Undertow

by Sydney Bauer

  ‘Shit,’ said Katz mopping up the damage with his napkin.

  Scaturro said nothing, just stared at him awaiting a response.

  ‘Okay, you want honesty, let’s talk straight shall we?’ he said. ‘First of all, it’s time you got off your God-damned high horse. You and I both know that sometimes you have to allow people like Haynes to push their agenda because in the end it works to your advantage. It’s not the first time something like this has happened and it certainly won’t be the last. He was only ever driving the bus in the same direction we intended to go. He just chose the route, and put our feet on the accelerator.’

  ‘And you approve of his methods?’

  ‘I approve of any method which gets us a guilty verdict, Loretta. Because that’s our job.’

  ‘I thought our job was about justice.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ he laughed. ‘Now that, my dear Loretta, is why Haynes confided in me and why you fell out of the loop.’

  ‘Well, I’m back in the loop now. In fact, I’m holding the God-damned rope. So, if you want to be the one to finish this thing, if you want me to take a back seat at the climax of the trial of the decade, you need to tell me everything.’

  ‘What for, so you can go to the police?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not stupid, Roger. I realise I am in this thing almost as deep as you are, although unwittingly.’

  ‘Bullshit, you knew what was going on. You let Haynes run this thing the minute he mentioned Jim Elliott’s name.’

  So he knew about that.

  ‘Turning a blind eye is just the piss weak way of committing a crime,’ Katz went on. ‘You’re still a criminal in the eyes of the law, just a pathetic one. At least I had the balls to follow this through.’

  In a way he was right and she hated herself for it.

  ‘I just need to know. Call it conscience, call it closure, call it guilt . . . I don’t care. I need to know for me.’

  Scaturro wondered if he suspected he was being taped. Probably. But she was banking on him realising that she had nothing to gain and everything to lose by exposing him. If she gave any such recording to the police she would not just be ratting out her ADA but also divulging her willingness to be ‘steered’ by outside influences – by blackmail and her relationship with a man named Jim Elliott.

  ‘So, like I said, let’s cut the crap,’ she said, knowing she had to force the issue now, before his sense of reason had time to overpower his first point of reference – vanity. ‘I want the whole story, from the beginning, every detail from the minute this woman was arrested. Otherwise, I keep holding the reins and you keep your ass firmly planted on the bench.’

  She took a breath and held it. She was taking a huge risk. It all came down to Katz’s insatiable quest for advancement. Hopefully his ambition would cloud his judgement just enough for him to overlook the fact that he was handing her enough evidence to even up the odds.

  Katz returned her glare and then she saw it – that look, that need. He wanted this more than anything he had ever wanted before. His ego would make this decision for him and for once she was grateful her second in charge was an arrogant, conceited pig.

  ‘All right. You want to know the petty trivialities? Fine. But don’t go playing all sanctimonious if some of them don’t sit too well with your misguided sense of morality.’ He looked at his Rolex. 6.33am. ‘We don’t have much time, so you get the edited version. Like it or lump it.

  ‘And then, boss,’ his voice dripped with sarcasm. ‘Then I’m gonna give this city one of the best judicial finales in its extensive legal history. I’ll win this thing, and in the process . . .’ he smiled, ‘. . . crush Cavanaugh’s career beyond repair and put that black bitch away for good.’

  She was hot. So hot. Her stomach was cramping and her heart pumped so fast she could no longer distinguish the lulls between the beats. She felt her glasses slip on the sides of her sweating nose. She hated wearing her glasses but she needed to keep her eyes on her parents, otherwise she doubted she could get through this.

  ‘Just keep looking at us, Francie honey,’ her mom had said, using her lavender lace handkerchief to wipe the perspiration from her daughter’s brow. She had got the feeling her mom was unsure about what she had been asked to do, but her dad said they were ‘committed’ so her mom turned to her again and kept repeating it. ‘Focus on Mom and Dad and everything will be okay.’

