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Authors: Anita Doreen Diggs

BOOK: A Meeting In The Ladies' Room
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“Yes.”
“So you freely admit that at the time of her death, you and Annabelle Murray were lovers?”
“Yes.”
“Were you aware that Annabelle Murray was a married woman?”
“Yes.”
“And it didn't bother you?”
Victor shrugged. “I didn't know her husband.”
“How long did this adulterous affair last?”
“Six years.”
“During that time, did you ever tell Jacqueline Blue that you were sleeping with her boss?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“It wasn't any of her business.”
“Fair enough. Let's talk about the Black Pack. Will you please tell the court what that group is about?”
“It isn't really an official group or anything. It's just a bunch of us in publishing who get together for dinner and drinks on Friday nights when we don't have to work late. I missed a lot of the gatherings because I'm on the road a lot.”
“A bunch of Black people, correct?”
“Yes.”
“How many?”
“About seven or eight, I guess.”
“The number is eight, Victor. Eight Black people. Why don't you tell us why the Black Pack came into existence?”
Victor hemmed and hawed. “I don't . . . uh . . . uh . . . I can't remember.”
Keith stroked his chin. “Are there any secretaries or mailroom workers in the Black Pack?”
“No.”
“Assistant editors, trainees, interns, receptionists, or support staff of any kind?”
“No.”
“So, would it be fair to say that the eight of you comprise the total number of Black managers working in New York's book publishing industry?”
“Yes.”
“Was Ms. Blue a member of that group?”
“Yes.”
“Did the eight of you create programs designed to get more Blacks into New York book publishing?”
“No. It was just like . . . a social group.”
Keith pounced. “A social group? Then you didn't talk about book publishing or the people in it at all. Is that your testimony, Victor?”
“No, we talked about everything.”
“Were white publishing professionals ever invited to these social gatherings?”
“I don't know.”
“Stop lying, Victor.”
Champ said, “Objection! That is not a question.”
“Sustained,” droned Judge Veronsky.
“Isn't it true that the weekly Black Pack meetings were a place for its eight African-American members to air their grievances against the white publishing establishment?”
I cringed at this last question and felt sorry for my colleagues who were going to pay a stiff price for it.
Victor hung his head. “Yes.”
“Isn't it true that you talked about the Black Pack meetings with Mrs. Murray?”
“Yes.”
“I'll bet you two had a good laugh at the expense of your seven friends, didn't you, Victor?”
“Objection!”
“Sustained.”
Keith's voice dripped with sarcasm. “Isn't it true that you snuck around with a white married woman and had sex with her during the week, not caring about the harm you were doing to her white husband and little child, and then met with the Black Pack on Friday nights to speak out against white people?”
There was a roar in the courtroom and Judge Veronsky banged the gavel until it seemed her hand was about to fall off.
Champ was screaming her objections, the courtroom was buzzing like ten hives of bees. The judge agreed with Champ and Victor didn't have to answer the last question, but it didn't matter. Keith had made his point that Victor couldn't be trusted.
“Did you come into contact with Miss Blue at these Black Pack meetings during the time period when you were getting lots of e-mails from her at home?”
“Yes.”
“Did she mention these e-mails that you refused to answer when she ran into you at these weekly meetings?”
“No. She acted the same as all the other women who attended. Strictly professional.”
Keith clapped his hands. “Good! I'm glad to hear that my client is capable of controlling her emotions, even when she seems to want something very badly!”
Keith made a great show of walking up and down in front of the witness stand, throwing his arms out as though he were confused and seeking answers from the audience.
“Victor, did there come a time when you did, in fact, accept an invitation to Miss Blue's home?”
“Yes.”
Victor was loosening his tie and wiping sweat from his forehead with his hands. Keith gave him a handkerchief without comment.
“Please tell the court how and why you came to be in Ms. Blue's apartment.”
“Objection!” shouted Champ.
Judge Veronsky looked sternly at Keith over her glasses. “Is there a point to this line of questioning?”
“Yes, Your Honor. If the court will just bear with me a moment longer, my point will become crystal clear.”
“Overruled—the witness may answer the question.”
And so Victor told the story of the Black Pack party and how I approached him to spend the night with me. I could feel the pain in Mama's eyes drilling into the back of my head.
“Did you go to Ms. Blue's apartment that night intending to have sexual intercourse with her?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To be nice.”
Keith threw his hands in the air. “What? It has been your testimony here today that Jacqueline Blue had been making unwanted advances for close to a year. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“So you decided to be nice and have sex with her? Did you expect her to leave you alone after that night?”
Victor hesitated. “No . . . I . . . uh . . . it was a spur-of-the-moment decision. I didn't really think it through.”
“Was there another reason besides being nice enough to have sex that you accepted Miss Blue's invitation that night?”
“No.”
“Did you question her about the homicide investigation?”
“I don't remember.”
“Let me rephrase the question,” Keith said calmly. “Isn't it true that the real reason you went to Ms. Blue's apartment after the Black Pack party was because you wanted to find out how close the police were to finding Mrs. Murray's killer?”
