“They was just friends, not boyfriend-girlfriend or anything like that.”
“Oh, they were more than just friends, weren’t they, Mr. Cutlip? They were out-and-out lovers, weren’t they?”
“No. You’re wrong. He was, maybe, less than a man, from what I heard. From what I heard, I’d more expect him to be interested in that Bronson boy than in her.” That same staccato laugh, but this time no one joined in.
“They were lovers and they wanted to spend their lives together and you hated that, didn’t you, just like you hated the idea of Hailey’s marrying Guy Forrest?”
“You’re flat-assed wrong about that.”
“I’d like this marked Defense Exhibit Ten,” I said, dropping a photocopy before Troy Jefferson and taking the original up to be marked by the court reporter. When it was marked, I handed it to Cutlip. “You recognize what that is?”
“No, I sure as hell don’t.”
“It’s a letter from Jesse Sterrett to your niece Hailey. Why don’t you start reading it out loud to the jury?”
“Objection. There’s no foundation for this letter to be entered into evidence or to be read to the jury. He said he couldn’t identify it.”
“I’ll link it up, Judge.”
“Will the purported author, this Jesse Sterrett, be testifying?”
“No, Your Honor.”
“Then how will you link it up?”
“I ask for some leeway here, Judge. I believe I can lay the foundation for this document, but I’d like to do it in the order of my choosing. Remember, Your Honor, Mr. Jefferson chose to call this witness and have him point the finger of blame at my client.”
“Let me see the letter.” Judge Tifaro examined it and then examined my face to see if she could figure out what in the world I was trying to do. “How is this Jesse Sterrett relevant to this case?”
“You’ll see, Your Honor, but he surely is.”
“All right, Mr. Carl, pending a ruling later as to relevance and as to proper foundation, I’ll allow your examination to continue for now.”
“But, Judge—”
“That’ll do, Mr. Jefferson. You took enough liberties with this witness, I think it only fair I give Mr. Carl the same opportunity.”
“We take exception.”
“Exception noted. Go ahead, Mr. Carl.”
“Thank you, Judge. Mr. Cutlip, read the letter please.”
“Let me put on my glasses, then.” He fumbled in his shirt pocket and pulled out a set of reading glasses.
“Mr. Cutlip,” said the judge, “you didn’t put on your glasses when you were examining the photographs yesterday, did you?”
“Didn’t need them for that.”
“That’s encouraging. Go ahead, Mr. Carl.”
“Read the beginning of the letter out loud for the jury,” I said.
“’I am flying,’ it says, ‘I am floating through the air and I don’t never want to come down. Never.’ I told you he was like that, a sissy boy like that.”
“Who?”
“The Sterrett boy who wrote this.”
“Fine.” I glanced up at the judge, who smiled slightly at the admission as to authorship. “Now, go to the end, Mr. Cutlip, and read the last sentence, read that one to the jury.”
“Here it is: ‘I can’t wait to go to sleep tonight so I can wake up tomorrow and see your face and then after school and after practice run to the quarry so I can cover you in kisses till it’s dark and we have to go home and then do it all again the day after and then again and then again.”’
“And it is signed ‘J’ for Jesse Sterrett, isn’t it?”
“That’s right.”
“And the quarry in Pierce, where you lived, is where the teenagers go to neck, or spoon, or make out, or whatever the word is now, isn’t that right?”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“Is it still your testimony that Jesse Sterrett and your niece weren’t lovers, that they weren’t in love?”
“He might of been but she wasn’t. I know for damn sure she wasn’t.”
“If she wasn’t, why would she have kept this letter for fifteen years?”
“Objection.”
“Sustained.”
“All right, Mr. Cutlip. What happened to Jesse Sterrett?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes you do,” I said. “Tell the jury what happened to Jesse Sterrett, who loved your niece and couldn’t wait to go to sleep because it meant he was closer to waking and seeing her again and covering her again with his kisses? Tell them what happened to Jesse Sterrett sixteen years ago.”
Cutlip stretched his neck as if his collar were too tight. “He died.”
“Objection, Your Honor. This is too much. Counsel is dredging up something that happened years ago in another state. There is no evidence of a connection and so no relevance to this testimony.”
The judge peered down at Cutlip as he squirmed in the witness chair. “Where did this boy die?” asked the judge.
“In that there quarry.”
“How?”
“He slipped and fell and died in the quarry, and that was all.”
“His head was smashed in, wasn’t it?” I said.
“From the fall.” Cutlip stretched his neck again. “That’s what the coroner, he said.”
“Your poker buddy, Doc Robinson, your drinking and poker buddy, he was the coroner, right?”
“He said it was an accident.”
“And a few days later you left Pierce, West Virginia.”
“One had nothing to do with the other.”
“A few days after your niece’s lover Jesse Sterrett’s head was smashed in at the quarry, you left Pierce, West Virigina, didn’t you? You left your home, your nieces, your sister, you left and never came back again, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, I left.”
“And you left because they found Jesse Sterrett dead. Isn’t that why you left?”
