by Joel Goldman
Henderson nodded.
“You have to answer out loud,” Judge West instructed.
“Yeah,” Henderson said.
“Knowing all that,” Bradshaw began, “are you prepared to tell the truth to this jury?”
Henderson lifted his head, slid back in his chair, and looked straight at Bradshaw and then at the jury.
“Yes, sir. I’m doin’ that right now. I been subpoenaed. I don’t got no choice.”
Reed leaned toward Alex, whispering. “That fat fuck is the money.”
“He’s not just the money. He’s the jackpot,” Alex said.
Chapter Three
“DID YOU KNOW THE murder victim, Wilfred Donaire?” Bradshaw asked.
“I used to cut his hair.”
“How about the defendant, Dwayne Reed? Was he one of your customers?”
“Not for a long time.”
“Well, the defendant has been in jail for six months waiting to be tried for murdering Mr. Donaire. How about before he was arrested?”
“Nah, not before.”
“How would you describe your shop?”
Henderson squinted at Bradshaw. “What do you mean?”
“Well, do men come there just to get their hair cut?”
Henderson smiled. “Nah, some of my regulars, they come there and hang, you know what I’m sayin’? Sit around talkin’ and like that.”
“Was Wilfred Donaire one of your regulars?”
“Yeah, he was.”
“How about the defendant?”
“Nah, he don’t run wit’ dem.”
“How did you learn that Mr. Donaire had been murdered?”
“Saw it on the news.”
“Was it something your regulars talked about while they were sitting around your shop?”
Bradshaw had done a good job settling Henderson down. They were in a rhythm, trading questions and answers. It was the perfect time for Alex to make an objection just to try to throw them off.
“Objection. Hearsay,” she said from her chair, knowing it wasn’t and knowing that wasn’t the point.
“Overruled.”
Bradshaw didn’t miss a beat. “You may answer.”
“Everybody was talkin’ ’bout it.”
“Sometime after that, did the defendant come into your shop?”
“Yeah, he did.”
“Were any of your regulars there when he came in?”
“No. Was jus’ me.”
“Did the defendant say why he was there?”
“Said he wanted a haircut, so I give him one.”
“Did you notice anything about the defendant while you were giving him a haircut?”
“He was wearing a gold chain round his neck.”
“Can you describe it in more detail?”
“It had the word magic spelled out in the middle of it.”
“How is it that you remember the chain?”
Henderson took a deep breath. “On account of Wilfred had a chain like that. People called him Magic.”
Bradshaw picked up a clear plastic evidence bag and handed it to Henderson. “I’m handing you state’s exhibit twenty-one. Detective Rossi has testified that the defendant had this gold chain in his possession when he was arrested. Do you recognize it?”
“Yeah, that’s the chain I been tellin’ you about, the one Wilfred like to wear.”
“Did you ask the defendant where he got the chain?”
“No, sir. Wasn’t none of my business.”
“Did the defendant say anything to you about the chain?”
“He ax me did I like it.”
“Did he say anything else?”
“Just that he got it off a dead nigger shoulda known better than to mess wit’ him.”
Bradshaw let the answer hang for a moment, giving it time to soak in with the jury.
“Thank you, Mr. Henderson. No further questions.”
The last thing Alex wanted to do when her client had just taken a brutal shot was act like he’d taken a brutal shot. She was out of her chair before Bradshaw got back to his.
“Mr. Henderson, you said you heard about Mr. Donaire’s death on the news.”
“That’s right.”
“And how long after that did Dwayne Reed come into your shop?”
“He come in the next day.”
“And how long after that was it before you told the police what you claim Dwayne said?”
“A week.”
Alex held up his statement. “According to the statement you gave the police, it was ten days later. Is your sworn statement wrong?”
“No, it ain’t wrong.”
“Then your testimony today is wrong.”
Henderson folded his arms across his chest. “I don’t know.”
