Jessie Black Box Set 2

by Larry A Winters

  “What?” Jack exploded. “Why didn’t you tell us about this?”

  “Because,” Goyle said, glaring at him, “the incident seemed to resolve itself. I sent a couple of men to … handle her. But when they arrived, she was already dead. She took her own life.”

  “Oh, Jesus,” Jack said. “This is not good. This is really, really not good.”

  Dave would have agreed, but after telling the men his story, his voice seemed to have abandoned him. His brain felt fuzzy. He was hearing Goyle and Jack, but not really reacting on an emotional level. He suspected he might have entered a state of shock. He thought that might be a good thing.

  “We need to find this guy from the parking lot,” Jack said. “He’s the one we need to handle. And we need to do it quickly.”

  Goyle nodded. “I agree. It will be messier than usual, though. We won’t have time to set up a nice and tidy legal defense. But the risk of allowing him to continue what he’s doing is unacceptable.”

  Finally, Dave’s voice returned. He said, “How can we get rid of him if we don’t even know who he is?”

  “Get rid of him?” Air whistled from Goyle’s nostrils as he exhaled. A sleazy smile crossed his face. “It sounds like you’ve had a change of heart since the last time we spoke, Dave.”

  Dave ignored the taunt. He already hated himself—nothing Goyle said could be worse than his own thoughts. “I just don’t see how we’re going to be able to identify him. Where do we even start?”

  “His name is Mark Leary,” Goyle said, “and I already know everything about him.” He looked at Dave and Jack as if they were children. “He’s a former homicide detective. He was forced out of the police department, but it was for stupid reasons. He has a reputation as an excellent investigator.”

  “Oh God.” Jack moaned. “Why is he investigating us?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Go home, both of you, and stay there until I call you. When I do, this problem will already have been taken care of and we’ll be free to focus on more important matters, like the ten-million-dollar deal we’re about to close.”

  Jack looked relieved. He left Goyle’s office with some of his swagger restored. Dave remained for a few seconds, watching the fat man return his attention to his iPad, as if Dave were not even there. He wished he felt the same relief Jack seemed to be feeling. He wished he could look forward to closing their ten-million-dollar deal. Instead, he felt like the only deal he’d made was with the devil.

  30

  After Jessie called her final witness, she rested the prosecution’s case. It was the defense’s turn now. The time had come for Hughes to call his first witness. Word had already spread about who that witness would be, and the atmosphere of the courtroom felt heavy with anticipation.

  Most accused murderers declined to testify at their own trials. The prevailing wisdom was that trying to offer testimony on their own behalf would only come off as self-serving, and was outweighed by the damage the prosecution could inflict on cross. But to support a self-defense claim, the testimony of the defendant was practically required, which provided an unusual opportunity for the press and the public to see the accused on the witness stand. They could judge Brooke Raines for themselves and decide if they found her to be an honest person or a liar.

  Jessie was just as anxious, if not more so, than the crowd. She saw Raines’s decision to take the stand as her best chance to convince the jury that the woman’s story did not add up to a valid self-defense claim. A strong cross-examination, combined with the questions she’d already raised, might be enough to get the jury on her side. On the other hand, if she failed, she would probably lose the trial. The pressure of facing off against a murder defendant on the witness stand would be high in any trial, but in this one, it felt like everything was at stake.

  She took a deep breath and held it. The bustle of the courtroom seemed to fade around her, and the noises became background static. You can do this. Jessie held her breath for another few seconds, then let it out in a slow, relaxing exhalation. The room came alive around her again.

  Aidan Hughes stood up and said, “The defense calls Brooke Raines to the stand.”

  A buzz of excited whispers and murmurs rose from the gallery. Judge Armstrong banged his gavel to silence the crowd. They complied, but Jessie felt an almost electric tension in the air as Brooke Raines walked to the witness stand. She wore low heels that clicked against the floor of the courtroom, and a gray pantsuit that bulged slightly at the ankle where her monitoring device was strapped. Her blonde hair was simply styled, and her makeup was minimal, but the overall effect was flattering. She looked pretty, but not glamorous. She looked pleasant. One thing she did not look like was a killer. Hughes had done a fine job of disguising his client as a normal person.

