Last Dance, Last Chance

she had been having occupational and physical therapy four times a week. She had come to the point where she could use a regular walker and could now go upstairs once a day—to bed at night and down in the morning. She could use a knife and fork and drink out of a glass with a straw. She could take a shower if she had a shower chair.
    “And could you tell the Court,” Denis asked, “why is it that you have to sit?”
    “Because I lose my balance.”
    He asked her the purpose of the braces on her feet.
    “To help me walk.”
    “Are you able to walk at all on your own—any distance?”
    “Yes, sir…I’d say ten to fifteen feet.”
    “All right. And while you’re walking, are there people there to watch you in case you become unsteady?”
    “Always.”
    “Mrs. Pignataro,” Denis Scinta asked his cousin, “I know it’s been asked and answered a number of times of you. I’m going to ask it again. Did you [deliberately] at any time during 1999 ingest any arsenic in your system?”
    “No, sir.”
    “Did you at any time expose your children to any arsenic that may have been in and about your system or around your house?”
    Debbie stared back at him with clear eyes. “No sir.”
    “I have no further questions.”
    There were so many lawyers. Edward McGuinness, attorney for the Erie County Department of Social Services, asked Debbie about her pain and seemed kind.
    Frank Sedita rose to ask more questions. For a moment, Debbie’s mind flashed back to Anthony’s hearings over Sarah’s death, and she remembered how intimidated she had been by Frank. But now, he was on her side. His dark eyes were serious. Try as she might, she admitted to herself that Frank still scared her a little. He was so smart and somber.
    She wasn’t sure what he was going to ask her, but she soon figured out that he was simply undoing the mass of accusations Anthony’s attorneys had flung at her.
    “Do you carry any diagnosis as a drug abuser, ma’am?”
    “No, sir.”
    “Have you ever been institutionalized—such as like the Buffalo Psychiatric Center, any facilities like those?”
    “No, sir.”
    “Have you ever had to go to any kind of outpatient psychiatric services? Just to give you some examples: Horizons, Lake Shore Behavioral Health Services, anything like that?”
    “No, sir.”
    “Are you a convicted felon, Mrs. Pignataro?”
    “No, sir.”
    Daniels and Welsh tensed at the defense table. They could see where Sedita was going. As long as he stayed within certain parameters, there wasn’t a thing they could do to stop him.
    “Have you ever been indicted for forgery?”
    “No, sir.”
    “Have you ever been indicted for falsifying records?”
    “No, sir.”
    “Have you ever been responsible for the death of another human being?”
    “No, sir.”
    Sedita was walking a very careful line, never mentioning that Anthony Pignataro could have answered “Yes” to all of his questions.
    He led Debbie through the spring and summer of the previous year, his questions seemingly innocuous as he asked who had cooked and cleaned and looked after the well-being of her children. “Myself…my mother.”
    And then she answered that after Anthony moved in, he had done some of the cooking. The time sequences were interesting, but Sedita didn’t comment on them. They spoke for themselves.
    “Have you ever done anything in your life to harm your children, Mrs. Pignataro?”
    “No, sir.”
    “Have you ever done anything in your life to harm yourself, Mrs. Pignataro?”
    “No, sir.”
    “Have you ever done anything in your life to harm your husband, Mrs. Pignataro?”
    “No, sir.”
    “Who are the most important people in your life, Mrs. Pignataro?”
    “My children.”
    Using simple questions that asked for short answers, Frank Sedita winnowed out the rhetoric of the defense and sliced it away. Since Debbie had come home, no one had gotten sick, and no one needed to be tested for arsenic poisoning. Debbie had had only a year in college; she had no four-year degree and no medical degree. She didn’t even know what arsenic looked like, how to obtain it, or what doses were fatal.
    “In the course of being familiar with that business [Anthony’s Cosmetic Plastic Surgeon’s International], did Mr. Pignataro at that time have a license to order drugs?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Do you know exactly what kind of drugs he was ordering?”
    “No, sir.”
    “Now, after your husband got out of the correctional facility, he