“Your Honor, I still have my objection.”
The judge continued to stare down at Lawrence Cutlip on the stand and said, “Mr. Carl, why should I not sustain Mr. Jefferson’s objection?”
“This witness testified that my client killed his niece. I am permitted under the rules of evidence to inquire about specific instances of conduct that may weigh on his truthfulness and credibility as to that issue. What happened to Jesse Sterrett, I believe, is one of those instances.”
“Objection overruled.”
“I’m done,” said Cutlip. “I got nothing more to say about that boy. I’m not feeling so well. I’m not a healthy man. I got problems. I got a weak constitution. I had beriberi. I been sick as a dog for the last seven years. I came here to tell you all that the dead girl, she was my niece and that this man kilt her, and now you’re asking me all kinds of questions about something that happened too damn long ago. I’m a carcass already near dead and now you’re trying to finish me off once and for all.”
“Take a moment, Mr. Cutlip,” said the judge, “to pull yourself together.”
I turned my back on Cutlip’s evil stare and leaned over the defense table to talk to Beth.
“How am I doing?” I whispered.
“Terrific,” she said. “You have him on the run, and you’ve kept my red marker busy.”
“What are we up to by now?”
“With his direct testimony, and with what you’ve done today, about a third.”
“What do you think we need?”
“It’s hard to say. Fifty percent would make it all pretty sure.”
“Let me know when we reach it.”
“You want me to signal you?”
“Yes.”
“Some secret signal?”
“Not too secret. Just call something out.”
“What, like Skink’s bingo?”
“Yes, exactly. Bingo.”
“Victor…”
“Just do it. Any word from Skink?”
“Not yet.”
I shook my head,
stood straight, turned around. “All right, Mr. Cutlip. Something different, something less trying. Ms. Derringer and I met with you before this trial at the Desert Winds retirement home, isn’t that right? That’s where you live, isn’t it?”
“Sure do.”
“That’s out there in Henderson, Nevada, just a few miles from the Las Vegas Strip, isn’t that right?”
“Sure is.”
“It’s a nice place, that Henderson, the fastest-growing city in America.”
“So they say.”
“And the Desert Winds retirement home is lovely, isn’t it? The best of the best. The very lap of luxury.”
“I suppose it’s nice enough.”
“Pretty expensive place?”
“Don’t know.”
“You don’t pay the bills?”
“Was a lump sum deposited to take care of the bills.”
“Who paid the lump sum?”
“Hailey.”
“And you have your own personal attendant there at Desert Winds, don’t you?”
“Yeah. My man Bobo.”
“Bobo? Is that his real name?”
“That’s what I call him.”
“But his real name is Dwayne Joseph Bohannon, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know about the Joseph.”
“But the Dwayne and the Bohannon are right.”
“I suppose so.”
“Who pays for Bobo?”
“Hailey, though not no more after that man killing her and all.”
“Is Bobo in court today? Did he come to Philadelphia with you?”
“No.”
“So he’s still in Nevada?”
“Don’t know. He could be anywhere. He comes when he wants and goes when he wants. Lately he’s been a going.”
“Now, Bobo does all that traveling in a pretty nice car, doesn’t he? A white Camaro with Nevada plates.”
“That’s right.”
“Bought with Hailey’s money.”
“What he earned taking care of me.”
“How did Hailey afford the lump-sum payment for such an upscale retirement place?”
“She was a lawyer.”
“Yes, but so am I, and I couldn’t afford it, and Ms. Derringer here couldn’t afford it, and Mr. Jefferson here couldn’t afford it. So I’m wondering, how did Hailey afford it?”
“I don’t know. She said she had a case that came through, near drowned her in money.”
“A case? And this case came through when?”
“Six months or so before she died.”
“What kind of case, do you know?”
“Just a case. She said some guy went into a hospital for something minor and ended up like a stalk of celery.”
I turned to look at the jury. They were nodding, they knew the case even if Cutlip didn’t. “And after that money came in,” I continued, “the money from that case, she moved you to Desert Winds?”
“Yep.”
“And before that where were you living?”
“Around.”
“Around where?”
“Motels here or there, around Vegas, whatever I could afford at the time.”
“And Bobo?”
“He was in them motels, too.”
“So you and Bobo knew each other before Desert Winds.”
“That’s right.”
“Nice places, those motels?”
“Hardly. Some had bugs the size of rats, and then there was the rats. And for the prices we paid, they didn’t have no HBO.”
“Is there HBO in Desert Winds?”
“And Cinemax and Showtime.”
“How nice for you that must be. Now, you mentioned in your direct testimony that your niece told you she and Guy Forrest were fighting over money, isn’t that right?”
“That’s what I said, yeah. That’s when I knowed she was in trouble.”
“Did she tell you that the fight was over the money from the case that near drowned her in money?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“The same money that had taken you out of motel land, with its bugs as big as rats and no HBO, and into the lovely, luxurious, Desert Winds.”
“I suppose.”
“And so the thought of Guy taking back that lump-sum payment and sending you and Bobo back down to motel land was pretty terrifying, wasn’t it?”
