Verdict in the Desert

by Patricia Santos Marcantonio

  “This is the witness’ firsthand observation of the defendant’s behavior,” Brennan said, nonplussed.

  “Is that what they call character assassination these days, Joe?” Michael’s voice was harsher than it should have ever been in a courtroom.

  “Objection sustained,” the judge said. “And Mr. Shaw, you would do best to control yourself, or you might be facing contempt.”

  Michael sat back down.

  “What did María Curry steal?” Brennan continued.

  “She stole some soaps and shampoos from our cart. María even took a camera that had been left in one of the rooms. I told her we should turn it in, but she said she’d sell it so she could buy beer.”

  Isabel batted her eyes at the jury when she talked. Michael thought that with very little training, she could have been a fine actress. She was giving a first-rate performance now. He looked at María, who listened to Toni’s translation and then shook her head at the accusations.

  “Did María Curry ever talk to you about her husband, Ben Curry?” Brennan rolled on with confidence.

  “Oh, yes. More than once she called him a son of a bitch and said that she’d like to kill him. She told me this in Spanish.”

  “Did she say why she wanted to kill him?”

  “Yes, because her husband was a smelly tightwad who didn’t give her any money and treated her like a slave.”

  “Objection. I move to strike all of this woman’s testimony as prejudicial and inflammatory. There is no evidence to prove any of this happened, other than inside her pretty little head.” Michael stared at the young woman on the stand. “Why don’t you just admit you’re lying and save us time?”

  “Your Honor, Mr. Shaw is bullying my witness, and it’s not even his turn to question her,” Brennan said.

  “She should be bullied. I’ve never heard such blatant defamation,” Michael shouted and at once knew he had messed up. He was angry with himself because he hadn’t anticipated Isabel Ontiveros. He should have known about her. He should have asked María if she had any enemies and done more investigation, but he didn’t because of his increased attachment to María and Toni.

  “Mr. Shaw!” Judge Hower said. The courtroom froze. The Zeus-like judge was about to throw a thunderbolt. “I’ve warned you about your displays of disrespect for this court. I hold you in contempt and order a fine of 200 dollars.”

  Michael gritted his teeth. In all his years in court, he had never lost his temper. Worse, he probably ended up giving more credence to the woman’s miserable testimony. He couldn’t look at María and Toni, dreading their disappointment. Maybe with damn luck, the jurors would think he was being overzealous because of his client’s innocence. Logically, the next best thing to do was grovel. He could do that. “I deeply apologize for my conduct, Your Honor.”

  Judge Hower’s face slackened but only a bit. “Proceed, Mr. Brennan.”

  “Miss Ontiveros, why did you come forward to testify?” said the county attorney, who was delighted at the great Michael Shaw’s goof.

  “Well, I read in the newspaper about the trial, and I thought people should know what kind of person María Curry really is.” Triumph glazed over her face.

  “Thank you, Miss Ontiveros.” Brennan sat down.

  “Cross, Mr. Shaw?” the judge said.

  Michael walked toward the witness stand. “Why did you leave your job at the Santa Fe Motel?”

  Her hawkish eyes reappeared. “I quit.”

  “Really? You weren’t fired?”

  Isabel Ontiveros’ stare shot to María. “Did she say that? Well, she’s lying.”

  “That’s easy to prove, unlike your testimony.”

  “Your Honor,” Brennan rose.

  The judge’s eyes closed ever so slightly.

  “Let me rephrase. One of the defense witnesses that we will call includes the owner of the Santa Fe Motel. Will he say that you quit or were fired?”

  “We had a difference of opinion,” Isabel Ontiveros said.

  “That means you were fired?”

  “Yes.”

  “What was the disagreement about?”

  “Objection. I don’t see the relevance,” Brennan said.

  Judge Hower took a drink of water and then replied, “Mr. Brennan, I gave you latitude with your questioning, which we should extend to the defense.”