“Objection!” yelled Champ.
The judge hesitated and then ruled in Keith's favor. “Answer the question, Mr. Bell.”
Victor's body seemed to fold in on itself like a big helium balloon that has been punctured with a letter opener. “Yes.”
I prayed fervently that Keith would drop this line of questioning. There was no need for Mama to hear that Victor had vomited after climbing into bed with me.
“Did you have sexual intercourse with Jacqueline Blue that night?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Victor sighed. “We went into her bedroom and got undressed. We climbed into her bed. There was a picture on her nightstand. I knocked it over accidentally. When I picked it up, I saw that it was Annabelle. I got upset and had to leave Jackie's house.”
Keith was a real showman. He yelled, sneered, laughed sarcastically, occasionally slipped into the cadence of a Baptist preacher, waved his arms about, and paced the courtroom like he owned it.
“Did you get the information that you wanted from Jackie?”
“No. She played it real cagey and wouldn't open up about the investigation. It sort of pissed me off.”
“Were you in love with Annabelle Murray?”
“Yes.”
“Did she ever tell you that she loved you?”
“Once, a long time ago.”
At that point, Judge Veronsky became ill and court was adjourned for the day. Unfortunately, it was a Friday afternoon, which meant that Victor's testimony was not over. He'd have to get back on the witness stand first thing Monday morning.
37
A BROKEN HEART
I
couldn't stand Paul during the next few days. He seemed angry, hostile, and brittle. I knew that Victor's revelations were bothering him but he didn't want to talk.
Mama wasn't much better—several times I caught her staring at me as though I was a stranger. We were in her kitchen trying to talk about anything except the trial. Finally, I couldn't take it any longer.
“What is your problem?” I snapped.
She was washing collard greens in the kitchen sink. It seemed like she had been waiting for my question. “What was you doin' sendin' computer mail to some man who didn't want to take you out? Huh? Where did you learn how to act like that? You sure as hell didn't get it from me.”
“I was just lonely, Mama. That is still no reason to tiptoe around here acting like I'm a serial killer.”
She wiped her hands on her apron and turned the water off. “Serial killers are sick people. You supposed to have good sense.”
“And you're supposed to stand by me, no matter what,” I cried.
Mama went ballistic. Stomped her foot and beat the kitchen counter with her fist. “What I been doin' these last six months? I ain't been standin' by you?”
She didn't wait for an answer.
“I been walkin' the floor at nights, duckin' questions from everybody on this block, includin' Elvira, and watchin' all your dirty laundry get spread out all on the TV. Married men and all! It's almost August and I still don't know whether you goin' to jail or not. And you know what else?”
I didn't want to hear any more so I said nothing.
“There's a whole lot more goin' on that you ain't tole me. I can smell it an' it don't smell good at all.”
The stench in her nose was blackmail, the secret book that Elaine was managing, which Keith didn't even know about, and the way I had coaxed Pam Silberstein and Alyssa Kraft into my web of deceit.
“Mama, I don't know what to say.”
“Don't say nothin' 'cuz it'll prob'ly be a lie.”
That stung.
“What was I supposed to do, Mama? If I played fair, you'd be making trips to an upstate prison for the next twenty-five years.”
She gazed at me like I was trash. “That's where you're wrong. I ain't visitin' nobody in no prison at no time.”
Mama was just upset. I didn't believe her for a minute.
“What would you have done in my place, Mama?”
“I woulda told Annabelle to stick that Moms Mabley book where the sun don't shine, that's what. You're in this mess 'cuz you was goin' along with a plan that you knew was wrong an' you did it just to get a promotion.”
“That's not true,” I protested wearily.
“Yes, it is. You told me yourself that if you knew the promotion had already gone to that white girl, you woulda stuck to your guns that day at Annabelle's house. That means if Annabelle woulda gave you the new job, her an' her husband could have sent Moms Mabley's soul to hell an' you wouldn't have said nary a word. When you read that first writin' that man did on that book, you coulda walked away an' worked at the supermarket if you had to. Then you wouldn't been in that house to pick up no appointment book when Annabelle got killed. Greed is why you in this mess. Plain old greed.”
She went back to cleaning the collards, but this time her tears were mixed in with the running water. “Me an' you never had much in the way of money,” she sobbed, “but we did have our good name an' the neighbors respected us. Now all that's gone.”
I took a long walk around Hell's Kitchen, but the familiar streets and buildings only mocked me.
Did you really think you could get away from us?
they seemed to ask.
38
THE SHOWMAN, PART II
V
ictor looked like he hadn't slept all weekend. He paused as he mounted the steps to the witness box and looked back over his shoulder at me. His lips moved and it looked like he was mouthing the words,
I'm sorry.
Keith whispered in my ear. “The brother's ready to crack. This is going to be a cakewalk.”
After Victor was resworn in, Keith took his place.
“How are you feeling today, Victor?”
“Fine.”
“Did you have a good weekend?”
It was a cat playing with a mouse and awful to watch. Why couldn't Keith just hit Victor with a trump card and get it over with?
