A Cure for Night (21 page)

"Course I do."

"So you do, in fact, know that Devin was a criminal, don't you?"

"I know what he do."

"How did Malik Taylor feel about his little boy being around a
dealer like Devin?"

"Approach, Your Honor?" ADA O'Bannon asked, standing. Judge Ferano gestured us up for a sidebar. We all walked over to the far end of the bench from the jury.
"This has gone completely outside the scope of the direct, Your Honor," O'Bannon said.
"I fail to see any possible relevance to these questions."

"What I'm trying to explore, Your Honor, is the possibility that these shootings had nothing to do with my client, but arose instead out of an escalating dispute between two men who'd both been involved with Yolanda Miller," Myra responded.
"If true, this would strongly suggest that Ms. Miller's identification of Mr.
Tate is not a mistake, but rather a deliberate lie. Because the state's whole
case essentially rests on Ms. Miller's identification, we're entitled to
challenge her veracity, and to make it clear that she might have a reason to be
making up her story."

Judge Ferano held up his hand to indicate that he didn't want to hear any more. When he spoke it was directed to O'Bannon.
"I'm not going to create an appealable issue by limiting the defense's cross of your main witness," the judge said, before turning his attention to Myra.
"I'll allow you some latitude. But don't get carried away."

The lawyers retreated to our respective corners, Myra returning to her cross.
"The question, Ms. Miller, was how did Mr. Taylor feel about his little boy being raised around a drug dealer like Mr. Wallace?" Myra said.

"He didn't like it," Yolanda said softly. "We both wanted Jamal to
be raised up right."

"And how do you know that Malik didn't like it?" Myra asked.

"Because Malik told me so. He told me we had to make sure Jamal
came up okay."

"And Mr. Taylor was worried that Jamal wasn't going to be raised
right if you were involved with Mr. Wallace?"

"He didn't like that Devin did what he do."

"Mr. Taylor and Mr. Wallace had an actual fight, didn't they?"

"One time they started shoving at each other some is all."

"They had a fight in your apartment, right?" Myra asked.

"They got into it a little there."

"And did you tell the police about this fight?"

"They ain't never asked me about nothing like that."

"You didn't want them to know about it, did you?" Myra pressed.

"It don't got nothing to do with nothing else that was going on."

"Sounds pretty clear that Mr. Wallace and Mr. Taylor didn't like each other very much, did they?" Myra said.

"Devin didn't like Malik coming 'round to see Jamal. He didn't
want nobody I used to be with at my crib, 'specially when he wasn't there."

"Is that what they fought about?"

"That's right."

"Devin was jealous of Malik?"

"I don't know about being jealous," Yolanda said. "He just thought
it was a lack of respect. He thought people would be talkin'."

"So Devin didn't want Malik coming to see his own son?"

"That's what he say."

"And yet it was important to Mr. Taylor to see his son, wasn't it?" Myra said.

"Far as I know."

"Sounds like they had a problem."

Yolanda didn't respond, but it didn't matter: Myra had gotten her point across.
"You're still close to Mr. Taylor, aren't you?" Myra continued.

"We're all right."

"He's the father of your child. You're more than just all right,
aren't you?"

"We ain't together no more."

"But you've been with Mr. Taylor since the night of the shooting,
haven't you?"

"I see him from time to time 'cause of our boy," Yolanda said, either missing Myra's suggestion or deliberately ignoring it. Judging by her lack of reaction, I guessed she'd missed it.

"That's not what I was asking, Ms. Miller," Myra said. "Isn't it
true that you've been with Malik Taylor sexually since Devin Wallace was shot?"

I could feel a stir in the courtroom behind me, the murmur of indistinct voices. The question had caught everybody's attention. From her perch in the witness stand Yolanda was glaring daggers at Myra.

"Objection," O'Bannon said, coming quickly to his feet.

"Sustained," Judge Ferano said.

I could see Myra making an effort to move past her disappointment. We'd known there was a fair chance that we wouldn't be able to get this in, even while we viewed it as compelling evidence to create a shroud of doubt in the minds of the jury by focusing them on Malik Taylor's motive for shooting Devin Wallace. But the objection might have helped us: we had no idea what answer Yolanda would've given, and a forceful denial from her would've neutralized the question. The lack of any answer left it hanging there, something that could bother the jury.

"You wouldn't want to see Malik Taylor go to jail for the rest of
his life, would you?"

"What're you saying?" Yolanda asked. She was still visibly seething.

