Stray Bullets (29 page)

Greene could tell the jury couldn’t wait to see how it would look when the five were put together. He already knew how bad it would be.

But it wasn’t this evidence that bothered Greene about the trial so far. It was Ralph Armitage’s performance. He seemed distracted, thrown off by Parish’s gambit with the chart. Instead of his trademark confident swagger, Armitage was stumbling, even through routine stuff. Now, on Friday afternoon, he had Suzanne Howett on the stand. Last night they’d met with her and gone over the statement she’d made to Greene after he picked her up at the Petro-Can gas station. She was expected to be a solid witness. Hopefully, Armitage would finish off the week on a more positive note.

“Ms. Howett, how old are you?” Armitage asked when everyone was settled back in court after the lunch break. The former Tim Hortons employee had taken the stand and been sworn.

“Twenty-two,” Howett said. She’d cut her long curls and wore a conservative dress.

“Suzanne,” Armitage said, softening his voice, switching to her first name to make her relax. “Do you have a criminal record?”

“No.”

“Ever been arrested?”

“No. Never.”

“Last November fourteenth, where were you working?”

“I was a server at the Tim Hortons.” She pointed in the direction of the back of the courtroom with her right hand. Greene noticed she
kept her scarred left baby finger curled up and hidden. “The one on Elm Street.”

Armitage waved his hand in the same direction. “Right across the street, up only a block or two.”

Smart move, Greene thought. Bring home to the jury how close the shooting was to the spot where they’re sitting right now. Armitage had gotten into a relaxed conversation with Howett. Dealing with this witness appeared to have restored his confidence.

“Yeah. I worked there for a year. Until the shooting.”

“Tell us about the night of the fourteenth.” Armitage tilted his head a little to the side, as if he were hearing her evidence for the first time. The jury was rapt.

“My shift ended at five. Jet used to pick me up then,” she said.

“Jet, what’s his real name?” Armitage asked.

“Oh, it’s James Trapper, but everyone calls him Jet. We grew up together on Pelee Island. That’s in Lake Erie.”

Howett was getting nervous, Greene thought. Everyone in the court could see it. But Armitage seemed completely nonchalant. He walked up to her. “Suzanne, take a second. You want a glass of water?”

“No thanks.” She giggled a little.

“Have you ever been in court before to testify?”

“Me? No.” She shook her head hard.

“Take a look at the jury. It’s allowed. They’re not going to bite.”

She giggled again. “Yeah. I know.”

He turned to the judge. “He’s not going bite either.”

She blushed. “Thanks.”

Armitage looked at the defense table and pointed out Nancy Parish. “Now, she’s the defendant’s lawyer. I can’t guarantee what she’s going to do, you understand that?”

She was nodding now. “I guess so.”

A few jury members chuckled.

Armitage moved back away. “You swore to tell us the truth. You can do that, right?”

“Sure.’

This was all done very smoothly. Greene was impressed. He’d seen many Crown Attorneys rush their own witnesses and turn good evidence into bad.

“Okay, Suzanne. You finished your shift and were waiting for Jet to come pick you up.”

Good move, Greene thought, talking to her about Jet, not “Mr. Trapper.”

“Yeah, I was having a smoke out back with Jose. He was the baker, and we used to do that.”

“And what happened?”

“Well, I told him that my old boyfriend Dewey—Dewey Booth is his full name—had like just got out of prison, and how he hung out with his buddy Larkin, who had super-long hair.”

“Larkin. Do you know his last name?”

“I didn’t then, but I do now from the papers and stuff. It’s him with the long hair. It used to be way longer.”

She pointed to St. Clair, sitting at the defense counsel table beside Nancy Parish. He’d been staring straight ahead the whole time and didn’t move a muscle. Well coached by his lawyer, Greene thought, to never look at the witness stand. Especially when one of the witnesses was someone he knew and who the jury might think he was trying to influence.

“What else did you say to Jose, while you were out back having your smoke? Before Jet came to pick you up?”

That was smart, Greene thought. Recap the key points to reinforce them to the jury. Make sure they know where she is in her story.

“I said I thought Dewey was looking for me. That I was afraid,” she said. “I told him that Dewey and Jet hate each other.”

