Page 129
Story: The First Gentleman
“I do.”
“Can you point him out for the jury, please?”
Donovan points to Cole Wright sitting at the defense table.
“Let the record show that the witness has identified the defendant.” Bastinelli continues. “Mr. Donovan, was there an occasion before an Atlanta Falcons road game when you observed the Patriots players in the training area of Gillette Stadium?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And were you taking photographs of that occasion?”
“Not on assignment. I just happened to be passing through the facility on my way to my car. I always had my camera with me, so I took a few shots.”
“Were these photographs meant for publication or publicity?”
“No, that wasn’t part of my job. Just some candids.”
“So you never got front-office approval to make these pictures public?”
“No. I never showed them to anybody.”
“And the picture I’m about to show the jury has been in your possession since you took it, is that right?”
“Yes.”
“Nobody else saw it until you brought it to the attorney general’s office, is that correct?”
“That’s right.”
“And it’s your testimony that the image is authentic? It has not been Photoshopped, cropped, or manipulated in any way?”
“It has not.”
Bastinelli picks up the controller. “Your Honor, State’s exhibit thirty-eight.”
Hardy jumps to her feet. “Your Honor, I again object to the introduction of this evidence as inflammatory, prejudicial, and not probative!”
“Noted, Ms. Hardy. And overruled. Proceed, Mr. Bastinelli.”
Bastinelli takes a step closer to the witness. “Mr. Donovan, is this one of the pictures you took at that event?”
He clicks the controller and a color photo appears on the screen.
Everybody gasps. Jurors. Spectators in the gallery. Me.
Dow raps his gavel. “Order!”
I cannot believe what I’m seeing. I’m looking at a blond cheerleader from the rear. She’s leaning backward. Cole Wright is in front of her, arms extended, with a shit-eating grin on his face. His hands are around the cheerleader’s neck.
Another gavel from the bench. “I said order!”
Bastinelli points to the picture. “Mr. Donovan, do you see Cole Wright in that photograph?”
“Yes, he’s the one in the blue sweatshirt in the lower right.”
“The man with his hands around the cheerleader’s throat.”
“Yes.”
“Can you point him out for the jury, please?”
Donovan points to Cole Wright sitting at the defense table.
“Let the record show that the witness has identified the defendant.” Bastinelli continues. “Mr. Donovan, was there an occasion before an Atlanta Falcons road game when you observed the Patriots players in the training area of Gillette Stadium?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And were you taking photographs of that occasion?”
“Not on assignment. I just happened to be passing through the facility on my way to my car. I always had my camera with me, so I took a few shots.”
“Were these photographs meant for publication or publicity?”
“No, that wasn’t part of my job. Just some candids.”
“So you never got front-office approval to make these pictures public?”
“No. I never showed them to anybody.”
“And the picture I’m about to show the jury has been in your possession since you took it, is that right?”
“Yes.”
“Nobody else saw it until you brought it to the attorney general’s office, is that correct?”
“That’s right.”
“And it’s your testimony that the image is authentic? It has not been Photoshopped, cropped, or manipulated in any way?”
“It has not.”
Bastinelli picks up the controller. “Your Honor, State’s exhibit thirty-eight.”
Hardy jumps to her feet. “Your Honor, I again object to the introduction of this evidence as inflammatory, prejudicial, and not probative!”
“Noted, Ms. Hardy. And overruled. Proceed, Mr. Bastinelli.”
Bastinelli takes a step closer to the witness. “Mr. Donovan, is this one of the pictures you took at that event?”
He clicks the controller and a color photo appears on the screen.
Everybody gasps. Jurors. Spectators in the gallery. Me.
Dow raps his gavel. “Order!”
I cannot believe what I’m seeing. I’m looking at a blond cheerleader from the rear. She’s leaning backward. Cole Wright is in front of her, arms extended, with a shit-eating grin on his face. His hands are around the cheerleader’s neck.
Another gavel from the bench. “I said order!”
Bastinelli points to the picture. “Mr. Donovan, do you see Cole Wright in that photograph?”
“Yes, he’s the one in the blue sweatshirt in the lower right.”
“The man with his hands around the cheerleader’s throat.”
“Yes.”
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