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A reporter's notebook: Zock, Socks and other stars of the Skakel trial

(Court TV) -- Who is Michael Skakel talking to on that cellphone?

At least once a day during breaks in testimony at Michael Skakel's murder trial, I find myself standing on the sidewalk outside Norwalk Superior Court pondering who the 41-year-old defendant is calling. I am usually on my phone dictating copy to an editor in New York, but for the life of me I can't figure out who Skakel seems to be filing updates with.

Maybe it's Robert F. Kennedy Jr., or another of Skakel's Kennedy cousins, all conspicuously absent from the Connecticut courtroom since testimony began May 7. Or perhaps Skakel, who typically paces in circles with the phone glued to his ear, is making dinner reservations for himself and his polite-but-imposing bodyguard, Kris Steele.

I would ask Skakel, but it is understood by the large media contingent covering the trial that he's not taking questions. The Associated Press guy got Skakel to say something self-serving when they stood side-by-side at the men's room urinal early in the case (I didn't get the quote, I told my editor, because I didn't have to go), but since then Skakel keeps his fly and lips shut when reporters are around.

I would ask Mickey Sherman, who never zips his lips when reporters are around, but the defense lawyer would probably say something like, "Oh, he's just trying to get U2 tickets."

Sherman often answers questions like that. Reporters laugh and write down the responses, but such comments rarely fit well in serious stories about the prosecution of a man accused of killing a young girl with a golf club when they were 15-year-old neighbors in 1975.

Here are some other observations that didn't quite fit anywhere else.

Reporter defends court exhibit from pesky spectator

It's about 3:45 p.m. and the jury is about to come back from the obligatory 15-minute afternoon break. As usual, half the press corps is trying to get prosecutor Jonathan Benedict to say anything and the other half is worried they might miss something important in between witticisms by Mickey Sherman.

Off by himself is the New York Times guy. He's trying to keep one of the many gallery regulars, a grumpy senior citizen, from stealing a copy of a court exhibit off the press table. "We're paying for that," says the writer from the newspaper that covers the world, grabbing the entire bundle from the table for safekeeping.

Defense attorney must make calls outside

The defense team was issued a small office in the basement of the courthouse before the trial, only to have it taken away because it was too close to the prosecution team's conference room. In lieu of an office, Mickey Sherman roams the corridor of the courthouse looking for a place to call witnesses on his cellphone outside the view of ever-watchful marshals.

When confronted about the rules violation, Sherman gives court officials a look of incredulity that seems to say, "Geez. Don't you know who I am? I was at Liza Minnelli's wedding." It's true, he went. But he still has to use his cellphone outside.

Judge says no to jury request for barbecue grill

Speaking of rules, Norwalk Superior Court, which became the site of this much-hyped trial by default because the new Stamford Superior Court wasn't ready in time, is the Land of No.

Cellphones can be brought into the building, but cannot be used anywhere inside -- not even near the bank of payphones.

Journalists can use their laptops in the courtroom but may not plug into the more-than-ample amount of outlets provided in the gallery section. Presumably, they are there to accommodate vacuum cleaners at night.

Bringing food and beverages into the courthouse is verboten. One marshal finally permitted a bottle of mouthwash in after being assured that the blue liquid inside would be promptly spit out and not swallowed. "Well, OK then," he relented.

The judge denied without comment a note signed by "The Jury" requesting permission to bring a barbecue grill to court for use outside during the hour-long lunch recess. He also declined the jury's request to take notes about testimony, the media's request for copies of audiotape and videotape exhibits, and Court TV's application to broadcast the trial.

A self-congratulatory medical examiner

Among the 52 witnesses called by the defense and prosecution, the apparent favorite of the gallery was Dr. Joseph Jachimczyk, the Houston medical examiner who believes Martha Moxley was killed at about 10 p.m. on the night before Halloween in 1975.

Jachimczyk, a seasoned citizen of advanced years, has trouble hearing but is quick-witted. The judge ruled that it was irrelevant that authorities in Texas named a building after the forensic pathologist, but Jachimczyk apparently wanted the honor known.

Asked about the number of times he had testified before, the witness offered that he didn't know but he was sure someone at the Joseph A. Jachimczyk Forensic Science Center could look it up.

Even the stone-faced judge could not resist a smile.

Defense objection stricken by judge

Mickey Sherman seems to take rulings that go against the defense in stride, but he was clearly not pleased with Judge John Kavanewsky Jr. when the presiding jurist decided to let prosecution rebuttal witness Jennifer Pease testify to something a deceased witness told her in 1979. Pease said she did not come forward earlier because she assumed her testimony was "he said, he said" hearsay and therefore inadmissible.

"So did I," Sherman agreed in front of the jury.

Kavanewsky called Sherman's remark "gratuitous" and ordered it stricken.

Yellow tape divides families from both sides

The family of murder victim Martha Moxley, who would have been 41 this year had she lived, sit behind the prosecutors on a first-row bench labeled "Moxley Family." In attendance regularly, among other relatives, are Martha's mother, Dorthy Moxley, and brother, John Moxley.

Defendant Michael Skakel's siblings, bodyguard and investigators sit behind the defense table benches marked "Skakel Family."

Dividing the two families is nothing more than a piece of yellow tape. So far, neither family has crossed the tape.

Prosecution witness reluctantly testifies

The least happy witness to take the stand seemed, from outward appearances, to be prosecution witness Michael Meredith, whose troubled youth caused him and Michael Skakel to share a dislike for Maine's Elan School.

Meredith testified for the prosecution but volunteered that he would have preferred to be anywhere but on stage in the Norwalk courtroom talking about problems he encountered growing up the son of a famous football player, Don Meredith.

The witness didn't hesitate when Sherman asked about the hostility Meredith displayed on cross-examination. Meredith called Sherman an "ambulance-chasing" creep.

There was a collective guffaw from the gallery. Sherman swore he had never met the gentleman before.

Ducks defy courtyard security

A search of published stories on the case turned up no less than 18 references to a family of ducks that makes its home in a courtyard off the main corridor at Norwalk Superior Court.

Although no doubt defying one of the many posted and unposted court rules, the ducks lounge happily in a children's wading pool. How did that get past security?

'Socks' the cat and 'Zock' the dog play prominent roles

The star of jury selection was "Socks," a fictional cat used to illustrate the difference between direct and circumstantial evidence. Most prospective jurors understood that it is legally permissible to convict "Socks" of knocking over a bowl of cereal if they returned from answering the doorbell to find the feline licking milk from his whiskers beside an empty bowl.

Socks was upstaged during testimony, however, by "Zock" the dog. Zock is pushing up daisies somewhere now, but when he lived with a family in the same neighborhood as Martha Moxley and Michael Skakel, the pet was well-known for his incessant barking.

As if the case didn't have an interesting enough cast of human characters, testimony about Zock's barking, the nature of his barking and his feeling for Michael Skakel in particular are likely to be on the agenda when the jury begins deliberations.