  Michael breathed out. Even though the man had just fined him, thank God for judges.

  “Please answer,” the judge told the witness.

  “The owner thought that I was the one taking the soaps and shampoos and the camera.” Her boldness returned.

  Michael surveyed the jurors again. A few tilted their heads as if forming a new opinion of the witness. He had to keep at it, but with caution. “Miss Ontiveros, why didn’t you tell your boss that María Curry took the items, as you claim?”

  “He’d just think that I lied.”

  At last, Isabel Ontiveros had given Michael something with which to work. He had to destroy this woman to save María. “Why would he think that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Have you ever lied to him before. And remember, we’ll be talking with him.”

  She shifted in the seat. “Well, María had told him the soaps were gone, and he thought I did it, so he fired me.”

  “But you didn’t answer the question. Have you ever lied to him?”

  She ran her hand down her hair. “Yes.”

  “About what?”

  “I can’t remember.”

  “You remembered all those other items involving María. When did you lie?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  Michael let her evasiveness sink in with the jury and then asked, “Did you steal the soaps and shampoo and camera?”

  “No, María did.”

  “Then why did María report them missing, if she stole them? If I took something, I sure as heck wouldn’t tell anybody.” Michael gathered as much charm as he could generate for the jury. The calmer he appeared, the more agitated she would appear.

  The woman’s lips came together hard.

  “Miss Ontiveros, please answer,” Michael prodded.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do you blame María for getting you fired?” Michael said.

  “It was her fault.” The gentility in her voice transformed into shrewishness.

  “When you claimed María talked to you about her husband, was anybody else around?”

  “It was just us.” One side of her mouth implied a smile. “One girl to another.”

  To Michael, Isabel Ontiveros didn’t act like a model citizen testifying out of civic pride. She was tough as a boxer and definitely wanted something, and he had guessed what it was. “Ever been arrested, Miss Ontiveros?”

  The woman stopped smiling, and her eyes raced to Brennan, whose face did not change.

  “Well?” Michael said. “Have you been arrested?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I got picked up for helping my boyfriend steal cars.”

  “What’s wrong, soaps not enough?” Michael said.

  “Mr. Shaw, how would you like to pay a 300-dollar fine?” Judge Hower said.

  “I will if you order it, Your Honor.”

  Judge Hower rolled his eyes. “Get on with this.”

  “Did you ask the prosecutor for anything in exchange for your testimony?” Michael said, a little more sure of himself.

  “I asked him if he could do anything about the charges against me.”

  “What did Mr. Brennan say?”

  Her eyes constricted at the prosecutor. “He said he would take another look at my case and see if his office might be able to make a deal with my lawyer. But he made no promises.”

  “How many cars were stolen?”

  If Isabel Ontiveros could, she would have spit poison. “Eleven.”

  Michael was satisfied. “I’ve got no more questions for this woman.”

  On redirect, Brennan
again asked, “Did you lie today, Miss Ontiveros?”

  She sat up. “No.”

  The gavel came down at four, and Michael was exhausted. Before they took María back to the jail, he lightly touched her shoulder. “I’m sorry about my outburst today. I hope it won’t hurt our case.”

  As María talked to Toni, she smiled.

  “What did she say, Toni?” he asked.

  “She said no one has ever fought for her like that. It made her feel good,” Toni said.

  Later that night, Michael lay across the bed at home. His tie looked like a crinkled silk snake hanging down from the chenille bedspread. He didn’t have the strength to wipe the crust off the side of his mouth. The back of his head felt squeezed, and it throbbed.

  He didn’t know how long he had lain there. He did remember Jenny shaking his shoulders to try to rouse him for dinner, but his eyes wouldn’t open. The bedroom was dark. He turned over with a groan.

  From the living room, he heard the television. He undressed and got under the covers and wished he was drunk enough to forget that day of testimony. Failure crushed his chest. He wanted Toni lying down beside him.