  Raines proceeded through the swearing-in process, then faced Hughes with a calm expression as the defense attorney approached her.

  “Ms. Raines, we’re here because the Philadelphia DA’s office has decided to prosecute you on a charge of murder for the death of Corbin Keeley, but ultimately it is the jury—a jury of your peers—who will decide if you are guilty of that crime. I’m sure they would like to hear from you, in your own words, what happened on the night of October 14. So let’s start at the beginning. Can you tell us the nature of your relationship with Corbin Keeley, including how it began?”

  Raines nodded, leaned forward, and looked at the jury. Her features seemed open, sincere. “I met Corbin at a fundraising party at the Children’s Hospital.”

  “That’s the Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia, correct? Where you work as a nurse, caring for sick and injured kids?”

  Jessie considered objecting to this obvious attempt to ingratiate Raines to the jury, but decided not to. She didn’t want to irritate the jury by objecting too frequently, and she had a feeling there would be more egregious questions before Hughes was done.

  “That’s right,” Raines said.

  “And when was this fundraising party?”

  “June 4. It was a Saturday.”

  “How did you meet Mr. Keeley?”

  “The party was informal, with fun activities for kids and their parents. A lot of local politicians came to show their support. Corbin was one of them. We got to talking, and he asked me if I’d like to get coffee with him some time. I thought he was nice, and found him attractive, so I gave him my number.”

  “And did you meet him for coffee?”

  “He called me a few days after the party and asked me to dinner. I said yes. That was our first date, I guess. After that, we started seeing each other regularly.”

  “You spent a lot of time together?”

  “Yes. I pretty much moved in with him. I mean, I didn’t give up my own apartment, but … I spent the night at his place most nights.” She blushed deeply.

  “How long a period was this relationship?”

  Raines turned to the jury. Her expression looked somber and regretful, but not guilty. “It ended on the night he died. I broke up with him at dinner that night. So, about four months total.”

  “Can you tell the jury why you ended the relationship?”

  Raines looked down at her hands, which were clasped together on the witness stand. “Corbin was abusive.” She lifted one hand and wiped a tear from her eye. Jessie couldn’t tell if it was real or not, but it was convincing. “He was violent.”

  “I know this is difficult for you, Ms. Raines,” Hughes said, “but it’s very important that you tell the jury the details. In what way was Corbin Keeley abusive?”

  Raines straightened up and looked directly at the jury. “He hurt me. Several times.”

  “In what ways?”

  “Sometimes he got angry and hit me. On my arm once, really hard, right here.” She indicated an area on her upper arm, near her shoulder. “Once he slapped me across the face and my lip swelled up like a balloon. He pushed me a few times, too. Right into a wall once. He would throw things at me, pull my hair.” The woman seemed to s
hudder at the memories.

  Jessie could feel the attention of the jurors, but she did not dare to look at them. She somehow knew, without seeing, that some of them had turned accusatory glances toward the prosecution table—that some of them were thinking, How dare you prosecute this woman? Hasn’t she been through enough already?

  “Did Mr. Keeley subject you to any other forms of abuse? I mean, besides physical violence?”

  “Yes. He also yelled at me. He lost his temper a lot, called me a stupid bitch, a worthless idiot. Things like that.”

  “That must have been terrible. Again, I’m sorry to make you relive these memories.”

  Raines nodded. “It’s okay. I want to tell my story.”

  “Tell us what happened on the night of October 14.”

  “Well, I had decided that enough was enough. I decided to break up with Corbin. But I was afraid that if I did it at his apartment, he might become enraged and hurt me. I thought it would be safer for me if I did it in a public place. We had a reservation for dinner at a restaurant called Bistro Cannata, and I decided to do it there.”

