"True that."
"But they all work in the same office, right?"
"How I supposed to know where they all work at?"
"Would it surprise you to learn that they all worked in the same office?" Myra asked, making a show of patience.
"Wouldn't surprise me, no."
"You've got a lawyer in those cases, right?"
"I don't got me a real lawyer," Yolanda said. "Just somebody like you that ain't getting paid."
"You hope that testifying today will help you with your own legal troubles, don't you?"
"I'm just saying what I know."
"That isn't what I asked you, Ms. Miller. Do you need me to repeat my question?"
"If you asking me do I want to go to jail, the answer is I don't."
"And you're hoping that testifying here today might help you stay out of jail, right?"
"They ask me to come and say what I saw, so that's what I be doing."
"Thank you," Myra said, trying to indicate to the jury just how hard it was to get Yolanda to admit the obvious. "Tell me, Ms. Miller, about how long had you been outside when the shooting started?"
"Just a few seconds is all."
"And you were looking over at Devin Wallace once you got out there, right?"
"I seen him, yeah."
"You didn't see the shooter until the shooting started, right?"
"I wasn't looking that way."
"So the first time you saw the shooter was when he ran past you with his gun out after he'd just shot your boyfriend in the back, right?"
"I seen him when he run by, yeah."
"Now, when the police questioned you on the night of the shooting you described the clothes the shooter was wearing as black pants, black shirt, and a white doo-rag, with a birthmark above his left eye; do you recall that?"
"If that what it say."
"It was pretty late when this happened, isn't that right?"
"It was nighttime."
"It was dark, right?"
"Sure, it was dark."
"And in the dark, late at night, after just seeing your boyfriend get shot, a man dressed all in black, with a doo-rag on his head as well, ran past you while holding a gun. Those were the circumstances under which you saw the shooter in this case, right?"
"He go running right past me."
"I understand that. You're not disagreeing with what I just said, are you?"
"I seen him."
"And you're sure that's what the shooter was wearing? Black pants, black shirt, and a white doo-rag?"
"He run right past me," Yolanda said. "I seen him right there."
"And that's how he was dressed?"
"That's right."
"Now, Ms. Miller, you're aware that Latrice Wallace had a conversation with Mr. Tate a few hours before the shooting, right?"
"Uh-huh."
"Would it surprise you to learn that Ms. Wallace described the clothes Mr. Tate wore that night as a bright-colored T-shirt, blue jeans, and a baseball cap?"
"Don't know why I'm supposed to be surprised."
"It doesn't surprise you that Ms. Wallace described Mr. Tate as wearing a completely different outfit that night?"
"I don't know nothin' about that."
"But you're sure that the man you saw was not wearing a bright shirt, blue jeans, and a baseball cap, right?"
"I already say what he be wearing."
"And you can't explain this discrepancy?"
"I can't do what?"
"Never mind," Myra said, not needing an answer to make her point. She took a couple of steps so that she was standing directly between Yolanda and Lorenzo. "When this man ran past you, did you see his left side or his right side?"
"He ran past like this," Yolanda said, sliding her right arm leftward.
"So his left side would've been facing you, right?"
"His left, yeah."
"Did you see the birthmark on Mr. Tate's face when he ran past you?" Myra said.
"I can't remember that now."
"Because in your description, you said that Mr. Tate's birthmark was on his left side, the side you saw. You told the police that to indicate that you'd seen his birthmark, right? Because that was part of how you recognized him that night?"
"I saw him," Yolanda said.
Myra stepped away, gesturing back to Lorenzo. "Please look at my client, Ms. Miller, and tell me, on which side of his face does his birthmark appear?"
"It be on the other side."
"By the other side you mean the right side?"
"That's right."
"Thank you," Myra said. This was little more than razzle-dazzle, not substantive evidence, but razzle-dazzle was an important weapon in the defense lawyer's arsenal. Yolanda's lip was now curled as she glared at Myra; she looked defensive and angry, and was clearly getting flustered.
