As Seppamosa got started, Mahoney said, “Your Honor, I think we’re aware of Ms. Matthews’s credentials and qualifications.”
The judge, an African American woman in her mid-forties and an outspoken liberal, clicked her tongue disapprovingly at Mahoney.
Matthews found herself distracted by Walker’s presence.
“The reason I ask these questions, Your Honor,” Seppamosa explained, “is merely to establish that we, and the court, should certainly accept the credibility of such an experienced and well-established expert witness.”
Matthews felt her internal early-warning radar flash an alert and saw a similar concern sweep the patronizing smirk from Mahoney’s face as well.
With an unwanted heat swarming up her spine and across the flesh of her back, Matthews had but a few precious seconds to prepare herself for a round of aggressive questioning. Having sat through nearly half an hour of unchallenged testimony, she had arrived in the witness chair believing Seppamosa would merely take furious notes, lifting his head occasionally as he had been doing all along, and await the calling of the next witness.
With the man standing at the end of the table glaring at her, with him sweating so profusely as to stain the underarms of his suit jacket, with him addressing the court and lauding her expertise and reliability, she knew she had trouble. He had been lying in wait, nothing less.
The judge sternly reminded Mahoney that if she had an objection, she would be well advised to address the court formally, not in unannounced outbursts. “This is not a revival meeting, Ms. Mahoney.” This reprimand indicated an erosion of support that clearly wounded Mahoney and drove her back to her yellow notepad to where Matthews couldn’t tell if she was listening or not. If Seppamosa was coming after Matthews, then she believed it was to get some, or all, of her testimony tossed. Exactly what testimony remained to be seen.
“I see in the investigating officer’s report that you were present at Mr. Neal’s apartment on March twenty- eighth of this year.”
“That’s correct,” Matthews said, checking a calendar offered by the bailiff.
“In your expert opinion, Dr. Matthews, at that time did Langford Neal display any hesitation or reluctance in granting his permission for police to search his nineteen ninety-two Toyota Corolla?”
“He did not.”
“And in your expert opinion, Dr. Matthews, given that the state has made a case that evidence collected from that vehicle suggests the vehicle’s possible involvement in the crime, is this behavior-this willingness to share such evidence with police-consistent with what you’d expect in your vast and well-documented experience of a guilty party? Yes, or no?”
“No.”
“Is it consistent with what you’d expect of an innocent party?”
Matthews hesitated, but realized her hesitation hurt their case more than quick, efficient answers. “Surrendering such evidence would be more typical of an innocent party, yes, but not reserved to-”
He interrupted her. “Because basically Mr. Neal was handing over the smoking gun,” Seppamosa said. “Was he not?”
Mahoney reminded the court there was no pistol or firearm associated with the Mary-Ann Walker homicide. The bench reminded Mahoney to object formally or face a court fine.
Matthews was instructed that she did not need to answer the question.
“Ms. Matthews,” Seppamosa said, suddenly dropping her title, an omission she took seriously, “because the state has failed to produce any witnesses, other than oceanographers, as concerns the timing of this event, and seeing as how counsel is basing a good deal of their suspicions of my client on what they call this ‘inaccurate window of time,’ I’d like to question you about the Q amp;A session-should I call it an interrogation? — of my client, Mr. Langford Neal. You were in attendance, were you not?”
“I believe copies of the investigating officer’s report of that interview have already been put into evidence by Ms. Mahoney,” Matthews said.
She was directed to answer the question.
“Yes, I was in attendance.”
“So it says here,” Seppamosa said.
“Then maybe you don’t need my help,” Matthews said, winning a suppressed grin from Mahoney, “or shall I read it for you?” Seppamosa clearly intended to play hardball. The psychologist understood the importance of staking out her own territory and showing her willingness to engage. She sent the message that she would not roll over for him, and the attorney looked over at her with a renewed appreciation following the comment.
“Not the entire document,” he said, a smug expression winning his face. “I would, however, appreciate if you read for the court page seven of the transcript, lines eleven through eighteen.
I’ve taken the liberty of highlighting the section. This would be the defendant, Langford Neal, speaking to you and to Sergeant John LaMoia, Crimes Against Persons, the lead investigator on the case.”
Point, counterpoint-he’d turned her small joke around to sting her. She was now to read some part of the Neal interview into the court record, while simultaneously indelibly searing it in the judge’s mind. Mahoney thumbed a document with the dexterity of a chief librarian. Seppamosa handed Matthews a copy. She read the lines and had no idea where he was going with this: Seppamosa seemed to have missed the point of the expert testimony; reading this line would only support the strength of Mahoney’s case against Neal. Matthews cleared her throat away from the microphone and then read: NEAL: Maybe it was the phone ringing that woke me up in the first place. And I do remember what time it was. All twos flashing at me. Two twenty-two. The clock by the phone on her side of the bed. I remember that. Two, two, two. Flashing away.
“And to your recollection, Ms. Matthews, is that verbatim?”
“To my recollection, yes it is.”
“This then is the contradiction to which Ms. Mahoney referred in her questioning of the oceanography expert, a Dr.
Bryon Rutledge.”
“It would be inappropriate of me to answer for either Dr.
Rutledge or Ms. Mahoney.”
“This is your understanding of the conflict, is it not?”
“It is. The body had to have gone off the bridge before midnight. Therefore Mr. Neal could not have seen her on a fire escape two hours past midnight. That’s the kind of inconsistency that wins an investigator’s attention.”
“Indeed.”
Seppamosa returned to the defense table, foraged inside his salesman-sized briefcase, and came out with a bedside digital clock in hand. He then had Matthews read from a police inventory that accounted for all items in plain sight as documented.
This, based on a court-ordered search of Neal’s apartment. She read the make and model of Neal’s bedside clock, and the court confirmed that Seppamosa now showed Matthews the exact same model of clock.
Matthews did not see what was coming, but knew without a doubt that she’d been led into an ambush. She searched her thoughts in order to attempt to anticipate the attorney’s take on the bedside clock but still had no idea where it was leading. She glanced out into the gallery, only to see that both Mahoney and LaMoia looked equally puzzled and on guard. To anticipate the question was to be prepared for a clever response. Failing this, she felt set up and ready to play the scapegoat.
Seppamosa plugged the clock into a floor receptacle alongside the stenographer, and it occurred to Matthews that he’d practiced this at least once-he knew where the power was; he knew what he was doing. He fiddled with the clock and turned it to face her.
“For the benefit of the court,” he said, making sure both the judge and Mahoney were shown the face of the digital clock, “would you please read the time of day represented on the clock?”
“Two twenty-two,” Matthews said. “I can’t tell if it’s A.M. or P.M.”
Seppamosa said cheerfully, “It’s A.M. There’s a little light that glows indicating P.M. If the court wishes-”
The judge cut him off, insisting the court did not wish.
Seppamosa noted for the sake of the record that Matthews had correctly identified the time of day as represented on the clock. He then dropped the bomb that Matthews felt in the center of her chest as a current of
