Page 17 of The Writer

“ALL RISE,” THE BAILIFF says in a booming voice. “Court is now in session. The Honorable Judge Ronald Berman presiding.”

Freshly shaved and in his best suit, Declan stands up from his seat in the second row behind the prosecution bench, Cordova beside him. After reading Denise Morrow her rights and formally charging her Friday night, they’d spent the weekend in Saffi’s conference room locking down their case. And it is tight. The courtroom is packed, standing room only. Sketch artists are busy scribbling; the hall just beyond the double doors is lined with reporters. Both theTimesand thePostran stories above the fold in their Sunday editions yesterday.

Judge Berman steps from a side door and settles behind the bench. “You may be seated.”

The bailiff says, “Case number 1930502, Your Honor,State of New York versus Denise Morrow.”

Saffi stands again. “Carmen Saffi for the prosecution, Your Honor.”

From the table on the far right, Geller Hoffman rises, the shine of his suit catching the overhead lights. “Geller Hoffman for the defense, Your Honor.”

Denise Morrow is sitting at the table beside Hoffman in an orange prison-issue jumpsuit. No makeup. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail, which accentuates her features. She’s not wearing her glasses, and Declan can’t help but wonder if she really needs them. They don’t allow contacts in jail, but she’s not squinting. Maybe she’s one of those people who wear glasses like they’re some fashion accessory.

Judge Berman scans a sheet of paper, frowns, and looks at Hoffman. “Counselor, your client has been charged with murder in the first degree of her husband, one David Morrow of two eleven Central Park West. How does she plead?”

“Not guilty, Your Honor.”

This brings on a rumble from the courtroom, quickly silenced by a cold look from the judge. Berman studies Denise Morrow for a moment, then scribbles on the paper. “So noted.” He turns to Saffi. “Does the prosecution wish to be heard on the issue of bail?”

“Yes, Judge,” Saffi says. “The State asks that the defendant be held without bail pending the trial. Mrs. Morrow was found hovering over the deceased with the murder weapon close athand, demonstrating zero remorse. Blood on her clothing and the murder weapon are a match to the victim.”

Hoffman rolls his eyes. “My client tried to revive her husband, Your Honor. As anyone would.”

Saffi adds, “Her statement, which was given to police in the presence of myself and her attorney, contradicts that, Your Honor. Furthermore, the defendant prevented authorities from entering her apartment. She fired shots and held them off with a pistol for more than forty minutes. She also staged the scene in an attempt to frame this as a break-in.”

“Thiswasa break-in,” Hoffman snaps. “My client arrived home to find her husband dead and someone in her apartment. The gunplay was purely defensive. The police have homed in on Mrs. Morrow with complete tunnel vision. They haven’t bothered to look for other suspects.”

“Building security cameras placeonlyDenise Morrow and her husband in that apartment. No strangers. There are no other suspects because nobody else was there. She did this, Your Honor.”

“My client had no reason to want her husband dead. They were deeply in love. She gains nothing financially. Their marriage was sound. To claim she murdered her husband is absurd.”

Judge Berman asks Saffi, “What’s your motive, Counselor?”

“Their marriage was hardlysound, Your Honor. We have reason to believe David Morrow was having an extramarital affair.”

Again, the courtroom erupts with chatter. Phones out, the handful of reporters who made it in quickly type out messages, each hoping to scoop the others.

Judge Berman raises his voice: “As a rule, I prefer not to have anyone arrested for contempt before ten a.m., but I’m willing to make an exception if you people can’t keep it down.” When the room is quiet again, he nods at Saffi. “Continue.”

She retrieves a photograph from her briefcase and holds it up. “We found condoms in David Morrow’s pocket, Your Honor.”

Hoffman waves that off with a soft laugh. “Condoms are hardly motive for murder. If they were, half the boys in high school would be on a bus to the clink every prom night.”

Unperturbed, Saffi produces three copies of a stapled document. She hands one to Hoffman and explains the contents as she walks another copy to the judge. “This is an interview Denise Morrow did withPeoplemagazine six years ago where she candidly discusses suffering an ectopic pregnancy.” She goes on to explain. “The fertilized egg implanted in her fallopian tube and wasn’t discovered until the tube ruptured—a life-threatening condition that required immediate surgery. During that surgery, the bleeding became so severe that an emergency hysterectomy had to be performed. This means, Your Honor, that Mrs. Morrow is unable to get pregnant.” Saffi lets that sink in as she returns to the prosecution table. She continues, raising her voice slightly, “What reason could her husband possibly have had for carrying condoms? Nothing other than an extramarital affair. Clearly, Mrs. Morrow learned of his affair and in a fit of rage killed him, then tried to cover up her actions with some half-baked story.”

For the first time, Hoffman appears shaken, but he’s not willing to give up. “Mrs. Morrow has no criminal record, no history of violence, and is not a flight risk.”

Carmen Saffi goes in for the kill. “Mrs. Morrow is a well-known author with substantial resources. She writes true crime—she knows how to set a crime scene, as evidenced by her attempt here. Two of her books revolved around identity theft, and another chronicled how a man named Frank Abagnale managed to elude authorities for decades. She has the means and know-how to vanish. Mrs. Morrow can’t be allowed to walk out of this courtroom. We will never see her again.”

Judge Berman takes another look at Denise Morrow, who has remained silent through all this. There’s a crack in her otherwise stoic demeanor, but she’s doing her damnedest to hold it together. Apparently Hoffman hasn’t told her that at moments like this, she’s supposed to cry. Declan’s pretty sure she’ll figure it out in time for trial. She seems like a quick study.

The judge turns to his computer, then turns back to Saffi. “Grand jury meets this Wednesday. Is this case on their agenda?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

He gives a soft nod. “I’m going to withhold bail pending that outcome. We’ll reconvene on Thursday; I want to see if they’re willing to indict before I consider bail.” He gazes at Morrow, then reaches for his gavel and brings it down with a hardthwack.

THEN

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