"The question is simple: you wouldn't want Malik to go to jail for
the rest of his life, right?"

"Why would Malik be going to jail?" Yolanda asked.

"You want him to be there for your son, don't you?"

"Course I want that."

"Indeed," Myra said. "Why wouldn't you lie to protect him if he
was in trouble? Especially if he was in trouble just because he was trying to
stay close to your son."

"Was there a question there?" O'Bannon objected.

"Withdrawn," Myra said. "Nothing further."

Myra sat down, and as she did so O'Bannon stood. "The People rest, Your Honor," he said.

"We'll call it a day, then," Judge Ferano said. "The defense can
start its case tomorrow morning."

AFTER LEAVING
the courtroom for the day, Myra and I met with Lorenzo in a holding cell in the basement of the courthouse. Lorenzo was pacing, agitated.
"How you gonna let that bitch get up there and lie like that?" he said. "She
didn't see me do a goddamn thing that night; no way she saw me try and cap
Devin."

"I understand that," Myra said.

"But you didn't get her to say that she was just goofin' when she
say she saw me."

"I'm a lawyer," Myra said, "not a hypnotist. There's only so much
I can get accomplished through crossing Yolanda. We're going to be calling Malik
Taylor, and we can use him to explain why Yolanda would lie."

"What if the jury goes with what she say about seeing me?"

"Then we have a problem, Lorenzo," Myra said. "I thought we knew
that. The state is prosecuting this case because they think they are going to
win it."

"How about you?" Lorenzo asked. "You think you're going to win?"

"I never make promises about winning," Myra said. "But this is the
moment where their momentum is at its strongest and ours is at its weakest. We
always knew that Yolanda was going to be their star witness. This is their time
to run the show, so that's how it generally works. Our turn will come soon
enough."

"I can get up there my own self, tell them people that Yo-Yo's a
straight-up liar."

"We can talk about whether or not to put you on when the time comes," Myra said.
"Usually the cross of a defendant proves far more devastating than their direct
proves helpful."

"How's it gonna play like that when I ain't done nothin' wrong?" Lorenzo said.

"I don't know," Myra said. "But it does."

32

W
E CALLED
Amin Saberi as our first witness for the defense. Amin, dressed in a white shirt and blue tie, stumbled as he made his way through the well of the court. While virtually all witnesses were nervous, it was obvious that Amin was terrified.

I'd been in the office past eleven o'clock the night before getting ready, then gone home and drunk beer in front of the television for an hour, too worked up to sleep. To my surprise, though, I'd slept quickly and easily once I finally went to bed. The fear I'd expected never fully materialized. I took this as a good sign.

"Did you know Seth Lipton?" I began.

"Yes."

"How did you know him?"

"He was my roommate," Amin said.

"Did you go to school with him?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"Brooklyn College."

"Were you friends?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Have you ever met Devin Wallace?"

"No," Amin said.

"Tell me, Mr. Saberi, were you surprised when you heard that your
friend had been killed outside of a housing project that's well known for its
drug activity?"

I asked the question bluntly, doing nothing to sugarcoat it. We'd subpoenaed Amin to come here today and were not expecting him to be cooperative; we'd received permission from Judge Ferano to treat Amin as a hostile witness, meaning we were allowed to ask him leading questions.

"Of course I was surprised," Amin said. "Seth was, like,
twenty-one years old. I still can't believe that he's dead."

"But were you surprised that Mr. Lipton would be in an area like
that, late at night?"

"I guess not."

"Why is that?" I asked.

"Seth would go down there sometimes."

"Down where?"

"To the projects."

"Why?"

"He was writing his senior thesis on the business of drug dealing," Amin said.
"In sociology," he added.

"Was that the only reason?"

Amin looked around the room like he was searching for someone to come to his rescue.

"No," Amin said.

I had no choice but to drag it out of him. I told myself that this was necessary, however ugly it felt.
"What was the other reason?"

Amin shifted in his seat, looking out into the well of the courtroom; I guessed Amin was looking at Lipton's parents, who'd been present every day of the trial.
"To get drugs," he finally answered, his voice hoarse.

"What kinds of drugs?"

"Coke and pot mostly. Sometimes heroin."

"And was this for his own use?"

"No."

"For whose use was it, then?"

"Other people," Amin said, giving off his first show of hostility.

"Was this something Mr. Lipton was doing as a favor?"

"No," Amin said, looking down and speaking so softly that Judge Ferano reminded him to keep his voice up.

