Until I Saw Your Smile (49 page)

“I wish I had your confidence,” Matthew said.

“Oh, but you do,” Dr. Penn said. “You had the confidence to ask Angela to marry you, knowing that her past may never be completely behind her. That takes toughness and resolve. You're almost the second-toughest person I've ever met.”

“Who was the second-toughest?” Matthew asked.

“My wife,” Dr. Penn said. “Go ask Angela right now.”

Matthew exhaled. “I hope you're right.”

“Good-bye, Matthew,” Dr. Penn said. “Give my best to Angela, and be sure to send me a wedding invitation.”

“I will.”

Matthew closed his phone.
Just tell her. Is it going to be that easy?

He backed into the shop and took the boxes of strawberries directly to the prep table in the kitchen, only nodding at Angela as she put a tray of cookies into the oven.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

Here we go.
“Paddy O'Day is lead prosecutor on the Warrick case, and he wants you to testify.”

“When?” Angela asked.

Matthew blinked.
She didn't ask why or curse or cry or fall to pieces.
“If I were him, I'd save you for the end of the trial since your testimony should be most damaging to Warrick.”

Angela nodded. “Okay. Why'd you get two boxes?”

I am in awe of this woman. Can't she see I'm trying not to cry?
“It's going to be really hot today, and the strawberry shortcake was such a hit yesterday, I thought why not two?”

“Good idea.” Angela squinted. “You okay?”

I'm better than okay.
“Yeah.”

“Allergies again?” she asked.

“Yeah.” He nodded. “Allergies.”

Chapter 38

F
or the next six days, Matthew prepped Angela to testify long into the night, peppering her with questions he thought Filardi might ask her.

For the first four days and nights, Angela did well, answering each question directly and calmly. “He attacked me from behind . . . He wore a black knit ski mask . . . I didn't report the incident because he didn't rape me.”

The last two days, Angela wasn't cooperating, and she couldn't keep her feet still.

“When did you begin getting psychological counseling from Dr. Kenneth Penn?” Matthew asked, trying to recreate Filardi's nasal tone.

“Two years after the attack,” Angela said.

“Two years,” Matthew said. “So for two years, you didn't think
anything
was wrong with you, did you, Miss Smith?”

“I knew something was wrong,” Angela said.

“But you
didn't
seek help for two
long
years,” Matthew said. “Wasn't your encounter with my client just another date gone
bad
for you, not that you've had many dates in your life, am I right, Miss Smith? What are you, thirty-five and unmarried?”

“Fuck you,” Angela said.

“Angela, you can't say that in court,” Matthew said.

“Why not?” Angela asked. “That man knows nothing about me or my relationships. How can he say that about me?”

“He'll probably say far worse to set you off,” Matthew said. “It's his job to make you look completely unstable and unreliable as a witness. He's going to pick at you relentlessly, hoping you'll lose control. Remember: you're the victim here. You have to stay in control.”

“Why? Why can't I show some anger? A man stole four years of my life from me. I'm angry. The jury should feel my anger.”

“But if you curse Filardi,” Matthew said, “the judge can hold you in contempt.”

“Let him,” Angela said. “I don't give a shit.”

“You have to care, Angela,” Matthew said. “Your testimony will be crucial in putting this guy away for life.”

“I can't hold back, Matthew,” Angela said. “I will not play the sniveling victim. I am a survivor. I want the jury to see the real me, the powerful woman who survived, and if I go off, I go off. I want them to know how truly pissed off I am. I want them to see me fight.”

“I'm not a victim anymore, Matthew,” Angela said.

“You're right,” Matthew said. “You're the predator now, and Warrick is the prey.”

Angela blinked. “You agree with me?”

“Yes, and I don't know why I didn't realize this before,” Matthew said. “Angela, forget what I've said to you for the past week. Answer any question you get the way
you
feel it at the moment. If Filardi pisses you off, I want you to spit fire. If he attacks you, fire back. It would be great if you could set Warrick off, too, but I don't want you to let your guard down for a second.”

