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Henti Weinberg pushed herself to her feet to start her cross-examination of Gilad, who looked calm and quite comfortable in the witness box. Tracy crossed her fingers and prayed that the advocate would find some way to tear holes in Gilad’s smooth testimony.
‘Mr Zaldain. You and the deceased share the same surname. Are you related?’ Advocate Weinberg asked.
Gilad shrugged. ‘She was married to my father. For a couple of months.’
‘She was your step-mother?’
‘Yeah, I suppose so.’
‘It is correct that you and the deceased were of an age?’
‘Yeah. She was in my class at high school – but we were never friends. She wasn’t my type at all.’
‘How did you feel when your father married her and she became your step-mother?’
‘Well, it was a bit embarrassing, but I didn’t really mind. I mean, my dad was entitled to one last shot at happiness after taking care of my mom for so long. Mom had had cancer and it hadn’t been easy for Dad.’
If Tracy hadn’t known better, she’d have swallowed Gilad’s ‘good son’ routine hook, line and sinker. But her mother had told her how Gilad had just about bitten her head off when she’d congratulated him on his father’s nuptials. According to Maxine, Gilad had turned blood-red and threatened to have his father declared incompetent and the marriage annulled as soon as the happy couple returned to South Africa from their prolonged honeymoon in America. Except Cecil Zaldain had never made it home.
‘You are an extremely understanding and generous son,’ Advocate Weinberg said, her tone dripping sarcasm.
‘Objection!’ the prosecutor said.
‘To what?’ Advocate Weinberg asked, her eyes wide and innocent.
Tracy giggled and a thrill of anticipation rippled up her spine.
‘When did you find out that Tiffany was pregnant with your little brother or sister?’ the advocate asked.
‘After my dad passed away and I went to America to bring his body back to South Africa so he could be buried next to my mother. Tiffany said my dad had been so excited about having another child. But now he never will.’ Gilad dug a white handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his eyes.
‘Would you like to take a few minutes, Mr Zaldain?’ the judge asked.
‘No, My Lord, I’m fine. Just sad. Dad was so happy, but then he had a massive heart attack and that was it.’
‘How did you feel about the fact that the deceased was pregnant – and that you were going to be a big brother for the first time?’ Henti Weinberg asked.
‘I wish you wouldn’t refer to her as the deceased,’ Gilad sniffed. ‘Her name was Tiffany. I was excited. I told you. I don’t have any siblings so I was really pleased about it. It was like a part of my dad would continue to live on.’
‘Even though your new sibling would be entitled to half of your father’s considerable estate?’
‘What? How... I didn’t know about that.’
‘Are you sure? Is it your testimony that your father didn’t discuss any proposed changes to his will before he and Tiffany were married?’
‘Yes. No. I mean I didn’t know anything about my dad’s will.’
The advocate paused. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘My Lord, please bear with me for just a moment. My co-counsel received an affidavit this morning that I’d like to have admitted into evidence. It’s from the law firm Jacobs, Jafta and Khumalo. Ah yes, here it is.’
Tracy could barely contain herself. Moira had come through again!
‘Objection, I haven’t seen this affidavit, and I really don’t see the relevance of this line of questioning,’ the prosecutor said.
‘My apologies. I have no objection if my learned friend would like a few minutes to peruse the affidavit and the accompanying documents now.’
Advocate Weinberg sat down and an orderly took some papers across to the prosecutor. He paged through them, frowned, and nodded that he was satisfied.
‘Right, Mr Zaldain. Let’s continue. Is it correct that Jacobs, Jafta and Khumalo were your father’s attorneys?’
‘I think so.’ Gilad looked sullen.
‘Is Jacobs, Jafta and Khumalo the executor of your late father’s estate?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Would it therefore be correct to say that you have had some direct dealings with that legal firm about the winding-up of your late father’s estate?’
‘Yeah.’
‘And is it correct that you have met Mr Jacobs, the firm’s senior partner, more than once?’
‘I suppose so. He and Dad were golfing buddies and I’d sometimes see him at the country club.’
‘I put it to you that you also met him in a business capacity. You met with him several times both before and after your father’s passing – is that correct?’
‘Well yeah, now you mention it.’
