by Jeanne Winer
Dan’s cross-examination ended at five o’clock, timed so that any redirect would have to wait till Monday. His tone throughout was disapproving but never mean. Like Lee, he began chronologically, recounting the story of how a young man who hated being gay had joined a group of homophobic skinheads and ended up participating in a murder. And how the young man, after the fact, had invented a different version where he and the victim were innocent, star-crossed lovers. A version belied by numerous witnesses and the young man’s own confession. By four-thirty, many of the jurors who’d seemed sympathetic were now looking confused and unhappy.
At a quarter to five, Dan imitated Lee by walking halfway to the witness stand, but unlike his adversary, his action was meant to intimidate, not soothe.
“Mr. Matthews,” he said, “if Sam had been the love of your life, you wouldn’t have kicked him.”
Jeremy looked exhausted but resolute.
“I wish I hadn’t.”
Lee’s advice on cross: Answer the question with as few words as possible. Don’t try to explain. Acknowledge whatever’s true, even if it sounds bad.
“If he’d been the love of your life,” Dan continued, “you would have run for help.”
“I tried to but I fell.”
“If he’d been the love of your life, you would have gotten to your feet and run some more.”
“I should have.”
“You would have run to the road and flagged somebody down.”
“I know. I should have.”
Dan’s face registered both disapproval and disbelief.
“If Sam had been the love of your life, you would never have gotten back in the car with his murderers.”
“I-I didn’t know what else to do.”
“You would have called the police as soon as you got back to Denver.”
“I should have.”
“You would have left the house as soon as the murderers were gone.”
“I don’t know why I didn’t.”
“You would have gone to the police and had those men arrested.”
“I should have.”
If Dan felt frustrated, he masked it well.
“But the truth is they were your brothers and you were just as guilty as they were.”
Jeremy glanced down at his hands and said, “That’s kind of how I felt.” And then looked up again. “But-but I wasn’t.”
“Mr. Matthews, if Sam had been the love of your life, you wouldn’t have told the police he was just a faggot who deserved to die.”
“I didn’t mean it.”
“But that’s what you said. Those were your exact words.”
“Yes.”
“And most importantly, if he’d been the love of your life, you wouldn’t have acted as the lookout while the others kicked him.”
“I-I didn’t act as the lookout.”
“But that’s what you told the police.”
“Yes.”
Dan was looking incredulous now.
“Mr. Matthews, if you were innocent, you would have told the police what you’re telling us now.”
“Except I was in shock.”
Dan took another step forward and lowered his voice to a stage whisper.
“You weren’t in shock. You were simply telling the truth. Sam was never your boyfriend. He was just someone you knew, someone you killed. A faggot who deserved to die.”
“No, he wasn’t.”
Dan pressed his lips together and nodded sadly.
“I agree. No further questions.”
In case any of the jurors were looking, Lee smiled as if she were pleased. And in fact, it could have been much worse. Her client had done what they’d told him to. He hadn’t argued, cried, or sounded defensive. Most important, he hadn’t wilted during Dan’s final assault; he’d held his ground. Was it enough? Lee thought it was, but wondered if she was still thinking clearly.
After everyone filed out of the courtroom, the defense team surrounded their client and praised him.
“You did great, buddy,” Phil said.
“You think so?” Jeremy asked. His eyes were bloodshot and his face was very pale. He was beginning to lose weight again.
“Absolutely,” Carla said, tousling his hair.
Jeremy asked Lee if she agreed with them.
“Yes,” she told him. “Your answers on direct were excellent, and you held your own on cross. It went very well.”
“Did the jurors believe me?” Not a shred of guile in the question.
“I don’t know. But every one of them should have a reasonable doubt about your guilt. That’s all we need.”
“It-it would be nice, though, if they believed me.”
Leroy stepped up with a pair of handcuffs.
“I don’t know if it matters,” he told Jeremy, “but I believed you. I didn’t at first, but now I do.”
“That’s very encouraging,” Lee said, smiling.
After their client had gone, Lee slumped in her chair at the defense table, too tired to pretend she wasn’t. Her neck, which she’d managed to ignore for weeks, was killing her. Phil and Carla sank down beside her. Nobody was smiling anymore. After a moment, Phil tore off his tie and stuffed it in his pocket.
“It’s like wearing a noose,” he muttered.
Carla reached into her purse, pulled out her compact, opened it, and stared at herself in horror.
“Oh my God,” she groaned. “Why didn’t anyone … Oh never mind.” She closed the mirror and sighed.
Lee pressed her aching neck and heard it crack. It’s back, she thought and then began to chuckle.
“What’s so funny?” Carla asked, already beginning to smile.
“My neck makes worrisome cracking sounds,” Lee said.
Carla started to laugh.
“I have a pounding headache and a huge new floater in my left eye.”
“Why are you both laughing?” Phil asked, looking puzzled. “My heartburn is so bad, I think I might have an ulcer. I was wondering if I should go to the emergency room.” And then he started laughing too.