  But now, up here on this isolated stand where important people sat to say important things, she found it hard to focus on them, for they were two faces in a sea of hundreds with every eye in the house fixed on her.

  And so, just as creepy Mr Katz – she thought it was going to be the woman, Miss Loretta, but they changed their minds at the last minute, making it even worse – got up to go through her questions, she allowed her eyes to drift across to the defence table . . . to the woman she had known since she was seven.

  Their eyes met, just for a second, and what Francine Washington saw made her heart sink even lower. For Rayna Martin offered nothing but a smile. It was a smile that said ‘It’s okay, honey . . .’ and Francine Washington swallowed the bile that rose like a traitor in her throat.

  ‘Francine, let me start by saying thank you so much for being here today. We know this isn’t easy and I want you to know you can ask me to stop or slow down at any time.’

  ‘Okay,’ she managed, clearing her throat.

  She took a deep breath and pinched her own legs behind the partition, willing herself to stay calm for fear she would pass out. Mr Katz was playing to the script and all she had to do was remember her lines – just like in the school play, one sentence at a time.

  ‘All right then, we’re going to begin by talking about your friends – specifically Layteesha Martin, Mariah Jordan and Christina Haynes. Is that all right?’

  ‘Yes Sir.’

  ‘Good. Then let’s get started.’

  Katz began by asking Francie how the four girls met, and Francie, knowing her part by heart, recounted how she had known Teesha and Mariah from elementary school and befriended Christina much later, a few years ago, when they all attended Milton. He then went on to ask her about Christina’s part in the group – her relationship with the other three, and the possibility of any friction given her different racial denomination.

  ‘It wasn’t a problem for us,’ she said. ‘Chrissie was our friend, not our white friend.’

  Mr Katz had told her to say that.

  ‘But it was, however, for some others. Some people thought it was weird her hanging out with us.’

  ‘When you say others, are you thinking of anyone in particular?’

  She knew this question was coming and it made her catch her breath, her eyes downcast.

  ‘Yes . . . um . . . Teesha’s mom. Mrs Martin.’

  Francine was getting nervous and was glad when Mr Katz moved to his left, forming a human shield between her and Teesha’s mom.

  ‘Can you tell us what you mean when you say Mrs Martin did not approve of your friendship with Christina?’

  ‘Objection,’ said David. ‘The witness said no such thing.’

  ‘Actually, she did, Mr Cavanaugh,’ said Stein. ‘The question was asked and answered. Objection overruled. Go on Miss Washington.’

  ‘Well, Mrs Martin always seemed to be a little cold around Chrissie. Often we’d be at Teesha’s house – the three of us – and Teesha would make excuses as to why Chrissie wasn’t there. She’d say she was at ballet or swimming or something. But I got the feeling she wasn’t invited.’

  ‘Teesha didn’t invite her?’

  ‘Well, I’m sure Teesha wanted to her to be there, but I don’t think her mom approved.’

  ‘Objection,’ said David. ‘Speculation, Your Honour.’

  ‘Which is her right when asked her opinion, Counsellor,’ said Stein. ‘Objection overruled.’

  ‘Go on, Francie,’ said Katz.

  ‘Well, on the day of Teesha’s birthday for example. Teesha told us Ch
ristina couldn’t come because she had to go shopping with her mom. But then Chrissie showed up.’

  ‘And you think Christina was not invited to the party but showed up at the last minute as a sign of friendship to Teesha.’

  ‘Yeah. I could tell Mrs Martin was put off. She was fairly terse with Chrissie when she opened the door. But Teesha was happy. I was too.’

  Francine’s eyes hit the floor again. This was a lie. Francie remembered feeling pissed that Christina had shown up, knowing her perfect persona would dominate the day. Sometimes she just wanted Teesha and Mariah to herself. But that was back in the old days, when Teesha could speak and Mariah gave her the time of day.

  And so it went on, Katz probing carefully, Francine sticking to the script. A perfectly written piece of drama, fleshed out with little details, padded with points of purpose.

