FiFty Fifty

Chapter Fourty - Seven

page?'
'Yes, I do.'
'I wasn't sure about the abbreviations and their meaning. I think RV 3/12 is
review in three months?'
'Yes, that's right. It accords with what the victim wrote in his journal.'
'And DY, for a time it had me foxed, but do you concede it's probably
shorthand for diary?'
'I do more than concede, I agree. Dr. Goodman probably recorded that he
wanted to see the results of Frank's diary in three months' time. And, of course, the letter formation and sentence construction in that journal entry is consistent with that of the victim.'
'Thank you. The next entry in the diary, or journal, is September fifth of last year. Again, I'll just read a section – I am not losing my mind. I came out of Jimmy's restaurant after breakfast and she was on the other side of the street. This was the second time I'd seen her in as many days. She gunned the bike and rode away just as Hal came out the front door of the restaurant. He said he didn't notice her. Maybe Hal's losing his goddamn marbles. I called my lawyer, Mike Modine, right then. I told him to hire the PI Hal had recommended. Was this section consistent with the victim's letter formation and constructions?'
Sagrada nodded. 'It is.'
'The next entry is September fifteenth, and again, I'll just read a short passage – The soup Sofia made yesterday was still in the fridge. The stew Alexandra sent over from the deli sat beside it. I made myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with a glass of milk and watched the news. Feeling better tonight. My head is clearer, for the first time in days. Call from the PI service. I told them Bedford hadn't been in touch with me by phone or text. No, I didn't know where he was – he'd told me that I wouldn't see him, for Christ sake. They are assigning a new operative in the morning. Bedford is missing. There's a police appeal for information on the news. Is this consistent with the victim's letter formation and sentence construction?'
'It is consistent,' said Sagrada.
I took a moment. I'd planted some explosives in those questions. Before I hit the detonator, I wanted to see who would be caught in the blast.
Alexandra's right hand closed over her left fist and she placed both elbows on the defense table, and then her chin on top of her knuckles. I could see the whites of her teeth, biting down tight on her lower lip. Eyebrows creased together, in concentration or concern. Both, maybe. People used to say that the eyes of a murder victim still retain the image of their killer. An old superstition. Yet when I looked into Alexandra's eyes, I could see a red tinge at the corner, as if her

gaze remained tainted with blood.
Sofia's expression was soft. Her hands on the table in front of her, fingers
outstretched, as if she were reaching for something – truth, maybe. Or mercy. I didn't see a killer in Sofia – only a victim. Someone who had suffered at the hands of others. I guessed that she had been so badly hurt in the past that the pain was almost nostalgic. A comfort, or a reminder that she was still alive. Still hurting. Still bleeding. There are victims who get drowned in their loss. It takes everything away from them – taste, smell, love, security, sanity. Grief is a great thief. It will steal everything unless it is checked. Sofia looked like she couldn't lose anymore. She knew the journal was a ticket to life imprisonment. I just had to tear it up.
I turned back to Sagrada.
'You've stated, quite fairly, that your view is largely opinion-based, and opinions on authorship may vary. If new information challenged the authenticity of this journal, would you be willing to change your opinion?'
Forensic document analysis isn't quite reading finger bones in a wooden bowl, but ain't a kick in the ass away from it either. Sagrada thought about her answer carefully, then said, 'It would depend on the nature of the new information.'
'What if the new information revealed this journal has been written purely for the purposes of this trial?'
'I'm not sure I follow,' said Sagrada.
'Let me put it another way – the journal is a forgery.'
Sometimes a line is spoken in court that feels like a blast of cold air. Everyone
sits up a little straighter, eyebrows are raised, people exchange surprised looks, as if they're about to open the popcorn and enjoy a show. It's the rousing final chords of the overture, and the curtain is about to go up.
'I've already given my opinion on the handwriting,' said Sagrada.
'I'm not talking about the handwriting, I'm talking about the contents of the journal itself. The first entry in the journal is dated August thirty-first, and discusses the victim's recent visit to the doctor and the need to keep this journal for medical purposes. The medical record of that appointment is dated September first. The entry above this reads August thirty-first – DNA. DNA stands for Did Not Attend. Mr. Avellino missed the appointment, rescheduled for the next day – September first. The journal records this appointment on the wrong date, August thirty-first. Maybe someone who knew he had an appointment that day wrote the entry, but didn't realize Frank had missed the appointment and gone the day after?'
Sagrada looked at Dreyer, but said nothing.
'On September fifth the journal entry mentions the victim having breakfast at

Jimmy's restaurant, just as the victim did every morning. However, on September fifth the restaurant was unexpectedly closed due to a gas leak in the neighborhood. There's no mention of the gas leak, nor is there any mention of having breakfast somewhere else. Only someone who wasn't there that day would leave out those details and assume Frank had breakfast at Jimmy's. On September fifteenth the journal mentions the disappearance of the PI, Bedford, mentioned on the news – yet the first media broadcast of this story happened on September eighteenth. Doctor Sagrada, this journal was written by someone who had knowledge of Frank Avellino's general movements, but it was not written by Frank Avellino.'
'I didn't have this information when I compiled my report. I was not fact- checking the journal.'
'No, you were not. If you had this information when you were compiling your report, I take it this would've better informed your opinion?'
She hesitated. I'd handed her a way out, without affecting her professional judgment. If she was smart, she'd take it.
'The job of verifying the accuracy of the information in the journal belongs to law enforcement. Not me. With this new information I cannot stand over the veracity of my earlier opinion. With the benefit of this new information, I have to doubt the authorship of this journal.'
Some intakes of breath, low grumbling from the jury. They had a clear shot at one of the defendants in this case, and now it had been taken away. The guilt or innocence of the defendants was now as muddy as it ever was. Until my next question.
'The District Attorney's office came into possession of this journal via Hal Cohen. Mr. Cohen is now deceased. We have undertaken some investigations into Mr. Cohen's financial dealings. Would you be surprised to learn Mr. Cohen recently had one million dollars paid into his account?'
'I was not aware of this.'
'It was transferred from an account in the name of Alexandra Avellino. This begs the question: who would benefit from writing a fake journal, pointing at Sofia Avellino as the one who poisoned the victim?'
'Objection,' cried Dreyer, 'relevance and calls for speculation.'
'Your Honor, this is an expert witness who is permitted to give her opinion.' 'I'll allow the question, but be careful how you answer,' said Stone.
Sagrada was careful alright. This cross could be professionally damaging to
her. She hadn't been given the time to look at the journal properly, and the NYPD had not investigated it for accuracy. Her only way out of this without a single blemish on her record was to take a dump on the DA and the police
department.
'I'll ask again, who would benefit from forging this journal?'
'Well, clearly Alexandra Avellino. She has to be a strong candidate for
authorship of this journal. The journal implicates her sister, and I believe the journal may well be false, and it's possible she paid Mr. Cohen that money so he would bring the journal to the police.'
All twelve heads on the jury swiveled an accusatory look at Alexandra Avellino. I sat down. And left them staring at the woman who had killed her own father.