Page 19 of Courtroom Drama
As Ken Frankel passes the jury box, I take him in, observing the pockmarks along his cheeks and the wide-set frame of his bulbous nose, porous and red like a strawberry. The loose skin of his eyelids hangs dangerously close to blocking his eyesight. Despite their difference in age, it’s evident he and Margot share the same oval face shape and full lips.
How could he take the stand for the prosecution? He hasn’t even spoken yet, but I feel the betrayal of it burn through me as I look between him and his daughter.
In D.A. Stern’s initial questioning, we learn Ken Frankel is still a laborer in the quarry where he has worked for more than half his life. He’s likely in his early to mid-seventies, given Margot is nearing fifty herself. For a moment, I feel for him, taking in the details of four decades of physical labor—the curve of his spine and round of his shoulders, the wornness of his skin, the fatigue in his eyes that appears as constant as any other feature.
After establishing basic details about Ken Frankel and his relationship with Margot, D.A. Stern asks, “Mr. Frankel, why are you here today?”
I edge an inch forward in my seat.
He seems to hold his breath as he stares at his daughter. “I’m here to answer any questions about Margot,” he says.
I try to read his face, his tone, to see if he offers anything like malice or arrogance. I’ve learned from my profession that people can only just barely hide strong feelings behind facades of harmony. And only for so long. But Ken Frankel remains outwardly calm.
D.A. Stern asks what Margot was like as a kid, and Ken Frankel’s response is what I would expect. “...Audacious, center of attention, outgoing...”
“What was Margot’s home life like?” D.A. Stern asks. “Would you consider it normal?”
What is “normal” exactly? Durrant Hammerstead agrees, objecting and citing the question as ambiguous. Judge Gillespy ponders a moment and ultimately allows it, though tentatively.
Ken Frankel smirks. “It was fairly normal, though not without some mess. Like any family.”
“Could you describe what you mean by ‘mess’?” D.A. Stern urges.
Ken Frankel leans into the microphone. “Margot was never great at following rules. She was a handful. And there were a few situations when Margot was young between her mother and me. Margot’s mother had a penchant for throwing things when we would argue.”
I lean farther forward, the toe of my black ballet flat pressed flush against the jury box. I glance over at Durrant Hammerstead at the defense table, who looks on the verge of bursting from his chair with another objection.
Beside me Damon shifts, crossing his right ankle over his left thigh, his bent knee hovering millimeters from my lap. Part of me wants to shove it back toward him. Another troublesome part urges me to rest my hand across it. I clear my throat, and he releases his leg, realizing he unintentionally crowded my space. He’s like a giant in a dollhouse bumping into everything.
Ken Frankel continues, unprompted. “She threw vases that would shatter. Futile items such as laundry or throw pillows. Books. Anything in reach, really. The hardcover ofWar and Peacewas particularly perilous.”
I look on as D.A. Stern makes his point from this line of questioning. “So, you’re saying Margot grew up with a violent mother?”
Ken Frankel hedges his answer, which seems more like a yes than a no, and fingers of discomfort grab at my neck. Ken Frankel has just pointed to a history of Margot being connected, even secondarily, to violent behavior. Like it’s somehow in her DNA or embedded itself into her through exposure. If such a correlation were accurate, I’d be a philandering narcissist. Stomach acid churns in my gut.
11.
Prior Bad Acts (n., phrase)
when a witness provides information about the defendant’s past behavior or actions, which may be used to establish the defendant’s character
who we are at sixteen
D.A. Stern moves on, having adequately cemented his point that Margot’s mother was violent at worst, aggressive when heated at best. “When did you last speak to your daughter, Mr. Frankel?”
“It’s been years. She cut us out of her life completely. It devastated her mother. But our relationship with her was never the same after her disappearance when she was sixteen.”
Disappearance?
I have whiplash from all the casual bombshells Ken Frankel is dropping.
I vaguely remember Margot discussing on the show—with Joe, in fact—how she had a “lively” run the last few years of her time in Minnesota before moving to L.A. But nothing related to a disappearance.
I instinctively look to Margot, as many in the courtroom do. She whispers busily into Durrant Hammerstead’s ear.
Hold it in,I think, aiming the thought in her direction.
Her own father is incriminating her on the stand when her life is on the line. My father has disappointed me in significant ways, yes, but this... this is a whole different level.