‘Now, according to this affidavit signed by Mr Jacobs, you were present when your father instructed Mr Jacobs to draw up an antenuptial contract prior to his marriage to the deceased. Do you agree?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘Are you aware of the contents of the antenuptial contact?’
‘Not really.’
‘I’ll remind you. The antenuptial contract stated that Miss Tiffany Horwitz would not be entitled to inherit or claim any part of the Zaldain estate should the marriage not last for at least five years. Thereafter, Miss Horwitz could expect to receive five percent of the estate, increasing by another ten percent every five years thereafter. Do you remember that?’
‘Well, yeah, if you say so. I just remember having had a real hard time convincing my dad to have one drawn up. But eventually he agreed and so did Mr Jacobs. I was concerned that Tiffany might have been taking my dad for a ride. He wouldn’t be the first older guy to be ripped off by a much younger woman.’
‘Quite so. You obviously cared deeply for your father’s welfare.’
‘Yes. We were really close,’ Gilad wiped his eyes again.
Henti ignored this show of emotion and continued without missing a beat. ‘Now, according to this affidavit, at the same meeting—the one where the antenuptial contract was discussed—your father also instructed Mr Jacobs to update his will. Is that correct?’
‘I can’t remember. He might have. I just know that Dad had to make a new will after my mom’s passing. He might have done it then.’
‘He did. And according to Mr Jacobs’s affidavit, you objected strongly to a clause your father wanted to insert into his new will. Can you tell the court what that clause was?’
‘I can’t remember. I really don’t remember objecting to anything.’
‘Really? According to Mr Jacobs’s affidavit, Mr Zaldain wanted Mr Jacobs to include a clause that the Zaldain estate was to be shared equally by any and all of his direct legitimate offspring. Do you remember that clause now?’
‘No. I don’t know anything about that.’
‘Are you saying that Mr Jacobs is lying?’
‘Well no. Not exactly. Look, I remember teasing my dad that I hoped he didn’t have any illegitimate kids who would pop out of the woodwork after he died and we all laughed about it.’
‘So you were not concerned about your father having a baby with his new young wife? And that baby, had it lived, would have shared equally in your father’s estate.’
‘Look, Dad was old! I didn’t think he was going to be making any babies!’
‘But you do remember the addition of the clause to the will!’
‘Well – yeah, I suppose so.’
‘I put it to you that when the deceased told you she was pregnant and you realised that your father had indeed “made a baby”—and that baby would be entitled to half of your inheritance—you were shocked and upset.’
‘Of course I was upset. My father had just died. I didn’t give my inheritance a second thought.’
Advocate Weinberg raised her eyebrows and just stared at him. Gilad stared back – and was the first to break off the silent battle.
Judge Goliath announced that it was time for the lunch adjournment. Tracy didn’t think she’d be able to eat a bite.
***
After the lunch break, Gilad returned to the witness box looking for all the world like a bewildered ox waiting to have his throat slit.
Advocate Weinberg smiled at him. ‘Right, Mr Zaldain, let’s talk about the party and the events thereafter.’
‘I’ve already told the court everything I know, everything I saw.’
‘Of course, but let’s go through it all again. Now, according to evidence we’ve heard to date, you were not quite yourself at the party, is that correct?’
‘Yes. As I said, I was pretty drunk.’
‘Was that the first time you’d fallen off the wagon?’ Advocate Weinberg asked.
‘What?’
‘Mr Zaldain, is it not correct that you are a recovering drug addict and alcoholic?’
‘Well, yes. But I was drunk at the party. I couldn’t help it. There was so much booze.’
‘I’ll repeat the question. Was that the first time you’d had too much to drink since you completed your rehabilitation at Houghton House in – when was it?’ Henti scrabbled through some papers and looked up at Gilad again. ‘Right, it says here that you completed your rehabilitation at Houghton House in March 2015.’
‘Yeah, so what?’
‘And in March 2016, did you receive a 12-month sobriety chip from Alcoholics Anonymous?’
‘Well, yeah...’
‘But the party was in September 2015. Could you explain to the court how you managed to get a 12-month sobriety chip if you’d been drunk at the party only six months before?’
Gilad glared at her. ‘Maybe I lied,’ he muttered.
‘You lied? To AA?’
‘Yeah. I lied. So what?’
‘You lied. Okay. Let’s move on. I put it to you that you must have had one pounding hangover when you woke up on the morning after the party.’