Angela smiled. “I don't intend to. I also intend to ignore Warrick for as long as I can. I won't even dignify his presence in the courtroom.”

“But the jury might see that and think you're afraid of him,” Matthew said.

“Oh, I'll look at him,” Angela said, “but only when the time is right. And I won't be smiling at his sorry ass. Until then, I don't want the jury to think I give a shit about him.”

This could work.
“I have to call O'Day.”

“Why?” Angela asked. “This is
my
case now, not his.”

“You're right,” Matthew said. “He needs to know that it isn't his case anymore, right?” He called O'Day. “Paddy, I need you to do something for us.”

“What?” O'Day asked.

“I don't want you to ask Angela any questions about what she did with her clothes or shoes or her cleanup after the attack,” Matthew said.

Angela blinked rapidly.

“It's okay,” Matthew mouthed. “I got this.”

“What?” O'Day yelled. “That's evidence vital to our case, McConnell.”

“And I don't want you to even mention PTSD or Dr. Penn,” Matthew said.

“We already decided to bring that up first, didn't we?” O'Day asked. “To beat Filardi to the punch.”

“Change of plan,” Matthew said. “Trust me, Paddy. Let Filardi bring all that into evidence. Let him throw his jabs. Angela's going to drop him with some wicked hooks.”

“But he'll be able to prove Angela is hiding something!” O'Day shouted. “He'll be able to prove she's unreliable!”

Matthew smiled. “Trust me. If Filardi even mentions any of it, he'll be sorry. We have to let Filardi open Pandora's Box, and once he does, all hell will break loose.”

“I don't know, McConnell,” O'Day said. “That's taking a huge risk.”

“Only a slight risk,” Matthew said. “And we also don't want you to make any objections to any question Filardi asks or any snide comments he makes.”

“What, I'm just supposed to sit on my thumbs?” O'Day asked.

“Yes,” Matthew said. “Do as much nothing as you can once you've led Angela through her testimony. Make
no
objections. We've got this.” He smiled at Angela. “Angela's got this. She will be in total control.
She
will win you your case. You've got to trust us on this.”

“Oh man, McConnell,” O'Day said. “If this backfires . . .”

“It won't,” Matthew said. “I guarantee it. Your star witness is going to blaze brightly in that courtroom tomorrow, and all you have to do is sit back and enjoy the show.”

 

Smith's Sweet Treats and Coffee was closed for the first time in forty years. Angela wore a white blouse and stylish black skirt as O'Day gently led her through her night from hell. Angela delivered her testimony flawlessly in front of a packed courtroom in the Kings County Supreme Court building on Jay Street in downtown Brooklyn on a hot and humid June morning. Matthew knew Angela's feet were still most likely dancing in place behind the wooden wall of the witness stand, but that was all right.

Matthew stared at the back of Warrick's head.
Warrick looked so smug when he came in, dressed in a suit Filardi probably bought for him. It looks better than the one I'm wearing, but I'll bet it's the only suit Warrick has ever worn. If all goes as it should, that will be the
last
nice suit Warrick ever wears.

“No further questions at this time,” O'Day said.

“Your witness, Mr. Filardi,” Judge Pedroia said.

Filardi, wearing a $25,000 Ermenegildo Zegna suit and $1,500 New & Lingman Russian calf shoes, didn't leave his seat. “Thank you, your honor.” He stared at Angela for a full ten seconds.

“Miss Smith, I understand that you've been under a psychiatrist's care,” Filardi said. “Would you care to elaborate?”

Just as I expected. Filardi is trying to put the idea of “crazy witness” into the jury's minds with his first question. He has no idea how this line of questioning is going to backfire on him.
Matthew looked at his feet.
Hey, now my feet are dancing! Let's box!