  The ADA spent over an hour weaving his way in and out the friends’ history, stopping each time Francine made an observation which contributed to his picture of Rayna Martin ‘the bigot’.

  Both he and Scaturro had been careful not to set the girl up in a lie – Scaturro for moral reasons and Katz to save his own butt. If Francine Washington was caught in a direct lie which could be refuted by a believable Mariah Jordan, it could discredit her entire testimony.

  Moreover Katz had coached her to view each situation with an eye to prejudice and the result was quite brilliant – a mélange of incidences painting the defendant as a narrow-minded racist who tried to manipulate her daughter’s choice of friends. Katz was on a high, marvelling at his own brilliance, and it felt good.

  Finally he got to the moments prior to Christina’s death and the courtroom sat still, silent, hungry for every single word which spilled awkwardly from the plain-looking, young girl’s mouth.

  It was at this moment that Francie realised she had got her wish. She was famous.

  She was the centre of attention, the most important person in the room. Tomorrow morning she would be on the front page of every newspaper in the country . . . and she felt like she wanted to die.

  ‘Yes, I brought the champagne and I still bear the guilt of doing so,’ she said as per instructions. ‘But I know I could not have stopped what happened. It was as if the four of us lost control of our friendship as soon as Christina swam off to alert Teesha’s mom.’

  ‘And when did you first realise that Christina was in trouble?’ asked Katz.

  ‘After Mrs Martin picked us up – when we could not see her in the water.’

  ‘But you later realised there were clues which pointed to her predicament a little earlier?’

  ‘Yes, when Mrs Martin first arrived at the outboard.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Well, she specifically told us she saw Christina “floating” in the water. She did not mention any conversation with Christina and she suggested the three of us were rescued because we were black.’

  The courtroom broke its silence in a gush of disbelief just as David leapt to his feet.

  ‘Objection. Your Honour, please, the witness is obviously regurgitating a list of prefabricated . . .’

  ‘Judge,’ said Katz, ‘if the defence is suggesting this witness has been coached I take offence at the accusation.’

  The Judge banged his gavel before the room had a chance to build on its growing buzz of conjecture.

  ‘Mr Katz, I will allow the witness to continue, but I warn you, if at any time I believe this young girl may have been schooled in her responses I will throw her testimony out of court – and you and Ms Scaturro with it.’ Stein turned to Francine.

  ‘Miss Washington, I am sure you know that everything you say here has to be the truth. You are under no obligation say anything you are uncomfortable with and any attempt to do so could land both you and Mr Katz here in some serious trouble. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes Sir,’ said Francine, the sweat now dribbling into her eyes and starting to fog her glasses. She clutched her stomach behind the bench, willing herself not to barf in front of all these people.

  ‘We’re nearly finished, Francine,’ said Katz.

  ‘What gave you the impression Mrs Martin made you a priority because of your colour Francie? Was it due to your past knowledge of her views on white people?’

  ‘Yeah but . . .’ Francine Washington stopped, and coughed, wiping her mouth with a tissue she clutched tightly in her left hand. ‘But it was more in what she said when she came to pick us up and again later after we had pulled Teesha . . . I mean, Christina . . . up on to the outboard . . . I mean the cruiser.’

  Francine was fading.

  ‘What did she say, Francine?’

  ‘Well, first up . . . um . . . first up, she said we were ‘lucky,’ you know, to be rescued, I guess because we were black.’

  ‘Objection!’ David was up again. ‘Hearsay, speculation.’

  ‘He’s right, Mr Katz,’ said the Judge. ‘I want the jury to discount the witness’s last response.’

  But they heard it, and that was enough.

  ‘It’s all right, Francie,’ said Katz, pushing his witness over the line, hoping she could hold out for this one, last, all-important response. ‘What did Mrs Martin say when you helped pull the unconscious Christina onto the cruiser?’

  ‘Well, I had a cramp and told her it hurt and . . . it did hurt, it really hurt. And . . .’ Katz could see Francine trying to focus, the tears starting to mix with the perspiration, making it impossible for her to see.

