Lethal Defense
Page 24
The guard looked at Hank and nodded. “I do.”
“Do you get along?”
“We did.”
“Don't you now?”
Reynolds shrugged. “We don't see each other much now.”
“Of course. Did you see Hank Braggi the night that Dillon Chase was killed?”
“I did.”
“When?”
“All night. It was a concert night and Hank was the sound man.”
“Of course, I'm sorry. Let's keep it to the after-party. Did you see Hank at the party after the concert?”
“I did.”
“Was he drinking?”
“I don't recall. Probably.”
“Why would you say probably?”
“Because most people were.”
“Did you see Hank before Ms. Saint left the party?”
“I'm sure I did, but I don't remember that.”
“Did you see him after Ms. Saint left the party?”
“I did.”
“What did you see?”
“A little bit after Lizzy left, Hank asked if I had seen her. I told him that she had left with Jared and some other guys. He said ‘Who?’ I said, ‘I don't know, some guys I hadn't seen before.’ He asked if they were with the tour. I told him I didn't think so. He said, ‘Which way?’ I told him, and he left.”
“Did he seem agitated?”
I stood. “Objection, Your Honor.”
“I'll rephrase. How did Hank act when he left?”
“Like he was in a hurry.”
“And did he leave in the same direction that Ms. Saint had?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see Mr. Braggi again that night?”
“I did.”
“When?”
“There was a report of a problem in Lizzy’s suite. I ran up there, found Lizzy and Hank and the body, and called the police.”
“Jared Smoke was there too?”
“Yes.”
“Did Hank tell you he’d killed Mr. Chase?”
“He did.”
“What happened next?”
“There were two officers in the hotel already so they were there right away and took over things.”
“Did you see Mr. Braggi again that night?”
“As the police were leading him out.”
“After he'd killed Dillon Chase?”
“Yes.”
“And how was Hank acting then?”
“Well, he was in handcuffs so he wasn't doing cartwheels.”
“Was he shouting?”
“No.”
“Yelling?”
“No.”
“Crying?”
The guard laughed a little. “No.”
“Was he calm?”
“I guess.”
“And was he covered in blood?”
“Yes.”
“No further questions, Your Honor.”
“Mr. Shepherd?” said Judge Gallon.
“Thank you, Your Honor. Mr. Reynolds, you had never seen Mr. Chase before?”
“No, I hadn’t.”
“You don't know who Blake Purcell is, do you?”
“No.”
“You don't know who Aaron Whitsel is, do you?”
“No.”
“Have you seen their pictures on TV since the incident?”
“Yes.”
“Having seen their pictures, you can identify them as being at the party that night, right?”
“Yes.”
“You saw them run out of the hotel, didn't you?”
“Yes.”
“Were you able to catch them?”
“I didn't chase them.”
“What did you do?”
“I went to Lizzy's suite.”
“Were you the one who called the police?”
“I was.”
“Did Hank Braggi seek to stop you in any way?”
“No.”
“He told you what happened in the suite?”
“Yes.”
“He told you that he killed Dillon Chase, didn't he?”
“He did.”
“He told you, that night, that Dillon Chase had tried to inject Lizzy with heroin while she was unconscious, didn't he?”
Reynolds nodded. “He did.”
“He told you to call the police, didn’t he?”
“I already had.”
“But he didn't know that and he told you to call them, didn't he?”
“He did.”
“What was Jared Smoke doing then?”
“Jared was holding Lizzy.”
“Was Lizzy conscious?”
Reynolds paused. “She was in and out.”
“Earlier, when Mr. Hanson was questioning you, you said that Jared and Lizzy left with Dillon and men that you didn't know, correct?”
“Yes.”
“So Jared was there to protect Lizzy if anything went wrong, right?”
The guard smiled at that. “I guess so.”
“You smiled. Why?”
“Jared's not much of a fighter.”
“Musicians usually aren’t, are they?”
Reynolds smiled even broader. “Plenty of musicians are fighters. I toured with Kid Rock once.”
Michigan was Kid Rock country so the jury and everyone else there chuckled at that. “I stand corrected,” I said.
“Fighting’s just not Jared’s thing. He's protective though.”
“Oh? How so?”
“He's just one of those guys that's always close by, always checking on what she was doing.”
“I see. Was Jared talking to these other men as he left with Ms. Saint?”
“Yes.”
“It wasn’t like Dillon Chase and the others were sneaking along behind them?”
“No. They appeared to be partying together.”
“You talked to Jared after this happened?”
“I did.”
“What did you say to him?”
“I asked him where he was?”
“Where he was when?”
“When this guy was injecting Lizzy.”
“And what did Jared say?”
“He said he was in the bathroom.”
“So, according to Jared, he wasn’t there when Lizzy was being injected?”
Reynolds shrugged. “That’s what he said at the time.”
“But Hank was.”
“That’s what he said at the time.”
“That’s all, Mr. Reynolds. Thanks.”
