by Sydney Bauer
Malfrey knew where this was going. ‘Yes, but . . .’
‘Then how would you explain her leaving an unconscious teenager in the waters off Castle Neck Peninsula?’
David went to object but Arthur held him back. ‘Malfrey is on our side, let him handle this one,’ he whispered.
‘First of all, personally I do not think the girl was unconscious because if she was, I know Mrs Martin would have . . .’
‘You do not know that Miss Haynes was not unconscious, do you, Mr Malfrey?’
‘Well, no, but . . .’
‘Then please just answer the question. If in the event Miss Haynes was unconscious could you think of any reason why Mrs Martin would abandon her?’
‘Well, no.’
‘You have never witnessed Mrs Martin’s preference for those of African–American descent?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘Mr Malfrey, do you remember a student in that group of ten named May Robinson and, if so, could you tell us about her?’
Malfrey looked across at David, obviously unsure where this was going.
‘Yes. May was one of the group. She was about fifteen, came from a troubled background. She had no interest in learning at first, but I went out of my way to try to get through to her and, by the end of the course, she got the knack of it – passed with flying colours,’ said Malfrey, a half smile on his face.
‘Do you remember an incident in the earlier weeks when, and correct me if I am wrong Mr Malfrey, when Miss Robinson, called you a . . . I believe it was a . . . “No good white-assed Nazi”?’
There was a murmur in the courtroom, but a panoramic glare from Stein was enough to contain it.
‘Well, yes. It was something like that. I was trying to show her how to draw in a sail and she was having trouble, got a little embarrassed. So she gave me some lip to . . . you know, cover it up. I didn’t take it to heart. Mrs Martin explained the kid was abused. Her mother’s boyfriend was white and he used to—’
‘So that was a “yes”. Do you also remember what Mrs Martin told Miss Robinson to calm her down that morning?’
Malfrey paused. He was trapped.
‘Mr Malfrey? Do you remember what Mrs Martin told Miss Robinson to calm her down that morning?’
‘I . . . ah . . .’
‘Mr Malfrey, may I remind you, you are under oath.’
‘Yes,’ said Malfrey shifting uncomfortably in his seat. ‘I believe she said something to the effect of cutting me some slack.’
‘Did she not say, and I quote: “May, give the white guy a break will you? He is outnumbered after all and we don’t want to scare him now, do we?” Is that what she said, Mr Malfrey?’
‘Your Honour,’ David was on his feet. ‘This incident, if it happened at all, occurred two years ago, Mr Malfrey cannot be expected to . . .’
‘No, Mr Cavanaugh, the witness obviously has a good recollection of the sailing course and I want to hear the answer to this one. Objection overruled. You may answer the question, Mr Malfrey.’
Malfrey, now sweating profusely, looked at Rayna again as if begging for forgiveness.
‘She said something like that, yes, but it was tongue-in-cheek.’
‘Thank you, Mr Malfrey. Just one further question. Would you consider Mrs Martin a friend ?’
‘Well, yes I would. In fact, I would be proud to call her friend.’
‘Do you see her regularly?’
‘Well, no. But we’re both busy, and I’m based up at the Cape.’
‘Has Mrs Martin ever invited you to her house, out on a social gathering – barbecue, picnic, sailing party?’
‘No, but . . .’
‘Probably a good thing Mr Malfrey, for you would almost certainly be outnumbered.’
‘Objection,’ said David.
‘Sustained. Watch it, Ms Scaturro.’
‘I’m sorry, Mr Malfrey, allow me to rephrase,’ said Scaturro, drumming home her point. ‘You consider Mrs Martin a friend, could you perhaps define that friendship for us?’
‘Well, I like her. I think she is a good person. But we don’t see each other socially, if that’s what you mean.’
‘It was and I didn’t think so. No further questions, Your Honour.’ And with that Scaturro returned to her seat with her head held high and a new bounce in her step.
‘Your witness, Mr Cavanaugh,’ said Stein looking at David.
