Beach Road

“What did you do then, Nikki?”

“I screamed,” she says, fighting through tears. “I ran and tried to lock myself in the bathroom. But Eric, he grabbed the handle. He was strong for his size.”

“I know this is painful,” says Howard, handing her a tissue. “What happened next?”

“He raped me,” says Nikki Robinson in a tiny, anguished squeak.

Then Robinson’s head falls onto her chest, and for the first time since the trial began, both sides of the courtroom are equally distressed. Within seconds of each other, one woman cries out, “Liar!” and another yells, “Lying bitch.” Each have different reasons for their anger.

“One more outburst,” shouts Judge Rothstein, trying to control his courtroom, “and I’ll clear the room.”

Still, it’s another minute or so before Howard asks, “What happened after you were raped?”

“I pulled myself off the floor. Finished my work. I don’t know why. Shock, I guess. Then I left the house.”

“Where’d you go, Ms. Robinson?”

“I was going to go home. But I got more and more upset. I went to the courts behind the high school. Dante and Michael were there. I told them what happened. That Feifer raped me.”

“How did Dante react?”

“He went crazy. He was screaming, stomping around. He and Michael.”

“Quiet!” shouts Rothstein again, calming the room some.

“What did you think when you heard about the killings, Ms. Robinson?”

“It was my fault,” says Robinson, staring at her lap. “I never should have let Feifer come to the house. Most of all, I never should have told Dante and Michael Walker.”

Dante leans in to me. “She’s lying, Tom. She made that whole thing up. Every word.”

Chapter 97. Kate

AS ROTHSTEIN BANGS his gavel like a jockey flogging a fading horse on the home stretch, Tom writes Lindgren on a piece of paper. He slides it to me before I get out of my chair. I’m already there.

“Ms. Robinson, we’re all hearing this for the first time. To say the least, we’re a bit overwhelmed. And confused. Could you tell us again why you decided to come forward now?”

“Jesus,” says Nikki, then pauses as if to let this sink in. “He came to me in a dream and told me it was my duty to tell what happened.”

“Does Jesus often come to you in dreams, Nikki?” I ask, provoking enough derisive laughter to have Rothstein pound his desk some more.

“That was the first time.”

“Ahh. But why wait this long to come forward? And why do it now?”

“I was afraid. I didn’t want to hurt my cousin. But Jesus said I should say what I knew.”

“After the rape, did you go to the hospital?”

“No.”

“Really? Did you see a doctor anywhere?”

“No.”

“You weren’t examined by anyone?”

Robinson shakes her head, and I say, “I didn’t hear your response, Ms. Robinson.”

“No, I was not examined by a doctor.”

“Weren’t you worried about contracting a sexually transmitted disease or getting pregnant?” I ask.

“I was on the Patch.”

“But you weren’t worried about an STD?”

“Not really.”

“So you didn’t tell anyone at all about the incident at the time. No one. There is no police record, no medical record, and you finished cleaning the house after the rape. So there’s not a single bit of evidence, even circumstantial evidence, to support or confirm your story.”

“Objection,” cries Howard.

“What’s your question, Counselor?” asks Judge Rothstein.

“When you decided to come forward two days ago-after your visit from Jesus-who’d you talk to first?”

“I called the East Hampton Police Department.”

“And who exactly did you talk to?”

“Officer Lindgren.”

I am thinking on my feet now, trying to, anyway. “Ms. Robinson, have you been arrested lately? Say, in the last few months?”

“Yes, ma’am. For possession.”

“Possession of drugs?”

“Yes.”

“And who arrested you?”

Nikki Robinson looks left and right, anywhere but at me, but there’s no getting around this. “Officer Lindgren,” she says.

Loud, angry voices erupt from all sides, and Judge Rothstein has no choice but to finally go through with his threat. He clears the courtroom.

Chapter 98. Loco

LITTLE NIKKI PUTS on quite a show up on the witness stand. Who would have thought the slut had it in her? But after clever-girl Costello gets her to drop Lindgren’s name and her arrest, all hell breaks loose, and Rothstein clears the courtroom and calls it a day.

Everyone spills out into the hot courtyard, and if not for two hundred cops, there would have been a riot then and there. The atmosphere is so messed up and ugly, Rothstein suspends proceedings for an additional twenty-four hours.

So it’s not until Thursday morning that we all file back into the courtroom. Rothstein must think we’re all basically children, because he gives us a stern lecture on the importance of orderly courts in a free society. What a crock, and most of us know it.

Then he turns to Ms. Costello, who calls Marie Scott to the stand. This should be good. Scott’s a big witness for Dante, his beloved grandma.

One look at Scott, I see she’s one of those God-fearing, righteous women you always watch on the TV news after some tragedy happens. You know the type I mean, who somehow keep their shit together no matter what unspeakable thing has just happened.

She’s no spring chicken but her back is straight as a plank. And the slow way she walks up to be sworn in, you’d think she’s here to receive a special award from George Bush.

“What’s your relationship to the defendant, Ms. Scott?” asks Costello.

“I’m proud to say the young man is my grandson,” says Scott, hurling her big voice into the room.

“How long has Dante lived with you?”

“Five years. Ever since Dante’s mother began serving her sentence upstate. Dante’s father had already passed by then.”

“So you’ve raised Dante since then?”

“That’s right, and until these false charges, he’s never gotten into a bit of trouble. Not once.”

The question that always comes into my head when I see a woman like Marie is why, if her shit’s so damn tight, did her kids all turn out so bad? Even if she did a great job with Dante, how come her daughter’s in jail? That holier-than-thou attitude must drive them the other way.

“Where did he live in your place?” asks Costello.

“It’s just the two of us. So he had his own bedroom.”

“Could you describe it for us, Marie?”

“Nothing fancy. He had a bed that was way too small for him, but a good-sized desk and bookshelves on the walls. We couldn’t afford a computer, but he used one at school.”

“What was on those bookshelves?” asks Costello.

“On one wall were the things any high-schooler would have-books, CDs. The other shelf held his basketball stuff. He called it his Dream Wall because that space was dedicated to his dream of playing in the NBA. Of course, he never calls it that, he calls it ‘the League.’”

This is all highly fascinating, but where we going, Grandma?

“What did that wall consist of, Marie?”

“There were five shelves. On the outside went his trophies from the all-star games and the summer camps and being named Suffolk County High School Player of the Year two years in a row.”

“And how about on the inside?”

“That was where he kept his basketball caps. He had all thirty, one for every team in the League. Because that’s the moment he’s living for, when they call out Dante Halleyville in that auditorium in New York City and he walks to the stage and puts one of those caps on.”

“Did he ever wear those hats outside of the house, Marie?” asks Costello.

“Never!” says Scott so loudly that the whole courtroom feels the fury in it, and I don’t need to look at Officer Lindgren to know he’s sweating bullets now.