People think cross-examination is a bunch of gotchas. It’s not. It’s laying a series of blocks, some of which seem insignificant, that you can build your closing argument upon. Though we hadn't gotten much from Reynolds, we got in blocks to show that Hank was calm, that Hank was acting in Lizzy's best interests, and that he was the only one there to do it. Sometimes that's as good as you can do.
“Mr. Hanson?” said Judge Gallon.
“Yes, Your Honor. No more questions for Mr. Reynolds. The State calls Lizzy Saint.”
The room buzzed.
Lizzy surprised me when she walked into the courtroom. She was dressed in a conservative black suit with a black silk shirt and heels that were high for a lawyer and short for a rock star. Her auburn hair, which was wild and wet the last time I’d seen her, was pulled loosely back with a broad black clip at the base of her neck and not one was out of place. Her makeup was conservative with the slightest black upturn at the corners of her eyelashes. She had an edge to her, sure, but she could've just as easily been a corporate executive for a pro sports team as a rock star.
She walked up the aisle with easy confidence, fully aware that everyone was watching her. In her wake, Max Simpson, the attorney I'd met in North Carolina, slipped into the front row. Judging from what I'd seen of him before, he was here to make sure Hanson lived up to whatever agreement he'd made to bring her in to testify.
I snuck a glance at Hank. He was beaming. As Lizzy walked past the jury and took the witness stand, she glanced at Han
k, smiled, and gave him a little wave. Hank's smile broadened.
Score one for us.
Jeff let things settle down a little bit until the jury was practically leaning forward to hear. “Could you state your name, please?”
“Lizzy Saint.”
“And is that your legal name Ms. Saint?”
“It is.”
“What was your name before you changed it?”
“Lizzy Saint was my name at the time of the incident, Mr. Hanson. I don't see how my name when I was born is relevant to what I saw.”
Jeff blinked. Lizzy stared.
Jeff recovered and smiled. “Fair enough. And what do you do for living Ms. Saint?”
“I produce music.”
“Rock 'n' roll?”
“Categories are made by labels who try to the box us in, Mr. Hanson. I produce music.”
“And do you tour?”
“I do.”
“And is that why you were in Carrefour last spring?”
“It is.”
“Do you remember the concert you played here?”
“I do.” She smiled. “The crowd in Carrefour was great. Three encores, I think.”
“And do you remember the night after the concert here?”
“I do not.”
A murmur went up through the courtroom.
“Not memory at all?”
“None.”
“Why is that?”
Lizzy Saint shrugged. “My band and I had a little bit to drink before the show. We had a little bit to drink during the show. We had a lot to drink after the show. I don't remember anything after the show.”
“Ms. Saint, I’m going to hand you what's been marked as State’s Exhibit 56 and tell you that this is a copy of the report made by Chief Detective Pearson. In it, he states that he talked to you about what happened. Are you saying you have no recollection of that conversation?”
“That's exactly what I'm saying.”
“And that's because you were drunk?”
“Very. I woke up the next morning in a hotel room and didn't remember any of it. Jared had quite a story to tell me.”
“Detective Pearson wrote that you said that Hank Braggi beat Dillon Chase to death.”
“I don't recall that. But I understand that Hank told the officer that.”
Jeff regrouped as he came around the other side of the podium. “Ms. Saint, would you describe Hank as protective?”
“No more than normal.”
“At a show in Tulsa last year, did Hank throw a fan off the stage?”
“He did. The man had gotten past security and he—”
“Thank you, Ms. Saint. And at a show in Phoenix, did Mr. Braggi break a fan’s foot?”
“He accidentally stepped on a fan’s foot when the crowd was pressing around our car and he was trying to clear a way for me. For us.”
“So the answer is ‘yes?’”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Braggi once threw a photographer from the Daily Turn into a swimming pool?”
Lizzy chuckled. “He did. Are you going to let me explain why?”
“I don't think that's relevant.”
“Then you should know that he threw his camera equipment into the water after him.”
There was a deep rumbling chuckle from next to me. Hank.
“So Hank has a history of violent interactions with your fans?”
“No, he doesn't.”
“Ms. Saint, you used to write with Mr. Braggi, didn't you?”
“I did. Two albums.” She smiled. “He helped me breakthrough.”
“I see. The first one was the Ripper album?”
“Yes.”
“You haven’t written with Mr. Braggi for more than a year, have you?”
“About two, I think.”
“So Mr. Braggi is no longer your writing partner?”
“I don't know that we ever had anything as formal as that but the sitting down and writing of an album? No, we don't do that now.”
“Who do you write with now?”
“The last two have been with Jared. Some on my own.”
“But Mr. Braggi is still part of the tour?”
“He's the best sound engineer we've ever had.” Hank smiled and nodded his head.
“That could create ill feelings, couldn't it?”
“Being a good sound engineer? I don't think so.”
“No, Ms. Saint, I mean being one of your original writers and then being shut out.”
Lizzy smiled. “Hank wasn't shut out. He's just giving me the space to write on my own.”
“You mean with Mr. Smoke.”
Lizzy shrugged. “Sure.”
“Do you still socialize with Mr. Braggi?”
