The Doctor and Mr. Dylan (28 page)

“When was the last time you spoke to Alexandra Antone?” Hamilton asked Demitree.

“She called me just one hour before her appendectomy surgery. Alexandra was very upset. She was very scared.”

“What did she say?”

“Alexandra was afraid to have the surgery in a small Minnesota town. She didn’t trust the medical care. There was only one anesthesia doctor in the whole town that day, and that was Nico Antone. She was afraid he might still be carrying a grudge against her about the bedroom scene.”

“How scared was she?”

“Alexandra said to me, ‘I’m afraid Nico might try to harm me during the surgery and make it look like an accident.’”

“Objection. Hearsay,” Martinovich said.

“Sustained,” the judge said. “The jury will disregard the last statement.”

Hamilton faced the jury, raised both eyebrows, and raised both hands palms up as if to say
I believe the man
. He turned to Judge Satrum and said, “I have no further questions, Your Honor.”

I scribbled a note to Martinovich in hasty cursive, “The man is a lying bastard. You need to prove to them that he’s lying.”

Martinovich patted my hand, and strode toward the podium for cross-examination. “Mr. Demitree,” Martinovich said. “Have you ever been married?”

“Yes. I’ve been divorced for three years.”

“During the time you were married, did you ever catch your wife and another man naked in bed together in your own home?”

“No.”

“If you did catch your wife in bed with a naked man in your own home, how would you feel?”

“This was different. The Antones weren’t living as husband and wife. They were separated.”

“They were still married, Mr. Demitree. And the house you were sleeping in was co-owned by Dr. Antone and Mrs. Antone. How would you feel if that happened to you?”

“Objection,” Hamilton said. “Calls for speculation on the witness’s part.”

“Overruled,” the judge said. “The witness will answer the question.”

“I’d be angry,” Demitree said.

“Do you think you might say some aggressive things? Things you may regret later?”

“I suppose, but…”

“Did you ever see Dr. Antone hurt his wife?”

“No.”

“Have you ever seen Dr. Antone hurt anyone?”

“No. I haven’t been around him enough to have had the opportunity to see him hurt someone.”

“Then, given the fact that anger is a normal response to finding your wife in bed with a strange man, how can you say that Dr. Antone has a titanic temper?”

“I don’t know. I just know he was rageful in Alexandra’s bedroom that night.”

“In point of fact, despite his anger, Dr. Antone left his house without hurting either you or his wife Alexandra, didn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“I have no further questions,” Martinovich said, his voice dripping with disgust. He returned to his seat at my side.

“Very well,” Judge Satrum said, glancing at the clock on the wall. “This court is adjourned for today. We will reconvene for tomorrow’s session at 9 a.m.” He tapped his gavel, and departed the bench.

I watched the jury file out of the room, and said, “Ed, what will the jurors think after hearing all that?”

“Who knows?” Martinovich said. “It’s Hamilton’s job to build a case for your guilt. There are holes in his argument. I can’t wait to start punching back.” The corners of his eyes crinkled. “Don’t panic, Doctor. Remember, I don’t have to prove that you didn’t kill her. All I have to do is create uncertainty about what happened that day. All I have to do is create a gut impression that you might not have done it.” He snapped his briefcase shut, and said, “Trust me, we’re going to be OK.”

“Are you sure?”

He winked at me and said, “I may not be right, but I’m never in doubt. See you tomorrow, Dr. Antone.”

CHAPTER 23

OH SISTER

I returned to the courtroom the next morning and steeled myself for further onslaughts against my character and innocence. My throat was so parched I couldn’t conjure enough spit to swallow. Four pitchers of water lined the table in front of me.

“The prosecution’s first witness today is Rebecca Turman,” Hamilton said.

Rebecca Turman was a Silicon Valley icon who handled the money matters of hundreds of Northern California’s wealthiest entrepreneurs. She managed the assets of the Antone estate as a personal favor to Alexandra, who’d been her close personal friend. I hadn’t talked to the woman since I moved to Minnesota.

