“I do.” I put my hand on her shoulder. “We’re here,” I said. “At the courthouse.”
“So we are.”
We got out of the car, and I noticed the irony of the beauty of the weather, which was contrasted with the overall feeling of doom that Heather and I shared. September was, in general, one of my favorite times of the year in Kansas City. Aside from the days that were considered to be “Indian Summer,” which was marked by super hot days for long stretches, the weather was beautiful and marked by temperatures in the 70s and 80s. I yearned for the next month, October, when the leaves start to change into their brilliant red and orange and yellow hues and the air would have a certain crispness.
Heather walked slowly, very slowly, up the sidewalk with me. It was almost as if she were trying to delay the inevitable, which I assumed was the case. I put my arm around her and she hung her head. She looked at me, and I could see tears starting to form in her eyes.
“It’s going to be okay,” I whispered. “Somehow, we’re going to pull a rabbit out of the hat. If anybody can do that, it would be me. Remember that. I’ve won cases that were unwinnable before, and I can do it again. Trust me.”
In a way, I was kicking myself for giving her false hopes. On the other hand, I needed her to hold her head high and show her sparkling personality to the jury. She was all that I had in this case thus far, so I had to keep her spirits up enough that she could show the jury that she was an honest person. I couldn’t allow her to show the jury her snarly, bratty side. That would be death for sure. And I knew that the snarkiness was simply her defense, her armor, her mask. She had been through so much in her life, and nobody had ever shown her any kindness. She was hurt, very hurt, underneath all the bravado. The bravado was what was going to kill her on the stand, so I had to break through that.
We went through the doors and found the elevator. The courthouse in downtown Kansas City was in the Art Deco style that was so popular in the 1930s. It was around 20 stories tall, and was built in stone. The floors were marble, and, because it was early, the foyer wasn’t completely packed, but there were a fair number of lawyers and their clients standing around the elevators. There were lawyers with files so large they had to haul them on wheels, and others who were carrying briefcases.
In my case, because Heather’s murder trial didn’t turn on complex issues, I merely carried her file in my leather satchel. I had some witness statements in the file, but that was about it. The people that I found from the church weren’t willing to testify on the record, and I didn’t have enough to show that they were relevant enough for a subpoena, so I simply interviewed them and put them on the witness list. I figured that if the judge miraculously admitted their testimony in front of the jury, I could go ahead and subpoena them for trial. I wasn’t expecting much there, however.
We got on the elevator and it slowly climbed to the fifth floor, which was where our courtroom was. I grabbed Heather’s wrist, because I could see her shaking and I nodded to her. “Take a deep breath,” I said. “Just remember – you have to just get on the stand and tell the truth. Just tell the truth, and we have a chance.”
The door dinged and we got out and walked into the courtroom. Vince was there, along with his second chair, who is a female DA by the name of Rachel Morgan. She was a very pretty blonde with bright blue eyes and seemed to stay in top shape. She was wearing a light purple suit with matching pumps and her hair was up in a bun. I didn’t know what role she was going to take – the second chair typically doesn’t do much, but sometimes they take some of the witnesses, and I knew that Rachel was going to be an attractive person to the jury. She was pretty, but not stunningly so, which made her accessible. She also had a soft southern voice, as she was from South Carolina, which also was appealing to the jury, especially around these parts. I found that people in Kansas City tended to be conservative, and Rachel would appeal to them much more than Heather would.
As for Vince, it was more hit or miss with him. He was aggressive and tall, and spoke with authority. He had a tendency to grandstand, which was persuasive for some, and a turn-off for others. Personally, I found his demeanor in court to be off-putting. He came across like a bully, and I thought that Vince might have lost winnable cases because of this.
I sat down at the table, putting my briefcase down and I motioned to Heather. “Go ahead and take your seat,” I said.
“Now, Harper,” Vince said. “Are you still trying to convince the judge to let evidence in about your cock-eyed theory about the murdering Reverend?”