  Thankfully, the prosecution had ended its case. Now the defense would have its turn, and María’s story would be told. As much as he looked forward to that, he wished to hell that Isabel Ontiveros hadn’t wanted to make a deal for stealing cars. He wished the jurors would see her as a liar and opportunist. He wished he had kept his mouth shut and avoided the contempt ruling.

  But after all his years before juries, he accepted the fact that Miss Ontiveros had hurt the defense, and over what?

  Goddamn motel soap.

  31

  ALL DURING THE TRIAL, contrition wrapped María’s heart as the police, neighbors and Ben’s brother talked out loud about her great sin. Without Toni and Mr. Shaw there, María believed her heart would have dried to ashes. But for the past few days, Mr. Shaw called to take the stand people who were on her side. The Negro bartender described how Ben turned mean when he was drunk, picked fights with everyone in his bar and batted her around. Her friend Bonita also told everyone that she saw Ben raise his hand against her more than once and even chase her with a butcher knife. When Mr. Shaw asked Bonita if her friend had spent lots of money on bingo, Bonita swore to God and the judge the most María had ever paid was one dollar a week for six cards.

  Comforted as she felt about their support, María was sick to her stomach for letting those people bad-mouth her dead husband. That day, Nick Greene, her boss at the motel where she cleaned, was on the witness stand.

  “What kind of worker is María Curry?” Michael asked.

  “One of my best. Always on time, reliable and thorough,” said Greene, who was a thin man with a thin mustache.

  “And what if she were free today?” Michael asked.

  “She could have her job back anytime.”

  Michael gave him a smile. “Can you describe María Curry’s personality?”

  “Sir?”

  “Was she loud?”

  Now Greene smiled. “No, sir. She is a quiet woman, but she loves to laugh.”

  “Did she get along with your other employees?”

  “Yes, sir. Every Christmas, she would bring us all tamales that she had made.”

  “Mr. Greene, ever notice anything about María’s appearance when she came to work?”

  “Yes, she often had bruises on her arms and legs, and on more than one occasion, she had a black eye. One time she came to work with a broken arm, but insisted she still could clean.”

  “Did you ask what had happened to her?”

  “She would only say she had fallen down the stairs at her house.”

  “Did she ever complain about her husband?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Ever meet Ben Curry?”

  Greene gripped the front of the witness stand. “I met him.”

  “Tell the jury about that.”

  Greene turned to look at the panel. “About one month before he died, María had begged me to hire Ben for a maintenance job that opened up at the motel. I hired him but mostly out of a favor to her.”

  “What happened?”

  “Ben came to work drunk after the second day on the job. He started yelling at me when I told him to go home. Then he cursed me and pushed me down before he left.”

  “Mr. Greene, let’s talk about Isabel Ontiveros,” Michael asked him. “Did you fire her?”

  “Yes, she was stealing items from the cleaning cart,” Greene said. “I count the items every night, and they were gone after her shifts. She made excuses like the guests were taking them, but it kept happening.”

  “Did she steal anything else?”

  “My wife caught her in the office with the money box open.”

  “How do you know she was stealing?”

  “She had her fist around some money. My wife told her to drop it and get out or we’d call the cops.”

  “Did María Curry ever steal from you?” Michael said.

  “No. She was the one who told me about Isabel. I trust María.”

  María cried at his testimony.

  “If Miss Ontiveros was stealing from you, as you say, why didn’t you call the police?” Brennan said when it was his turn to ask questions of Nick Greene.

  “Because she threatened to sic her boyfriend on us if we did. I saw him once when he picked her up. He was big as a house,” Greene said. “I’m ashamed to admit this, but I was scared.”

  To that answer, the prosecutor swallowed like he had a chicken bone stuck in his throat, which pleased María. It was wrong to hate people, but she felt like a corrupt shadow anytime Mr. Brennan looked her way.