“I have been receiving counseling from Dr. Kenneth Penn about once or twice a week for the last two years,” Angela said. “I've also received extensive therapy from my fiancé, Matthew McConnell.”

Both Filardi and Warrick swiveled in their seats to look in Matthew's direction.

Hi, Robbie. Remember me? You are going
down
today. Dude, is that your nose, or do you have an eggplant growing on your face?

Warrick winked and turned away.

Filardi swiveled toward Angela. “Isn't Matthew McConnell a lawyer and not a psychiatrist?”

“Yes, but you don't need to be a psychiatrist to help people get better, do you, Mr. Filardi?” Angela asked.

“Oh, I agree,” Filardi said. “So you've been a patient of Dr. Penn for
two
years. Didn't the alleged attack happen
four
years ago?”

“Yes,” Angela said.

“Why did you wait two years to begin intensive therapy with a psychiatrist?” Filardi asked.

“I thought I could get by on my own,” Angela said. “It's not in my nature to ask anyone for help.”

“It's not in your nature,” Filardi repeated. “Tell us about your therapy. It sounds intense. How intense is your therapy?”

“It's not very intense,” Angela said. “Dr. Penn asks questions, and I answer. I ask him questions, and he answers. It's kind of like a court case.” She smiled. “Only in my particular case, the verdict may never be handed down.”

“Please elaborate, Miss Smith,” Filardi said.

“I may never be cured,” Angela said. “I suffer from PTSD, post-traumatic stress disorder.”

Filardi flipped hurriedly through a few pages of a legal pad.

“Were you ever in the military, Miss Smith?” Filardi asked.

“No,” Angela said, turning slowly to her right.

“I had a different kind of battle, one I believe that I will win.” She stared directly at Warrick for the first time. “Yes, I am
definitely
going to win this battle.”

“Oh?” Filardi finally stood, all five-feet-five of him. “You may
never
be cured?” he said to the jury.

“No,” Angela said, “but I get stronger and stronger every passing second as I confront my past.”

“Miss Smith, do you recognize the defendant?” Filardi asked.
Filardi changed directions. It's okay. He'll mess up eventually. He's too cocky.

“No,” Angela said, “I do
not
recognize the defendant.”

Filardi shook his head and sighed in front of the jury. “How then do you know without a shadow of a doubt that he's the one who attacked you?”

“I don't,” Angela said.

Whispers flowed around Matthew, and Judge Pedroia cleared his throat. The whispers died down.

“You don't?” Filardi asked.

“No,” Angela said.

“Did you ever do a police lineup?” Filardi asked.

“No,” Angela said.

“Why, then, are you on the stand as a witness against my client in this trial?” Filardi asked.

Angela smiled. “Good question.”

Filardi shook his head at the jury. “A good question indeed. The police found no DNA evidence of his presence at your apartment, is that correct?”

“Yes,” Angela said, “not that they didn't do a thorough job. They were at my apartment and shop for about three hours. They even pulled up a few floorboards.”

“And they still found none of my client's DNA,” Filardi said. “I wonder why that was. Do you have any idea why none of Mr. Warrick's DNA was found at your apartment?”

What a monumental blunder! Angela can talk for
days
now, and I'm glad O'Day is sitting on his thumbs. Paddy could be saying, “Calls for a conclusion.”

O'Day turned to look at Matthew. He nodded once and smiled.

Yes, Paddy, Filardi is an idiot! He asked Angela a vague question to elicit an
opinion
from Angela, so now Angela can say whatever she wants to say for as long as the judge allows her to say it.

“I think I have an idea,” Angela said.

“Won't you please enlighten us?” Filardi asked.

“I think they didn't find any of the cowardly Mr. Warrick's DNA,” Angela said, “because I burned my clothes, which had his smoky stench and his semen on them.”

“Objection!” Filardi shouted.

Yep. You're screwed now, Filardi. Duh! You can't object to the answer to your
own
question!