“You know I am,” I said. “It’s all I got. And it’s not cock-eyed. For your information, Agent Axel Springer has been investigating this church himself.”
“I know that. I’m aware of that. From what I understand, they’re ready to make some arrests there. But you know the rules of evidence as well as I do, and you’re not going to be able to get this defense in front of a jury. What are we even doing here? Let’s just pick a jury and get the show on the road. Let’s not go through this motion in limine nonsense. We should just stipulate that you won’t use that church as your defense and get moving on this.”
I crossed my arms in front of me. “Nice try. I have to at least ask the judge if he’ll let me use the church as a defense. You’re not giving me anything to give it up.” I raised my eyebrow. “Give me something in exchange for my stipulation, and I’ll ask my client about it. Otherwise, we’re going forward.”
Vince shook his head. “Your position isn’t strong enough for me to give you anything. Sorry, Harper. I just thought that I would appeal to your desire to have an expedited trial, along with your acknowledgement of reality, which is that your defense is a dog, and we’d go on.”
“You thought wrong.” Truth be told, if Vince gave me something in exchange for my stipulation, I probably would have gone forward. I knew that he was right – the judge was most likely going to rule against me. But I wouldn’t give it up for nothing. He should know that.
“Can we at least stipulate that your client killed Ms. Morrison?” he asked. “Or are you going to make me work for that as well?”
“What do you think? Again, if you’re willing to give me something, I might stipulate to that. Otherwise, forget it. At this point, you’re going to have to show the jury that my client did it.” That was one strategy I had up my sleeve – make the prosecutor work to show that my client was the one who killed her mother. Then, if I saw that he didn’t do a good job in showing this, I would gamble on not putting Heather on the stand at all. That would be a huge gamble, but that would present a better chance for her acquittal than trying to argue self-defense in a case where there wasn’t a butcher knife to show that her mother was trying to kill her.
Vince sighed. “You’re going to make me work for it. You’re still going to do SODDI possibly?”
“All options are on the table. Give me something and I’ll maybe change my mind. And it’s gotta be good. Really good, or it’s a no-go.”
He narrowed his eyes and then shook his head. “No. This case is too air-tight for me. I’ll put on my case and you put on yours.”
“I knew you would say that.”
At that, the judge came into the room. “Remain seated,” he said as he took his own seat. “Okay, Vince and Harper, come on up.”
We walked up to the bench, and I realized that my heart was pounding out of my chest. Trials always made me nervous. Always, always, always. There was always so much at stake in any trial, so they were necessarily nerve-wracking things. But today’s trial had me freaked out. I just couldn’t lose, yet it looked inevitable.
“Where are we?” Judge Reiner asked as he put a stick of gum in his mouth. “I’m trying to quit smoking,” he explained with a grin. “And chewing.”
I nodded and looked at my hand, which was shaking. Ordinarily, I kinda liked the banter with the different judges. But at the moment, I was completely in my head.
“We still need to do our motions in limine,” Vince said.
“Specifically, Harper needs to determine if her witnesses will be admissible.”
“Okay then,” the judge said. “Let’s do it and get this show on the road.” He examined the motion I made with regards to the witnesses I had lined up from the church. They were all subpoenaed and they were all terrified of testifying. I didn’t blame them, but I knew that it needed to be done. I only had the two people who were willing to put their necks on the line - both of them were former church members who had left because they didn’t like the message that was being put out by the Reverend. Unfortunately, they didn’t have first-hand knowledge of the Reverend ordering church members to kill their children – they only heard this from other people. It was a mere rumor. For that reason alone, I knew that I was limited on to how much I could ask them on the stand, but I wanted to at least get the information out there.
“Ms. Ross,” Judge Reiner said. “I’ve read your motion before, I just wanted to review it. Now, as I understand it, you’re trying to get in evidence about a church where the victim went. Your theory of the case, as I understand it, is that the Reverend in this church has been encouraging or ordering parents in his church to kill their gay and trans children. You want to put witnesses on the stand who are going to testify to this, and you have also subpoenaed the Reverend of this church, and this Reverend is supposed to testify that he’s been doing this. Do I have this right?”
