“What was your reaction to her telling you this?”
“Horror, disbelief. But if I’m honest, I also felt validated.”
“Were you angry?”
“At Diana?” Billy shakes his head. “No. I got annoyed when she kept bringing it up. But I told her I didn’t want to talk about it, and she stopped.”
“Did this new knowledge throw a curveball in your relationship?”
“It magnified problems that already existed. When school started in September, my schedule was jam-packed. I pulled away because I had so many demands on my time, but also because I had the issue of my sister in the back of my mind. The more I withdrew, the needier Diana got. Soon, I shut down completely, while she did whatever she could to reach me. It was a vicious cycle, one we kept repeating. In November, we went to my parents’ house, which was a mistake. I had d-d-d-decided to end our relationship, so the invitation was a mixed message. While I didn’t want to hurt her, it was clear we couldn’t continue.”
DeFiore nods. “What happened during that dinner?”
“Cassie showed up unexpectedly. It created all kinds of tension. And then, as Diana said . . . she saw . . . she saw C-c-c-cassie k-k-k-kissing my . . . um . . . d-d-d-d-dad. That was . . . this mmmmoment was . . . the beginning of the end . . . of our relationship. Me and Diana. We fought all the time. I told myself it was because school was tough. Track too. I had a million reasons. But there was only one, really. Her knowing about Cassie and my dad made me sick and ashamed. But again, the more I pulled away, the more Diana preyed on me. She was relentless. C-c-c-calling, texting, showing up. I felt trapped.”
“During his testimony, your father said you were drawn to Diana because her temperament was similar to your sister’s. Is this true?”
“In some ways. They’re both needy. Cassie is a lot more independent but a lot more self-destructive. Still, I never knew a time without her. Cassie has always been larger than life. The best big sister, hilarious, fearless.” Billy’s voice cracks. “She looked after me, stood up for me.” He starts to cry. “She and Nate were my best friends.”
I’m crying too. Beside me, Nate is sniffling.
DeFiore allows my brother to compose himself then repeats his earlier question. “So, when Diana told you she saw Cassie and your father kissing, what was your reaction?”
“I felt sick.”
“Angry too?”
“Yes, but not at Diana. At myself. I’ve always been angry at myself. I used to think it was because I stuttered. But it’s really because I didn’t protect my sister. From my dad, I mean.”
On the other side of Eleanor, Lawrence starts coughing, then choking. “Excuse me,” he says to no one. “Pardon me.”
“In his testimony, your father said that he wasn’t kissing your sister; that, in fact, it was the other way around. Your sister was the aggressor. Is this true?”
Billy looks at Lawrence. “No,” he says with finality. Then he looks at me. For a second, we’re alone, but DeFiore’s voice breaks in and my brother turns away.
“Are you saying his testimony was untruthful?”
“I don’t know,” Billy answers. “He must believe it, on some level.”
“What else happened after Diana told you what she saw?”
“My worldview cracked. Over Christmas, I saw my dad with C-c-c-c-cassie through different eyes. It was like a hallucination, but I knew it was real. I started replaying all the times I should’ve spoken up but didn’t. Never, not once. She’s my sister. I should’ve helped her.” Billy starts to cry again. He takes a minute to compose himself. “So, like I said, when Diana told me, I was angry. But not at her for pointing it out. I was furious with myself.”
I’ve heard enough. I’m sure my brother believes this; it may even be true. But I’m equally sure he was furious with Diana and wanted her to pay. So, as Billy describes all the ways she tried to seduce him and all the ways he tried to fend her off （until, of course, he couldn’t）， Nate and I resume our game. “Your go,” I whisper. I point to the page. W I L L B I L L Y Q U I N N G E T O F F?
59
FINAL ARGUMENTS START ON MONDAY AFTERNOON AND run through Tuesday at noon. Clocking in at forty minutes, the State’s closing is short, terse, and a body blow for Billy. Anderson restates the most critical evidence and reintroduces each exhibit. He retells Diana’s story in chilling detail, reminding us, incident by incident, how Billy’s rage sparked, escalated, and culminated in rape. My relationship with Lawrence casts a shadow over the proceedings, which the DA uses to his advantage.
“The defendant was raised in a toxic home. You heard the testimony. You saw the evidence. You know the truth. A predator raised a predator. One married into great wealth, the other was born to it. Brimming with every privilege—race, gender, socioeconomic, you name it—these men are indifferent to the basic tenets of human decency. They ignored their responsibilities to each other, to women, to society. They believed they were above the law. But I’m standing here today to tell you that no one is above the law. These men must be held accountable. You, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, have a moral imperative to get justice for Diana Holly. For all women who are mentally, physically, and emotionally diminished, whose lives are destroyed by soulless men.”
DeFiore’s argument is equally persuasive. “We can never know what really happened inside the Quinn home, but our knowledge of this family’s struggles has no bearing on the charges against my client. It has no bearing on how you, members of the jury, should vote. What does bear on your vote, however, is the accuser’s integrity. Diana Holly is untruthful. We have seen this over and over. She is untruthful, relentless—and vengeful.”
DeFiore finishes by reminding the jury that the burden of proof lies with the State. They must prove without a shadow of doubt what happened between Billy and Diana on March 24. It seems like a tall order for any prosecutor, not just Anderson. I mean, how can any of us say for sure what happens between two people?
By the time both sides rest, it’s impossible to tell which way the jury will lean. For me, I know, unequivocally, what Billy is and what he isn’t. Billy is a rapist. Billy is my brother. Both statements are true.
*
The jury deliberates for twenty-four hours. On Wednesday at noon, Eleanor checks her watch. “Peter, you said a not-guilty would come fast.” She gives him a murderous look. “What’s the holdup?”
“Give it time, Ellie.” DeFiore is unfazed. The verdict will come when it comes. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. He has relatives visiting from Florida. He’s looking forward to turkey and all the trimmings, soccer with his girls, and a spate of new clients. He’s already told us we should hire a fresh set of eyes if there’s an appeal. Once the verdict is read, Peter DeFiore, Esquire, is finished with the Lawrence Quinns.
We’re in the conference room. If we do get a decision today, the five of us won’t be together again for a long time, if ever. Lawrence is at the other end of this mammoth, sixteen-chair table. The sight of him, alone and cast out, would break my heart if I let it. Except for “hello, how are you,” and “fine, how are you?” he and I haven’t spoken since last Friday, nearly a week ago.