DeFiore strolls over to the defense table and lays a hand on Billy’s shoulder.
“One example is the DA’s claim that my client watches porn. Watching porn is not a fetish. It is not deviant behavior. Porn did not influence Billy’s feelings toward women. Many men watch porn. Many women do too. However, we are not here to render judgment on people who watch porn, including Billy, because his private life is not on trial. As I said and will keep saying, the law is unprejudiced. The law doesn’t care about someone’s sexual preferences or proclivities. It doesn’t judge someone’s choices. And yet, it’s clear to me, and it should be clear to you, that the State plans to do just that. The DA will try to pathologize his habits, will contend these habits led to violence. This story, rife with misleading claims, prejudicial suppositions, and phony evidence, is designed to lead you to false conclusions. I may not be as good a storyteller as the DA. But I am a good truth-teller. My job is to deconstruct this fake story and recast it as truth. I will ensure that you learn the truth of what happened on March 24. I will ensure you hear facts that are supported by scientific evidence.”
I want to cheer.
“And so, on behalf of my client, we ask that you keep these three questions in mind as both sides present our cases. We ask that you listen to the witnesses and assess the scientific evidence. We ask that you understand the facts. Finally, we ask that when the State fails to deliver an unequivocal ‘yes’ to the three questions at the heart of this trial, you tell the truth and deliver a ‘not guilty’ verdict. Thank you.”
Judge McKay looks up. “Let’s take a break.”
I feel good about DeFiore’s statement. Though it was shorter than Anderson’s and less dramatic, it was unpretentious and credible. His job is to pull apart Diana’s accusations and show an alternative argument. We don’t have to prove anything; we only have to provide reasonable doubt.
We spend the rest of the afternoon listening to the State’s first witness, a woman who worked in the lab with Diana and Billy. Her wire-frame glasses and no-nonsense haircut make it easy to picture her in a white coat. Anderson leads her through a series of science-related questions that have no point, but luckily, McKay calls him out. “I trust you’re going somewhere.” As it turns out, Anderson goes nowhere, and court is dismissed.
We leave the building in high spirits. Day three is over, and still no sign of Greg Haggerty. Good news, I tell myself, clutching at anything.
42
OVER THE NEXT WEEK, THE STATE CONTINUES TO PRESENT its case. Each morning, we eat breakfast, don our trial personas, and drive to the courthouse. Despite having four cars at the hotel, plus the Bowtie’s Bentley, we cram into Lawrence’s Mercedes for the first few days. After that, we start traveling in different cars, in various combinations. The most frequent is me with Lawrence, Billy with Nate, and Eleanor with the Bowtie. But we always gather in the parking lot and walk to court as a family, a united front.
The protestors still show up every day, blocking the sidewalks and filling the streets. As the trial continues, both sides grow louder. An anti-porn splinter group has arrived, too, mostly middle-aged women in pink pussy hats. They yell pervert, pervert, pervert and wave signs saying PORN DEGRADES US ALL. Given the severity of the charges against Billy, these women seem to be missing the point.
According to Nate, I’m the one missing the point. “Porn is easy,” he explains on the fourth day of the trial. Entering the lobby, we try to ignore the hordes on the courthouse steps. “It’s shorthand for male dominance. Or female powerlessness. Or whatever dynamic puts Diana in a one-down position. For them, porn is a symbol of Billy’s debauched mind and our culture’s indifference to violence against women.”
“Listen to you.” I’m amused. “Did you just pull that out of your ass?”
“I read an op-ed. But it sounds good, right? I mean, it could be true. Then again, what do I know? You’re the scholar. I flunked out of three colleges.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. Besides, I’m so far behind in my classes, I’ll never catch up.”
“You’ll be fine. Haven’t you heard? We’re worth seven hundred mil.” He puts his arm around my shoulders. “Rich people get all the breaks.”
Nate’s decided to be nice to me again. I appreciate having him there to help me make sense of the trial. Not that I ever doubted Nate’s intelligence, but Billy’s arrest has brought out a studious, diligent side I didn’t realize he had. He follows every testimony, scours the news reports, and offers DeFiore suggestions. He also, apparently, reads editorials.
From inside the lobby, I watch the women on the street. Their shouting is muted, but their mouths are open holes, their eyes vengeful slits. Their fury is unnerving. Where does that kind of rage come from? Do they hold it in the rest of the time so that they can unleash it here? What happens if they never let it out?
“Cassie, let’s go.” Lawrence is prodding me. “You’re dawdling.”
You’re repulsive. A memory stirs, unbidden. Tangled pubic hair. The flash of a penis. A woman reclining on a bed. Pervert, pervert, pervert.
“Don’t let them get to you,” Nate says. I must look upset because he’s insistent. “Seriously, Cassie. The protests mean nothing. Billy isn’t addicted to porn any more than he’s addicted to weed. The DA’s theory has nothing to do with the charges. It’s all theater.”
“But what if he is?” A sheet corner coming loose. The bounce of a flimsy mattress. Repulsive starts to echo.
“Doesn’t make him a rapist.”
The women’s accusations nag at me. You’re a pervert. You’re repulsive. I feel like I’ve made a mistake that needs correcting, but can’t remember what, exactly, I’ve done.
*
In the courtroom, the mood is convivial. People who were strangers a week ago have become like old friends. Family members, reporters, attorneys, and building personnel greet one another warmly. Behind me, I hear murmurs of “good luck” and “hang in there” to Diana’s parents. As the defendant’s family, we’re not entitled to well wishes; instead, we garner icy stares and sneers of disgust.
On days four and five, the State details Diana and Billy’s relationship, from the lab to the playground. This time Maggie Fleming does the honors. Since the arraignment, she’s traded her cheap skirt and flats for a big-girl suit and midsized heels. Her long Bible hair is swirled into a complicated updo. She questions Diana’s friends, relatives, roommates, and family members, all of whom testify that yes, Diana and Billy went on a few dates. Yes, she liked him—at first. Yes, he watched a lot of porn. （“Objection! Hearsay.”） Yes, he changed. Yes, he became agitated, withdrawn, and ill-tempered. Yes, yes, yes, his mood plummeted, his grades dropped, and he got kicked off the track team.
Collectively, the witnesses are earnest, consistent, and credible. It’s clear that they care about Diana and aim to do right by her. They describe her as a serious and studious, if na?ve, young woman who suffered from low self-esteem. Shocked that such a handsome, wealthy guy was interested in her, she was flustered and unsure how to respond. “She doesn’t realize her own beauty,” her mother laments. “Everyone sees it except her.” Diana was flattered by Billy’s attention, but her father, who met him during Parents’ Weekend last fall, was wary. “He’s too perfect. The minute I met him, I knew he was hiding something behind his pretty face and fancy manners.”