Alex turned to the jury, her eyebrows raised. “You don’t know?”
“Well, I guess I’m off a little bit.”
“We can agree on that much, Mr. Henderson. Now, the police didn’t come to you to find out if you knew anything about this crime, did they?”
“No.”
“In fact, you just walked into the East Patrol station and said you had information about Mr. Donaire’s murder. True?”
“Yes, ma’am. That’s right.”
“You weren’t subpoenaed?”
“No, ma’am.”
“You knew that Wilfred Donaire was a drug dealer, didn’t you?”
“I knew he could fix you up, if that’s what you mean.”
“I mean you knew he was a drug dealer. You knew that. True?”
Henderson pulled out his handkerchief and dabbed at his forehead. “Yeah. I guess so.”
“You guess so? Did it bother you that one of your regulars was a drug dealer?”
“Wilfred never bothered me none. If I only cut hair for the people in my neighborhood what never did nuthin’ wrong, I wouldn’t have nobody’s hair to cut.”
That brought another chuckle, two black men on the jury nodding and mouthing an amen. Alex pressed ahead, pointing to the black man at the back of the courtroom.
“That man followed your wife and children into the courtroom. Who is he?”
Bradshaw interrupted. “Objection! Relevance.”
Before the judge could respond, the man bolted from his seat, crashed through the courtroom door, and disappeared amid a chorus of gasps from the jury. Mary Henderson cradled her children and began to cry as Jameer Henderson buried his face in his hands. Judge West banged his gavel, his face beet red.
“Counsel will approach!” Alex and Bradshaw did as they were told. “Ms. Stone. You better have a good explanation for what just happened because if I find that you deliberately tried to force a mistrial, I’ll throw you in jail for contempt.”
Alex was unfazed. “The last thing I want in this case is a mistrial. All I did was ask the witness if he knew the man in the back of the courtroom.”
“Which,” Bradshaw said, “is totally irrelevant since we agreed he’s not going to be a witness. Now I’m the one who has to ask for a mistrial. There’s no way to predict how the jury will interpret what just happened. We’ve got no choice but to start over with a new jury.”
“That’s a load of crap, Your Honor.”
Judge West pointed his gavel at Alex. “I won’t have that language in my courtroom, Counsel.”
“My apologies, but Mr. Bradshaw couldn’t be more wrong. If you’ll let me proceed, I’ll demonstrate the relevance.”
Judge West peered at her over the top of his glasses. “You better do just that, and if you don’t, I’ll reconsider Mr. Bradshaw’s request for a mistrial.” He turned to the jury. “Ladies and gentlemen. A trial is a lot like live television. You never know what’s going to happen. As I instructed you at the beginning of this trial, you are to keep an open mind until you have heard all of the evidence and I have instructed you regarding the law in this case. The only evidence you may consider is from the testimony of the witnesses and the exhibits that are admitted into evidence. You
shall not consider anything else, including that man’s sudden departure from the courtroom. The witness will answer Ms. Stone’s question.”
Jameer Henderson was slumped in the witness chair, wringing his hands. He looked up when the judge told him to answer.
“Mr. Henderson,” Alex said, “who was that man?”
Henderson answered, his voice soft and shaky. “I can’t say.”
“You’ll have to speak up so the jury can hear you.”
“I can’t say.”
“Because you don’t know or you’re afraid to say?” Henderson hesitated, shifting his attention from Alex to his wife, who was struggling to compose herself. “I can see that you’re concerned about your wife. Is that because of this man?”
Henderson shook his head again. “I can’t say.”
The courtroom, though built during the Depression, had been renovated and equipped with the latest technology, including television monitors the lawyers could use to display exhibits. There was a small monitor at each counsel table and at the judge’s bench and a larger one for the jury and the witness.
Grace Canfield connected her laptop so that its screen would appear on all the monitors, gave Alex a thumbs-up, and pushed a button on her laptop, filling the monitors with a photograph of the man who’d just run from the courtroom. Judge West came out of his seat and slammed his gavel onto his bench.
