Redemption (19 page)

Sarah spread her hands. “I have no other questions for this witness.”

“Cross-examine?” the judge asked.

Angry now, Rudge asked that my testimony be read back. Then he said to Brown, “Mr. Brown, you base your testimony on Professor Goldman's testimony. Have you any other source for his statement that he went to bed at nine and Mrs. Hopper got into the same bed at nine-thirty on the night of the murder?”

“No. Only his own, and what Mrs. Hopper told me.”

“Then everything you have described here is based on the testimony of the accused and her lover?”

“Yes, on Professor Goldman's testimony. The accused has not testified yet to my knowledge.”

“And all your meandering journeys between Wall Street and 115th Street are based on pure hearsay, or at the worst, perjury—”

Sarah sprang to her feet, the first time during the trial that I had seen her lose her temper. She cried out, “This, Your Honor, is too much. Not only is Mr. Rudge calling for a conclusion, but without cause or reason or a shred of proof, he is charging Professor Goldman with perjury!”

“Approach!” Kilpatrick said, angry himself, and—as Sarah told me later—he whispered coldly to Rudge, “You, sir, had weeks to prepare for this trial. If you had a shred of evidence that Professor Goldman is committing perjury, you would have known this during discovery. You have a reputation for preparing a case properly. It appears to me that you were woefully deficient.”

“I had no knowledge that he would be a witness.”

“But you had knowledge that Mrs. Hopper would be a witness and that she would testify to the same thing. You could have called for a recess and then added to the discovery.”

Then the attorneys went back to their tables and Kilpatrick instructed the jury to ignore the remarks of Mr. Rudge.

Rudge said, “I have no other questions for this witness.”

Like Kilpatrick, I was astonished at Rudge's sloppiness. It occurred to me that possibly he was caught between the rock and the hard place they talk about today—his desire to win the case against his need for the large black vote in Brooklyn. Fortunately for us, that could very well have thrown him off balance.

Jerry Brown, refraining from smiling, straightened his jacket, rose, and left the stand.

The clerk called for Mrs. Elizabeth Hopper, and Liz took her place on the stand, stated her name, and took the oath.

Sarah rose and faced her. “Mrs. Hopper, did you kill William Sedgwick Hopper, your divorced husband?”

“No, I did not,” Liz replied.

“I have no other questions,” Sarah said, returning to the table.

There was a gasp of disbelief from the audience, a buzz of excitement from the press section, and an expression of utter bewilderment on the faces of some of the jurors. Kilpatrick was studying Sarah intently, but only said, “Cross-examine, Mr. Rudge.”

Rudge, too, had glanced at Sarah warily. I wondered afterwards whether he had any notion of Sarah's play and risk; but whether he did or not, he could not forbear to question Liz.

She was very calm, her face placid; I was far from placid. I have never had a heart attack, but this was close.

Rudge rose and said, “Your Honor, I have here in my hand a bill of record from Dr. Alvin C. Cohen, a dental surgeon residing at 16 Apple Street in Boston. I wish to enter it as evidence.”

Kilpatrick took a long moment, and then he said to Sarah, “Are you going to object, Ms. Morton?”

“No, Your Honor. I see no reason why it should not be entered as evidence.”

Again, Kilpatrick took a long moment before he spoke. “Mr. Rudge, how are you going to connect this?”

“It goes to motive, Your Honor.” Then he turned and glanced curiously at Sarah.

“You may enter it as evidence,” Kilpatrick said.

Rudge handed the paper to the clerk, who marked it and then returned it to Rudge, who handed it to Liz.

“Do you recognize this paper, Mrs. Hopper?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Would you explain to the jury what it is.”

“It's a copy of a bill sent to my then husband, William Hopper, by Dr. Alvin Cohen. The bill was for seven thousand dollars—for four front teeth, implants, and replacements.”

“Mrs. Hopper, an implant is a titanium post placed in a hole drilled in the jawbone, upon which a new tooth is fixed. Is that not so?”

“Yes, that is so.”

“Would you tell the jury the circumstances that led to the loss of those four teeth?”

