Stone Cold (3 page)

“You know better than that!” Judge West said, thumping his hand on his desk. “When I ask you a question, I goddamn well expect a direct and truthful answer! If this was the first time you’d pulled a stunt like this, I’d let it slide, but I’m getting damn tired of it!”

Bradshaw saw his chance. “The problem, Judge, is that by flashing this man’s picture all over the courtroom, she’s made a bad situation worse. You’ve already told the jury to disregard him, and now she’s made that impossible.”

Alex held up her hand. “Hang on, hang on. First, Your Honor, I apologize for not answering your question more directly. I didn’t mean to mislead the court. Second, Tommy is the last person who should be complaining about the jury being shown pictures. Third, if you’d let me finish my cross-examination of the witness, you’ll see the relevance. If the witness refuses to answer, I’ll call my investigator, Grace Canfield, to testify. She’s on my witness list and she took that photograph and a number of others of the same man.”

“You had him under surveillance? Why?”

“We had Mr. Henderson under surveillance. His statement was the strongest evidence the prosecution had. I’ve represented people from that neighborhood for years, and nobody snitches. Yet this guy walked into the East Patrol station and fingered my client for murder ten days after the fact. I knew there was no way I’d get the truth just by asking him, so I had Grace keep an eye on him. I wanted to know as much about him as I could.”

Judge West leaned back in his chair and threw up his hands. “All right. But I’ve got one other question and I want a straight-up answer. Did you know this mystery man was going to be in the courtroom?”

Alex grinned. “No, sir, I just got lucky.”

When they returned to the courtroom, Kalena Greene was standing in the row behind Jameer Henderson and his family, her hands on their shoulders. Jameer was comforting his wife and holding his children in his lap. He eased them onto the pew, and Kalena led him back to the witness stand.

The bailiff brought the jury in. Grace Canfield put the man’s photograph back on the monitors and handed Alex a remote control for the laptop.

Alex acted as though nothing had happened. “Before the break, Mr. Henderson, I asked you if you knew the man who ran out of the courtroom. You told me that you couldn’t say, so let me try it another way. You see the photograph of the man displayed on the monitors?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you agree that the man in this photograph is the same man who came into the courtroom with your wife and children and then ran out the door?”

“Yeah.”

Alex pointed the remote at the laptop, clicking through to the next photograph. “And is that a photograph of the same man going into your barbershop?”

Henderson hung his head. “Yeah.”

Alex clicked again. “And is that a photograph of the same man coming out of your house on Garfield?”

“Yeah.”

Another click. “And is that a photograph of the same man talking to your wife and kids at a playground near your house? It looks like he’s got his hands on the backs of your children’s necks. Is that what it looks like to you?”

Henderson flinched. “Y’all can see for yourself.”

“Yes, I can. Now, you know who this man is, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but you don’t unnerstand! You don’t know what it’s like!”

“Then help me understand. Tell the jury who this man is.”

Henderson twisted and turned in his chair. “His name is Kyrie Chapman.”

“And who is Kyrie Chapman?”

“He’s a cousin to Wilfred.”

“Wilfred Donaire, the murder victim?”

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you want to tell the jury his name?”

Henderson turned to the judge, his eyes wet. “I got to answer that?”

Judge West didn’t hesitate. “You do.”

Henderson squirmed, looking for a way out, then cast another pained look at his wife, who wiped her eyes and nodded at him. He nodded back at her, letting out a resigned sigh.

“Kyrie come in my shop after Wilfred got killed. He said . . .

Bradshaw interrupted. “Objection. Hearsay as to what Kyrie Chapman told him.”

“I’m not offering it for the truth of the matter asserted. I’m offering it to explain the witness’ behavior in this courtroom.”

“Overruled. You may finish your answer, Mr. Henderson.”

“Kyrie say I had to tell the cops that Dwayne killed Wilfred, and I say I don’t know nuthin’ about that. He say that don’t matter, that I had to tell the cops about Dwayne comin’ in my shop sayin’ how he got Wilfred’s chain off a dead nigger. That way when the cops arrest Dwayne, they find Wilfred’s chain and that be enough to put Dwayne away. And I say how you know Dwayne killed Wilfred and he say he know and that’s all I got to know.”