  Michael’s next witness was Clarence Whitfield, Ben’s old construction boss. It had taken a bit of persuasion to get Whitfield to testify. When Michael had tracked him down at his office, Whitfield said he didn’t have the time and didn’t want to get mixed up with “court stuff,” but Michael had flattered and pleaded in the name of justice. Whitfield finally agreed, but Michael suspected he did so only because of the Shaw name and any connection Whitfield hoped it might bring to his business. While Michael risked a defense witness with an uncooperative attitude, he wanted Whitfield on the record. A muscular man in working clothes and with a face full of bad skin, Whitfield glared at everyone as he was sworn in. Michael didn’t flinch. He had gotten used to people despising attorneys ever since he passed the bar. He didn’t blame them, because lawyers usually became wealthy off their woes. Michael buttoned his jacket as he approached the stand. “When did you first meet Ben Curry?”

  “About eight years ago. He had moved to Borden and came looking for a job. He had a lot of construction experience, so I hired him.”

  “How long did he work for you?”

  “A little over three years.”

  “What kind of worker was he?”

  “Good. Never late. Strong as a damn ox.”

  “We don’t use cuss words in my courtroom.” The judge scowled.

  Whitfield bit his lip as if keeping in more curses.

  “Mr. Whitfield, did Ben Curry get along with the other workers?” Michael continued.

  “Yes, most of the time. The others did grouse because Ben would tell them how to do their job. He wasn’t popular, but I don’t run no girl’s school.”

  “Why wasn’t he popular?”

  “Well, he had a temper and once in a while got in arguments with the other men.”

  “Was Ben Curry ever seriously injured on the job?”

  Whitfield scratched at his heavy shadow of a beard. “About five years ago, he was carrying two-by-fours when he fell into a ditch. Ben twisted his back real bad. He was gone from the job, let’s see, about three weeks.”

  “When Ben Curry returned to work after he had fallen, did he change?”

  Whitfield fidgeted. “Yes.”

  “How?”

  “He began to get into even more fights with the other workers.”

  “
Verbal?”

  “No, sir. I had to break up some fistfights. I warned him he had better quit making trouble.”

  “Did Ben Curry drink on the job after his return?”

  “I caught him a few times.”

  “Did he become abusive?”

  Whitfield shook his head. “Ben got into it with my foreman. He punched him and knocked him to the ground, so I fired Ben.”

  Michael sat down, and Whitfield turned his sneer to Joe Brennan, who started in on his questions.

  “What was the cause of the disagreement with the foreman?” the prosecutor asked.

  “The man called Ben’s wife a dirty Mexican. He didn’t let nobody talk shit about his wife.”

  “Mr. Whitfield, don’t curse,” the judge said, pointing his gavel at the witness.

  “What kind of worker was Mr. Curry when he didn’t drink?”

  Whitfield fidgeted more. “Didn’t you hear? I already answered that one. Are you done with me yet?”

  The judge looked at the witness and ordered, “Behave, Mr. Whitfield, and answer the questions civilly.”

  “That’s all anyway, Your Honor,” Brennan said.

  “Redirect, Mr. Shaw?”

  María remembered the foreman’s blood had covered Ben’s work clothes after the fight that got him fired. She told Toni, who passed the information to Michael.

  “Mr. Shaw, the witness and I are not getting any younger.” Judge Hower pointed at his watch.

  “Excuse me, Your Honor. Mr. Whitfield, Ben Curry didn’t just knock down your foreman, did he?”

  “No, sir.”

  “What did he do?” Michael needed a crowbar to pry the information out of the man.

  “Ben broke the foreman’s nose and blackened both of his eyes. The foreman also lost a front tooth. A terrible mess, you bet.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Whitfield.”

  Whitfield readied to leave but peeked first at the judge.

  “Okay, you’re done.” The judge waved him on.

  Peering over thick glasses, Father Vásquez raised his hand to tell the truth, and María wondered why he even had to be sworn in.

  “I’ve known María for about eight years. Ever since she and her husband came to town she’s attended my church, Our Lady of the Roses.”