Waiting To Be Heard - A Memoir Part 44

Kokomani's testimony was a triumph for us. The prosecution looked inept for putting him on the stand.

My confidence grew as each of Mignini's witnesses delivered testimony full of holes and questionable content. The claims made by his super witnesses strained credulity.

I dreaded Patrick Lumumba's testimony for his civil trial. It still gnawed at me that I'd never apologized to him. I was sure the man I'd wrongly named would rail against me. He had told the media that he would never forgive me, he'd lied about firing me, and he had called me "a lion," "a liar," and "a racist." His lawyer, Carlo Pacelli, had called me "Luciferina" and said I had "an angel's face with a demon's soul."

To my enormous surprise, instead of trashing me, Patrick's testimony was full of sadness. He was nine or ten when his politician father was kidnapped, and he never saw him again. "We can't prove he's dead, we can't prove if my father is alive." When Patrick was in jail, he was terrified that history would repeat itself. "I had this feeling that I wasn't going to be able to hold my son again ... To this day, during the night, I have to go check to see if my son is still there."

He described how difficult it was to reopen his pub after the police had shut it down for three months-and how it ultimately failed.

He was also far more forgiving than I'd expected. I wasn't the best waitress, but I was a fine person, he said.

I can only guess why Patrick had decided to tone down his anti-Amanda commentary. Either he felt he had to be honest under oath or his lawyer had advised him to act meek and likable-and let the venom be rained down by Pacelli himself. Whatever the reason, Patrick told the court, "We always had a good relationship."

Then it was my turn.

At first my lawyers said letting me testify was a risk. I could be provoked. They worried the prosecution would push me to unwittingly say something incriminating. I'd fallen for Mignini's word-twisting when he interrogated me in December of 2007. I'd dissolved into tears at my pretrial.

But I was adamant. "I'm the only one who knows what I went through during the interrogation," I told Luciano and Carlo. "Having you defend me isn't the same as defending myself. I need to show the court what kind of person I am."

I felt it was crucial that I testify. I wanted to talk about my relationship with Meredith. I needed to explain my behavior in the wake of her murder.

Raffaele didn't testify. That may have been the right choice for him. Most of the media attention had landed on me-Raffaele was seen as someone who had gone along with his evil girlfriend.

In testifying, I wanted to make a point: You guys make me sound like I was crazy that I found three droplets of blood in the bathroom sink and didn't call the police immediately. But I was a twenty-year-old who handled the situation the same way a lot of inexperienced people would have. It's easy to look back and criticize my response, but when I went home that day I didn't know there had been a break-in or a murder. To me, it was a regular day. Yes. The door was open. But I'd known since I moved in that the lock was broken. Maybe it was a cause for concern, but I just figured one of my roommates was taking out the trash or had run to the corner store. I was focused on getting ready for our romantic weekend in Gubbio. My thoughts were mundane. I'll grab a shower. I'll pack. I'll get back to Raffaele's, and we'll go.

I knew I wasn't going to convince Mignini that I was innocent. He was too invested in bringing me down to be open to changing his mind. That was okay. I was addressing the people who hadn't yet taken sides.

My lawyers' advice was straightforward: "Remain calm. We'll ask the questions. No one will rush you. It's okay to say, 'I don't know.' "

I didn't want to say, "I don't know," but in the two years since the interrogation, my memory of it had grown hazy. I didn't want to hang on to that night. I'd tried to let it go. I wondered if people would understand how traumatizing it was.

During the weeks leading up to my testimony, I was nervous. What sort of questions would the prosecution ask? Would I be emotionally up to speaking?

But when anyone asked me what I was thinking about my court dates-June 12 and 13-I'd take a deep breath and say, "I'm ready, I'm ready. It just needs to happen."

I knew Mignini liked to intimidate people. I gave myself a pep talk. He scared and surprised you the first and second times. But three times? I don't think so!

As the date got closer, I slept little and talked less. Journalists reported that I was pale and had dark circles under my eyes.

True. I was wearing my anxiety on my face. The day before I had to testify, a nasty cold sore appeared on my lip. My mantra for myself ran through my mind. You are not afraid. You are not afraid of Mignini. This is your chance.

When I saw the prosecutor in court, Mignini seemed like a blowhard in a silly robe. I wished I had felt that way when he questioned me before.