“Objection, Your Honor.” Nancy Parish came flying out of her seat.

Rothbart put his hand up as if to say, “I understand,” then looked at Armitage with dagger eyes. “Mr. Crown, I don’t want to hear this kind of highly prejudicial hearsay evidence.” He turned to the jury. “Members of the jury, you will disregard this witness’s last statement. What she thinks other people think of each other is not, I repeat,
not
evidence.”

Greene wondered how Armitage would take this judicial rebuke.

He stood tall. “Apologies, Your Honor. We have an inexperienced witness here, but I’ll be very careful.”

Nicely done, Greene thought. And good move setting up right from the start that Howett has never been in court before.

“Suzanne, what happened next? Only what you saw and heard, and not what anyone else told you.”

“Okay. We were sharing a cigarette, then Jose went inside.”

“You two were alone?”

“Yeah.”

“What did you do?” Armitage was in a smooth cadence with his witness, which made the story easy to follow, and to believe.

“I went around the far side of the building away from the lot where it’s real dark. I heard Jose call me from out back and warn me that he’d seen Dewey and Larkin inside.”

“Did you call back to him?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I didn’t want anyone to know where I was. Especially Dewey.”

“Then what happened?”

“I hid beside the wall for another minute or two until I saw Jet’s Caddy drive up. He owns an old Cadillac.”

“What did you do?”

“Jet got out of the car and I ran across the lot to him. I didn’t even see the father and the little boy.”

“Just tell us what you did see.” Greene saw Armitage look over to the jury. One of the jurors, a young woman, nodded at him. He smiled back at her, his best Ralph Armitage grin.

In the witness box, Howett had stopped speaking. Greene saw her start to shake, just as she’d done when he’d encountered her at the gas station. She reached down with her right hand and massaged her left baby finger. He could almost smell her fear.

It took Armitage a moment to hear the strained silence. He turned to her. “Suzanne, what did you see?”

Howett was nodding her head fast, gulping down air. “I didn’t tell anyone this before,” she said, speaking all in one breath. A sudden spurt of energy. “He, he, Jet I mean, he had a gun.”

Ralph Armitage had a sick feeling. He knew what Suzanne Howett was going to say a moment before she blurted out her lie—that Jet had a gun. He might not have been the best legal eagle when it came to black-letter law, but as did most experienced prosecutors who faced this all the time, he knew everything about cross-examining his own witness when they recanted. Changed their earlier evidence and became a so-called hostile witness.

Nancy Parish had taken a big risk by waiving the prelim in this case, but now he could see another reason why she did it. Armitage had no way of knowing what Howett would say the first time she testified under oath. And a surprise such as this in front of the jury could be a disaster for his case.

Everyone in the court looked taken aback by what she’d said. He had to stanch the bleeding right away. He strode over to his counsel table, took three copies of the transcript of the initial statement Howett had given to Greene at the homicide bureau from a folder on his desk, and with a popping sound opened a yellow highlighter that was beside it.

Although he was acting shocked and outraged for the benefit of the jury, Armitage had half expected this to happen, so he had everything ready. If he played this right, it might actually help his case. Make it clear to the jury that Howett had been intimidated into changing her story. Probably by Larkin or Dewey or both. Didn’t really matter. Juries hated this kind of thing and always took it out on the accused.

He highlighted a passage in each copy. The marker made an uncomfortable squeaking noise, the only sound in the packed, tense courtroom.

When he was done, he walked deliberately over to the defense table. Parish already had her copy of the transcript out and had turned to the same page as the one he’d highlighted. He showed her what he’d done and she nodded. She did not look happy. They both knew what was coming.

Then he turned back to Howett on the witness stand. Changing the pace to take her off guard, he barreled up to her and thrust a copy in front of her. He wanted the jury to think he was furious.

He rotated toward Rothbart. “Your Honor, I’m making an application before this court to have Ms. Suzanne Howett declared a hostile witness.” He handed the second copy of the statement to the court clerk, who passed it up to the judge.

“On what grounds?” Rothbart asked.

“Contradiction of a previous signed, sworn, and videotaped statement given freely to a person in authority,” he said. “I direct Your Honor to the highlighted portions on page four.”

Rothbart drummed his fingers on his hand as he read the statement. Then he looked at the defense table. “Ms. Parish?”