“I could handle it.”
“Really? Without HBO? Wasn’t Guy Forrest, by complaining about the missing money, putting your whole luxurious existence at risk? Wouldn’t you have done anything to keep from going back to those motels?”
“Mr. Carl, I’m a broken man. I’m stuck in this damn chair, this is my first time out of Nevada in six years, I haven’t been able to keep down a drink in a year and a half. I got something in me that’s chewing me up. It’ll kill me, it will, and damn soon. I’m dying for damn sure, without nothing no one can do about it. My life is over already. What the hell do I care where I die? All I know is the only person in this whole damn world that ever did the least thing nice for me is dead, and I loved her pure, and to tell the truth I’m dying more of lost love than anything else. And nothing can happen to me from here on out, nothing you could ever dream do to me, could be any worse.”
“How about Bobo, could he handle it?”
“Objection.”
“Sustained.”
“I’d like to mark this Defense Exhibit Eleven for identification. Do you know what that is?”
“It looks like a traffic ticket of some sort.”
“Objection, Your Honor. Foundation. Relevance.”
The judge took the ticket and examined it carefully for a long moment before frowning. “No, I’m going to allow this,” she said. “I assume you’ll lay the foundation for this in your case, Mr. Carl.”
“The ticketing officer has already been subpoenaed to testify.”
“Fine. Continue.”
“Where is this ticket from, Mr. Cutlip?”
“It says here City of Philadelphia.”
“What’s it for?”
“Looks like speeding.”
“On City Line Avenue, isn’t that right? Could you tell the jury the make and license of the car?”
“A Camaro, white, Nevada plates.”
“And who is it issued against?”
“It’s hard to read the handwriting.”
“Try.”
“Looks like Dwayne Joseph Bohannon.”
“Bobo.”
“Suppose so.”
“What was Bobo doing not six blocks from Hailey Prouix’s house the night before the murder?”
“Don’t know. Ask Bobo.”
“Objection.”
“I’d be delighted to ask him, Mr. Cutlip,” I said over the objection, “but he seems to have disappeared, so I am forced to ask you.”
“Objection, Your Honor.”
“Sustained. The jury will disregard that question and please remember, questions are not evidence. Evidence can come only from the witnesses. Anything more, Mr. Carl?”
“Yes, Your Honor, I’d like to mark four photographs for identification, Defense Exhibits Twelve to Fifteen.”
I gave the first to Cutlip to examine.
“Do you recognize the people in that picture?”
“Where’d you get this?”
“Just answer my question. Do you recognize the people in that photograph?”
“That’s my sister and her husband and them two girls.”
“They look pretty happy there don’t they, a happy family?”
“Sure they was. Why not?”
“How old were the girls there?”
“Seven maybe. Tommy died when they was eight.”
“Tommy Prouix?”
“That’s right.”
“Where was he from, this Tommy Prouix?”
“New Orleans. I met him down there in a bar. He was a wild-eyed Cajun looking for work. Told him there was lumber mills up West Virginia way that was hiring. He drove
up, stayed with my sister till he settled, and then settled down with her.”
“And this next picture, can you tell us what that is?”
“That’s me and my sister and the girls.”
“When was this taken?”
“After he was kilt, when I was forced to move in.”
“You were forced to move in?”
“They needed something in that house, they needed a man. The girls had that Cajun blood in them and they was running wild, and Debra, my sister, she never really recovered from Tommy’s dying.”
“And she asked you to come back.”
“I was traveling like before when I heard Tommy was dead. I came for the funeral, saw what was happening, and stayed. Them girls, they needed a firm hand, and so I did what I could. I found a job that paid decent in a local slaughterhouse and I cut down on my drinking so they’d have money for clothes and such.”
“And you provided the discipline they needed.”
“Yes I did.”
“The firm hand.”
“That’s what they needed. I know I needed it, and my daddy never flinched. Never once. Them girls needed it, too, especially Hailey.”
“And like your daddy, you never flinched.”
“No, sir.”
“And so you laid your hands on them.”
“When I had to. Never so it hurt, just so they’d know what they done was wrong.”
“The girls, do they look happy in that picture?”
“It’s hard to tell. I suppose they was happy enough. They was eating regularly, I know that.”
“Let me show you another photograph.”
“Where did you find these pictures? Where did you find that letter?”
“The same place, Mr. Cutlip, both in the same place. Do you recognize the two girls in that photograph?”
“It’s Roylynn and Hailey.”
“Your two nieces. How old are they there?”
“I don’t know. Fifteen or so.”
“They look very much alike in some respects. Can you tell them apart?”
“Well, it’s not too hard. Hailey was always the one dressed like a slut.”
“Was this picture taken before or after Roylynn tried to kill herself?”
“How the hell do I know?”
“Why did your niece, Roylynn, try to kill herself when you were in the house?”
“She ain’t the one that was murdered.”
“Please answer my question. What was going on in that house that caused Roylynn to want to die?”
Fatal Flaw Page 39