The Guilty (32 page)

“You can be sure that I’ll only have positive things to say. I find your work so fascinating, and I must say you do it so well.”

“You caught me on a good day.”

“Now that’s just false modesty, and there’s no need for it. I’m sure the way things are going you’re going to win this trial. I just regret I have to leave town tomorrow and can’t watch more of it. Good luck. We’ll be in touch. Not that anything’s been decided, you understand.”

She reached to shake his hand, then noticed that both his hands were full with his briefcase and courtroom apparel, so she squeezed his arm again instead. She laughed breathlessly as she did so, gave Kouri a short wave and rushed out into the winter afternoon.

“What the heck was that?” Kouri asked.

“The face of the future,” Bratt said tonelessly. “Pretty scary, eh kid?”

They continued on their way back to the office but Bratt said nothing more about the surprise visitor.

It was midway through Friday morning’s court session that Bratt decided he didn’t really dislike Dorrell Phillips. As a matter of fact, he felt quite sorry for the young man. Not for the terrible trauma he had undergone, although that was bad enough, but because the focus of his testimony had been turned away from that trauma and was now aimed squarely at his inability to recount what had happened in a believable manner.

The lawyer wondered what it must be like to get two bullets in the base of your skull and then be treated like a liar. No wonder Phillips’s anger and resentment
colored every answer he gave.

“You were in the hospital for six days before you picked Marlon Small’s picture out of that high school yearbook.”

“Yeah, I said that before.”

“And in your statement of June 23, three days after you selected that picture, you gave a physical description of your two assailants, although you had already given some descriptions to the police on two prior occasions.”

“Mr. Bratt, do you have a question?” Green muttered, looking bored.

“Mr. Phillips, why didn’t you mention that the person who shot you had a gap between his teeth until after you saw that gap in the high school picture?”

“I don’t get your meaning.”

“You don’t get it? Let me make it clear, then. Between the shooting on June 14 and the statement you made on June 23 you met several times with homicide detectives, correct?”

“
Correct
.”

“On none of those occasions, either by word or in writing, did you mention the very distinctive gap between your assailant’s teeth. It was only after you saw the high school picture of Mr. Small, where he’s got a big, gap-toothed grin, that you suddenly added that to your description. Why is that?”

“I don’t know. I guess that’s when I remembered it.”

“Didn’t you testify earlier this week that he brought his face close to yours and that’s when you saw the gap in his teeth?”

“Yeah.”

“You were facing certain death at the time and yet that gap was so obvious that it s
truck you and stuck in your memory. How could you just forget it in the following days, when the police were desperately trying to come up with something to identify your attackers?”

“I can’t explain that.”

“Isn’t it true that the man who shot you had no gap at all between his teeth? Didn’t you just add that particular little feature to your description when you saw it in the picture of Marlon Small?”

“No, I always knew the guy who shot me had those funny teeth.”

“And when were you planning to tell the police about it?”

Phillips shook his head silently, but didn’t answer Bratt’s question. Green looked at him for a few seconds before turning to the lawyer.

“Do you want an answer to that question, Mr. Bratt?”

“No, My Lord, I don’t expect an answer at all.”

“I didn’t think so,” Green said, burying his head in his notebook again.

Bratt looked over at Parent’s unhappy face. It was one more little mystery that Phillips had been unable to clarify for the jury and the prosecutor could see that now even the judge had gotten into the act. Some witnesses could get away with saying the dumbest things at times, but responding to a question with silence was a near-fatal path for anyone to take. Unfortunately for Dorrell Phillips, stubborn silence was where he constantly retreated when faced with hard questions. 

Bratt glanced up at the clock and saw that it was just past noon. Less than half an hour until Green adjourned for lunch. Just enough time to finish with the last few questions he had for Phillips.

“Mr. Phillips, did you ever have any doubt about what your assailant looked like?”

“Never. I always knew it was him.”

“You didn’t hesitate at all when the police showed you his picture?”

“Not even a second.”

“You didn’t see any other pictures that might have been your assailant.”

“No, I didn’t. Well…”

“Well?”

“There was a mug shot of a guy that I thought might have been him, but I wasn’t sure. I think I said that the other day.”

“Yes, you certainly did.”

Bratt rifled through some papers and pulled out a color copy of the pictures in the mug book that Phillips had been shown at the hospital.

“Mr. Phillips, these are the mug shots shown to you by the police last June 17, are they not?”

Phillips flipped through a few of the pages that had been placed in front of him.

“They look like it.”

“Do you remember writing any comments on any of those pages, anything about people you thought you recognized?”

“Like I said, I thought one of them was maybe the guy who shot me, and I wrote that.”

“As a matter of fact,” Bratt paused as he turned the pages until he reached the picture in question, “what you wrote was, ‘Number three. He’s the one who shot me.’ Isn’t that your writing?”

“Yeah, that’s what I’ve been saying all along.”

“Is there a difference in your mind between saying number three is the one who shot you and saying number three
looks like
the one who shot you?”

“I don’t know. I guess so.”

“You didn’t write that you
thought
number three was the one who shot you, nor that he
looked
like the one who shot you, did you? You wrote that number three
is
the one who shot you. Sounds like you were pretty certain it was number three, doesn’t it?”