Rayna had reached across to whisper something to him just as he was about to rise.
‘One moment, Your Honour,’ said David, before huddling with his client once again and then standing to approach the witness.
‘Mr Malfrey, you described Mrs Martin as a competent sailor?’
‘Yes.’
‘One that stuck to the rules and knew her water safety procedures well?’
‘Yes.’
‘So let me rephrase Ms Scaturro’s question. How would you explain Mrs Martin’s leaving Christina Haynes in the water on Saturday 4 May?’
‘Well, first up, as I was trying to say earlier,’ Malfrey stole a glimpse at Scaturro, ‘rules are important, no doubt about it, and ninety-nine per cent of the time, sticking to them is the right thing to do. Then there are exceptions to the rules which become necessary in extreme circumstances. From what I can tell Mrs Martin had to make a choice without knowing all the facts. She chose to take the advice of the only person who did know what was going on – the young Haynes girl.’
‘Objection.’
‘Don’t even think about it, Ms Scaturro. You’ve had more than your share of wiggle room,’ said Stein. ‘Go on Counsellor.’
‘Mr Malfrey, knowing what you know about water safety, and given your years of experience, what would you have done in Rayna Martin’s shoes?’
Malfrey paused before answering.
‘In all honesty, I’m not sure. And all this is easy to say in hindsight. But I cannot say I wouldn’t have done what Mrs Martin did. I guess what I am saying is, I understand her decision.’ David let this last answer sink in, turning to make eye contact with juror Amy Fae Basker before changing tack.
‘Mr Malfrey, was Mrs Martin’s treatment of you any different than it was to the other nine African–Americans on your course?’
‘No. Certainly not.’
‘She was not demanding, aggressive, derogatory?’
‘No, not at all, on the contrary she was pleasant, helpful, interested.’
‘Did you ever hear her make any racially motivated comments about you to the others on board, apart from that one comment to May which you took as a comment in jest?’
‘I did not.’
‘Did you ever witness Mrs Martin in the company of any other white people?’
‘Well, actually yes, I did. One of the young people.’
‘I thought you said the entire group was African-American?’
‘Yes, yes they were. Except for one Saturday about six weeks in.’
‘Another AACSAM recruit?’
‘No, one of Teesha Martin’s friends. She was a lovely girl, just came for the day.’
‘And how did Mrs Martin treat this member of the group?’
‘Just the same as all the others, with caring and respect.’
‘This white girl was not ostracised by the group?’
‘No. She got in there with the best of them.’
‘And you all had a good day together?’
‘A good day. Yeah, we did.’
‘And do you remember this girl’s name, Mr Malfrey?’
‘I sure do. She was a good kid. Her name was Christina Haynes.’
After lunch, and now seated in the larger Court Nine, Scaturro called her second witness. Jessica Jones was one of two paramedics who attended to Christina on the way back to Gloucester Marina. Jones was tall and strong with a determined face and self-assured manner. She had a matter-of-fact confidence accentuated by her cool demeanour and serious expression. She made the defence nervous from the minute she entered the courtroom, for Jess
ica Jones was also African–American.
Scaturro began by setting the scene – the call from the Coastguard, the trip out to meet the cruiser, the transfer onto The Cruisader, the evaluation of the patient.
‘Her lungs had filled with water, her vitals were down. We instituted advanced cardio life support immediately, including the use of the lifespan 12 – a defibrillator monitor. This effectively gave us a computerised 12 lead electrocardiograph or ECG. We gave supplemental oxygen via endotracheal intubation but there was no response.’
‘In other words?’
‘In other words she was dead when we got there. She ran out of time.’
‘Does that mean that Miss Haynes may have had a chance of survival if she had been treated earlier?’
‘Definitely,’ said Jones. ‘The primary focus of the resuscitation of the near-drowning victim is prompt initiation of respiratory support. The standard of care involves rapid and safe extrication, cervical-spine immobilisation, and early initiation of cardiopulmonary resuscitation or CPR.’