“What else did you and Kyrie talk about?”

“I ax him how he know Dwayne gonna have Wilfred’s chain and he say on account of some girl give it to Dwayne.”

“Did he tell you the girl’s name?”

“Naw.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I tol’ him Dwayne never come in my shop, not in a long time. And Kyrie say he sure as shit did unless I wanna see my family end up like Wilfred. Then he say he gonna bring my wife and kids to court when I testify to make sure I don’t forget. So that’s what I done.”

Alex turned to the jury. Some were leaning forward, heads cocked to one side, mouths open and sympathetic. Others gripped the armrests on their chairs, white-knuckled and angry. Not one could look away from Jameer Henderson. Especially Tommy Bradshaw, who was slack jawed and sweating as his case collapsed around him.

“No further questions,” she said.

“Well, I got one,” Henderson said, his voice rising. “What am I gonna do now?”

Chapter Five

ALEX STAYED IN THE COURTROOM while the jury deliberated, too amped up to concentrate on anything. She packed up her file, taking a minute to flip through the crime scene photos, stopping on one that showed the back of Wilfred Donaire’s house, where his murder took place. A horseshoe was hung over the back door. Alex wondered if the jury would see the irony in that.

Her office was a couple of blocks away and she wanted to stay close in case the jury sent out a question or came back with a verdict. Dwayne Reed was back in his cell and the prosecution team was waiting it out in their office one floor above the courtroom.

She was happy to wait there, because the courtroom was her turf. The combination of simplicity and majesty, from the judge’s bench to the jury’s box, reminded her of her place and her purpose. It was a battlefield, and she relished the battle, knowing the stakes were greater than just winning or losing.

It was late afternoon when Judge West poked his head in and waved her into his chambers. She assumed this was a social invitation since it would be improper for him to discuss the case without Tommy Bradshaw also present. Alex knew that lawyers from the prosecutor’s office routinely received and accepted such invitations, but she had never gotten one.

Summer sunlight broke through the windows in the judge’s chambers, casting shadows. He opened a desk drawer, pulling out a bottle of Scotch and two shot glasses.

“I’d say you earned this,” he said, handing her a drink.

Alex was reluctant to start drinking while the jury was still out, but she didn’t want to offend Judge West. She took a chair in front of his desk and sipped the whiskey, barely making a dent.

“That’s nice. Thanks.”

“Jury’s been out a while.”

“Five hours and twenty-two minutes,” Alex said without looking at her watch.

“Any bets?”

She set her glass on his desk. “Should we be talking about the case without Tommy being here?”

“Oh, hell,” West said, grinning, “we’re not talking about the case. We’re just sipping whiskey.”

Glad to have the chance to build a more personal relationship, she took another sip, hoping it would pay off down the road. “The longer they’re out, the better I like my chances.”

“That was a hell of a thing you did with Jameer Henderson. Might be enough to make the difference.”

“Hope so.”

“You really put poor Bradshaw in a box, forcing him to attack his star witness on redirect. He tried every way he could to get Henderson to stick with his original story, but Henderson wouldn’t budge. I thought you and he were friends.”

“We are. Good enough friends to know what happens in the courtroom stays in the courtroom.”

“Well, I hope for the sake of your friendship that Tommy agrees, because that was painful to watch.”

“What else could Tommy do? Henderson was the money.”

Judge West grunted. “The money. That’s what I called it when I was trying cases.”

“I know. I heard you use the term at a seminar on trial tactics right after I joined the PD’s office.”

West studied her before emptying his glass. “Takes the edge off a long day.” He set the glass on his desk. “Interesting thing about a trial like this, a lot of times you end up knowing less than you knew when it started.”

“Like what?”

“Like why would a scumbag like Kyrie Chapman go to so much trouble to nail a scumbag like Dwayne Reed? If he wanted to get even for your client killing his cousin, seems more likely he’d kill Reed himself instead of jumping through all those hoops to get Reed convicted.”

Alex wasn’t surprised at West’s disregard for judicial impartiality. But she was surprised that he was being so candid with her, knowing that she could use his comments to support an appeal based on his bias against her client. She knew she should try to steer the conversation away from the case, but she didn’t want to discourage him from giving her more ammunition. So instead, she drained her drink.