“You do. They are all on my witness list. I can give you a list of the questions that I’m going to ask these potential witnesses if you like.”
Judge Reiner sighed. “There’s no way that I can possibly allow this. I might possibly allow the testimony of the Reverend, but only if that testimony goes to whether or not the Reverend personally influenced Ms. Morrison. You would have to extract testimony from him that would demonstrate to me and the jury that he told Ms. Morrison to kill your client.” He narrowed his eyes and stared at me. “And something tells me that he’s not going to do that. As to your other witnesses on this list, if they can’t testify that they personally asked Ms. Morrison to kill your client, then their testimony isn’t relevant. I don’t care if that Reverend asked them to personally kill their own children, it’s not relevant to your case.”
He leaned back and crossed his arms. “So there you have it. You may call the Reverend, but the only testimony that I will deem relevant from him is that he personally told Ms. Morrison that she must kill her child. You cannot elicit testimony from him that he is anti-gay or anti-trans, or that he has a philosophy that gay or trans kids must be killed, which, I notice, is a large part of your rationale here in calling the Reverend. He must testify that he personally told Ms. Morrison to kill your client. I won’t tolerate a fishing expedition on this, so you’ll be walking a very fine line. If you go outside those parameters, I will call a mistrial, and I won’t be happy. Fair warning.”
I looked back at Heather, who was listening to every word.
“I understand,” I said. “Thank you, your honor.” I figured that this was better than nothing, but not really. I had about a snowball’s chance in Hell that the Reverend would even admit to testifying to telling Connie to kill Heather. That would set him up for criminal charges for sure, and, with Axel investigating him and his church, that would send him to prison for the rest of his life.
“Is there anything else that I need to know about ahead of the trial?” he asked.
“No, your honor, but I reserve the right to ask for a future Motion in Limine if something else comes up.”
“Mr. Malloy, do you have any Motion in Limines for me?”
“No, your honor, but, as with Ms. Ross, I reserve the right to ask for a future one if something else comes up.”
“Okay, then,” he said. “Let’s take a break until 1:30, and I’ll bring in the jury panel, and we’ll pick a jury.” At that, Judge Reiner got up and went back to his chambers.
“You gonna call that Reverend?” Vince asked me as he looked over the witness list that I had provided him.
“I will,” I said. “He’s under subpoena.”
Vince shook his head. “If that’s all you got…” He looked pityingly at me. “Why are we even here?”
“You know why.”
“Yeah, the plea blew up. Listen, I don’t want to tell you how to do your job, but, come on. This was a dog case for you from the word go. You’re wasting everyone’s time and the taxpayer’s money on this.”
I raised my eyebrow at him. “You don’t tell me how to do my job and I won’t tell you how to do yours. Sorry the taxpayers are having to pay for you to do your job, but that’s just the way it goes sometimes, isn’t it?”
I went over to Heather. “We’re free until the afternoon. Let’s go across the street and get a bite.”
She stood up and glared at Vince. “What’s his problem?”
“He’s lazy and he doesn’t like to try cases. He likes to plea them all out because it takes him like five minutes, and trials take hours and days to prepare and days in court. They’re stressful, too.” I gathered my briefcase and beckoned Heather. “Come on, we’re going to need some sustenance for this.” I didn’t mind picking a jury, although that was pretty stressful as well. I knew the importance of getting the right jury – in law school, I was shown a film that portrayed that two different juries heard the exact same case. Same set of facts, same lawyers arguing the case, everything just the same. It was a civil case, and one of the juries found for the plaintiff and awarded the plaintiff $9 million. The other jury found for the defendant, and the plaintiff got bupkis. Nada. Nothing at all.
We headed across the street to the little bar and grill that everyone frequented during the day. It was early yet, only 10:30, so it wasn’t all that crowded. I flagged down a waitress and ordered scrambled eggs and hashbrowns. “And what would you like?” I asked Heather, who was staring at her menu.
