Dark Moonlighting (10 page)

Despite my distraction, my latest trial was
going quite well. I was close to wrapping up my case after only a
week. I was confident that I had no need to draw out the
proceedings. Although it was always tough to get a read on a jury,
I was convinced that I had the current group of twelve right where
I wanted them. I was going to call Sam Norton, my client, to the
stand that day and seal the deal.

I arrived at the courtroom about ten minutes
before the trial was scheduled to resume. Michael Kelley, the lead
prosecutor, jumped out of his seat when he saw me and moved to my
table before I even had the chance to sit down. Kelley had a
reputation for being quick to anger, and he had a tendency to get
rather childish when he was losing a case. It would have been an
immature practice for a lawyer in his twenties, but Kelley was only
a few years away from pulling a Social Security check. It was not
the first time he had tried to get into my head, and he never
figured out that he was actually displaying a sign of weakness.
Kelley’s behavior only proved that he thought the jury was leaning
my way too.

“What’s up, Nick?” Kelley asked like a high
school jock picking on the smart kid. “Ready to get another one of
your
clients
off on a technicality,” he asked as he balled
his fist and jerked it back and forth in front of him.

“Crude,” I replied dispassionately. “And you
probably should have put the emphasis on the word
off
instead of
clients
,” I corrected.

“So sorry. We can’t all be boy geniuses like
you,” he mocked.

“Do you make such unsophisticated comments in
front of your latest floozy?” I questioned as I pointed back to the
prosecution’s table.

His latest floozy was actually a perfectly
lovely assistant district attorney named Alexandra. From what I had
gathered she was also only a floozy in the creepy old man fantasies
of Michael Kelley. He had made up rumors about attractive young
colleagues in the past, and few people who knew him well took him
seriously. Kelley was a bad liar both in and out of the courtroom.
In addition, his lack of basic research made him mediocre at
practicing law and terrible at starting rumors. Most women had no
interest in Kelley, but Alexandra’s not-so-hidden sexual
orientation made the pairing impossible.

“Oh, I make unsophisticated comments,” he
confidently responded. “I make unsophisticated comments all over
her face!”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” I said as I
pretended to look over my notes. “Besides, I hear you’re not able
to perform any of those sorts of activities anyway.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Kelley asked
with a hint of concern in his voice, momentarily straying from his
macho persona.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about it. I just heard
from a friend over in your office that Alexandra was telling people
that bedding you was the best career move she ever made. She gets
all the fun of advancement and preferential treatment without the
nasty consequence of actually having to sleep with you. Apparently
she said something about malfunctioning equipment,” I
explained.

“She’s a goddamn liar,” Kelley swore.

His face turned beet red, and he looked like
he wanted to say something else to me. Frustrated, he suddenly
turned and stormed back to the prosecution’s table. He glared at
Alexandra before shifting in his chair and averting his eyes from
her. It took all my self control not to fill the courtroom with
hysterical laughter. I had enraged my opponent with the simple
rumor that his lover had emasculated him. A rumor that was, of
course, impossible since she was a lesbian who had never shared his
bed.

I was still contemplating the absurdity of
his reaction when the seat next to me at the defense table was
taken. Christina Leopold looked less frazzled than the first day I
had met her back at the law offices of Hass, Fucht & Ruine. She
was panting heavily though, and a few beads of sweat were dripping
off of her cheeks. She had made it just in time but did not seem
upset about the close call, merely tired from running. The pantsuit
she wore was anything but traditional. The plunging neckline
revealed an ample amount of her cleavage and a noticeable portion
of the black bra that struggled valiantly to contain it. She
clearly knew what her best physical attributes were, and she took
no shame in showing them off.

Christina did not look at me or our client,
who was also at the table. She did not deliver a greeting as she
hastily organized a stack of manila folders on the table in front
of her. When she finished the task she clasped her hands together
and stared directly ahead. I was perplexed by her continual refusal
to acknowledge my presence, and observed her for a moment before I
started the conversation.

“I’m glad you’re finally here to take second
chair,” I remarked sarcastically.