‘Ye-es.’ Gilad was clearly as confused as Tracy about the direction the questioning was taking.
‘I should imagine that after being sober for so long, and just having fallen really hard off the wagon, that it must have been a pretty memorable hangover. Would you agree?
‘Yeah. Yeah it was. Epic!’
‘Could you explain to the court why then, in your evidence-in-chief, you did not refer to this pounding hangover at all?’
‘I did. I said I was—you know—out of it. Because of the hangover.’
‘Actually, all you said was that you were a bit “groggy” because you had just woken up. You did not mention a hangover, or being drunk, at all.’
‘Yeah well. Groggy—hangover—whatever. It’s the same thing! And I was drunk at the party. Lots of people saw that I was drunk,’ Gilad said.
‘Hmmm. Right. And since the party—after you had slept over at the Silverman house—and you’d got over your groggy hangover, have you stayed sober?’
‘Yeah. What happened to Tiffany really shook me up – like I said. But I haven’t touched another drink again. It’s been really hard but I’m strong.’
‘You must be. Not many recovering alcoholics who’d spent months and months in rehabilitation, and fallen so far off the wagon at a party that he was unable to make his way home, even in provided transport, would be able to immediately regain their sobriety without any kind of intervention.’
The prosecutor rose. ‘Objection. My learned friend is testifying and badgering the witness. My Lord, I fail to see what the witness’s drinking habits have to do with this case.’
‘Sustained. Ms Weinstein, please confine your questions to the case at hand.’
‘Certainly My Lord. However, I believe the purpose of this line of questioning will soon become apparent.’
‘Well, get on with it then.’
‘Yes, My Lord. Mr Zaldain, I put it to you that you were not drunk at all. I put it to you that your drunken demeanour at the party was the result of your medical condition.’
‘What medical condition? I don’t have a medical condition.’
‘Objection!’ the prosecutor growled.
‘Over-ruled. I’m curious – what medical condition?’ asked the judge.
Advocate Weinberg grinned. ‘Mr Zaldain, isn’t it correct that you suffer from diabetes mellitus?’
‘What?’
‘Are you a diabetic?’
‘No! I’m not diabetic.’
‘Really? Mr Zaldain, isn’t it correct that you give yourself insulin injections several times a day?’
‘I just have a slight sugar problem. Insulin makes me feel better.’
‘Can you tell the court what happens if you take too much insulin – or if you take insulin on an empty stomach.’
‘I go hypo,’ he said.
‘Please explain what that means.’
‘A hypo means your blood sugar drops too low,’ Gilad said.
‘And what are the symptoms of a hypoglycaemic episode? Oh wait, I’ll read you a description I found on a medical website and you can tell me if you agree. “Diabetes is a medical condition that may make someone appear drunk. With diabetes, low blood sugar can make a person slur his or her speech, walk oddly or seem incoherent. In addition, when the diabetic’s ketones rise to unsafe levels, the patient’s breath can smell like alcohol.” Do you agree with that explanation?’
‘I suppose. I’m not a doctor.’
‘So I put it to you that based on this definition of hypoglycaemia and your medical condition, you were not drunk at the party at all, but suffering from low blood sugar.’
‘I told you – I was drunk!’ Gilad shouted.
Advocate Weinberg ignored his outburst and continued: ‘So you said. Do you always carry insulin with you?’
‘What? Sometimes. Not always.’
‘When do you take insulin injections?’
‘I’m supposed to take insulin before I eat. Sometimes afterwards too, if I’ve had a big meal or eaten too much sweet stuff.’
‘Would it be fair to suggest that if you know you’re going out for a meal, or to a party where there will be a lot of food and cake and so on, that you would take your insulin with you?’
‘Yeah, I suppose.’
‘Did you take insulin with you to the party at Yair Silverman’s house.’
‘I don’t remember.’
‘Really? You can’t remember if you took your insulin with you to a party where you knew you’d be eating?’ Advocate Weinberg asked in mock disbelief.
The prosecutor rose: ‘Objection. Badgering the witness.’
‘Overruled,’ said the judge.
Advocate Weinberg nodded and continued to grill Gilad, who was now using his handkerchief to mop his forehead.
‘Let’s return to your knowledge and experience of hypoglycaemia. What do you do when you feel yourself becoming hypoglycaemic? Do you require any special medication to recover?’
