by Alexi Venice
“Cross examination?” Judge O’Brien looked at Dominique with anticipation.
The legal assistant tapped Dominique on the shoulder and handed the folder to her.
“Yes, thank you, Your Honor.” Dominique took the podium with her slim folder and addressed McKnight straight on.
“You said that you didn’t budge when Mr. Seif first pushed you. Is that correct?”
“Yeah.”
“He wasn’t a threat to you at that point, was he?”
“He was trying to be.”
“Yes or no, Mr. McKnight. He wasn’t a threat to you, was he?” Dominique asked.
“Technically, no.”
“But you pushed him back against the column, anyway, didn’t you?” she asked, demonstrating.
“He deserved it,” Trevor said.
“He deserved to be pushed into a column for talking to a girl you knew only as a classmate?”
“She was annoyed by him,” Trevor said.
“She didn’t ask you for help, did she?”
“Well…ah…no, but chivalry demanded it.”
“So, you started the fight by approaching him, didn’t you?”
“It wasn’t a fight.”
“Well, Abdul Seif died at your hand, Mr. McKnight, so let’s not engage in semantics—”
“Objection!” Halliday hollered.
“Sustained,” Judge O’Brien said.
Dominique came at McKnight again. “You approached Abdul Seif, didn’t you? Yes or no.”
“Yes,” McKnight said.
“And you told him not to talk to the girls, then you pushed him against a column, didn’t you?” she pressed.
“You’re making it sound like—”
“Yes or no?”
McKnight stiffened in frustration. “Yes, but I was sticking up for them!”
“Then, Mr. Seif pushed off from the column, and momentum carried him to the bar again, correct?”
“He lunged at me,” Trevor said.
“You stepped easily aside, and he returned to the bar, didn’t he?” Dominique asked.
Trevor glowered at her.
“The witness will answer the question,” Judge O’Brien said.
“Yes,” Trevor said.
“His back was to you while he was at the bar, wasn’t it?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Then you went after him, grabbed his arm, and took him outside, correct?”
“He came willingly.”
“Is that why the video shows you grabbing him?”
“I was barely touching him.”
“You allege that, once you were outside, he swung at you first, but that isn’t on video, is it?”
“Neither is my punch,” McKnight said. “He swung first.”
“But you didn’t tell Officer Petersen that when confessing to him in the ED, did you?”
“I was drunk.”
“Did you?”
“No!”
“Then you punched Abdul Seif in the face, and he landed on the sidewalk, flat on his back, correct?”
“That’s right.”
“In fact,” she said, “you punched him so hard that you broke your pinky knuckle, didn’t you?”
“Well, ahh,” he said. “I’m not sure it broke from that.” McKnight rubbed his broken hand.
“You had a boxer’s fracture, didn’t you?”
“Is that what it’s called?” he asked.
“That’s what you were treated for at Community Memorial Hospital that night, isn’t it?”
“I suppose so.”
“Yes or No, Mr. McKnight.”
“Yes.”
“Did you punch anyone else that night?”
“No.”
“Then you sustained the boxer’s fracture from punching Mr. Seif in the nose, didn’t you?”
“I guess so.”
“You were proud that you knocked him out with one punch, as you told Officer Petersen, correct?”
“I was drunk and said some stupid stuff. I can’t help that my aim was better than his.”
“And you left Abdul Seif unconscious on the sidewalk while you returned to your buddies in the bar, correct?”
“I thought he’d be okay—”
“Correct?”
“Yes.”
“While you were at the hospital, you told Officer Petersen that you knocked out Abdul with one punch, calling him a ‘raghead’ and a ‘camel jockey,’ isn’t that right?”
“I was drunk, so I said stupid stuff. I’m not biased,” Trevor said for the second time.
Halliday dropped his head and scribbled furiously on his yellow notepad.
“Let’s talk about you not being biased, Mr. McKnight.” Dominique slowly and calmly opened the beige folder on her podium, piquing the interest of the jurors, which was her intention.