“It makes sense if Chapman killed Wilfred Donaire and was trying to frame Reed for the murder. That’s what I argued in my closing, except for the scumbag part.”

“Are you trying to tell me your client didn’t kill Donaire?”

His question, dripping in disbelief, was more evidence that he’d made up his mind about Dwayne’s guilt. She wondered how far he’d go and why he was going there.

“If you’re asking me if my client confessed, you know I can’t answer that question.”

The judge smiled. “And I wouldn’t want you to since I’m probably going to have to pass sentence on him.” He picked up the bottle of Scotch, swirling the contents, then set it down and inched his chair snug against his desk. “What do you suppose is going to happen if the jury lets your client go?”

Alex shrugged. “He’ll be a free man.”

“Will justice have been served?”

“Yes. That’s the way the system works. That is justice.”

“Even if he gutted Wilfred Donaire like a catfish and fed him his own dick?”

Alex blinked, ignoring the judge’s crudeness, and stayed focused on his question. “Which is the greater evil? An innocent man wrongly imprisoned or a guilty man set free? Tommy Bradshaw and I argued about that the first day of our criminal procedure class.”

“I can guess what Bradshaw said. Better to keep an innocent man in jail than to free the guilty man, because the guilty man will probably commit more crimes. A small sacrifice for the greater good.”

“You got it,” Alex said.

“And I can guess what your bleeding heart said. Incarcerating the innocent undermines the whole system, and that’s worse than letting a guilty man go free.”

Alex laughed. “Yes, and I had the same argument last night with my girlfriend.”

“How is Dr. Long? Still running the ER over at Truman Medical Center?”

“Bonnie is fine, and yes, she’s still at Truman. In fact, she says to tell you hello. You charmed her at the Bench Bar gala last year.”

Judge West and Bonnie had gotten drunk together at the annual party for lawyers and judges, Bonnie telling her on the way home what a great guy West was, Alex answering that he had hit on her because she was so good-looking and he was too drunk to remember that she was a lesbian.

“She still nagging you about the way you dress?”

Alex blushed, resenting her body’s involuntary response, ducking her head. “She says that I’m old enough to know that there are more colors than black, gray, and white and more styles than pants and jackets.”

“Well, don’t listen to her. You always look just fine when you’re in my court. Professional all the way.”

“Thanks, Judge. I’ll be sure to cite you as my fashion authority the next time Bonnie tries to talk me into wearing a dress.”

Alex wondered why she was getting his charm treatment. They weren’t drunk and she wasn’t pretty like Bonnie, whose blond hair, sapphire eyes, and lush body placed her securely in the one percent. Alex saw herself as part of the ninety-nine percent, her features and shape ordinary, no matter how often Bonnie told her she was extraordinary.

“So what’s Bonnie’s take on all this free-the-guilty or condemn-the-innocent business?”

“She says there’s no good answer, both are equally bad, and that she’d rather make a life-or-death decision in the ER than serve on a jury in a death penalty case.”

“That’s why she’s the doctor and you’re the lawyer. It’s been a long time since you took criminal procedure. What do you think now?” Judge West asked.

“I think it’s not my job to decide guilt or innocence. That’s up to the jury. Innocent people get convicted. We know that from all the ones who were later exonerated. So I have to assume that guilty people also go free.”

“Doesn’t that bother you?”

“Of course it bothers me, but I can’t let it bother me too much. Otherwise, I couldn’t do my job. Besides, no one ever claimed the system was perfect, and no one has ever come up with a better one.”

Judge West refilled both their glasses. “Maybe you could do your job a little differently and it wouldn’t have to bother you.”

Alex squinted, trying to parse his meaning. “I don’t follow.”

“Due process does not require that every conceivable step be taken, at whatever cost, to eliminate the possibility of convicting an innocent person.”

“Justice Byron White wrote that in his majority opinion in
Patterson v. New York
. I know the case. But that’s not what we’re talking about. The public defender’s office is so strapped we practically have to bring pencils from home. We’re lucky if we can take half the steps we think we should, let alone every conceivable step.”