Christina happily turned towards me and
smiled as I engaged her in conversation. “Thanks,” she replied,
giving no indication that she understood that I had not been
sincere. “That flu was a real bitch to get over.”

Christina had originally planned on joining
me and taking the second chair at the defense table when the trial
started the previous week. The position was largely a courtesy as
she had just joined the firm and was unfamiliar with the case. I
had planned on running the defense exclusively while allowing her
to observe my strategy. She had not shown up on the first day of
the trial, and the message I left on her voicemail during the lunch
recess went unanswered for twenty-four hours. When she did finally
return the call, she had stated plainly that she was sick and would
join me as soon as she was feeling better. She then hung up the
phone without apologizing or waiting for me to respond.

“Did you have a chance to look over my notes
on this case?” I asked skeptically.

“Yes, I’m all caught up,” she responded
flatly. “I did have a question I wanted to ask you though.”

“All rise,” the bailiff’s voice boomed
through the courtroom.

“Later,” I whispered to Christina as I stood
up.

“Be seated,” Judge Yoest commanded with a
lazy wave of her hand. She turned towards the defense table,
briefly raised an eyebrow at the inappropriately dressed trollop
sitting second chair, and then focused on me. “Is the defense ready
to proceed?”

“I am, Your Honor. The defense calls Samuel
Norton,” I responded.

A series of intense murmurs rippled through
the gallery as my client stood from the table and walked to the
stand. It was not a surprise that Norton was testifying, but it was
the reason most of the riff raff had packed into the courtroom. It
was standing room only in the gallery, which was unusual even for a
murder trial. The proceedings had garnered a lot of attention
locally, even catching the interest of the dreadful local news. I
had been concerned early on to be involved with such a high profile
case. The last thing I needed was to be highlighted on the evening
news for my cop and doctor colleagues to see and scratch their
heads about. Luckily Judge Yoest, referencing the O.J. Simpson and
Casey Anthony trials, had banned cameras from her courtroom so as
not to make a mockery of the justice system. All the local news
reporters happily granted my requests to give my interviews off
camera. Several politely agreed that I was not the most photogenic
defense attorney they had ever dealt with.

“Hello Sam,” I started as if talking to a
child rather than a thirty-year-old. “How are you doing today?”

“G-g-good,” Sam stuttered back.

“Are you really doing good?” I questioned in
the soothing voice I had practiced for a week.

“Well, I w-w-wish I was home watchin’
cartoons instead of sittin’ in this here courtroom,” he answered in
a thick southern accent.

A small amount of laughter filled the
courtroom, not even enough for Yoest to bang her gavel in
annoyance. However, I was pleased to notice that some of the
laughter was coming from the jury box.

“So would I,” I smiled. “That brings up a
good point though. Do you know why you’re here today?”

Sam looked at his feet and nodded. “They say
I k-k-k,” he grunted in annoyance at his speech impediment and took
a moment to compose himself. “Killed my father. But I didn’t!” he
yelled desperately with a sudden intensity. “I never would have
killed ‘em. I loved my pappy more than anything in the whole wide
world!”

“It’s okay Sam, I believe you,” I said. I
paused for a laugh but did not receive one. “Now on the night in
question, which was June 7th of last year, you had taken your
father to a wholesome family restaurant called McGruffy’s to
celebrate his birthday, right?”

“Th-th-that’s right,” Sam stammered.

I nodded my head thoughtfully and turned to
my right. I appeared to be shifting to better address the jury, but
I was actually looking at the prosecution’s table out of the corner
of my eye. I had just asked a very leading question, and was
surprised that Michael Kelley had not objected. He was sitting with
his fist pressed against his cheek looking very irritated but,
apparently, paying little attention to the trial. I did not need
him to be distracted to win as I was quite confident that I had the
case in the bag. Still, it was nice to see how easily I was able to
get into his head.

“What happened after dinner?” I
questioned.

Sam’s face turned red as he thought about
that sad night. “We were drivin’ home. Everything seemed t-t-to be
f-f-fine. When I woke up the next morning there was blood on my
hands. I was so s-s-scared that—”

“Whoa,” I interrupted on cue. “There seems to
be a pretty big gap in your story. What happened between the time
you were driving home and the time you woke up in your bed?”