The first person to question me was Carlo Pacelli, Patrick's lawyer. Lawyers technically aren't allowed to add their own commentary at this point, only to ask questions. But he made his opinions known through pointed questions like "Did you or did you not accuse Patrick Lumumba of a murder he didn't commit?" and "Didn't the police officers treat you well during your interrogation?"

The lawyer looked disgusted with me. I sat as straight as I could in my chair and pushed my shoulders back-my I-will-not-be-bullied stance.

Within a few minutes I realized that the interpreter hired to translate my English into Italian-the same useless woman I was a.s.signed earlier in the trial-wasn't saying precisely what I was saying.

I've finally gotten a chance to speak! If she gets it wrong, I'll lose my chance forever.

"Your Honor, I'd like to speak in Italian," I said politely. I didn't think about whether it would work or whether it was a good idea. All I could think was, I have been waiting my turn for nearly two years. This is it!

At least prison life had been good for my language skills.

I was relieved to be able to speak directly to the jury. The hard part wasn't the Italian; it was being an active listener for hours at a time, making sure I heard the questions correctly and that my questioners didn't push me around.

Pacelli tried to insinuate that I'd come up with Patrick's name on my own in my interrogation. "No," I said. "They put my cell phone in front of me, and said, 'Look, look at the messages. You were going to meet someone.' And when I denied it they called me a 'stupid liar.' From then on I was so scared. They were treating me badly, and I didn't know why.

"It was because the police misunderstood the words 'see you later.' In English, it's not taken literally. It's just another way of saying 'good-bye.' But the police kept asking why I'd made an appointment to meet Patrick. 'Are you covering for Patrick?' they demanded. 'Who's Patrick?' "

We went over how I found the room for rent in the villa, my relationship with Meredith, my history with alcohol and marijuana, and what happened on November 2. The prosecution and the civil parties were confrontational. I was able to respond. It took two exhausting days, and there were a few questions I couldn't answer.

I'd purposely tried to forget the emotional pain of the slap to my head. Other memories had become muddled by time. For instance, I remembered calling my mom only once after Meredith's body was found, but cell phone records indicated that I'd made three calls while Raffaele and I were standing in my driveway.

During my testimony, I was clear. I never stumbled or stalled. I just said, This is what happened. This is what I went through.

I relaxed a little when it was Luciano's turn to question me.

"During the interrogation, there were all these people around me," I said. "In front and behind me, yelling, threatening, and then there was a policewoman behind me who did this."

I slapped my own head to demonstrate.

"One time, two times?" Luciano asked.

"Two times," I said. "The first time I did this."

I dropped my head down as if I'd been struck and opened my mouth wide in surprise.

"Then I turned around toward her and she gave me another."

"So you said what you said, and then you had a crisis of weeping. Then they brought you tea, some coffee, some pastries? When did this happen? If you can be precise," Luciano asked.

"They brought me things only after I made declarations"-depositions-"that Patrick had raped and murdered Meredith, and I had been at the house covering my ears.

"I was there, they were yelling at me, and I only wanted to leave, because I was thinking about my mom, who was arriving soon, and so I said, 'Look, can I please have my phone,' because I wanted to call my mom. They told me no, and then there was this chaos. They yelled at me. They threatened me. It was only after I made declarations that they said, 'No, no, no. Don't worry. We'll protect you. Come on.' That's what happened.

"Before they asked me to make other declarations-I can't say what time it was-but at a certain point I asked, 'Shouldn't I have a lawyer or not?' because I didn't honestly know, because I had seen shows on television that usually when you do these things you have a lawyer, but okay, so should I have one? And at least one of them told me it would be worse for me, because it showed that I didn't want to collaborate with the police. So I said no."

Then it was Mignini's turn. "Why did you say, 'Patrick's name was suggested to me, I was beaten, I was put under pressure?' "

As soon as I started to answer, Mignini interrupted with another question. He'd done the same thing to me during my interrogation at the prison. This time, I wasn't going to let it fl.u.s.ter me. I was going to answer one question at a time. Showing my irritation, I said, "Can I go on?"

I described my November 5 interrogation again. "As the police shouted at me, I squeezed my brain, thinking, 'What have I forgotten? What have I forgotten?' The police were saying, 'Come on, come on, come on. Do you remember? Do you remember? Do you remember?' And then boom on my head." I imitated a slap. "'Remember!' the policewoman shouted. And then boom again. 'Do you remember?' "

When Mignini told me I still hadn't proved that the police had suggested Patrick's name, my lawyers jumped up. The exchange was so heated that Judge Ma.s.sei asked if I wanted to stop.