by Kenneth Eade
Fenton’s testimony was almost a carbon copy of TJ’s, made even more of a train wreck by Taylor pointing out that Fenton and TJ had discussed what happened shortly after they had both been released from jail. Of course they had. It’s human nature. Taylor made it look like a conspiracy; like they were getting their stories straight. It was his “cop’s mind.” He had spent so long working with the police, everything was a conspiracy to him. The truth never had any shades of grey – there was always a discernible line between black and white.
The courtroom was cleared of all spectators for Daisy McGovern’s testimony.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the Court has granted a motion in this case to preserve and guard the identity of the next witness you are about to hear. We will be referring to her by the pseudonym, Miss D. This witness is a confidential informant in an ongoing police investigation, and you are not to discuss her, the fact that she has testified here, or her participation in the investigation with anyone. This admonition survives your jury service in court and you are bound by it after you are excused from duty.”
Brent could see that this introduction lent Daisy a certain respectability with the jury, something which Taylor would not have to make much effort to tarnish. To ward off the obvious blow to her credibility that was coming, Brent elicited testimony from Daisy that would leave no doubt in the juror’s minds that she was, in fact, a prostitute, with a history of drug use as well as a criminal record. He could see already that the jury’s opinion of her had shifted, but he had to lessen the explosive effect of these facts which would come out on cross-examination.
Daisy took the witness stand in her best, most conservative outfit: a mini dress that barely covered her butt cheeks and a halter top with no bra. The men on the jury took notice immediately, and the women on the jury looked as if they were on their way to join a chastity club.
Oh no, I forgot about the gum, Brent thought as Daisy chomped away like a sheep. Well, maybe the judge won’t notice.
“Miss D, would you please dispose of your chewing gum,” Judge Schwartz instructed nicely. “Gum chewing is not allowed in court.”
“Gosh, I’m sorry, Judge,” she said, and spit her gum into a Kleenex inside her “Hello Kitty” purse.
“Mr. Marks, you may inquire.”
Brent stood up and approached the witness stand, keeping his eye on the jury box.
“Miss D, are you familiar with a person by the name of John Albright?”
“Yes, I am.”
“I’m showing you a photograph. Can you identify the man in the picture?”
“Yes, that’s John Albright. He’s a cop.”
“How did you first come to know Officer Albright?”
“My girlfriend and I were walking down the street one night and he pulled up to us in a police car. He was on the passenger side and leaned out to talk to us.”
“What’s your girlfriend’s name?”
“I’m not supposed to name her. It’s in my statement to the police.”
“Please continue,” said the judge.
“Anyway, he asked us if we were working.”
“Were you?”
“No. We were goin’ for a burger.”
“Then what happened?”
“He asked if we did ‘freebies’. My friend said no.”
“He said that any restaurant in town serves cops a free meal. They just walk in and sit down. He said it works the same way on the streets. She just said, “I said no.”
“Then he got all mad and jumped out of the car. He grabbed my girlfriend and threw her against the car and said, ‘assume the position.’ Then he felt her up.”
“What do you mean by, felt her up?”
“You know, he had his hands all over her boobs, pretending to search her, like she’s gonna hide drugs and shit in her boobs, right?
"And then he stuck his creepy hand up her skirt. And he rubbed up against her butt with his pelvis, like he had the right to rape her or something.”
“Move to strike, Your Honor. Speculation.”
“Granted. The jury will disregard every word after pelvis.”
“He said he never had any dark meat before, and asked her how much a nigger cost on Sepulveda Boulevard ‘cuz where he came from, they were free.”
“My friend cried and pulled away from him and he took his gun out and shoved it in her face.”
“What did you do?”
“Nothin’. I just stood there. I told her to calm down, to do what he wanted, and then we could go. His partner told him to put the gun away and he did.”
“Did he let you go?”
“Yeah, but he came around a lot after that.”
“Move to strike everything after yeah, your Honor.”
“Granted. The jury will disregard everything after yeah.”
Benjamin Taylor was frustrated, and it wore on his face. The Dudley Do-Right image of Albright had been tainted, but it was from an extremely unreliable source, and he had the ammunition to prove it.
“Ms. D, you’ve admitted to being a prostitute, correct?”
Daisy regarded Taylor with a boatload of attitude.
“I gotta make money. I wasn’t born into no rich family.”
“I see. And you’ve made money with other forms of criminal activity before, haven’t you?”
“I’ve been arrested for shoplifting. I’m not proud of it.”
“In fact, you were convicted of felony shoplifting just last year, isn’t that correct?”
“Yes.”
“And felony possession of cocaine two years ago, isn’t that also true?”
“Yes.”
“And you’ve spent some time in jail on these charges, haven’t you?”
“I’m on probation now.”
“I’m showing you an exhibit which purports to be a probation violation charge. Your name has been redacted, but can you identify it please?”
“Looks like a probation report.”
