Witness for the Defense

by Jonnie Jacobs

“Word for word. This was right after that shooting at the McDonald's, so it struck me as pretty reckless.”

  Pelle turned to the judge. “Nothing further.”

  I glanced at the jury. None of the members were exactly nodding off, but several wore glazed expressions.

  I approached the witness. “Did my client elaborate, Mrs. Talbot?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Did she expound on the idea of shooting Bram Weaver?”

  “No.”

  “Did she talk further about Mr. Weaver at all?”

  “She called him callous, and a troublemaker. She went on and on about how it wasn't fair that this should be happening to her.” Ellen Talbot tossed her head like an adolescent, something she clearly wasn't. “As if she should be immune from bad things.”

  “Did anyone in the group try to dissuade her from using violence?”

  “We thought she was just talking.”

  “Just using an expression, in conversation, the way we all do from time to time. Is that what you mean?”

  “That's what we thought. Now we know that wasn't the case.”

  “Your Honor, I ask that the witness's last remark be stricken.”

  The judge instructed the jury to disregard the comment. Judging from the glazed expressions and nodding heads, I thought it likely that many of them hadn't heard it to begin with. When the witness stepped down, Pelle checked his notes, conferred briefly with an assistant, then addressed the court. “The prosecution rests.”

  He'd ended where he'd begun, with Terri's motive for murder. He'd delivered a tidy package, neatly wrapped. I'd managed to poke holes here and there, though I'd hardly dealt the case a fatal blow. All in all, I thought it was a draw.

  But I couldn't read the faces of the jurors. What they thought was anyone's guess.

  CHAPTER 34

  Lenore grabbed my arm as we made our way out of the courtroom. “What was all that about the glasses, Kali? Do you think Pelle swayed the jury?” Her voice was high-pitched, nervous.

  It's always difficult to predict what a jury will make of evidence. “It was a direct, by-the-book presentation,” I said, erring on the side of caution.

  “They're going to find Terri guilty?” Lenore sounded almost frantic.

  “I don't know what they will do. Juries are notoriously unpredictable. For what it's worth, though, none of the prosecution's evidence is air tight.”

  Lenore wasn't mollified. “But they might! They could decide she killed him.”

  “All we need is reasonable doubt in the mind of one juror.”

  “You think you can do that?”

  Before I had time to answer, Arlo, Ted, and Steven caught up with us. We gathered in the hallway outside the courtroom.

  I touched Lenore's shoulder. “I think there's a good chance I can. Try not to worry too much.”

  “Easier said than done.” Lenore turned to her son. “Steven, darling, you're coming for dinner tonight, aren't you?”

  “I don't know, I've got some—” He shot me a quick look out of the corner of his eye.

  “I insist,” Lenore said.

  He gave her an indulgent smile. “Mom, you can't insist. I'm a grown man, remember?”

  She returned the smile with a pat on his cheek. “Right, you are.”

  “But I'll try to make it.”

  When the Cross family moved on, I turned to Ted. “How are you holding up?”

  “I wouldn't wish this last couple of months on my worst enemy. But I'm muddling through, one day at a time.”

  “Good.”

  “It's much harder on Terri. I worry about her.”

  I nodded. “Of course you do.”

  “And I miss her more than I thought possible. I didn't realize how she filled out my life.”

  I'd once thought Ted to be all show and no substance, but that opinion had changed over the months as I'd come to know him better. He was a genuinely nice guy, although the packaging sometimes tripped him up.

  “Having Hannah helps,” he added, with a glimmer of a smile.

  I offered a noncommittal grunt. It was the baby thing again. Lately, I'd found it difficult to simply toss the subject off the way I had in the past.

  <><><>

  Loretta was asleep in the front window when I pulled into the driveway. She raced to meet me at the door, tail waving frantically.

  “Okay, girl. I'm glad to see you, too.”

  Dotty called from the kitchen. “Don't let her fool you. That dog gets plenty of attention during the day.”

  “I know she does. More than she gets from me lately, I'm afraid.” Dotty and Bea had taken to Loretta the way a young boy takes to mud. They couldn't get enough of her.

  Dotty was chopping tomatoes. She had the television on and turned to the news. I grabbed an apple from the fridge and joined her.

  “You just missed coverage of the trial,” she said. “They had their legal analyst on, too.”

  “What did he say?”

  Her expression made it clear she didn't like to be the bearer of bad news. “The short of it was that the defense had its work cut out.”

  “Great.” Not that I hadn't already known that.

  “He said you'd done a good job so far,” she hastened to add, “but that the real proof would come when the defense presented its case.”

  If only the defense had a case.

  Loretta sat at my feet, her eyes focused on the apple.

  “You don't like apples,” I told her.

  “Actually,” Dotty said, “she does.”

  I bit off a small chunk and handed it to her. Sure enough, she ate it and came back for more.

  “Well, it can't be good for her.”

  I picked up the mail and began sorting through it while we watched news of a pilot who'd safely landed his single-engine plane on a busy freeway in San Jose. A Mastercard statement, a bill from my dentist, an ad for aluminum siding designed to look like a check, and a Victoria's Secret catalog. I'd been dropped from their mailing list years ago because I hadn't bought anything, but it looked like now they were trying again.

  “How do you feel the trial is going?” Dotty asked.

  “I'm afraid that legal analyst was pretty much on the mark. It's going to be an uphill battle.”

  “You sound discouraged.”

  “It's a big responsibility.” Made worse by the fact that I liked Terri and, for better or worse, her brother.