“I…” Sam began embarrassed. “I don’t rightly
know. I’ve had these blackout spells since I was a kid. Sometimes I
can’t remember what happens.”

“I see,” I said. “Can I speak to
Richard?”

“What?” Sam asked in puzzlement.

“Sam, I would like to speak to Richard.”

“Mr. W-W-Whittier I d-d-don’t k-k-know
w-w-w,”

“Let me speak to Richard you pathetic piece
of shit!” I suddenly screamed at Sam.

“Objection,” Kelley yelled as he leapt to his
feet, finally snapping out of his funk. “He’s badgering the
witness.”

“He’s badgering his own witness,” Judge Yoest
said confounded. “Still though… it’s hardly appropriate.”

“Your Honor, if I could just have a little
leeway I think you’ll see—”

“What do you want asshole?” Richard
interrupted me.

I turned towards the stand and saw “Richard”
staring back at me from behind Sam’s eyes. Richard was the polar
opposite of Sam’s sheepish schoolboy persona. Through earlier work
with my client’s alternate personality, I found that Richard was
confident and aggressive. Now it was time for us to show the jury
the sharp contrast.

“Hello Richard,” I said, adopting a more
combative tone. “Perhaps you can shed some light on what happened
to your father that night.”

“Wasn’t my father,” Richard corrected. “But I
straight up murdered that bitch.”

There was a collective gasp and fury of
conversation from the gallery. This time Judge Yoest did have to
bang her gavel and call for order.

“He was a pervert,” Richard stated
matter-of-factly. “He used to touch Sammy’s junk and make Sammy
touch his junk. Happened all the time when he was a kid. That was
around the time when me and Sammy first became friends. So I
stabbed that fool and dumped his body in the woods. Good riddance,”
he added as he leaned back in his chair.

“What a startling confession,” I stated for
the jury.

“Man, I don’t give a shit,” Richard said with
a wave of his hand. “Wasn’t the first little bitch I popped.
Probably won’t be the last neither.”

“Can I speak to Sam again?” I asked.

“Yeah, sure,” Richard answered
dismissively.

Richard threw his head down, shook violently
for a moment and then swung his head back towards me. The
transition was instantaneous. The doe-eyed schoolboy stared at me
for a moment before frantically scanning the courtroom.

“W-w-where I am? What happened?” Sam
asked.

“It’s okay Sammy. You blacked out for a
second there,” I reassured him.

“Sammy?” Sam questioned. “Ain’t nobody called
me Sammy since I was a b-b-boy. I didn’t do nothin’ bad when I was
away did I? I sure w-w-would hate to be a bother to you fine
folks.”

“Sam,” I started in an all-knowing voice.
“You didn’t do nothing bad. No further questions, Your Honor.”

For the sake of the jury, I pretended to
shake off the strange incident as I made my way back to the defense
table. Another wave of conversation filled the gallery, forcing
Judge Yoest to bang her gavel again and warn that any more
disruptions would not be tolerated. Christina, looking very
puzzled, leaned over to me during the brief respite.

“That was it?” she questioned.

“That’s all I needed,” I confirmed.

Michael Kelley stood up from the
prosecution’s table and paced around for about a minute. When he
was done with the theatrics, he moved to the left of the stand so
that he was within inches of Sam and looking towards the jury.

“That was some performance,” Kelley
complimented my client. “I know I sure was impressed. I’d be pretty
sympathetic to your condition if I thought you were sincere.”

“Objection,” I interrupted. “I don’t hear any
question.”

“Sustained,” Judge Yoest said.

“Fine,” Kelley said in exasperation. “Mr.
Norton, when were you first diagnosed with multiple personality
disorder?”

“Multiplicative perspicacity disorder?” Sam
said, trying to make sense of the words.

“Multiple personality,” Kelley corrected.
“That’s not a difficult medical term! When did the doctors find out
that there was more than one person in your brain?”