The judge held up his hand and beckoned the lawyers to the bench. “I will not have a mistrial,” he whispered to Sarah. “This is all new ground.”

“It goes to motive,” Rudge argued.

“God forbid we should have a mistrial,” Sarah said. “Your Honor, I have no objection to the question or the answer.”

All this was conveyed to me later. I saw the judge bite his lip and nod.

“I'll repeat my question,” Rudge said, but the enthusiasm had gone out of his voice. He was beginning to realize, I believe, that Sarah was playing his hand; but just how she was playing it he certainly did not know.

“What were the circumstances that led up to this?”

“We had been married two years and I had not conceived. Children were very important to him, as they were to me. He forced me to be examined by a gynecologist, and the report was that I would never be able to conceive. He went into a rage when he read that report, and completely lost his temper. He accused me of deliberately deceiving him. I lost the teeth from a blow to my mouth from his clenched fist. He wore two rings on his right fist and that split both my lips. I had to have cosmetic surgery as well as tooth replacement, and that cost more than eighteen thousand dollars. I felt guilty about costing him all that money. He apologized, and I forgave him.”

“And you never held him responsible?”

“Sedge had a terrible temper.”

“You haven't answered the question.”

“I couldn't hold Sedge responsible for his temper. He was a sick man.”

“Did you hate him?” Rudge persisted.

“No. I guess I pitied him.”

I think that at this point Rudge knew he was being used, and rather than step deeper into the trap, he decided to wait for the redirect. “I have no more questions for this witness.”

Kilpatrick had been following this closely, making notes through it, and instead of suggesting that Liz step down, he turned to Sarah with a very thin smile—just a crinkling at the corners of his mouth, but the closest thing to a smile since the trial began.

“Redirect, Ms. Morton?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Your witness,” Rudge said peevishly.

“Mrs. Hopper,” Sarah asked, almost casually, “what did you call your ex-husband, Mr. William Sedgwick Hopper?”

Rudge objected, saying that this had no place in the redirect.

“I'll connect it, if you please, Your Honor,” Sarah said.

“I'll allow it,” Kilpatrick agreed. “I see no reason why not.”

“I called him Sedge,” Liz answered.

“I bring this up,” Sarah said, “because in response to two previous questions, you called him Sedge. I find that odd. My question hinges on that. Since his name was William Sedgwick Hopper, how was it you never called him Billy or Bill?”

“No. No one called him Billy or Bill. I was introduced to him as Sedge.”

Rudge objected as Liz spoke. Kilpatrick shook his head and said, “She said she would connect it, and she did.”

“Did anyone ever call him Billy to your knowledge?”

“No.”

“And his business associates in Boston? What did they call him familiarly?”

“Sedge. Everyone called him Sedge.”

“Did you ever hear anyone call him Billy?”

“No, never.”

“Now, we'll go to Mr. Rudge's question about your teeth,” Sarah said, her tone dulcet. “This brutal attack took place after you were married two years. Before that, was there any physical abuse of you by Mr. Hopper?”

Reluctantly, Liz replied, “Only once. He came home late and he must have had a bad day. I think it was my fault. I tried to kiss him, and he was in no mood to be kissed. He hit me several times with his open hands. I don't think he meant to hurt me, but I was frightened and I ran into the bathroom. He was a very strong man, and I was frightened. There was a telephone in the bathroom and I called 911. When the police came, I refused to press any charges. He was a different man when he lost his temper. The police were agreeable; they still respected him as a great Olympic athlete.”

Rudge rose and asked the judge whether we were to hear a biographical history of her married life in response to every question.

“She is trying to answer Ms. Morton's questions, Mr. Rudge. This is a capital case, and Ms. Morton has called only four witnesses. I think we can afford to be patient.”

Sarah went to the table and selected a paper. “This is a copy of a bill from Massachusetts General Hospital for setting a broken arm and an overnight stay,” she said to the jury. She turned to Kilpatrick. “May I enter it as evidence, Your Honor?”

“Yes, of course.”

“This broken arm, Mrs. Hopper, how did it come about?”

“Well—must I?”