"Now, Ms. Miller, you were in an intimate relationship with Mr. Wallace, is that correct?"
"We were together," Yolanda agreed. "But it wasn't nothing too serious."
"How long had you been involved with Mr. Wallace?"
"Couple of months before the shootin'."
"You are the mother of a child, correct, Ms. Miller?"
"I got a little boy," Yolanda said.
"How old is your son?"
"Jamal's about to be two."
"Who is Jamal's father, Ms. Miller?"
"His name's Malik."
"Malik Taylor?"
"That's right."
"Were you and Malik Taylor ever married?"
"No," Yolanda said, giving Myra a little glare, some challenge in it too.
"Did you continue to see each other after you had your baby?"
"Even though Malik and me weren't together no more, he said it was important that he still see his boy," Yolanda said. "Malik would take Jamal some weekends. He buys him things—clothes, toys."
"Has Malik ever been in any trouble with the law?"
"Malik? The man work one job all week and then another one on the weekend. He ain't never been in trouble a day in his life."
"How about Devin Wallace? What does he do for a living?"
"You already know," Yolanda said, looking right at Myra, lifting her chin a little.
"Please answer the question."
"Devin be in the life."
"I think we all like to think of ourselves as in life," Myra countered. "Can you perhaps be a little more clear?"
Yolanda was staring at Myra skeptically, no doubt wondering if she was being toyed with. "The life mean the trade," she said. "Devin's a dealer."
"So he was a criminal, wasn't he?"
"I don't begin to know who's a criminal and who ain't," Yolanda said. "That's for you people to figure out."
"But you do know dealing drugs is illegal, don't you?"
"Course I do."
"So you do, in fact, know that Devin was a criminal, don't you?"
"I know what he do."
"How did Malik Taylor feel about his little boy being around a dealer like Devin?"
"Approach, Your Honor?" ADA O'Bannon asked, standing. Judge Ferano gestured us up for a sidebar. We all walked over to the far end of the bench from the jury. "This has gone completely outside the scope of the direct, Your Honor," O'Bannon said. "I fail to see any possible relevance to these questions."
"What I'm trying to explore, Your Honor, is the possibility that these shootings had nothing to do with my client, but arose instead out of an escalating dispute between two men who'd both been involved with Yolanda Miller," Myra responded. "If true, this would strongly suggest that Ms. Miller's identification of Mr. Tate is not a mistake, but rather a deliberate lie. Because the state's whole case essentially rests on Ms. Miller's identification, we're entitled to challenge her veracity, and to make it clear that she might have a reason to be making up her story."
Judge Ferano held up his hand to indicate that he didn't want to hear any more. When he spoke it was directed to O'Bannon. "I'm not going to create an appealable is
sue by limiting the defense's cross of your main witness," the judge said, before turning his attention to Myra. "I'll allow you some latitude. But don't get carried away."
The lawyers retreated to our respective corners, Myra returning to her cross. "The question, Ms. Miller, was how did Mr. Taylor feel about his little boy being raised around a drug dealer like Mr. Wallace?" Myra said.
"He didn't like it," Yolanda said softly. "We both wanted Jamal to be raised up right."
"And how do you know that Malik didn't like it?" Myra asked.
"Because Malik told me so. He told me we had to make sure Jamal came up okay."
"And Mr. Taylor was worried that Jamal wasn't going to be raised right if you were involved with Mr. Wallace?"
"He didn't like that Devin did what he do."
"Mr. Taylor and Mr. Wallace had an actual fight, didn't they?"
"One time they started shoving at each other some is all."
"They had a fight in your apartment, right?" Myra asked.
"They got into it a little there."
"And did you tell the police about this fight?"
"They ain't never asked me about nothing like that."
"You didn't want them to know about it, did you?" Myra pressed.
"It don't got nothing to do with nothing else that was going on."