“This court is in recess. The jury is excused and I will see counsel in my chambers. Now!”
Chapter Four
JUDGE WEST’S CHAMBERS WERE a judicial man cave, all dark leather and brass-button upholstered furniture, a burnished oak desk, and matching bookcases jammed with volumes of case reporters and statutes, one wall reserved for pictures with politicians and hunting buddies, his personal hall of fame.
He planted himself in his desk chair, not realizing he’d brought his gavel with him. He tossed it onto his desk next to a wood carving of a judge grasping a pair of holstered six-guns strapped around his robe, Overruled etched on a brass plate at the base. He gripped his chin with one hand, tugged on his flabby jowls, and opened fire.
“Alex, what in the hell is going on? The minute that man walked into my courtroom, I called you and Tommy to the bench and asked if either one of you knew who he was. You obviously knew but you didn’t tell me. I don’t like it when lawyers lie to me.”
“I didn’t lie, Your Honor. You wanted to make sure he wasn’t going to be a witness. I wasn’t going to call him, and Tommy said he wasn’t going to either. I thought that covered it.”
“You know better than that!” Judge West said, thumping his hand on his desk. “When I ask you a question, I goddamn well expect a direct and truthful answer! If this was the first time you’d pulled a stunt like this, I’d let it slide, but I’m getting damn tired of it!”
Bradshaw saw his chance. “The problem, Judge, is that by flashing this man’s picture all over the courtroom, she’s made a bad situation worse. You’ve already told the jury to disregard him, and now she’s made that impossible.”
Alex held up her hand. “Hang on, hang on. First, Your Honor, I apologize for not answering your question more directly. I didn’t mean to mislead the court. Second, Tommy is the last person who should be complaining about the jury being shown pictures. Third, if you’d let me finish my cross-examination of the witness, you’ll see the relevance. If the witness refuses to answer, I’ll call my investigator, Grace Canfield, to testify. She’s on my witness list and she took that photograph and a number of others of the same man.”
“You had him under surveillance? Why?”
“We had Mr. Henderson under surveillance. His statement was the strongest evidence the prosecution had. I’ve represented people from that neighborhood for years, and nobody snitches. Yet this guy walked into the East Patrol station and fingered my client for murder ten days after the fact. I knew there was no way I’d get the truth just by asking him, so I had Grace keep an eye on him. I wanted to know as much about him as I could.”
Judge West leaned back in his chair and threw up his hands. “All right. But I’ve got one other question and I want a straight-up answer. Did you know this mystery man was going to be in the courtroom?”
Alex grinned. “No, sir, I just got lucky.”
When they returned to the courtroom, Kalena Greene was standing in the row behind Jameer Henderson and his family, her hands on their shoulders. Jameer was comforting his wife and holding his children in his lap. He eased them onto the pew, and Kalena led him back to the witness stand.
The bailiff brought the jury in. Grace Canfield put the man’s photograph back on the monitors and handed Alex a remote control for the laptop.
Alex acted as though nothing had happened. “Before the break, Mr. Henderson, I asked you if you knew the man who ran out of the courtroom. You told me that you couldn’t say, so let me try it another way. You see the photograph of the man displayed on the monitors?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you agree that the man in this photograph is the same man who came into the courtroom with your wife and children and then ran out the door?”
“Yeah.”
Alex pointed the remote at the laptop, clicking through to the next photograph. “And is that a photograph of the same man going into your barbershop?”
Henderson hung his head. “Yeah.”
Alex clicked again. “And is that a photograph of the same man coming out of your house on Garfield?”
“Yeah.”
Another click. “And is that a photograph of the same man talking to your wife and kids at a playground near your house? It looks like he’s got his hands on the backs of your children’s necks. Is that what it looks like to you?”
Henderson flinched. “Y’all can see for yourself.”