‘I told you, I was drunk at the party, I wasn’t hypo.’
‘Right. But let’s put the party aside for now. I’d like you to tell the court what you would do if you were to go hypo right now. What would you need to make you better?’
‘I usually just drink a soft drink like a Coke. And I’d have some chocolate, or cake.’
‘That’s all? For such a serious condition? Going hypo can be serious, isn’t that correct?’
‘Yes. I suppose.’
‘What would happen if you couldn’t have something sweet like chocolate or a Coke? Do you know?’
‘Of course! The doctor said I could go into a coma. That’s why I always carry glucose sweets with me.’
‘And how long does it take for the sweets or soft drink to work?’
‘A couple of minutes, sometimes a little longer.’
‘How long did it take for you to get over your hypo after you’d gone to lie down in the small lounge at the Silverman house after the party?’
‘Not... it wasn’t a hypo. I told you. I was drunk!’
‘Yes, indeed. Now just so that I understand correctly. If a diabetic—or a person with a sugar problem—or someone suffering from very low blood sugar, say because of injecting too much insulin... if that person wasn’t treated promptly, he or she could fall into a coma and die? Is that that why you carry sweets with you – just in case?’ Advocate Weinberg asked, a picture of wide-eyed innocence.
‘Objection!’ the prosecutor said. ‘The witness is not a medical doctor or an expert witness on the subject of diabetes.’
‘On the contrary, as a diabetic himself—or someone with a sugar problem—I’d say he is well qualified to talk about the effect of diabetes – and insulin.’
Judge Goliath agreed.
‘Yes, I suppose one could die from going hypo. But I’ve never heard of anyone dying from a hypo.’
‘Are you sure? I put it to you that having been injected with a large quantity of insulin, a hypoglycaemic episode is exactly what killed Tiffany Zaldain.’
The court was now so quiet, you could have heard a pin drop. But Advocate Weinberg wasn’t finished yet.
‘Mr Zaldain, I put it to you that you were not drunk at the party. You used your medical condition as an excuse to enable you to sleep over at the Silverman house.’
‘That’s crap!’ Gilad exploded.
‘I put it to you that once you had gone into the small lounge to “sleep off your supposedly drunken state”, you had some glucose and quickly recovered.’
‘No! Why would I do that?’
‘I’m asking the questions, Mr Zaldain. I put it to you that you did that so that you could wait for an opportunity to deal with your step-mother, whose baby was about to claim half your inheritance.’
‘No! You’re crazy!’
‘I put it to you that it was you who injected Tiffany Horwitz Zaldain with a lethal dose of your insulin after you found her passed out in the entrance hall.’
‘No! You’re crazy! It was Yair. Everyone knows that. They were fighting. He’d told her to fuck off – to leave the house. He wanted to get rid of her. I heard him!’
Advocate Weinberg ignored him. ‘You had the means – you were the only person in the house that night with access to insulin. And you had the opportunity – you found her lying on the floor long before anyone else in the house was up and about.’
‘But I raised the alarm! I called Yair. He injected her with insulin.’
‘I put it to you that you didn’t raise the alarm for some hours after you had injected Tiffany. Had you done so earlier, the doctors might have been able to save her.’
‘You are talking nonsense. Why would I do that?’
‘I would have thought your motive was perfectly clear.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You knew about your father’s will. You knew that if Tiffany had a baby, the baby would take half of your inheritance. And that wasn’t fair, was it? I put it to you that you when you saw Tiffany lying in the entrance hall, you remembered Brenda Silverman – and how she had died in that very same house. So you decided to inject Tiffany with your insulin, getting rid of both her and her baby – and so keep your father’s estate all for yourself.’
‘No! That’s not true.’
‘But there’s one thing you didn’t know.’
‘What?’
‘It was all for nothing,’ Advocate Weinberg said sorrowfully.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Tiffany wasn’t pregnant. There was no baby.’
The blood drained from Gilad’s face. ‘What? You’re lying!’
‘No. Tiffany lied to you, to everyone. If she hadn’t, she would probably still be alive, wouldn’t she? You’re not really a killer, are you?’
‘Oh my God! Oh my God! No. No – it can’t be true!’ Gilad clung to the railing in the witness box and howled.