“The charge was for lying to your Probation Officer, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“You realize that you are under oath, Miss D, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course.”
“And that the penalties for perjury apply for not telling the truth here today?”
“Yes.”
“Part of the terms of which are: you are not to break any laws, isn’t that also true?”
“Yes.”
“And perjury is against the law, isn’t it?” Taylor spit. Daisy was losing control. Brent could see the anger building. Taylor was pushing her buttons.
“Yes! What do you expect me to do?” She raised her voice, moving her hands defensively.
“I expect you to tell the truth. Do you even know what that is?” he spurted back.
“Objection! Argumentative!”
“Sustained. Don’t answer that.”
“In fact, Miss D, you’ve never held down any kind of job other than stealing and prostitution, which are both illegal, isn’t that correct?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m a piece of shit!” Daisy screamed, standing up in her chair, arms flailing. “Is that what you want me to say? Yeah, I’m a low life, dirty whore, but that doesn’t give some asshole cop the right to feel me up and then stick a gun in my face if he doesn’t like the fact that I won’t do what he wants because niggers should be for free!”
“Sit down, Miss D.!” warned the judge.
From fury to shame and misery, she sank down into the chair, bowed her head and cried into her hands.
Taylor objected like crazy, waving his arms like a child having a temper tantrum, and the judge struck the testimony, but it had woken up the slumbering jury better than a dose of electric shock therapy. That statement, the one they were instructed to forget, would be the only thing they would remember from Daisy McGovern’s testimony.
CHAPTER FORTY
After the previous day’s drama, Brent took advantage of the jury’s newfound attentiveness to put on his video expert
, along with the enhanced video. The jury watched the video with new eyes, as it was approximately twice the length of the original. But, alas, the “N” word did not appear anywhere, not even in the reconstructed audio track.
After the audio-visual presentation, Brent put on his ballistics and accident reconstruction expert, who expressed an entirely contrary opinion than the prosecution’s expert had given. He also had charts and graphs of vectors and angles and, consistent with TJ’s testimony, opined that if William had pushed the gun out of Albright’s face with his right hand, he couldn’t have caused the fatal shot. That could have only been done with a sweeping motion to the right. On cross examination, Taylor laid all the weaknesses of the testimony to bear.
“One of your assumptions on which you base your opinion is that the defendant pushed the gun to the left with his right hand, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“And the shot came from a right sweeping motion, correct?”
“Yes.”
“So, for your opinion to be correct, the defendant would have had to push the gun to the left, is that right?”
“Yes.”
“Let me pose to you a hypothetical question, Mr. Samuelson. Assume all the facts in your set of assumptions except for one: that fact being that the defendant pushed the gun to the right instead of left. This change of assumption would change your opinion as well, wouldn’t it?”
“It may.”
“And if the defendant had pushed it to the right, he could be the shooter; isn’t that true?”
“It is possible.”
“Assuming all facts in your assumption except for one: that if he didn’t push the gun at all, but took it out of Officer Albright’s hands, he could be the shooter, isn’t that right?”
“It is also possible.”
Brent rehabilitated Samuelson as much as he could, but he hadn’t changed his original assessment that none of the expert’s opinions would have an overwhelming effect on the jury. Unfortunately, it would all come down to their collective gut feeling on whether to believe Albright’s story. He needed something more for them to go against Albright. He needed William. At the lunch break, he turned to William and asked, “Are you ready?”
“For what?”
“To testify.”
“I thought you said I wasn’t going on the stand unless I remember.”
“Then I suggest you remember all that you can. I think it’s what we need to get this case out of the mud.”
* * *
“I call William Thomas.”
William limped to the witness stand. His hands were shaking and he hoped the jury would not notice. This was the first time he had ever been in court as a witness. All of his time had been spent on the other side of the counsel table. The Clerk swore William in.
“Do you solemnly swear or affirm to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth so help you God?”
“I do.”
William took his place in the witness chair and, in response to Brent’s questioning, told the jury about his life, his career, and, finally, he reached the point where Albright and Shermer had stopped his car.
“The officer asked me if I had been drinking.”
“No, no. I’m the designated driver. Look officer, I’m not under the influence of alcohol.”
“Did I ask you for your opinion, nigger?”
“Excuse me? Did you say ‘nigger’?”
“I didn’t say anything. You said it. And isn’t that what you people call each other?”
William knew he should keep quiet, but the anger started to boil inside.
“Well, if we people did, that doesn’t give you the right to say it,” he retorted.
“You ain’t got any rights here, boy, ‘cept the right to remain silent, and I suggest you use it.”
“Why? Am I under arrest?” asked William, ignoring the cop’s warning.
“Stand with your legs together, head back, arms out straight. Close your eyes.”
“I kept telling him I wasn’t drunk, and he kept telling me to shut up. I knew I probably should have just stayed quiet, but he had no right treating me like I was worthless, like I was not even a human being.”
“I told you I’m not drunk.”