“Yes.”
“Did you visit your daughter?”
“Daughter?”
“Sure,” Keith said smoothly. “Little Dora Murray is your daughter, isn't she?”
“So I've been told.”
Keith stopped in midstride. “Really? Who told you that?”
“Annabelle.”
A man in the courtroom cried out, “Dear God,” and I knew it was Craig. My heart ached for him.
“When did Annabelle tell you that?”
“Two weeks before she died. I told her that I wanted DNA tests for me and Dora plus visitation rights if it all checked out.”
“We've had testimony from Joe Long that you went to see Annabelle in her apartment the night before she died. Is that true?”
“Yes.”
“Tell us about that visit.”
Victor squirmed in his chair. “Well, she called that night and said that she and Craig were getting a divorce. She was crying and upset. They had had a fight and Craig stormed out, taking Dora and some clothes with him. She said she had something important to tell me and that I had to come over right away. Annabelle had never invited me over to her house before, so I knew things were really bad. I figured Craig had found out about us or something.”
“Did Annabelle tell you what the fight was about?”
“Not on the phone. She waited until I got there.”
“Okay. Go on.”
“Well, I told Joe where I was going, and then I took off. When I got there she was in a different mood. She said she was looking forward to being a single woman again and that she would give Craig some time to find a new place.”
Keith interrupted the flow. “So at this point, you are inside Annabelle's apartment, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Go on.”
“I asked her what the fight was about and she told me that Dora wasn't Craig's kid. She had just found out for sure a few days before and felt he had the right to know. When she told him, he stormed out, taking the kid with him.”
“What did you say to this?”
“I didn't know what to say. At first I didn't understand what she was trying to tell me. She started laughing and said, ‘You dolt. I'm trying to tell you that you're a daddy.' I didn't like being called a dolt, but that was just Annabelle's way.”
“What happened next?”
“I was real happy about the news, you know? I'm thirty-six years old and it's nice to know that I have a daughter. Annabelle pulled out a whole bunch of photo albums and showed me all Dora's pictures. After that we had some drinks, and then I went back home.”
“What time did you go home?”
“About four in the morning.”
Keith banged the ledge in front of Victor. “Do you realize that you are under oath?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did you just lie to this court?”
Champ objected. The judge overruled her.
“I didn't lie.”
“Sure, you did,” Keith replied pleasantly. “Isn't it true that you did not leave Annabelle's apartment until after the police removed her body from the bathroom?”
Judge Veronsky had to bang the gavel three times and threaten to clear the room before order was restored.
“Objection!” yelled Champ.
“Overruled,” droned Judge Veronsky. “The witness will answer the question.”
“No, that is not true.” Victor was sobbing loudly now.
“You skipped an important part of your conversation with Annabelle.”
“What do you mean?”
“Isn't it true that Annabelle Murray offered you one million dollars that night to sign away any claim to Dora and get out of town?”
“That's a lie.”
Keith's voice dripped with disgust. “Oh, really? Your Honor, I'd like to recall Joe Long to the stand.”
Victor threw up his hands. “There's no need to do that. Yes, Annabelle offered me the money, but I refused her offer.”
Keith smiled broadly. “Good. Now we're getting somewhere.”
“I didn't kill her!” Victor shouted.
“We'll come back to that,” Keith replied. “For now, I just want you to think about the time you left Annabelle's apartment. We know that the fight over the money and relinquishing your parental rights took up a couple of hours. Would you say that you left at the same time Sarah Jane Rizzelli was on her way upstairs?”
“Maybe.”
“How did you get out of the building, Victor?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that I have the video surveillance tape, which shows everyone that came into and went out of that front door starting at five that morning. You are not on that tape. How did you get out of the building?”
“I don't remember,” Victor said sullenly.
“Does the name George Jakes ring a bell?”
Victor looked genuinely confused. “No, it doesn't.”
“Perhaps he didn't tell you his name. He is the maintenance man who let you out through the service entrance. By that time, Annabelle Welburn Murray was lying dead in the bathroom. You slipped George five twenty-dollar bills for the favor. Surely you remember him now, right, Victor?”
Victor said nothing.
“The witness will answer,” Veronsky said.
“Yes.” It was a whisper.
“Would you speak up, please?”
Loudly. “I said yes.”
Keith stared at the jury, at the reporters, at me, and at the judge before whirling around and jabbing his finger in the direction of Victor's chest. “Why did you kill Annabelle Murray?”
“I respectfully wish to exercise my Fifth Amendment privilege against self-incrimination.”
Keith asked several more questions and got the same answer from Victor each time.
The state and the defense rested and my case went to a jury. It took them only half an hour to come back with a verdict of “not guilty.”
The reporters went running for the door with pads and pencils in hand. I gripped the edge of the defense table, practically unable to breathe.
I didn't jump up and down, cry, or show any reaction at all (the media later analyzed this fact ad nauseam) because there were just too many people like Mama and Craig who were in pain—their image of the people they loved had been shattered and it was going to take a long, long time for their hurt to subside.

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