“I apologize,” she said to me. “I need to use the ladies’ room.”
We took a break, and when we came back into the concrete room, Veronica Ramira took over the interview and destroyed my unimpeachable testimony in ten brisk minutes.
“Going back to the conversation you had with Bernadette Daly in the early-morning hours of January fifteenth,” she began, “do you recall telling her that you thought you saw Roger Yul at the front door?”
“I said that was an initial reaction when I first saw someone, because Roger was around a lot, and because they are both on the small side.” I enjoyed suggesting to his face that The Defendant was a small man.
“And Roger Yul was Denise’s steady boyfriend?”
“He was. But not by then. They’d broken up before the break.”
“Did anyone else at the sorority ever date him?”
Panic roused with a guard dog’s growl. Veronica Ramira, unlike The Defendant, had actually graduated from law school and passed the bar. She wasn’t here for cheap thrills; she was here to win her case. “Yes. Bernadette Daly.”
“How long did they date?”
“I believe it was just the one time they went out.”
“And what did they do, that time they went out?”
Sweat beaded at my bra line, but I kept my face placid. “She said they went to see a movie.”
“What about after the movie, in his car?” Veronica Ramira put a slight emphasis on car. She knew. “Did Bernadette talk to you about something that happened in Roger’s car?”
My head roared with blood. Carl and Tina were the only two people on earth who knew what Roger did to Bernadette. And if Carl was trying to win The Defendant’s affections, wouldn’t this be exactly the sort of information he would offer up to The Defendant, as proof that there was someone else capable of the attack on The House?
“In confidence,” I said, bristling, “she did.”
“We are way past worrying about the bonds of sisterhood at the sorority house,” Veronica Ramira said in this infuriating hate to break it to you tone, as though I were the reason we were here, airing all our private and personal matters. “What did Bernadette say happened with Roger?”
I supposed I had no right to be furious with Carl for leaking this to the defense. It was like leaving the trash out and blaming the racoons for getting into it. Carl Wallace was just doing what every member of the rodent-faced press did back then.
“She said that Roger pushed her head into his lap.”
“To perform oral sex, isn’t that correct?”
My neck flushed violently. “Yes.”
“Did Bernadette say how she felt about that?”
It was like being strapped into a speeding vehicle with my hands tied to the wheel and a brick on the gas pedal. I could see the point of impact drawing nearer, and yet I could not turn or slow down. The impact would be unavoidable and deadly.
“She said she was scared and that she didn’t want to,” I answered helplessly.
“What was she scared of?”
“She couldn’t breathe. She was scared Roger would accidentally kill her.”
“Did you also have a frightening experience with Roger in January 1978, approximately one week after Robbie and Denise were killed?”
“Yes.”
“What happened there?”
“He jumped behind the wheel of the car when I was in the passenger seat and drove off without my consent.”
“And for that, you pressed charges against him, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Aggravated kidnapping charges. Of which he was convicted last fall, correct?”
“Correct.”
“You had the choice not to press charges, and yet you did. How come?”
The answer was the base of the tree, coming at me one hundred miles an hour. “Because I thought he was dangerous and should be behind bars.”
“I have nothing further.” Veronica Ramira turned to The Defendant, who in just a few short months would be described by theNew York Times as a “terrific-looking man with light brown hair and blue eyes, rather Kennedyesque.” That was on the heels of theMiami Herald asking Is Quiet, Bright Student a Mass Killer? Though any flashes of brilliance in that bleak room emanated directly from Veronica Ramira, no one wanted to remember it that way.
“I have no more questions,” The Defendant concluded with a parasitic smile, looking tremendously self-satisfied for doing fuck all but attach himself to a woman who was good at her job.