Both Halliday and McKnight looked at the folder like it was a ticking bomb.
“Hitting Abdul Seif isn’t the first time you’ve exhibited biased behavior, is it?”
Halliday jumped to his feet. “Objection, assumes a legal conclusion.”
“Sustained,” Judge O’Brien said.
“I can rephrase,” Dominique said.
While still on his feet, Halliday tried unsuccessfully to see what Dominique had on the podium.
“You’ve engaged in public, religiously-motivated hatred and white supremacy before, haven’t you, Mr. McKnight?” she asked.
Trevor looked like a deer in the headlights, as the jurors’ gazes volleyed back and forth between Dominique and him.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” McKnight said.
“Four years ago, when you were a senior in high school, your photo was taken on the courthouse steps with several young men dressed in suits for a high school dance. You did a Nazi salute while saying ‘Heil Hitler,’ didn’t you?” Dominique asked.
McKnight blinked several times, and his face reddened. “That…ah…was a long time ago and was a mistake. The person taking the photo suggested we say it as a joke. Like, instead of saying ‘cheese.’ Being dumb high school kids, we made the Nazi salute and said Heil Hitler, but it was only as a joke.”
Oh my God, Monica thought. He was in that photo? She remembered the photograph that Dominique obviously had at the podium. It had made national, and even international, news.
Dominique turned and showed the photo to Halliday at counsel table then carried it to the court clerk for an exhibit sticker. “Approach the witness, Your Honor?”
Halliday stood. “Approach the bench, Your Honor?”
“Of course.” Judge O’Brien motioned for Dominique and Halliday to come to the bench. Once they arrived, he covered the mic.
“I object,” Halliday began. “The photo isn’t relevant to this trial, and it’s highly prejudicial to my client.”
Judge O’Brien let his eyelids drop in a lazy blink and turned to Dominique, knowing full well what she would say.
“Trevor said both during his direct and cross-examinations that he wasn’t biased, thereby opening the door to cross-examination on that matter. It’s relevant for the hate crime charge, Your Honor.”
“I agree,” Judge O’Brien said, then looked at Halliday. “Your objection is overruled. I’ll allow it.”
Dominique turned from the bench and strode over to the witness box where she handed the photo to McKnight.
“That’s you in the front row with your hand raised in a Nazi salute in this photo, isn’t it, Mr. McKnight?”
Trevor winced in pain as he looked at the 8x10 photo. “Yes.”
She held the photo up for the jury to see, pointing to Trevor in the front row. “Your Honor, the prosecution moves Exhibit 34—the photo of Trevor McKnight doing a Nazi salute on the courthouse steps—into evidence.”
“Same objection,” Halliday said.
“The objection is noted and overruled. Exhibit 34 is admitted,” Judge O’Brien said.
“Your mouth is open in this photo, Mr. McKnigh
t. You were saying ‘Heil Hitler,’ weren’t you?”
“I…uh…” McKnight didn’t finish.
“Weren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“No further questions.”
Monica got the impression that Dominique had kept some powder dry, not totally unloading on McKnight.
“Any redirect?” Judge O’Brien asked of Halliday.
“A few questions,” Halliday said.
Halliday grabbed the photo from Dominique and walked it over to Trevor. “Isn’t it true that you didn’t plan on doing the Nazi salute?”
“That’s right,” Trevor said. “The photo was before a school dance.”
“The photographer told you to do the salute and say, ‘Heil Hitler,’ correct?” Halliday asked.
“Objection,” Dominique said. “Hearsay.”
“It’s not being admitted for the truth of the statement but the effect on the listeners,” Halliday said.
“I’ll allow it,” Judge O’Brien said. “Go ahead and answer, Mr. McKnight.”
“Yes,” McKnight said. “We did what the photographer suggested. I wasn’t thinking.”
