Still, Diana continued to date Billy, the witnesses say, even as his porn addiction ramped up and his volatility intensified. When school was back in session, she suggested they separate. Billy reacted poorly. Anderson presents a photo to the jury that is admitted into evidence. Exhibit A-19 is a close-up of a wall in what appears to be a dorm room, punctured with fist-sized holes. Yes, her former roommate says solemnly. The defendant lost his temper and punched out the wall.
It’s impossible not to sympathize with the Diana being portrayed here. Even so, her absence from the courtroom does the State no favors. Since we can’t see her facial expressions or bodily reactions, she is less a person and more an ideal. Meanwhile, the flesh-and-blood Billy comes to life. Hour after hour, the jury sees dismay register in his eyes. He shakes his head and furrows his brow, which makes the female jurors’ faces soften. Watching him, we all feel his suffering. He’s not the damaged sociopath we hear about. He’s a living, breathing human male whose life has been blown apart.
It helps that DeFiore is at the top of his game. During cross-examinations, he’s deliberate and methodical. He finds holes in witnesses’ statements, dates that don’t sync, narratives that diverge. It’s no easy task; there’s not one big lie he can reveal. Instead, he has to chip away at the State’s story, little by little, one detail at a time, and slowly cast a shadow of doubt.
On day five, the State interviews Liza Franklin-Wallace, Diana’s best friend. Clad in a plaid dress, black blazer, and sky-high leather boots, Liza appears sharp and fearless, an ideal sidekick for the mousy, insecure Diana.
“How would you characterize the accused’s behavior when Diana broke up with him?” Fleming asks.
“Billy—excuse me, the accused—was hurt. At first, he left her voicemails and love notes, begging her to reconsider. But his weepiness morphed into aggression. He hounded her. Once, he showed up in her bed while she was in class. Imagine walking into your room, turning on the light, and finding a six-foot man waiting for you under the covers. She was petrified!”
“But Diana didn’t want to call the police?”
Liza shakes her head. “She was afraid he’d lose his shot at medical school.”
I don’t buy it. If Diana was that scared, she would’ve gone to the cops. But Fleming has anticipated my skepticism.
“So, instead of reporting the defendant to the authorities, she invited him to a party?” the attorney asks. “That seems like a strange thing to do if she was so frightened of him.”
“Diana wanted to confront him. I suggested she do this in a public setting with friends nearby. I told her to tell Billy if he didn’t back off, she’d call the police.”
“The party was your idea, not hers?”
“Yes. I regret it greatly. I feel sick to my stomach every time I think about it.”
“Does Diana always do what you tell her?”
“No, not always. But I tend to be the boss in our relationship.” Liza smiles, but only with her mouth, not her eyes. She’s got a haughty quality shared by many Ivy League–educated women, one that suggests she knows more than everyone else.
“But you did encourage her to invite the defendant to a party on March 24?”
Yes, Liza says, I encouraged her. Yes, it was foolish. Yes, she had a vodka tonic. No, I’m not sure how many. Yes, the defendant drank too. Yes, I saw them go into a bedroom together. No, I don’t know what happened when they were alone. Yes, when they came out, Billy was enraged. （“Objection! Calls for speculation.”） Yes, I was worried when Diana left with him. No, they didn’t leave together. I meant I was worried when Billy followed her. Yes, I tried to stop her. Yes, I tried to stop him. Yes, I should’ve gone. No, I didn’t. Yes, I regret my decision.
Liza’s voice cracks. “Yes, of course I regret it.”
When the State is finished, DeFiore steps up. Fleming was persuasive but no match for DeFiore, who is a rabid pit bull. Moreover, Liza doesn’t see him coming, which, for a haughty Ivy Leaguer like me, is delicious to watch.
“Good afternoon,” DeFiore says, and then proceeds to drop a sheath of papers. Stumbling, he bends to retrieve them. Liza watches with a grin that smacks of arrogance.
“Ms. Franklin-Wallace, you stated in direct testimony that when Billy and Diana broke up, Billy was hurt. That he—quote—hounded her—unquote. What exactly did he do?”
“He called and texted her incessantly.”
“Did you ever hear these calls or see these texts?”
“No, but Diana—”
“You also said Billy showed up, uninvited, to her room. Again, did you see this?”
“No, but—”
“So, everything you know about their breakup came from Diana, correct?”
Liza doesn’t appreciate the way DeFiore keeps cutting her off. She appeals to the judge. “Can I finish a sentence, please?”
“A yes or no answer is sufficient,” McKay replies.
“To repeat,” DeFiore says, “everything you know about their breakup came from Diana, correct? So, you have no idea if Billy broke up with her. Or if it was the other way around, correct?”
“Yes, but—”
“But what?”
Liza appears stricken. “Yes, that is correct.”
“Let’s move on. Ms. Franklin-Wallace, when asked about the party on March 24, you stated that you and Diana had a vodka tonic before Billy showed up. How many drinks, exactly, did you and Diana have?”
Liza leans forward. But she’s lost her confidence, and her voice is inaudible. Twice, the judge asks her to speak up. “Four,” she says.
“Four drinks total?”
Liza falters. “No.”
“No what, Ms. Franklin-Wallace?”
“Four drinks each.” She pauses. Her eyes dart from DeFiore to Fleming and back to DeFiore. “And two shots of whiskey.”
“Two shots total?”
“No.”
“No what, Ms. Franklin-Wallace?”
“Two shots each.”
“So, to restate: by the time my client arrived, Diana had consumed four vodka tonics and two shots of whiskey. In your opinion, how did the alcohol affect her?”
“She was relaxed.” Liza’s face relaxes too. “We were dancing. We laughed a lot. She was happy. Upbeat.”
“Anything else? Loopy? Forgetful? Excited to talk? What’s the word? I can’t remember. It means free, but that’s not it. Unconfined?” DeFiore fumbles but smarty-pants Liza is all too eager to help.
“Uninhibited?” Liza’s hand flies to her mouth.
DeFiore nods. “Yes, thank you. Uninhibited. Diana was uninhibited. So, to restate: by the time my client arrived, Diana had consumed four vodka tonics and two shots of whiskey. She danced. She laughed. She was happy, upbeat, and uninhibited.” He looks at the gallery then the judge. “No further questions, Your Honor.”
“No, that’s not what I meant. I was—”
McKay says, “You may step down, Ms. Franklin-Wallace.”
A gratifying day’s end. DeFiore has accomplished his goal: cast doubt on Diana’s version of events. Haggerty hasn’t shown up, another positive sign. Adjourned until Monday, we pile into our cars and return to New York.