She appeared to understand why people might need to hear these answers, though. When she and her partner lived in the house, she noted, "I didn't spend a lot of time staring in my own windows."Įveryone in the courtroom laughed a small laugh-a laugh of nervous relief, because here was a woman testifying about her own rape, and the rape and murder of her partner, and yet she was smiling at the current line of questioning, at the weird perceptual cul-de-sac to which it led.
Would your silhouettes have been visible through that sheer fabric at night? She narrated with a red laser pointer for the prosecutor and the jury: These windows had curtains that couldn't be seen through. Now it was a two-dimensional schematic, State's Exhibit 2, set on an easel next to the witness stand. When the two of them lived in this house, it was red, a bit run-down, much loved, filled with their lives together, typical of the neighborhood. She answered the prosecutor's questions, pointing to a map of the small South Park home she used to share with her partner, Teresa Butz, a downtown Seattle property manager. He asked: Which windows in the house on South Rose Street, the house where you woke up to him standing over you with a knife that night-which windows had curtains that blocked out the rest of the world and which did not?
The prosecutor wanted to know about window coverings.
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