Albright glared at William. He had taken just about enough lip.
“Be quiet. Now do the same with the right index finger.”
William extended his arm, and touched his right index finger to the tip of his nose. The cop withdrew his baton and forced William’s legs apart with it.
“I was doing what he told me, but he just kept pushing me with his baton. He was out of control.”
“Hey, don’t hit me with that. I’ll do whatever you say.”
“Shut up. Now I want you to walk a straight line, heel to toe, until I tell you to stop.”
He shoved William forcefully with the baton in his spine. William winced with pain, and shoved the stick away with his hand.
“You don’t need to keep hitting me with that stick. I’m doing everything you…”
“Why did you push the officer’s baton away, William?”
“It was a reaction, I guess. The first time he hit me with it, he forced my legs apart with the club before I even got the chance to do it myself. He was taunting me, you know? Like he wanted me to resist.”
“Move to strike as speculation,” barked Taylor.
“Granted. The jury will disregard everything after myself.”
“The question is still pending,” said Brent.
“So when he shoved me with it, it hurt, and I pushed it away. He didn’t have any right to hurt me.”
“What happened then?” asked Brent.
“I’m not…I can’t. The memories are hard to deal with. I…”
“You have to tell the jury what happened! Do it now!” Brent said, raising his voice.
“Objection! Harassing the witness.”
“It’s his witness. Overruled.”
“What happened, William?”
William sighed, heaved back his shoulders, and said, “It was scary. He attacked me with that stick, whacked me in the knee, and I went down.”
“Then what happened?”
Right Brent, then what happened? What the hell happened?
“William? Tell us!”
William recoiled in shock as a black curtain seemed to open before his eyes.
And the systems just come back, one by one.
His eyes widened and he took a deep breath to face his demons.
Albright pummeled William with his baton, a wild animal out of control, as TJ and Fenton looked on in terror. The blows kept coming and coming. Then, he kicked and kicked, then beat him with the stick, over and over again. William tucked his head under his shoulder to try to protect it from the blows, but the baton connected and the lights went out, back on, out, then on again. William couldn’t control his arms and legs. He felt the blast of each impact, his heart was pounding out of control, and his vision narrowed.
Albright kicked William in the ribs, again and again, and William felt the air knocked out of him. He couldn’t breathe. He tried to crawl away, but Albright was kicked him in the balls. The pain seared his soul as he moved his hands to cover and protect himself. Another strong kick in the stomach, and William felt like his guts were coming out of his throat. His dinner was, and he threw it up all over the pavement.
“You barfed on my shoe, nigger!”
“John,” said the second cop. Albright ignored him, jumped on top of William. That made the second cop recoil in surprise, and he stood back. William drifted in and out. It was if all of the blood had drained away from his brain.
“John, we’ve got him for resisting arrest. Just cuff him.”
“Fuck that, Davey,” the rogue cop said in a surprisingly calm-sounding voice. “This shit stain put the lives of two police officers in danger and we had no choice". William felt himself going in and out of consciousness, like he was between dreaming and waking up.
“Officer Shermer was telling him to stop, just to handcuff me, but he wouldn’t listen. He was like a wild animal.”
Slipping in and out now, William thought to crawl away, but Albright had jumped on top of him and it was impossible to escape. He opened his eyes and was face to face with the barrel of a gun.
“I knew he was going to kill me then. I thought about my pretty Sarah and my kids, Danny and Sissy, and how I’d never get to see them again. And all because I was stupid enough to try to keep a cop from shoving me around with his stick. Now I was going to die. I should have just let him push me around. I wasn’t drunk.”
“What happened next, William; what happened?”
Tears streaked down William’s cheeks as he recalled the memory for the very first time. “He pushed that gun against my forehead. Then, he said, ‘Your momma’s not gonna recognize you at your own funeral.’ He was not just going to kill me, he was going to erase me. So my mom wouldn’t even recognize me. I got up all my strength and shoved his gun away as hard as I could.”
“In which direction?”
“To the left. I pushed as hard as I could with my right hand, but I felt him pushing it back toward my face. And then it went off.”
“Was your finger on the trigger?”
“No! His was!”
A hush fell over the courtroom like a descending fog, eclipsing all senses.
Brent stared ahead, partially from disbelief and partially from exhaustion. All eyes of the jury were on William, who was looking at Sarah with eyes that beckoned her to take him home.
Judge Schwartz broke the silence.
“Do you have any further questions, Mr. Marks?”
“No, Your Honor.”
“It is now 4:50 p.m. Court will adjourn until tomorrow morning at 9 o’clock.”
CHAPTER FORTY ONE
After court, Brent went directly to Valley Presbyterian, where he found Jack sitting up in the bed playing with his iPhone. The color was back in Jack’s skin. The bruises had turned a yellowish green and were fading. He looked alive again.
“Hey, Jack.”
Jack looked at Brent anxiously. He threw the phone down on the bed.