“Yes, I can. Now, you know who this man is, don’t you?”
“Yeah, but you don’t unnerstand! You don’t know what it’s like!”
“Then help me understand. Tell the jury who this man is.”
Henderson twisted and turned in his chair. “His name is Kyrie Chapman.”
“And who is Kyrie Chapman?”
“He’s a cousin to Wilfred.”
“Wilfred Donaire, the murder victim?”
“Yeah.”
“Why didn’t you want to tell the jury his name?”
Henderson turned to the judge, his eyes wet. “I got to answer that?”
Judge West didn’t hesitate. “You do.”
Henderson squirmed, looking for a way out, then cast another pained look at his wife, who wiped her eyes and nodded at him. He nodded back at her, letting out a resigned sigh.
“Kyrie come in my shop after Wilfred got killed. He said . . .
Bradshaw interrupted. “Objection. Hearsay as to what Kyrie Chapman told him.”
“I’m not offering it for the truth of the matter asserted. I’m offering it to explain the witness’ behavior in this courtroom.”
“Overruled. You may finish your answer, Mr. Henderson.”
“Kyrie say I had to tell the cops that Dwayne killed Wilfred, and I say I don’t know nuthin’ about that. He say that don’t matter, that I had to tell the cops about Dwayne comin’ in my shop sayin’ how he got Wilfred’s chain off a dead nigger. That way when the cops arrest Dwayne, they find Wilfred’s chain and that be enough to put Dwayne away. And I say how you know Dwayne killed Wilfred and he say he know and that’s all I got to know.”
“What else did you and Kyrie talk about?”
“I ax him how he know Dwayne gonna have Wilfred’s chain and he say on account of some girl give it to Dwayne.”
“Did he tell you the girl’s name?”
“Naw.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I tol’ him Dwayne never come in my shop, not in a long time. And Kyrie say he sure as shit did unless I wanna see my family end up like Wilfred. Then he say he gonna bring my wife and kids to court when I testify to make sure I don’t forget. So that�
�s what I done.”
Alex turned to the jury. Some were leaning forward, heads cocked to one side, mouths open and sympathetic. Others gripped the armrests on their chairs, white-knuckled and angry. Not one could look away from Jameer Henderson. Especially Tommy Bradshaw, who was slack jawed and sweating as his case collapsed around him.
“No further questions,” she said.
“Well, I got one,” Henderson said, his voice rising. “What am I gonna do now?”
Chapter Five
ALEX STAYED IN THE COURTROOM while the jury deliberated, too amped up to concentrate on anything. She packed up her file, taking a minute to flip through the crime scene photos, stopping on one that showed the back of Wilfred Donaire’s house, where his murder took place. A horseshoe was hung over the back door. Alex wondered if the jury would see the irony in that.
Her office was a couple of blocks away and she wanted to stay close in case the jury sent out a question or came back with a verdict. Dwayne Reed was back in his cell and the prosecution team was waiting it out in their office one floor above the courtroom.
She was happy to wait there, because the courtroom was her turf. The combination of simplicity and majesty, from the judge’s bench to the jury’s box, reminded her of her place and her purpose. It was a battlefield, and she relished the battle, knowing the stakes were greater than just winning or losing.
It was late afternoon when Judge West poked his head in and waved her into his chambers. She assumed this was a social invitation since it would be improper for him to discuss the case without Tommy Bradshaw also present. Alex knew that lawyers from the prosecutor’s office routinely received and accepted such invitations, but she had never gotten one.
Summer sunlight broke through the windows in the judge’s chambers, casting shadows. He opened a desk drawer, pulling out a bottle of Scotch and two shot glasses.
“I’d say you earned this,” he said, handing her a drink.
Alex was reluctant to start drinking while the jury was still out, but she didn’t want to offend Judge West. She took a chair in front of his desk and sipped the whiskey, barely making a dent.
“That’s nice. Thanks.”
