”

“You're very wrong,” Kelly retorted, and she seemed to revive, and the woman and girl battled on. The prosecutor, who seemed utterly content and even blasé yet full of vigor, tried to get the accused to “pinpoint when exactly you started to care about Reena Virk.”

“When I saw her hunched over and she looked humiliated,” Kelly said.

“But after you've had a number of occasions to help her, you don't do anything until she's halfway across the bridge, and then you yell out, ‘Reena, are you going to be all right?'”

Several of the onlookers laughed out loud then.

“Did you really care about her at that point?” Catherine said with a laugh of astonishment.

“Is that funny to you?” Kelly said. “Of course, I cared.”

“Did you go to the Mac's to call 911?”

“Obviously, I didn't and it was stupid and I'm sorry.”

“You didn't care.”

“I did care! I did. Say it as much as you want. My story is not going to change.”

“So you crossed the street, and you were mad because your friend Josephine was ignoring you, and so you left. That's your story?”

“That's the truth, actually.”

“How long were you at the bus stop talking to the three guys?”

“Fifteen minutes.”

“Okay. Now, when you saw Warren, you say he calls you over and tells you these things. Now, my question is this: If Warren had a secret or a problem, was it
you,
Kelly Ellard, that he'd seek out?”

“No.”

“But on this particular night, he called you. He said, ‘I was just on the other side of the bridge. We went back and beat up that girl some more.' And didn't that cause you concern?”

“I didn't believe him.”

“Was he wet and muddy?”

“I don't recall.”

“Do you remember at the bus stop Rich asked you if you were wet?”

“You'd
like to think that, but, no, I was not.”

“You weren't wet?” Catherine said, as if fighting back the urge to break into laughter. “That's your evidence?”

“I was not wet,” Kelly said, and it was at this point that she leaned forward and her eyes narrowed, and she glared and glared at the blonde woman who was moving closer to her now.

“You
were wet and you told Laila you'd taken care of Reena so she wouldn't rat.”

“You are 100 percent wrong, and I was not wet. I did not say that. You're just making suggestions. My story is not going to change.”

“You call your evidence a story?”

“Well, you referred to it as a story, but it's my truth,” Kelly said, and she seemed to weary, and then rallied, rolling her eyes at the next question about evidence that she was wet. She then let out a torrent of words, although her lawyers had likely told her to only answer with yes or no.

“If what you're saying is true,” she said, loudly, “I would have had hypothermia by the time I got home.”

“Have you had hypothermia?” Catherine said, clearly enjoying the escalating battle.

“Yes, I have,” Kelly sulked. “When I was twelve. I was in the hospital.” She began to talk very fast, and most of the reporters had stopped taking notes, too riveted by the conflict between woman and girl.

“Well, if you weren't wet, why did you change your clothes when you went home?”

“You can say whatever you want but everything that comes out of your mouth is going to be wrong because I did not change my clothes. I was not wet. And I did not kill Reena Virk.”

“You called Maya, and you told her you killed Reena Virk.”

“I did not call her! You are wrong!”

“You called Dusty and Josephine and you took them to the Gorge and you found Reena's shoes.”

“You are just merely making suggestions. I did not have any such conversation,” Kelly said, and her British accent returned with her more formal language.

“You do have protective instincts toward Josephine Bell? You'll admit that?”

“Yes.”

“And yet you don't tell her that Warren is saying she was in the water with Reena Virk?”

Kelly rolled her eyes and raised her elbow to her forehead, melodramatically.

“Here you sit on the swings with your best friend and you do not tell her that such terrible things are being said about her.”

“She was not my best friend!” Kelly screamed. “My closest friend was Kyla!”

“You know they called Reena's home because you'd been telling them you killed Reena Virk, and they did not believe you so they called her mom.”

“No, that's not true. I will swear on anything that I'm not the killer. I am not the killer!” She began to cry and threw her head down on the witness stand before her, near the Bible and the box of tissues.

“You said to Maya that you were happy you killed her.”

“I did not say that!” Kelly screamed, her voice louder than anyone's voice had yet been. “I am not a monster!” She beseeched Catherine Murray then: “Please stop!” she screamed, and the sheriff, a white-haired man with a rich tan, looked at the young girl sympathetically. It seemed then that Catherine might stop, for she'd pushed the girl for so long, days, but Catherine did not stop and seemed still utterly unfazed.

“Let's carry on with what you said to Willow. You said to her that you broke Reena's arms and legs and held her under water. You told her that you felt that you had to go back and finish everything, otherwise Reena would rat everyone out.”

It seemed then that Kelly must have stood up, though she remained seated, and yet her voice was so loud and forceful as she screamed: “I did not kill Reena Virk and I will repeat it and repeat it and I will stick with that until the day I die! I don't care how much jail time I do, I did not kill Reena Virk. I will still say I did not kill Reena Virk until the day I die. I don't care if I get another life sentence but I did not kill Reena Virk!”

Kelly's mother had her head in her hands, much the way she did on the night of her daughter's arrest. The jurors had long ago stopped taking notes and looked alternately disgusted and transfixed. The judge said, “Let's take a break,” for a break was clearly needed. Some of the onlookers refused to move, however, and the sheriffs had to come and pull them from their seats.

At the end of the long hallway, far away from reporters, Catherine asked Jeni, “How much longer should I keep this up? Do you think the jury is feeling sorry for her?”