"Was he selling them?"

The silence that followed was as complete as I could imagine in a room holding more than twenty people. As it lingered I began to wonder if Amin was simply not going to answer.
"Yes," he finally said.

"Who was he selling drugs to?"

"To people from school. Seth would go buy a bunch of stuff from
this guy; then he'd sell it to students for a lot more than he paid, because,
you know, most kids at the college don't want to go get stuff on the street."

"Did you ever hear Mr. Lipton mention Devin Wallace?" I asked.

"I'd heard the name Devin, yeah."

"Was it your understanding that Mr. Lipton and Devin Wallace were
in business together?"

Amin nodded.

"You have to answer verbally," I said.

Amin glowered up at me briefly, then looked back down at his lap.
"Yeah," he said.

"So if Mr. Lipton was talking to Mr. Wallace on the street, it
would be safe to assume that they were undertaking, or about to undertake, or
had just undertaken a drug transaction?"

"Objection," said ADA O'Bannon. "Speculation."

"Sustained," Judge Ferano said. I didn't really care—the point was clear.

"To your knowledge," I continued, "did Mr. Lipton and Mr. Wallace
socialize?"

"Not that I know of."

"Devin never stopped by your apartment for a beer or anything?"

"No."

"How much money would Mr. Lipton take with him when he went down
to the Gardens to score?"

Amin winced slightly, as if answering these questions was causing him physical pain.
"I don't know exactly," he said. "But from the amount of stuff he was moving,
I'd guess it was kind of a lot."

"So assuming that Mr. Lipton and Mr. Wallace were about to
complete a drug transaction at the time they were shot, Seth Lipton would've
been about to hand Devin Wallace a substantial amount of money?"

"Objection," O'Bannon said. "Assumes facts not in evidence, calls
for speculation."

"I'll withdraw it," I said. "So if someone was owed money by Devin
Wallace, he would have been well advised to allow these two to complete their
transaction, wouldn't he?"

"Your Honor—" O'Bannon began, still standing. But he was interrupted by Judge Ferano.

"That's quite enough, Counselor," Judge Ferano said sternly to me. No surprise there; Amin had no direct knowledge of what had taken place at the Gardens that night, and the purpose of my questions was not to get him to answer them but to get the jury to think about them.
"Is there another line of questioning you wish to pursue with this witness?"

"No, Your Honor," I said, turning quickly on my heel and heading for my seat.

"Mr. Saberi, have you ever met the defendant in this case?" O'Bannon asked to begin his cross.

"I don't think so."

"And you've never met Devin Wallace?"

"I'd just heard Seth mention the name Devin, is all," Amin said.
"I don't even know for sure if it's the same guy."

"So you don't have any idea what the relationship between Mr.
Wallace and the defendant was, do you?"

"I don't have the first clue."

"Did you volunteer to come here today and testify for the
defense?"

"They subpoenaed me."

"Do you have any knowledge as to why Mr. Lipton was killed, or who
killed him?"

"No."

"Thank you, Mr. Saberi," O'Bannon said, returning to his seat.

MYRA AND
I left the courtroom together when we broke for lunch after Amin's testimony. We were walking down the hallway leading to the elevator, debating between the diner on Clark and an Italian place on Montague, when Seth's mother came charging at us, her husband a few paces behind. They were dressed formally, the father in a dark suit and yarmulke, the mother in an ankle-length skirt.

"You must be so proud of yourself," Mrs. Lipton said once she was directly in my face.
"Dragging my son's name through the mud like that, and him being dead. How dare
you!"

In court I'd made a point of avoiding looking over at Lipton's family, although it was impossible not to be aware of their presence.
"I can't talk to you, Mrs. Lipton," I said. "It's not appropriate."

"You son of a bitch," Seth Lipton's mother said, looking like she was ready to strike me.

"He didn't say anything that wasn't true," Myra said to Mrs. Lipton.
"Now, please, we can't talk to you."

"So he deserved to be killed by that man?" Mrs. Lipton said, including Myra in her fury.
"Is that what you're saying? What kind of Jew are you? I don't know how you can
stand to look at yourselves in the morning. You don't care about the truth at
all, do you? You're only doing this for the money."

Seth Lipton's father was standing behind his wife now, hands on her shoulders, trying gently to drag her away. Myra and I quickly resumed walking, leaving the Liptons behind.

We were both silent until we were out on the street. Once we were outside I turned to Myra.
"For the money?" I said.