‘I’m sorry, Ms Jones, you may have to slow down a little for us amateurs,’ said Scaturro.
‘I’m sorry. Basically, the sooner CPR is applied the greater the chance of survival. Once you get a pulse you are pretty much home and hosed. More than ninety per cent of victims who arrive at the emergency department with a pulse survive neurologically intact.’
‘I see.’ Scaturro had made her first point and now moved on. ‘During your trip back to port, did you ask Mrs Martin and the other three girls a series of questions regarding Christina’s condition?’
‘Yes.’
‘And they told you of the alcohol consumption, Christina’s above average swimming ability?’
‘Yes.’
‘And did Mrs Martin at any time refer to her alleged conversation with Christina Haynes.’
‘No.’
‘Did any of the other three girls refer to this supposed conversation?’
‘No.’
‘Were you given any indication that this conversation even took place?’
‘No.’
‘Objection, Your Honour,’ it was David. ‘The witness has just told the court of all the medical procedures she performed in a space of less than fifteen minutes. I would suggest she was in no position to sit down for a chat with Mrs Martin or anyone else.’
‘Fair comment, Mr Cavanaugh, but the witness has testified she asked the group a number of questions and her testimony regarding the information contained or not contained in their answers is valid. Objection overruled. Go on, Ms Scaturro.’
‘I’m almost done, Ms Jones. Did any of the passengers make any other comments which, in hindsight, may have shed some light on the drowning death of Christina Haynes?’
‘Yes.’
David was perched on the edge of his seat, scared as hell and bursting to object again.
‘Could you tell us about these comments and who made them?’
‘Yes. It was Francine Washington. Just as we were disembarking with the stretcher carrying Miss Haynes, she came alongside me and said something to the effect of ‘She drank too much and then she had to go prove herself. She just wanted to impress. She was desperate to impress.’
‘Did you understand these comments at the time, Ms Jones?’
‘No, not really, but in hindsight . . .’
‘What do you take their meaning to be in hindsight?’
‘I believe Ms Washington was telling me Miss Haynes made that swim to impress Mrs Martin. She obviously wanted to appear the heroine to win Mrs Martin’s approval.’
‘Objection. Your Honour, this is pure speculation,’ said David. ‘Those words, if they were spoken at all, could be interpreted in a million different ways.’
‘Mr Cavanaugh is right, Ms Scaturro. The jury is to disregard the witness’ last comments.’
‘I’m sorry, Your Honour,’ said Scaturro, trying, but not succeeding, in hiding the satisfaction on her face. Her point had been made. ‘No further questions.’
David was on his feet before Scaturro hit her chair. He got the feeling there was only one way to deal with Ms Jones. Fast and furious.
‘Ms Jones, when you reached Mrs Martin’s cruiser, what was she doing?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘What was she doing? Was she standing still, driving the cruiser, soaking in the sun?’
‘No,’ Jones got the sarcasm and did not appreciate it. ‘I believe she was administering CPR to the victim.’
‘Right. Was she doing this correctly?’
‘Yes, I believe the technique was correct. Not, as it turned out, successful, but correct.’
‘Were your attempts to revive Ms Haynes successful Ms Jones?’
‘Well, no but . . .’
‘Did Mrs Martin in any way hinder your work on board The Cruisader?’
‘No.’
‘Did she attempt to give reasons for Miss Haynes’ condition, in other words, did she seem anxious to explain or exonerate herself from any wrongdoing?’
‘Well, no.’
‘Did you ask her if she had any final conversation with Ms Haynes?’
‘No.’
‘Did you ask any of the girls about any final conversation?’
‘No, I was too busy trying to . . .’
He had her.
‘Exactly. You were too busy. We understand completely, Ms Jones.’
David paused, allowing his point to sink in.
‘Now, as for Miss Washington. Did you know that it was she who brought the alcohol that Saturday?’
‘No.’
‘Did you also know that Francine Washington was known to be jealous of Christina Haynes and her various talents?’