Parish looked up from her copy of the statement and didn’t even bother to rise. “I can see no grounds to object,” she said.

She was a smart enough lawyer not to fight a losing legal battle, he thought.

“Proceed,” Rothbart told him.

“Ms. Howett.” He turned his gaze on her. No more calling her “Suzanne.” No more Mr. Nice Guy. “Do you recognize this?”

She barely glanced at the papers. “I do.”

“Take all six pages. Give them a good look.” He was in very close, using his considerable height to dominate the space between them. “Tell the jury what this is.”

She reached for the pages, her elbows tight to her sides, like a timid child about to get her hands slapped. “It’s the statement I gave to Detective Greene,” she said.

“That Detective Greene?” He pointed back to Greene, who was sitting placidly at the Crown’s table.

“Yes, sir.”

“At the Toronto police headquarters?”

“Yes, sir.”

“On November seventeenth.”

“Yeah, a few days after it happened.”

“Under oath?”

“Yes.”

“Videotaped?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes. Yes, sir.”

He ripped the document out of her hand and flipped to the last page. “And this signature,” he said, jabbing at the paper, “is it yours?”

“It is,” she said without looking at it.

“No, look,” he demanded. “Is this your signature?”

Shaking now, she bent down. “Yes.” She sounded absolutely defeated.

This was what he needed to do. Destroy this lie she’d just told. He wanted the jury to be as mad as he was. Or as mad as he was pretending to be.

He flipped to the fourth page. “Here.” He pointed to the section he’d just highlighted. “I want you to read the parts in yellow. Including the name of the person asking or answering the question.”

He jammed the papers into her hand and strode back, placing himself square in the middle of the jury box. Let her be alone with her lie. He flipped to page four of his copy, making it clear he was going to follow her every word.

She hesitated.

Armitage didn’t. He had to keep the pressure on. “Your Honor, please tell this witness that she must read this passage out loud.” He’d taken her from “Suzanne” to “Ms. Howett” to “this witness.”

Rothbart put on a very stern face. “Ms. Howett,” he said in his deep bass voice. Good to have an actor on the bench when you needed one, Armitage thought.

“Okay,” she said. “Can I get a glass of water first?”

“Certainly.” Rothbart poured one himself and handed it over to her.

She took a long sip, then started to read.

“‘Detective Greene: “What happened next?”’

“‘Suzanne Howett: “Someone said, ‘Here, take this,’ then I heard the shots. We jumped in the car and took off.”’

“‘Detective Greene: “How many shots?”’

“‘Suzanne Howett: “I don’t know. A lot.”’

“‘Detective Greene: “Did Jet have a gun?”’

“‘Suzanne Howett: “No. He didn’t have a gun.”’”

Howett stopped reading. Her hands were shaking. She took another sip of water. She put the paper down and covered her face with her hands.

“Your Honor,” Armitage said.

Rothbart leaned over to her. “Ms. Howett, please continue,” he said gently.

She wiped her hands across her face and started to read again. “‘Detective Greene: “You sure? You’re under oath now and I’m going to get this statement typed out and have you sign it.”’

“‘Suzanne Howett: “I’m sure. Jet didn’t have a gun.”’

“‘Detective Greene: “Where did the shots come from?”’

“‘Behind me somewhere. Near the Timmy’s.’”

She stopped and looked at Armitage.

“Ms. Howett,” he said. “Were you asked those questions and did you give those answers?” he asked.

She tossed the paper down. “Yes. But I lied. I was afraid. Jet told me what to say.”

This was a pivotal moment in this trial. If the jury believed her new evidence, that Jet had a gun, the case was in serious trouble.

Armitage looked back at Rothbart. “Permission to cross-examine this witness, sir?”

“Ms. Parish, any objections?” Rothbart asked.

“No objections,” she said.

“Granted,” Rothbart said.

Time for a change of pace, Armitage thought. He stroked his chin, smiled at her. “So, let me get this straight. Jet had a gun that night.”

“Yes.” She looked relieved by his less aggressive tone.

“What kind of gun was it?” he asked her, breaking rule number one in cross-examination: never ask a question when you don’t know the answer. A rule he couldn’t risk following right now.