“It looked like him. That’s what I meant.”

“Can you show me if anywhere, on any of these pages, you corrected yourself and told the detectives that he only
looked
like your assailant?”

“You know I didn’t write anything like that.”

“Did you say anything to the police about it?”

“No, I was still intubated at the time.”

“That’s right, you were. If I tell you that nowhere in any of the detectives’ personal notes nor in their official reports do they mention that you ever indicated that number three only
looked
like your assailant, would that surprise you?”

“No, I guess not.”

“You guess not. Is it not then possible, and even likely, that when you saw that picture you were certain that number three was the man who shot you?”

“No way. I only meant he looked like the guy who shot me. I never said I thought it was him.”

“Well, well. That’s settled then. But tell me another thing, Mr. Phillips. How old would you say the man shown in picture number three is?”

“I can’t tell.”

“Would you say he looks older than you? Maybe closer to my age?”

“Yeah, he’s old, like you.”

“Thanks a lot,” Bratt gave a sarcastic smile. “Would you agree with me that Mr. Small, who is all of twenty-one years old right now, looks much younger than number three?”

“Yeah.”

“In the picture, the man’s lips are slightly parted. Look carefully and see if you can spot any gaps in his front lower teeth.”

Phillips glanced briefly down at the picture, already knowing the answer beforehand.

“No, there’s no gaps.”

“And, as you’ve so correctly pointed out, Mr. Small does have a very noticeable gap between his teeth, doesn’t he? All right, other than the age difference and the missing gap in the teeth, can you tell us if there are any similarities between Mr. Small and the man in picture number three?”

This time Phillips studied the picture a little harder, although the result was the same.

“They don’t really look like each other.”

“Not even a little bit?”

“No, not even a little bit.”

Bratt made a show of scratching his head in puzzlement and looked a little longer at the picture, then over at Small in the prisoner’s box.

“OK, maybe you can help me here, because I’m a little confused. You’re telling us today that when you saw picture number three you told the homicide detectives that the man in the picture
looked
like the man who shot you. Yet you’ve just admitted that Marlon Small doesn’t look anything at all like the man in picture number three. How can you claim today that Marlon Small shot you when you’ve told us that he doesn’t even look like the man who shot you?”

“That’s not what I said. You’re twisting my words.”

“Yes, well defense lawyers are known for that, aren’t we? So let’s put it in your own words. Does the man in picture number three look like the guy who shot you?”

Phillips retreated into silence again and just stared at the picture. This time, though, Bratt didn’t want to leave the question unanswered.

“Mr. Phillips. Isn’t that what you told the police last June? Isn’t that what you just finished telling us a few minutes ago?”

“Yeah,” Phillips forced himself to answer.

“Yeah, what?”

“Yeah, number three looks like the man who shot me. Is that what you want me to say?”

“Only if it’s the truth, Mr. Phillips. You are telling us the truth, aren’t you?”

“You know I am.”

And they say the truth will set you free
, Bratt thought.
It just might, if you’re Marlon Small.

To Phillips he said, “And is it not also the truth that this same number three, the one who looks like the man who shot you, doesn’t look anything at all like my client?”

Phillips glared at the lawyer without answering for several seconds. Then, just when Bratt thought he’d have to repeat his question, Phillips finally spoke up.

“No. He doesn’t.”

Bratt nodded thoughtfully, and paused for a few seconds to collect his thoughts. He knew he had come to the perfect place to stop.    

“Thank you, My Lord,” he said. “We’ll have no more questions for this witness.”

With that, he sat down, flipping his robe dramatically behind him as he did so. His face beamed a smile of perfect contentment toward judge and jury, and for added effect he lightly tossed his pen onto the desk in front of him and crossed his arms. His work there was done.

It was past seven o’clock and Bratt was starting to feel hungry. He sat alone at his desk,
savoring the silence and solitude at the end of his hectic week. Kouri had headed home about an hour earlier, but Bratt was in no rush to leave, still feeling the need to wind down from the daily adrenalin rush he had been experiencing.

That afternoon, after they had had their lunch, they put aside whatever feelings of accomplishment Phillips’ cross-examination had brought them, along with all their notes concerning his testimony. There was still work to do, and they turned their attention to Marcus Paris, who would be called to the stand on Monday morning. Their minds still full of Phillips and his testimony, they tried to concentrate on their cross-examination strategy for the next witness.

They spent the afternoon reviewing the questions Bratt would have to ask Paris, making some changes based on what Phillips had said over the last three days. Finally, feeling mentally drained, Bratt had told his assistant to put everything away until Monday morning. There were only so many times they could go over the same points before they began burning themselves out.

Bratt looked at his watch again and put his stockinged feet up on his desk, his
favorite position for relaxing and contemplating the twists and turns he was navigating on the road to what seemed to be his final destination of being named a judge. He smiled to himself, allowing a feeling of contentment to wash over him.

The weekend ahead looked to be fairly uneventful and he intended to forget all about the Marlon Small trial, if only for a
little while. He wondered if he shouldn’t call up Jeannie, or maybe even Nancy, but mostly he looked forward to enjoying some peace and quiet at home.

From his seat he heard the front door of the firm opening and footsteps entering softly. He thought it must be Kouri coming back for some forgotten item, so he called out to him.