‘Objection,’ this from Katz. ‘Speculation.’
‘He’s right, Mr Cavanaugh. Sustained.’
It didn’t matter. The jury heard the question.
‘Are you in the habit of passing judgement on others, Ms Jones?’
‘Objection,’ Katz again.
‘Watch it, Mr Cavanaugh. You do not have to answer that question, Ms Jones,’ said Stein.
But Jones was angry and not one to give up a fight.
‘I just don’t like seeing equality set back a hundred years by one bad seed.’
‘Ms Jones,’ said Stein, this time using his gavel to quieten the courtroom. ‘Please refrain from making uncalled-for conjecture and stick to answering the questions.’
‘Finally, Ms Jones,’ David didn’t miss a beat. ‘Did Rayna Martin say anything to you as you disembarked from the cruiser that day?’
‘Ah, I . . . I believe she may have.’
‘Yes or no, Ms Jones?’
‘Yes.’
‘And do you remember what she said?’
‘Ah, I am not sure.’
‘Didn’t she say . . .’ David referred to his notes. “‘Thank you, thank you for helping her. Please, do whatever you can.”?’
‘That might have been it.’
‘Yes or no, Ms Jones?’
‘Yes,’ Jones looked down, as if defeated. ‘That was what she said.’
His media advisors were unanimous. During trial they should arrive and leave through the front door. They should not talk to the press – a series of polite ‘no comments’ would do. They should not look down, or around, but forward. They should not rush nor saunter but move assuredly to their town car which would have special permission to park right at the bottom of the main front steps across the road from Post Office Square Park in Congress Street.
But this afternoon, Rudolph Haynes wished it were otherwise. He was the first to acknowledge the benefits of media manipulation, and this first day at trial had gone reasonably well, but the tide had taken a serious turn last Friday night and he sensed the danger of an unpredictable influence he had not contemplated.
And so he held his wife tightly at the elbow as they left the courtroom and headed down the high ceilinged corridors that led to the elevators, all the time their p
rivate security trying desperately to protect them from the barrage of media which hovered like moths to the flame. As soon as they hit the ground floor it got worse, the ‘ding’ of their elevator acting as a trigger for scores of additional insatiable scavengers to join the swell and cocoon them from all sides, yelling questions, flashing bulbs, shoving, pushing.
‘How do you think it is going, Senator?’
‘What is your take on the first day at trial?’
The first thing he noticed was that Elizabeth was not leaning in to him. She was in fact, holding her own. She even paused briefly to greet Caroline Croft, kissing her lightly on both cheeks before moving on.
By the time they reached the front doors the swarm had grown tenfold. The security team tightened their circle and the questions flew thick and fast. A young reporter to their left was the first to ask it. He knew it was coming, of course, but they were almost to their car.
‘Mrs Haynes, Mrs Haynes, do you have any comment on the shooting of Teesha Martin ?’
And she released – pulled – herself from his grip to stop and speak.
‘I just want to say that my heart goes out to Teesha Martin and her family. It is a terrible tragedy and I pray for her full and fast recovery.’ Then, she took his arm again and got into the car.
Haynes was completely lost for words and all he could do was turn to look at her, this woman, this stranger, his wife.
‘What is it, Rudolph?’ she asked, her expression almost childlike in its wide-eyed curiosity. ‘Do I have lipstick on my cheek? Caroline was wearing that deep red again, which does nothing for her complexion.’ She looked at him and smiled, turning to pat his hand.
‘Don’t worry, my dear. I thought it went rather well today, didn’t you? Loretta was quite impressive. A reasonable start indeed.’
39
‘Talk about a fish out of water,’ whispered Arthur, as the prosecution’s third witness took the stand.
Frasier Kemp’s sea legs looked particularly wobbly as he stood to be sworn in, grabbing the seat beneath him to steady his descent on the way down. Kemp was the Command Chief of the US Coastguard Station at Gloucester, an old salt who was obviously less than happy with his current predicament.