Rebecca sat primly in the witness box, her spine erect, her makeup tasteful and minimal. She wore a masculine gray wool suit and a red necktie. Rebecca was money, and she knew it. She was accustomed to Silicon Valley boardrooms. A small town courtroom was no ordeal for her.

“Mrs. Turman, can you tell the jury how you knew Alexandra Antone?” Hamilton said.

“We were old friends. She was my realtor and I was her financial advisor. Alexandra helped me purchase my home in San Francisco and my seaside ranch near Pescadero. I helped her manage her money.”

“When was the last time you saw her?”

“One week before she died.”

“Describe the occasion, please.”

“Alexandra consulted me regarding her financial future. She was planning to divorce her husband. There was a lot of money at stake. The Antone family net worth was in excess of $90 million dollars, almost all of which Alexandra earned in her capacity as a realtor and businesswoman. In a California divorce, half the community property money, or $45 million dollars in this case, would go to her ex-husband. She wanted to know how to best protect her assets.”

“And what did you tell her?”

“I recommended a colleague who is an excellent divorce lawyer and litigator.”

“Did Mrs. Antone consult with this lawyer?”

“No, unfortunately she died before that meeting took place. And now that Alexandra is dead, all $90 million of their community property estate is the sole property of her husband.”

“Is it possible that Nico Antone had 45 million reasons to want his wife dead?” Hamilton said.

“Objection. Leading the witness,” Martinovich said.

“Sustained,” Judge Satrum ruled. “The jury will disregard the last remark. Continue, Mr. Hamilton.”

“I have no further questions.”

Hamilton yielded the floor to Martinovich, who marched to the podium in haste. “Ms. Turman, you were the Antone family accountant, correct?” he said.

“Yes.”

“And you are uniquely qualified to comment on the family’s financial affairs, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Are you an expert on homicide?”

“No.”

“Are you an expert on anesthesia?”

“No.”

“When is the last time you spoke with Dr. Antone?”

“It’s been over a year since I talked to Nico.”

“Do you have any idea what Dr. Antone’s emotional makeup was prior to his wife’s death?”

“No.”

“Do you have any idea if Dr. Antone was of the mind to kill his wife?”

For the first time, Ms. Prissy Silicon Valley bean-counter-to-the-billionaire-set looked rattled. “I don’t know that, no …”

“No further questions,” Martinovich snapped.

Rebecca Turman’s face was candy-apple-red as she left the witness stand. I snickered. She was a rich bitch, in some ways a virtual clone of my wife. I had a hard time empathizing with the woman. It felt good to see her taken down a peg up here in the sticks of Northern Minnesota.

There was a din in the courtroom as the audience discussed the implications of this latest testimony, and the stupendous money at stake. The collective net worth of every citizen of Hibbing wouldn’t total 90 million dollars. The Antone estate was an unthinkable sum. Every man and woman in the jury must be wondering the same thing: Would Nico Antone kill to acquire the sole possession of such wealth? What man or woman wouldn’t be tempted by such an opportunity?

Hamilton summoned his next witness. “The prosecution calls Elizabeth Scipioni.”

I ground my fist into my palm. Where had they found Elizabeth? She was Dom’s daughter, and I dreaded facing her again. Elizabeth had nothing to do with Alexandra Antone’s murder, and yet she had the power to turn the jury against me, big time.

Elizabeth Scipioni was a petite Italian woman, four foot ten inches tall at the most, with short white hair and olive skin that looked suntanned even in midwinter. She answered the oath with quick replies, scampered up the steps, and sank into the witness box. She was so tiny that only the top two-thirds of her face was above visible above the witness box railing.

“Mrs. Scipioni, can you describe for us how you know the defendant?” Hamilton said.

“I was his sister-in-law. He was married to my sister, Angel.”

A hum of whispering erupted from the gallery. All testimony to date had centered on Alexandra and Nico Antone. There had been no mention of a second marriage. Ed Martinovich wrote “????” on his legal pad.