She shrugged. “Just a cup of coffee.”
I raised my eyebrow. “You need to eat,” I said. “And I’m buying.”
“Some biscuits and gravy.” She handed the menu back to the waitress. “This is a cute place,” she said, looking around.
“It is, and they have pretty good food here, too.”
The coffee came, and Heather slowly sipped it. It was like she was savoring it, like this was going to be her last cup of coffee. I could tell that this was just what she was thinking – that she would never drink coffee again after today. Which was wrong, even if we lost – the trial was probably going to go at least two days. Vince had a full roster of witnesses ready to go – the cops on the scene, the person who heard the fight, yet didn’t report anything amiss until the next day. He also had a forensic expert who was going to testify that the knife recovered from Heather’s possession had only her fingerprints on it. And, for good measure, he was bringing in witnesses from Connie’s past, witnesses who were going to testify that Heather and Connie didn’t get along, and somebody who would testify that Connie had taken out a life insurance policy.
As for me, well, I had Heather herself and, possibly, the crazy Reverend. I was still debating whether to call him, but I thought that he might be a good witness for me. If nothing else, he might start spouting off his nonsense about how gays are a product of the Devil, and that might engender some sympathy for my client.
I still had one more witness on my list, a witness that I was prepared to call, if I could miraculously find her.
That other witness was Louisa.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
We picked a jury, which took the rest of the afternoon. The next day was time to start the trial, so it was time for opening statements. Heather was dressed in another conservative suit, this one in navy with white piping and matching pumps – her pumps were off-white and navy blue, which was the opposite of her suit, which was mainly navy with white accents. As She also wore a turtle neck and pearls, and a colorful scarf held back her hair, which was growing out and carefully straightened with a flat-iron. Her makeup was subtle – just found
ation, a little bit of coral lip gloss and some neutral eye shadow and mascara.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” Vince said, rising from his seat and walking over to the jury box. He walked to one side of the jury and then stopped and put his hands on the rail that separated him from the jury. “On the night of June 19, 2016, a woman died in a brutal way. Her name was Connie Morrison, and she was a woman who was a mother. A very loving mother. The evidence will show that, on June 19, 2016, Ms. Morrison got into a fight with the defendant, Heath Morrison, who is the victim’s son. The evidence will also show that the two had many fights, brutal fights, about Heath Morrison’s desire to be known at Heather Morrison, which is why he is dressed in the manner that he is dressed today. I will also provide evidence that the victim, Connie Morrison, had a life insurance policy of $250,000, and I will call witnesses that will testify that the defendant was aware of the existence of this life insurance policy. Finally, the evidence will show that the defendant killed Ms. Morrison in a brutal, degrading way, by stabbing her in the neck with a pocket knife. Ms. Morrison was then left to drown in a pool of her own blood.”
While Vince was speaking, he was slowly walking along the rail that separated him from the jury, and looking every juror in the eye. I had to admit, he had this whole act down.
Vince sat down, and Judge Reiner addressed me. “Ms. Ross,” he said.
“I would like to waive my opening statement,” I said, standing up. This was strategy on my part, and I had explained it to Heather. I think that she understood. At least, I hoped that she did. My rationale in not making an opening statement was that I wanted to see if Vince could make his case. His burden of proof. If he couldn’t prove that Heather was the one who killed her mother, then I might, just might, get an acquittal. It was going to be a gamble, a huge gamble, but if I thought that Vince wasn’t convincing the jury that Heather was the killer, then I would simply not call Heather to the stand and hope that the jury would acquit her if Vince couldn’t show, beyond a reasonable doubt, that she did it. I thought that this was a much better strategy than announcing to the jury that I was going for self-defense, then seeing it all fall apart when the issue of the missing butcher knife inevitably came up. In fact, that might be my only shot. It was a Hail Mary for sure, but a Hail Mary was better than nothing at all.
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