When they finally stopped, Carla pulled out a huge bottle of Tums from her purse and placed it on the table. Everyone took a handful and began eating. According to the clock on the wall, it was five-thirty.
“This is nice,” Carla said, looking from Lee to Phil.
“I like the green ones,” Phil murmured.
Lee smiled at them. It was nice, but their client’s future hung in the balance. Time to get serious.
“Okay,” she said, “let’s talk. Phil, what do you think?”
“Well, it’s close, but right now I think we can win.”
“I agree,” Carla said.
Lee thought so too, but was worried.
“What if Dan gets Rab to testify as a rebuttal witness?”
Phil sighed, then reached into his pocket, pulled out his tie, and pretended to hang himself with it.
“That’s only true if Rab’s a good witness,” Carla said. “If he isn’t, the jury could still acquit.”
“Who represents Rab?” Lee asked her.
“Bradley Moore. He’s not going to let you talk to his client.”
“If I were him,” Lee said, “I wouldn’t let me talk to his client either. But I’d sure like to know before Monday if his client is going to cooperate.”
“Oh happy day,” Phil began singing.
“Because—?” Lee asked.
“Because Bradley owes me a ginormous favor. A few years ago, he begged me to take over a robbery case. He was doing too much blow at the time and wasn’t prepared. We told the judge he couldn’t try the case because of a conflict. I took it over and won it. If I ask nicely, I think he’d let you have a word with his client. He’d want to be there of course.”
“That would be great. You sure you want to use up the favor this way?”
“Are you kidding? I owe you my career. Not only that, you let me be part of this team. It’s been a long time since I defended an innocent person.
It feels great. I was so burnt out trying sex cases I was beginning to wonder if I was on the wrong side—a truly sickening thought. But I’m jazzed again, ready to go back and champion all the killers, rapists, and thieves in Boulder County. So thank you.”
“In which case you’re welcome,” Lee said, touched by his obvious sincerity. “All the killers, rapists, and thieves in Boulder County will be very lucky to have you.”
Less than three hours later, Lee was standing in the lobby of the Boulder County Jail. Phil had called earlier and told her that Bradley would meet her there at eight, take it or leave it. She wolfed down an egg salad sandwich with a glass of water and three Advil, then changed into an elegant navy-blue pantsuit that fit her well. A simple white blouse, open at the neck, completed the outfit. Charlie complained bitterly as she hurried out the door, taking nothing but her car keys. Although it was pouring out, she didn’t have time to find an umbrella.
The lobby was empty, but it had obviously been a busy day at the jail. All the ashtrays were full and the floor around the wastebasket was littered with crumpled pieces of paper. A broken cell phone, which looked as if someone had stomped on it, lay in a corner of the room. Although she was a few minutes late, she took the time to dry herself off in the bathroom. It never hurt to look as good as you could, especially when meeting a dangerous criminal for the first time.
Finally, she left the bathroom, walked across the lobby, and pressed the after-hours buzzer. Ten minutes later, she was being escorted down a long beige hallway toward the maximum unit where Bradley and his client waited in one of the day rooms.
Inside the room, Bradley was leaning against a blackboard covered with typical AA slogans, such as “Expect miracles,” and “If it works, don’t fix it.” He was a competent, extremely arrogant lawyer who dyed his hair and wore large, expensive suits to hide his girth. His face was always tan, sometimes slightly orange. Because it was in her clients’ best interests for her to get along with all her colleagues, including Bradley, she did. Dissemble or find another profession.
“Hi, Bradley,” she said. “Thanks for letting me have a word with your client.”
“So here’s the deal. You may ask him if he’s going to testify. I’d like to know as well. If you ask him anything else, I’ll advise him not to answer.”
Lee turned to Rab, who was sitting in a white plastic chair with his long legs splayed out in front of him. He had a strong square face, blue eyes, and a petulant mouth. Like a coiled snake, he didn’t move, regarding her with curiosity. The jaguar tattoo on his neck was a startling emerald green.
“Hello,” Lee said, putting out her hand for him to shake. “My name is Lee Isaacs. May I call you Rab?”
“Hmm,” he said, as if it were a difficult question.
Lee waited, hand outstretched. A couple of seconds passed.
“Sure,” he finally said and shook her hand. His grip was powerful. “People don’t name their kids Lee anymore.”
“Actually, they do.”
“Really?” He scanned her up and down, apparently approving.
Bradley decided to intervene.
“So, she’s going to ask if you’ll be testifying for the prosecution on Monday. I hope you’ll tell her yes. This will be an extremely short interview. I don’t want—”
“Shut up, Bradley,” his client said, and frowned at Lee. “So my little brother is a cocksucker?”
Lee decided to play it straight and breezy.
“I’m afraid so.”
Rab burst out laughing. He had beautiful white teeth. Although he had a sense of humor and was obviously intelligent, something important was missing, something critical. A conscience, Lee thought. Which made him, at the very least, unpredictable.
“Have a seat,” he told her, pointing to another plastic chair a few feet away from him.
Lee made a show of moving the chair at least four feet back and then sat down.