“Nothing further.” Halliday tossed the photo on Dominique’s table, as if it didn’t matter in the least.
“Any more questions from the District Attorney?” Judge O’Brien asked.
Monica interpreted the judge’s question as a prompt, since additional questioning after redirect was highly unusual and very limited.
“Yes. Just a few.” She snatched the photo and returned to the podium.
“Who was the photographer, Mr. McKnight?” Dominique asked.
“One of the parents of the boys.”
Trolling in the deep waters of bias now, Dominique asked, “Who?”
He hesitated. He calculated. “I’m blanking on the name as I sit here.”
McKnight’s answer played into her hand very well. “If I show you a newspaper article in the Apple Grove Chronotype that accompanied the photo, would that refresh your recollection?”
“Maybe,” he said, out-maneuvered.
Halliday rolled his eyes. “Object, Your Honor.”
“Overruled,” Judge O’Brien said.
Dominique tried not to look smug as she showed the article to Halliday, had it marked as Exhibit 35, and approached McKnight. She pointed to a paragraph in the article. “Could you please read this paragraph aloud for the jury?”
McKnight cleared his throat and read tremulously, “The photographer, George Krause, suggested the boys make the Nazi salute and say, ‘Heil Hitler’ for the photograph. Krause, whose son is in the front row, is known as a white supremacist, and many of the boys visit his home for meetings.”
“Thank you.” Dominique looked directly at the jury while asking Trevor her next question. “Did you ever visit the Krause home?”
Trevor looked crushed, staring at the floor now. “Maybe…”
“Might I remind you that you’re under oath, Mr. McKnight. ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ answer. Did you ever visit the Krause home?”
“Yes,” McKnight said through clenched teeth.
“On how many occasions?”
“I don’t know. I was acquaintances with Justin Krause, nothing more.”
“You’re referring to the photographer’s son?” Dominique asked.
“Yes.”
“Did you visit the Krause home more than 10 times?”
“Maybe,” McKnight said. “I’m not sure.”
“More than 20 times?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
“Thank you,” Dominique said. “No further questions. Move Exhibit 35 into evidence, Your Honor.”
“Same objection,” Halliday said.
“Overruled. Exhibit 35 is admitted into evidence,” Judge O’Brien said. “The witness may step down.”
McKnight slinked his way back to counsel table and sat down gingerly, his back stick-straight, so as not to upset the thick belt around his waist, hidden under his shirt. Halliday leaned over and whispered in McKnight’s ear. McKnight nodded then glanced sideways at Dominique, showing no respect and even less mercy.
Chapter Thirty
Monica considered Trevor McKnight’s testimony disastrous. She wondered why Halliday had thought putting him on the stand was a valid strategy, given his confessions on cross-examination. He admitted to delivering the death blow to Abdul for no other reason than jealousy over the prospect of a girl. If that didn’t meet the elements of felony murder, Monica didn’t know what did. Even though McKnight insisted his punch wasn’t motivated by bias, Monica thought his name-calling while talking to Officer Petersen and the Heil-Hitler photo were equally as damning.
“The defense calls David McKnight,” Halliday said, interrupting Monica’s thoughts.
The elder McKnight, wearing a navy suit and red tie, the uniform of white, douchey businessmen, took the oath and sat in the witness box. He was a more-energetic version of Trevor, but his puffy eyes, accented by dark circles below, were a testament to the vagaries of criminal trials.
“Please state your name.”
“David M. McKnight.”
“What’s your relation to Trevor McKnight?”
“I’m his father.”
“Did you raise your son to be biased?”
“Objection,” Dominique said.
“Counsel, approach the bench,” Judge O’Brien said.
Monica watched Halliday and Dominique walk to Judge O’Brien’s massive desk.
“Yes?” Halliday asked when he and Dominique were huddled over the judge’s bench.
“Evidence of how the McKnights raised Trevor is inadmissible to show how or why he acted in the bar toward Abdul Seif,” Dominique said.