“I'm afraid you must. You have taken the oath and you have taken the witness stand of your own free will. I explained to you that under our law, here in America, you could not be forced to give testimony against yourself. I know this is terribly humiliating, but you must answer my questions.”

Rudge was on his feet objecting. Irritated now, Kilpatrick said, “You opened this door, Mr. Rudge, and left it wide open. This trial would go better if you didn't object to whatever flies in. Your objection is overruled.”

“Well, I'll try to explain,” Liz said reluctantly—and I was amazed at how sincere this dialogue was, considering that it had been rehearsed. Well, Sarah had said that criminal trial was theater and after the endless spectacle of O. J. Simpson's trial, I was only too ready to believe her. Still, I was surprised at Liz's control.

“You see,” Liz said, “he called me a liar constantly. It was his way of putting me down and breaking my spirit. I had run short on my allowance because I was moved one Sunday by our priest's sermon and I had put fifty dollars into the poor box. When I told him that—I hadn't intended to tell him, but when I did—he said I was lying; and when I stuck to my story, he twisted my arm. He said he would make me tell the truth this time, and—well, he broke my arm. I was crying from the pain, so he took me to Massachusetts General.”

Sarah nodded, walked to the table, and picked up a batch of papers that were clipped together. Then she walked to face the jury, made eye contact with them, looked at the batch of papers, and made eye contact again. There was a black woman on the jury whose face was contorted with pain. I wondered what her life had been like. There was a man whose face was so dark and angry that I thought, if he'd had the opportunity, he would have dispatched William Hopper himself.

Then Sarah turned and said to the judge, “Here I have eleven police reports from two Boston precincts, each one a record of a 911 call by Elizabeth Hopper. In each case, she refused to bring charges. May I enter them as evidence, Your Honor?”

She handed them to Kilpatrick, who went through them, and then they were entered and handed to Rudge, who studied them with a blank face and then handed them to Sarah, who gave them to Liz.

“I have given you eleven police reports of calls to the police for assistance. Would you look at each of them?”

Liz did as instructed. There was a hush in the courtroom during this time. When Liz had finished looking at them, Sarah handed them to the clerk.

“Are they all valid? You mentioned one incident. Are all of these valid?”

“Yes.” Her voice was a whisper.

“Please speak up,” the judge said.

“Yes,” Liz repeated, but louder.

“Why didn't you mention them?” Sarah asked.

“I was so ashamed.”

“And why were you so ashamed?”

“Because I stayed until he divorced me. I married late, in my thirties. I was educated in a convent school. I was taught that marriage was indissoluble and I believed it.”

“Tell me, Mrs. Hopper, did your husband—your ex-husband—did he belong to the National Rifle Association?”

Rudge rose to object. The judge intervened and asked Sarah, “Where are you going with this, Ms. Morton? It appears to me that you're way out in left field.”

“I will connect it. It goes to motive, Your Honor.”

“Does it?” To Rudge he said, “I'll let her answer it, Mr. Rudge.”

“You have my objection.”

“I said I'll let her answer it. Overruled.”

Rudge grimaced angrily.

“You may answer the question,” the judge told Liz.

“Yes, he did.”

“Did he have a gun?”

“Yes, he had a number of guns. He had two automatic pistols. He kept one in his night table and another downstairs. He also had two shotguns, which he used for duck hunting, and two hunting rifles.”

“Did he enjoy hunting?”

“Yes. He made me go with him. I tried to get out of it, but he got very angry. He taught me to use the shotguns and the pistols. He said that in this world, one couldn't survive without a gun.”

“Did he keep the guns loaded?”

“Yes, always. He kept them in a glass case in his study.”

“Did he keep the pistols loaded?”

“Yes. He once said that the time it took to load a gun could mean the difference between life and death.”

“Then you always had loaded guns at hand—how long were you married?”

“Eight years.”

“And when you went hunting, where would you go?”

“He had his own duck blind, in Maine, on a lake.”

“What do you mean by a ‘duck blind'?”

“A wooden platform and shelter, sort of camouflaged, at the edge of a lake, where you wait for the ducks. I hated it. I couldn't kill a duck, and even to watch him do it was awful.”