“This was his first marriage, prior to his marriage to Alexandra Antone, correct?” Hamilton said.

“Yes.”

“And where is your sister Angel now?”

“She’s dead. Nico Antone killed her.”

“That’s bullshit,” I shouted.

“Order,” the judge said. “Dr. Antone, I warned you once before. You are not to speak. Mr. Martinovich, be advised that one more outburst, one more utterance, one more audible mumble from your client and I will have him removed from the courtroom proceedings. Do you understand?”

“I do, Your Honor. It will not happen again.” Martinovich gripped my biceps with a firm hand and squeezed so hard I almost screamed.

The spectators were still rumbling about Elizabeth Scipioni’s bold statement. Judge Satrum pounded his gavel in a run of staccato beats until the talking ceased. “Let me make this clear,” the judge said. “This is not a marketplace. This is not the corner bar or the local coffee shop. This is a court of law.
My
court of law. There will be no disruption from the gallery or the offending individuals will be escorted out. If the noise persists, I am happy to try this case without an audience.”

Silence returned at once. The judge said to Hamilton, “You may continue.”

“Ms. Scipioni, please explain to the jury what you meant about Nico Antone killing your sister.”

“Objection, Your Honor. Irrelevant.”

“Overruled. I’ll allow this line of questioning, but tread carefully, Mr. Hamilton.”

Elizabeth’s voice quaked as she answered. “Angel married Nico at the end of high school. Angel was a beautiful girl, the finest this town had to offer. Nico was handsome and cocky. He may not have been the best boy in town, but he always thought he was. Anyways, Nico got Angel pregnant, and they had to get married. It was a shotgun wedding.

“Two months after they were married, Angel got sick. She contracted a bad cancer, a bone cancer that started in her leg bone. My parents took her down to Mayo, and the doctors there had to amputate Angel’s leg to cut the cancer away. It was awful what happened to her. She was such a beautiful young girl.

“Within another two months the cancer spread to her liver. It was so sad. The doctors tried chemotherapy, but the tumor didn’t respond. Angel came home. She and Nico moved into my father’s house. Angel was in constant pain as the cancer spread into other bones throughout her body, so her doctors prescribed a lot of pain pills, morphine they were. She had a hospital bed in the middle of my dad’s house, for hospice care. Angel was doped up all the time. Keeping her comfortable was the merciful thing to do.”

“How did she die?”

“I remember the details like it was yesterday. It was a Monday night. I sat with Angel all that afternoon. She was taking the morphine pills, but she was lucid, comfortable, and in good spirits. Angel had a wonderful attitude despite the rotten cards she was dealt. I had to leave at 6 p.m., and Nico took over for me at her bedside. At 10 p.m. that night, I got a call from Nico that Angel was dead.”

“What happened?”

“There was a bottle of morphine pills on the fireplace mantle next to Angel’s bed. I gave her two of the pills at noon because she said she was hurting. I didn’t want her to be in pain. The morphine bottle was half full when I left her that day. Four hours later, my sister was dead, and that morphine bottle was empty.”

“Did your sister take all those morphine pills?”

“I’m sure she did.”

“Did you ask Nico Antone what had happened?”

“I asked him. He told me Angel said she didn’t want to live anymore, that because she was in tremendous pain all day long, every day, and because there was no cure, Angel just wanted to fade away. I never forgot Nico’s words. He goes, ‘she just wanted to fade away.’ Nico said he helped her take all forty morphine tablets. Then he held her while she fell asleep and stopped breathing. Angel died in his arms.”

“What was your family’s reaction?”

“My sisters and I were outraged. None of us had a chance to say goodbye. The decision was made without our knowledge, and Angel was gone. I don’t even know if my sister made the decision or if Nico did. He told us it was her choice, but I’ve always had my doubts. I think he was tired of being married to an invalid. I think Nico was ready to go back to school and leave Hibbing.” She pulled a handkerchief out of her purse, and blew her nose into it with a loud, honking sound.