“Of course. We’re on tour two hundred and fifty days a year. We’re a tight family.”
“That night, the night that he killed Dillon Chase, Hank wasn't invited up to the suite with you, was he?”
I’d let a lot go because it didn’t matter. Now, I stood and said, “Objection, Your Honor. Leading.”
“I'll rephrase, Your Honor. The night Mr. Braggi killed Dillon Chase, who was invited up to your suite?”
“I thought I was pretty clear on that, Mr. Hanson. I don't remember.”
“So if another witness said that Mr. Braggi was not invited, you wouldn't disagree with him?
“Hank is always invited.”
“But Ms. Saint, you don't have any memory of that night. So you can't say whether anyone invited him to join you or not, can you?”
“Hank is always invited.”
“Ms. Saint, I appreciate that this can be difficult and I understand what your usual practice is. But you've already told the jury that you have no memory of that night, true?”
“True.”
“So you can't look at the jury and tell them that you invited Hank to join your party in the suite that night, can you?”
“I cannot.”
“And if someone else testifies that Hank specifically was not invited, you can't disagree with that person based on your memory of that night, can you?”
“I cannot. Although I'd like to know the asshole who didn't invite him.”
Jeff smiled, looked at the Judge, and said, “No further questions, Your Honor.”
“Mr. Shepherd?”
“Thank you, Your Honor. Ms. Saint, do you use heroin?”
“Objection,” said a voice.
I looked over at Jeff and saw that he was still sitting in his seat, surprised. A well-dressed man in the first row was standing behind him and continued, “That goes against the terms of the agreement for Ms. Saint to testify here today.”
Max Simpson, the Grindhouse lawyer I had met in North Carolina. I chuckled.
“Counsel will approach the bench,” said Judge Gallon. Jeff and Lindsey and I made our way forward. Max started to walk through the gate to our side of the barrier when Judge Gallon snapped, “You will sit down, sir.”
Max paused at the gate, then sat down.
When Jeff and Lindsey and I had reached the bench, Judge Gallon said, “All right, Mr. Hanson, who is that man and what is he talking about?”
“That's Mr. Simpson, Lizzy Saint’s personal counsel.”
“What's this agreement he's talking about?”
“In exchange for appearing voluntarily, we agreed that we would only ask questions in certain areas and avoid others.”
Judge Gallon looked at me over her glasses. “Are you a party to this agreement?”
“This is the first I’ve heard of it, Your Honor.”
Judge Gallon nodded and looked back at Jeff. “Is this gentleman licensed to practice law in the state of Ohio?”
“I don't know your honor,” Jeff said. I smiled. We all had a guess.
“Very well. Return to your tables.”
I went back to the lectern but, before I could resume my questions, Judge Gallon raised a hand to wait and said, “Sir, will you please stand up.”
Max did.
/>
“What is your name?”
“Max Simpson, Your Honor.”
“Mr. Simpson, are you an attorney?”
“I am, Your Honor.”
“Mr. Simpson, are you licensed to practice law in the state of Ohio?”
I watched the wave of nausea pass over Max's face. “No, Your Honor.”
“Mr. Simpson, what jurisdictions are you licensed in?”
“New York, Pennsylvania, and Delaware, Your Honor.”
“Mr. Simpson, I'm going to assume that you were just overwhelmed with excitement and accidentally and totally forgot yourself. If you speak again or so much as twitch during the rest of this trial, I will be contacting the bars of New York, Pennsylvania, and Delaware to inform them that you attempted to practice law in a capital murder case in a state in which you are not licensed. Do you understand me?”
“I do, Your Honor. My apologies.”
“Sit.” Judge Gallon turned to the jury. “The jury will disregard the statement from this unlicensed gentleman. Because he is not a lawyer in this state, he has no right to speak in these proceedings and should not have done so. Further, Mr. Braggi’s counsel has the right to cross-examine any witness who testifies against Mr. Braggi, regardless of any arrangements which the prosecutor entered into in order to procure that witness’s attendance. Mr. Shepherd, you may proceed with your cross-examination.”
“Thank you, Your Honor. Ms. Saint, do you use heroin?”
“No.”
“Have you ever used heroin?”
“No.”
“Do you drink?”
“I do.”
“Do you smoke marijuana?”
“On occasion. Not often. It's bad for my voice.”
“Have you ever used anything stronger than alcohol or marijuana?”
Lizzy thought for a moment before she said, “There was a period about four years ago when I was having trouble sleeping and the doctor prescribed me Ambien. The second time I woke up halfway through eating a pizza with no memory of ordering it, though, I quit. Nothing since.”
“Ms. Saint, do you have any desire to try heroin?”
“I do not.”
“Why is that?”
“I’ve had exposure to people who use in my line of work. They either quit or die from it.”
“Ms. Saint, if someone held you down and tried to inject you with heroin, would you try to fight them off?”
Jeff stood. “Objection, Your Honor.”
“Overruled.”
“Yes, I would,” said Lizzy.
“Would you do everything in your power to stop them?” I asked.
“Yes, I would.”
“If you were unable to stop them, would you want someone else to?”