“You’re a smart lady,” he said. “I’ll have to be careful.”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
Both of them smiled.
Bradley walked between them and said, “Rab, she wants to know if you’re going to testify as a rebuttal witness. That means—”
“I know what a rebuttal witness is.”
Bradley pointed to the black and white, industrial-sized clock on the wall.
“I don’t have a lot of time, Rab. She needs to know if you’re going to cooperate. Actually, so do I.”
“Well, the truth is, I haven’t made up my mind.”
“Fine,” Bradley said, “in which case, this interview is over.”
Lee had nothing to lose. In a moment, she’d be walking down that long beige hallway out into the rain again. Without an umbrella and without any answers.
“That’s up to your client, isn’t it?”
“No,” Bradley replied. “It’s up to me.”
“Beat it,” Rab ordered.
“You heard him,” Bradley said, jerking his head toward the door.
Lee bent sideways to look at Rab.
“I think he means you, Bradley.”
“What?”
“I did,” Rab said. “Beat it. I haven’t had the pleasure of speaking to a smart foxy lady in months.”
Bradley’s face went from slightly orange to an angry red.
“Don’t be fooled, Rab. She’s an experienced attorney who represents someone you’ve agreed to testify against. She’ll fuck you if she gets the chance.”
“That seems highly unlikely,” Lee said.
“Damn it, Rab, you’re in enough trouble as it is. I am strongly advising you not to speak—”
Rab made a dismissive gesture with his arm.
“I can take care of myself, Bradley. Now beat it.”
“Christ,” Bradley muttered. “You can play whatever games you want, but the DA isn’t fucking around. He’s going to pull the deal if you refuse to testify.”
“Don’t get your undies in a twist,” Rab told him. “I’m leaning toward cooperating.”
“Oh,” Bradley said, looking surprised. “Well, all right. Good. I’ll come by on Sunday night.”
“You do that. Now scram.”
After Bradley left, the two of them stared at each other. The room was much too warm and smelled like an over-chlorinated swimming pool.
“Well, this is cozy,” Rab said. He slowly clasped his hands, resting them on his lap.
Lee glanced around her. Besides the blackboard, there was a broken chair in the corner, and a pile of unwashed food trays stacked against the wall.
“Not really,” she said.
“I’ve been confined in much worse places. Have you read all the pre-sentence reports written about me?”
“Of course.”
“Then you know that I spent my childhood in dozens of crummy foster homes.” His voice was very matter-of-fact.
“I can’t imagine what that would be like.”
“In a word, brutal.” Then he brightened. “But, as a result, I’ve learned to transcend my physical surroundings.”
“A handy skill given where you’re headed.”
He narrowed his eyes at her.
“Are you mocking me?”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
He seemed mollified. More silence. Lee sighed inwardly.
Suddenly, he looked intrigued.
“You’re not afraid of me, are you?”
“No,” she said carefully, “but I don’t underestimate you.”
He looked her up and down again, benignly … or perhaps not. But then he surprised her.
“You’ve trained as a martial artist?”
“How did you guess?”
“Please, it’s obvious.” He nodded to himself. “I trained for almost nine years in Wing Chun.”
“A great system, especially for close contact fighting. Bruce Lee trained in Wing Chun before he developed his own style.”
Rab’s smile seemed almost genuine.
“My favo
rite movie in the world is Enter the Dragon.”
“Mine too,” Lee said, which happened to be the truth. She glanced at the thick metal door, which was locked from the outside. “My client will die if he goes to prison.”
“Aw, no more foreplay?”
“Well, it’s getting late and I need to know if you’re going to testify against him.”
Without any warning, Rab jumped to his feet, knocking his chair sideways. He’d moved so fast, it was almost a blur, but she’d watched his lower body and remained where she was, forcing herself to look unconcerned. He’d obviously expected a reaction and was now looking very surprised.
“Most people would have fallen over backward and then scurried to the other side of the room. You didn’t even move. Why not?”
“You weren’t serious. You were just testing me.” She spoke calmly, as if her heart were beating normally. As if every muscle in her body weren’t on high alert.
“How did you know?”
Years of experience, she might have answered, but it wouldn’t have sufficed. She was not only being tested, but she also needed to get an A.
“Your feet,” she said. “When you jumped up, your weight was in your heels. If you’d meant to lunge at me, you’d have landed on the balls of your feet, your body angled toward me.”
“That’s very perceptive.” He leaned over, righted his chair, and then sat down again. “What would you have done if you thought I was serious?”
“I’d have rolled off the chair, picked it up, and used it as a shield, all the while shouting for the guards.”
“A skilled response, except the guards can’t always hear you. It depends where they are.” His blue eyes appraised her. “What do you think would have happened in the meantime?”
“I guess we’ll never know.”
“I suppose not,” he agreed, then placed his arms behind his head and stretched his legs out as far as they would go. Letting her know, if she were silly enough to believe him, that the test was over, that she could relax as well.
“So, the reason for my visit—”
“I hate faggots. They disgust me.”
“You saved his life at least twice.”