“I’m not using their family values to demonstrate how Trevor acted in the bar,” Halliday said. “I’m merely introducing reputation evidence about how the McKnights raised Trevor. The prosecution opened the door with her last cross-examination.”
“I’ll allow him to answer,” Judge O’Brien said. “The prosecution’s objection is overruled.”
They returned to counsel tables.
“I asked you if you raised your son to be biased,” Halliday said to McKnight.
“Absolutely not,” McKnight said. “Carol and I have raised all four of our children to be loving and accepting of others, no matter what their race, religion or nationality.”
“Would that include Arab, Islam and Saudi Arabian?”
“Of course. We welcome all people into our community and home,” McKnight said.
“What do you do for a living, Mr. McKnight?” Halliday asked.
“I own a construction firm and some residential and commercial real estate.”
“Do you plan to hire Trevor when he graduates from college?”
McKnight choked up, which Halliday had hoped he would. “Yes. I’ve invited all of my children to work in my business, but Trevor seems the most interested.”
“Let’s talk about the conversation you had with Trevor when you visited him in jail,” Halliday said. “Did you tell Trevor that he was costing you a lot in attorneys fees to ‘clean up this little matter?’”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I was being sarcastic. It isn’t a little matter at all,” McKnight said.
“You don’t consider Abdul Seif’s death a ‘little matter?’”
“Absolutely not. I consider human life sacred, and I can’t imagine the pain and loss that the Seif family feels right now. I’m deeply sorry.” McKnight looked at each of the Seifs, a serviceable mask of sympathy on his face.
Monica almost laughed out loud at the theatrical pretense. He obviously was working the jury since he hadn’t apologized to the Seifs in the hall during breaks in the trial.
Halliday continued. “In your opinion, did Trevor hit Abdul Seif out of any type of bias?”
“Objection, Your Honor,” Dominique said. “Lack of foundation and calls for speculation.”
“S
ustained,” Judge O’Brien said.
“No further questions,” Halliday said suddenly and sat down.
“Any cross?” Judge O’Brien asked.
“None, Your Honor,” Dominique said.
Monica was a little surprised that Dominique didn’t go after the elder McKnight, but assumed that Dominique had a plan to address his testimony in her closing.
“The defense may call its next witness,” Judge O’Brien said.
“The defense rests, Your Honor,” Halliday said.
“Any rebuttal witnesses?” Judge O’Brien asked Dominique.
“Yes, Your Honor,” Dominique said.
“Please call your witness,” Judge O’Brien said.
“The prosecution calls Autumn McGrath,” Dominique said.
Everyone in the courtroom turned to watch a very nervous young lady enter behind one of Dominique’s legal assistants. Autumn proceeded to Dominique, who escorted her to the court clerk for administration of the oath then to the witness box.
Monica took in Autumn’s appearance. Her hair was a mix of dyed silver and deep red, and her face was adorned with piercings in her brows and nose. She wore a drab, army-green jacket with heaps of leather rope jewelry.
“Please state your name and address for the record,” Dominique said.
Autumn supplied the information.
“What do you do in Apple Grove?” Dominique asked.
“I go to the university.”
“What year are you?”
“A junior.”
“What’s your major?”
“Human Resources.”
That seems befitting, Monica thought.
“Do you recognize the gentleman at counsel table behind me?” Dominique pointed to Trevor.
“Yes.”
“Who is he?”
“Trevor McKnight.”
“Do you have any classes with him at the university?”
“I honestly don’t know. I know him from seeing him on the news.”
“Thank you,” Dominique said, scoring one point. “Were you at The Night Owl Bar on Saturday, September 21st?”
“Probably,” she said. “I’m there almost every Saturday.”
“Do you recall seeing the Defendant, Trevor McKnight, there?”
“Maybe,” she said.
“Do you recall talking to the victim, Abdul Seif?”