  “Why did you bring a gun with you to the restaurant?”

  “Because I was scared. I was terrified. I hoped he wouldn’t do anything crazy in public. But I wasn’t sure he would think rationally. I brought the gun just in case, but I never thought I would have to use it.”

  “Have you used guns before?”

  “Yes, but never on a person.” She looked at the jury again. “I know it seems unusual, a woman bringing a gun to a restaurant. But I’m very comfortable with guns. When I was young, my dad used to take me target shooting. I’m good at it, but there’s nothing violent about it for me. It’s a sport. That’s why I had a gun, and a license to own and carry it, and why I knew I could handle it safely and would use it only if I absolutely had no other choice.”

  “Tell us what happened at Bistro Cannata,” Hughes said.

  “The hostess sat us at a table and I tried to break up with him. You know, I had to gather my courage. He ordered wine, and then he was looking for the waiter so we could order our meals. I didn’t want it to get that far, so I just blurted it out. I said, ‘Corbin, this isn’t working for me anymore. I want to break up with you.’”

  “How did he react to that?”

  “Badly,” she said. “He managed to keep his cool in the restaurant, but only barely. I could see his anger simmering just under the surface. He said, ‘Don’t be an idiot.’ And when I told him I was serious, he said, ‘I’ll kill you before I let you leave me.’ And he meant it.”

  “Objection,” Jessie said, as much to break the spell Raines was casting over the courtroom as for legal reasons, “the witness had no knowledge of what was in Mr. Keeley’s mind. Also, it’s hearsay.”

  “Sustained,” Judge Armstrong said. “Ms. Raines, you may testify that you thought Mr. Keeley meant it when he said he would kill you, but you cannot testify as to what he was actually thinking.”

  “Oh. Okay, Your Honor. I’m sorry.” She sat up straighter in her chair. “Like you said, it’s what I thought—I thought he meant it.”

  “What happened after that?” Hughes said.

  “I tried to calm Corbin down. I said we could still be friends, even though I didn’t mean it. He just glared at me and said I was going to eat my fucking dinner. Those were his words—‘my fucking dinner’. I was so scared I was shaking. I was making the whole table shake.”

  “What happened after that?” Hughes prompted.

  “I said, ‘I’m leaving,’ and I got up. I took my bag and I walked out the door. I knew he was following me, but I didn’t look back. I was too scared. I walked into the parking lot and headed for my car. Then something flew past my head and hit the wall of the building. It was a big rock. I could hear his footsteps behind me, coming fast. I knew he’d catch me before I got to the car. So I turned to face him.”

  “You heard Conrad Deprisco testify that you threw the rock, not Mr. Keeley. Is that true?”

  “No, that’s not true. That’s a lie. Corbin threw the rock at me.”

  “Do you know why Mr. Deprisco would lie?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe to avoid being arrested for drug use.”

  “Objection,” Jessie said.

  “Withdrawn,” Hughes said. Then, to Raines, “When you turned to face Mr. Keeley, what did he do?”

  “He kept coming toward me. He looked so angry. His whole body was like, radiating anger. His hands were fists. I’d seen him like that before, but never as bad. I was afraid he wasn’t just going to hit me this time. I was afraid he was going to kill me. There was nowhere to run. He was coming toward me. So I pulled my gun out of my bag and I shot him.”

  “What did you do after that?”

  “I almost threw up. I had trouble catching my breath. It took me a few seconds to get myself under control. Then I called 911. When the police came, I told them exactly what happened. Those were the uniformed police officers. Then the detective came—Detective Fulco—and I told him, too. He took me to the police station and I wrote out a statement.”

  “Did you ever talk to a detective named Emily Graham?”

  Raines shook her head. “No.”

  “What did you tell Detective Fulco?”

  She faced the jury. “I told them what I’m telling you. The truth. That I was defending myself.”