"Sounds pretty clear that Mr. Wallace and Mr. Taylor didn't like each other very much, did they?" Myra said.
"Devin didn't like Malik coming 'round to see Jamal. He didn't want nobody I used to be with at my crib, 'specially when he wasn't there."
"Is that what they fought about?"
"That's right."
"Devin was jealous of Malik?"
"I don't know about being jealous," Yolanda said. "He just thought it was a lack of respect. He thought people would be talkin'."
"So Devin didn't want Malik coming to see his own son?"
"That's what he say."
"And yet it was important to Mr. Taylor to see his son, wasn't it?" Myra said.
"Far as I know."
"Sounds like they had a problem."
Yolanda didn't respond, but it didn't matter: Myra had gotten her point across. "You're still close to Mr. Taylor, aren't you?" Myra continued.
"We're all right."
"He's the father of your child. You're more than just all right, aren't you?"
"We ain't together no more."
"But you've been with Mr. Taylor since the night of the shooting, haven't you?"
"I see him from time to time 'cause of our boy," Yolanda said, either missing Myra's suggestion or deliberately ignoring it. Judging by her lack of reaction, I guessed she'd missed it.
"That's not what I was asking, Ms. Miller," Myra said. "Isn't it true that you've been with Malik Taylor sexually since Devin Wallace was shot?"
I could feel a stir in the courtroom behind me, the murmur of indistinct voices. The question had caught everybody's attention. From her perch in the witness stand Yolanda was glaring daggers at Myra.
"Objection," O'Bannon said, coming quickly to his feet.
"Sustained," Judge Ferano said.
I could see Myra making an effort to move past her disappointment. We'd known there was a fair chance that we wouldn't be able to get this in, even while we viewed it as compelling evidence to create a shroud of doubt in the minds of the jury by focusing them on Malik Taylor's motive for shooting Devin Wallace. But the objection might have helped us: we had no idea what answer Yolanda would've given, and a forceful denial from her would've neutralized the question. The lack of any answer left it hanging there, something that could bother the jury.
"You wouldn't want to see Malik Taylor go to jail for the rest of his life, would you?"
"What're you saying?" Yolanda asked. She was still visibly seething.
"The question is simple: you wouldn't want Malik to go to jail for the rest of his life, right?"
"Why would Malik be going to jail?" Yolanda asked.
"You want him to be there for your son, don't you?"
"Course I want that."
"Indeed," Myra said. "Why wouldn't you lie to protect him if he was in trouble? Especially if he was in trouble just because he was trying to stay close to your son."
"Was there a question there?" O'Bannon objected.
"Withdrawn," Myra said. "Nothing further."
Myra sat down, and as she did so O'Bannon stood. "The People rest, Your Honor," he said.
"We'll call it a day, then," Judge Ferano said. "The defense can start its case tomorrow morning."
AFTER LEAVING the courtroom for the day, Myra and I met with Lorenzo in a holding cell in the basement of the courthouse. Lorenzo was pacing, agitated. "How you gonna let that bitch get up there and lie like that?" he said. "She didn't see me do a goddamn thing that night; no way she saw me try and cap Devin."
"I understand that," Myra said.
"But you didn't get her to say that she was just goofin' when she say she saw me."
"I'm a lawyer," Myra said, "not a hypnotist. There's only so much I can get accomplished through crossing Yolanda. We're going to be calling Malik Taylor, and we can use him to explain why Yolanda would lie."
"What if the jury goes with what she say about seeing me?"
"Then we have a problem, Lorenzo," Myra said. "I thought we knew that. The state is prosecuting this case because they think they are going to win it."
"How about you?" Lorenzo asked. "You think you're going to win?"
"I never make promises about winning," Myra said. "But this is the moment where their momentum is at its strongest and ours is at its weakest. We always knew that Yolanda was going to be their star witness. This is their time to run the show, so that's how it generally works. Our turn will come soon enough."