  ‘It’s okay, Francine. Go on.’ The girl was about to lose it, he had to nail this fast.

  ‘Well, she said . . . she said something like . . . “For God’s sake, Francie, look at yourself. You’re not the one with the problem. You were never the one with the problem. So just snap out of it.’

  ‘And you took this to mean?’

  ‘I was safe . . . I was never in any danger because I was an African–American.’

  ‘Thank you, Miss Washington,’ said Katz, trying his best to suppress a smile. ‘No further questions.’

  Across the room Rayna Martin said two words ‘Oh, Francie . . .’ – not even realising they had left her lips. Not because she was shocked, and not because Francie was lying, but because Francie had just recounted exactly what she had said: ‘. . . You were never the one with the problem. So just snap out of it’. Her comments had nothing to do with racial preference but she could see now how they could be twisted to hang her.

  ‘Dear God,’ she whispered to herself. ‘That poor child.’ Francine was dying up there and she had to do something about it.

  David could not believe what he was hearing.

  He was furious, exasperated, mad enough to want to reach out across the interview room table and physically shake some sense into her.

  ‘I cannot believe this! Rayna, this is insane. We have come so far, you cannot give up now, you have to let me do this.’

  ‘No, David. No.’

  ‘Do you have any idea how much damage her staged testimony did to us . . . to you ? Do you know how weak our position will be if we don’t . . .’ David was so frustrated he had no choice but to tell her where they stood.

  ‘Look Rayna, we are in a serious situation here. The prosecution has done a damned fine job of painting you as the racist bitch from hell and they have Elizabeth Haynes and her precious letter to come. We have no witness to your conversation, we cannot find Gabriel Jackson and time is running out.’

  Samantha Bale had managed to discover the name of their Iceman but was unable to track his whereabouts. And given his long list of outstanding warrants, and apparent abilities to evade the authorities, they did not like their chances of either (a) finding him any time soon or (b) presenting him as a credible witness in any case.

  ‘I don’t want to scare you . . . No, on second thought yes I do. I want to scare the hell out of you because you and I both know we are losing this thing fast.’

  Rayna looked at him.

  ‘I can take this girl,’ he said. ‘She is al
ready shaken, I can blow her story out of the water, you have to let me . . .’

  ‘No, stop,’ Rayna said. ‘You talk of damage well . . . can’t you see? I have done enough damage already. I let a sixteen-year-old girl convince me to leave her in open waters and in effect signed her death certificate. My own daughter is lying in a coma, and may never fully recover, which is my own doing as well – indirectly maybe, but I was the one that set this whole mess in motion. So no. I will not stand by and allow you to ruin another young life. I know Francine Washington and she is dying up there. This girl lives every day on shaky ground, and this thing could damage her for the rest of her life, if it hasn’t already. No, enough is enough.’

  ‘Rayna please . . .’ said Arthur.

  ‘No, Arthur, that’s it. End of discussion. No cross examination. Let it go, David. Just let it go.’

  Roger Katz was in heaven. Bliss, ecstasy, rapture. He, along with everyone else in the courtroom could not believe the nine words that had come out of his competitor’s mouth a few minutes previously. ‘We have no questions for this witness, Your Honour’. Unbelievable.

  There was no doubt Cavanaugh was unhappy. Even Stein, in his own way, tried to get him to at least consider a cross, as it was ‘within his client’s rights to refute the State’s line of questioning of this witness’. But nothing. Nada. Zip.

  Christ knows what had happened at the defence team’s lunch time love fest but it certainly wasn’t anything to do with making fucking sense. His only guess was that the Martin woman wanted to save the Washington kid from any further distress. Please! These people should go live in a monastery because they certainly didn’t operate in the real world.

  But truth be told he couldn’t give a shit about their reasons. If they wanted to hand him this case on a silver platter – not that he needed their help – then that was their prerogative. More fool them. To the rich go the spoils.

  And so here he stood, in his element, lording over the proceedings as he called his next witness to the stand.