  “One more question, Ms. Raines. Do you regret what happened on the night of October 14?”

  Raines’s throat moved as she swallowed. She seemed consumed by emotion as she contemplated the question. “No. I believe every person as a right to defend themselves. A basic, human right. I don’t regret it.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Raines. I have no further questions.”

  Hughes walked back to the defense table and took a seat. The courtroom was so quiet, Jessie could almost hear her own beating heart. A sniffle came from the direction of the jury box, but Jessie didn’t look.

  Brooke Raines’s performance had been so compelling, even Jessie caught herself starting to believe it. She felt the rise of panic.

  “Ms. Black,” Judge Armstrong said. His voice seemed unusually subdued. “Would you like to cross-examine this witness?”

  Jessie rose from her chair on unsteady legs. She could feel the animosity of the crowd focus on her. It was an unfamiliar feeling. Usually, it was the defense attorney who endured the scorn of the courtroom, not the prosecutor. But this time, the courtroom saw the defendant as the victim. This time, Jessie looked like the bad guy.

  She had one chance, and only one chance, to change that.

  31

  The jurors leaned forward in their seats. Most of them bore hostile expressions. Jessie briefly met one woman’s hard, flinty stare, and returned it with one she hoped showed confidence and determination. Her role here was to expose the truth, and to accomplish that, she needed their attention. Judging by their faces, they were riveted. Now she needed to deliver.

  She turned her attention back to the defendant. In a steady voice, she said, “Ms. Raines, you testified earlier that after you shot and killed Mr. Keeley, you ‘told the police exactly what happened.’ Isn’t that what you testified a moment ago?”

  “Yes.”

  “But that’s not true, is it?”

  “It’s true.”

  “Really?” Jessie walked to the prosecution table, picked up a document, and returned to the witness stand. “Do you recognize this document?”

  “It’s the statement I wrote out for Detective Fulco.”

  “You wrote it on the night of the shooting, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s your handwriting, your words, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “In this statement, you wrote that you ran out of the restaurant, and that Mr. Keeley ran after you. Isn’t that what you wrote?”

  Her gaze cut toward Hughes. “Yes, but—”

  “But that contradicts the eyewitness testimony from Conrad Deprisco and your own wor
ds a moment ago, does it not?”

  Raines’s eyes narrowed. “That doesn’t mean I was lying.” Her voice sounded terse and strained. She seemed to realize this and turned to the jury with a more confident expression, chin jutting. “Walking and running, there isn’t that much of a distinction.”

  “But you changed your original story, after you realized that the evidence contradicted it, correct?”

  “I realized I had misremembered what happened.”

  “But you wrote the statement on the night of the shooting. Are you telling us that your memory of what happened is better today than it was on the night the event actually occurred?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Did you also misremember Mr. Keeley’s drinking?”

  “What?” Raines’s gaze flitted across the courtroom, seeming to seek out Hughes again.

  Jessie stepped into her line of sight and held up the statement again. “In the statement you wrote out for Detective Fulco on the night of the shooting, you wrote that Mr. Keeley had been drinking wine. But when the police spoke to other people present at Bistro Cannata on the night of the shooting, no one said they’d seen Mr. Keeley drinking. As you heard during the testimony of Andrew Dale, the deputy medical examiner who performed the autopsy on Mr. Keeley, the toxicology report on Mr. Keeley indicated that he had no alcohol in his system. I noticed that when you testified a moment ago, you didn’t mention Mr. Keeley drinking. So, is it fair to say that this is another example of you having misremembered something?”

  “Objection,” Hughes said.

  “I’ll rephrase,” Jessie said. “Ms. Raines, do you deny that in your initial statement to the police, you claimed that Mr. Keeley had been drinking?”

  “I thought—”

  “Just answer yes or no, please. Do you deny that?”

  “No.”

  “Do you deny that you are now testifying to a version of events in which Mr. Keeley was not drinking?”