"I can get up there my own self, tell them people that Yo-Yo's a straight-up liar."
"We can talk about whether or not to put you on when the time comes," Myra said. "Usually the cross of a defendant proves far more devastating than their direct proves helpful."
"How's it gonna play like that when I ain't done nothin' wrong?" Lorenzo said.
"I don't know," Myra said. "But it does."
32
WE CALLED Amin Saberi as our first witness for the defense. Amin, dressed in a white shirt and blue tie, stumbled as he made his way through the well of the court. While virtually all witnesses were nervous, it was obvious that Amin was terrified.
I'd been in the office past eleven o'clock the night before getting ready, then gone home and drunk beer in front of the television for an hour, too worked up to sleep. To my surprise, though, I'd slept quickly and easily once I finally went to bed. The fear I'd expected never fully materialized. I took this as a good sign.
"Did you know Seth Lipton?" I began.
"Yes."
"How did you know him?"
"He was my roommate," Amin said.
"Did you go to school with him?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
"Brooklyn College."
"Were you friends?" I asked.
"Yes."
"Have you ever met Devin Wallace?"
"No," Amin said.
"Tell me, Mr. Saberi, were you surprised when you heard that your friend had been killed outside of a housing project that's well known for its drug activity?"
I asked the question bluntly, doing nothing to sugarcoat it. We'd subpoenaed Amin to come here today and were not expecting him to be cooperative; we'd received permission from Judge Ferano to treat Amin as a hostile witness, meaning we were allowed to ask him leading questions.
"Of course I was surprised," Amin said. "Seth was, like, twenty-one years old. I still can't believe that he's dead."
"But were you surprised that Mr. Lipton would be in an area like that, late at night?"
"I guess not."
"Why is that?" I asked.
"Seth would go down there sometimes."
"Down where?"
"To the proje
cts."
"Why?"
"He was writing his senior thesis on the business of drug dealing," Amin said. "In sociology," he added.
"Was that the only reason?"
Amin looked around the room like he was searching for someone to come to his rescue.
"No," Amin said.
I had no choice but to drag it out of him. I told myself that this was necessary, however ugly it felt. "What was the other reason?"
Amin shifted in his seat, looking out into the well of the courtroom; I guessed Amin was looking at Lipton's parents, who'd been present every day of the trial. "To get drugs," he finally answered, his voice hoarse.
"What kinds of drugs?"
"Coke and pot mostly. Sometimes heroin."
"And was this for his own use?"
"No."
"For whose use was it, then?"
"Other people," Amin said, giving off his first show of hostility.
"Was this something Mr. Lipton was doing as a favor?"
"No," Amin said, looking down and speaking so softly that Judge Ferano reminded him to keep his voice up.
"Was he selling them?"
The silence that followed was as complete as I could imagine in a room holding more than twenty people. As it lingered I began to wonder if Amin was simply not going to answer. "Yes," he finally said.
"Who was he selling drugs to?"
"To people from school. Seth would go buy a bunch of stuff from this guy; then he'd sell it to students for a lot more than he paid, because, you know, most kids at the college don't want to go get stuff on the street."
"Did you ever hear Mr. Lipton mention Devin Wallace?" I asked.
"I'd heard the name Devin, yeah."
"Was it your understanding that Mr. Lipton and Devin Wallace were in business together?"
Amin nodded.
"You have to answer verbally," I said.
Amin glowered up at me briefly, then looked back down at his lap. "Yeah," he said.
"So if Mr. Lipton was talking to Mr. Wallace on the street, it would be safe to assume that they were undertaking, or about to undertake, or had just undertaken a drug transaction?"
"Objection," said ADA O'Bannon. "Speculation."
"Sustained," Judge Ferano said. I didn't really care—the point was clear.
"To your knowledge," I continued, "did Mr. Lipton and Mr. Wallace socialize?"
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