  I tossed all the junk mail into a stack and flipped open the catalog. Then froze.

  Someone had doodled in pen on several of the pages. The kind of thing I remember boys doing in high school. Only instead of horns and mustaches, the models were gagging, bleeding, holding in their spilling guts. A couple of them, with my photo pasted onto the picture, had their throats slit.

  My hand was shaking as I turned the catalog over to look at the mailing label. Blank. I went back to the front. It wasn't even a current issue.

  “When did you pick up the mail?” I asked Dotty.

  She looked up from the screen. “About two.”

  “Did you see anyone hanging around?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Any unusual calls this afternoon?”

  “A couple of hangups. But that's not so unusual anymore. Why, is something wrong?”

  I didn't want to scare her. It was probably just a prank. Some kid who'd seen me on television. “No, it's nothing,” I told her.

  She laughed. “Those lingerie ads must be really something, given the expression on your face. No offense, but you're not exactly a prude.”

  “I think I'm just tired. I had a hard day.”

  Swallowing against the sour taste in my mouth, I took my mail and went downstairs.

  What if it wasn't a simple prank?

  I could feel my heart racing in my chest, but my mind refused to operate at all. I knew I should call the police and make a report, for the record. But I also knew there was nothing they'd be able to do, even if they were so inclined.
/>
  What I wanted most was to share the experience. To receive sympathy and comfort, and to be told there was nothing to worry about. Or that there was lots to worry about, but that someone else cared and was standing by, willing to help.

  I thought of calling Steven, then remembered he'd be at dinner with his parents. I also passed over Tom—who would, at this very hour, be sitting down to dinner with his wife and children.

  Instead, I changed into shorts and a T-shirt, brushed my teeth, splashed water on my face, and took Loretta for a walk. I kept a careful eye on my surroundings, however. There was nothing like the threat of a slashed throat to make one circumspect.

  <><><>

  Because of Judge Tooley's schedule, there was no court the next day. I went to see Terri instead.

  “Monday is our turn,” I reminded her.

  “I know.”

  We were in one of the small rooms reserved for attorneys and their clients. Windowless and dreary, it was nonetheless a private room, without a shield of plastic between us.

  I'd taken out a pen and pad of paper, but now I pushed them aside. “What are you not telling me, Terri?”

  She blinked. “What do you mean?”

  “I'm not sure, except I have the feeling you're not leveling with me.” It wasn't that I needed, or even wanted, the truth. If Terri had, in fact, killed Weaver, I was better off not knowing. But I liked the pieces of the puzzle to fit snugly, and at the moment, they didn't.

  “You think I'm lying?” Terri asked. Her voice was soft but steady.

  “No, but I sense that you're holding back. That you know something you're not telling me.”

  “Like what?”

  It wasn't so much any one thing as the whole picture. A kind of instinctive reaction on my part.

  Or maybe I was beginning to feel the evidence against my client carried weight. Beginning to see some validity in the State's scenario.

  The room was stuffy. I took off my jacket and draped it over the chair, but that didn't help with the breathing.

  “You never left the house at all that night?” I asked.

  “Right.”

  “Then how do you account for the two witnesses who say you did?”

  “You did a great job with that, Kali. The woman who supposedly saw the car couldn't even get the make right when you showed her those pictures. And Margo Poller would say anything to get back at me.” She leaned forward. “Besides, we've got Mrs. Hassan. She saw me in Hannah's room, right?”

  “But she's unsure of the time.”

  “Around midnight, isn't that what she said?”

  I nodded. What she'd actually said was after she'd finished the ironing, which she'd started after the ten o'clock news.

  I picked up my pen and rolled it between my fingers. “Why did you give your mother two of your sleeping pills that night?”

  “She was wound up, agitated. You don't know how she gets. It's almost like a manic state.”

  “But two pills? That's twice the standard dose.”

  “I wanted her to get a good night's sleep. One pill wouldn't have made a dent given the state she was in.”

  “She slept well?”

  “What's the problem?”

  “If she was in a drugged sleep, Terri, she wouldn't know if you left the house.”

  “But I didn't!”

  “That's what you say. Pelle has paraded out witnesses who say you did.” And Lenore claimed not to have taken the pills, but the jury might not find that credible.

  Terri's tone turned angry. “You think I'd leave my baby alone in a house with someone who was drugged?”

  “I'm telling you how it might look to others. It's the little things, Terri. Like your spur-of-the-moment trip to Mendocino. The jurors are going to have a hard time understanding that.”

  “I told you. My mother wasn't well. If you want to know the truth, she was driving me crazy.”

  “What about the sunglasses? You told me you didn't own a pair like the ones found at the scene.”

  “I don't.” Terri licked her lips, then gave a little shrug. “Maybe I did once, but I'd honestly forgotten about them. I lose glasses so often I ought to buy them by the case.”

  It wasn't that the answer didn't make sense, but the delivery was off. A trifle too glib. An edge of nervousness. Or maybe I'd let my own doubts color my thinking.

  “Have you talked to Melissa?” I asked.

  “Not recently. She used to come visit, but that's sort of tapered off.”

  I pressed my fingertips together. “Has she given you any clue as to who Hannah's father might be?”

  Terri shook her head. “Last time we talked, she was still insisting the test was wrong, that Bram had to be the father. For what it's worth, I believe her. All it takes is a lab tech mislabeling a vial of blood, or someone on the other end punching in the wrong numbers. These things happen. I know they do. And Hannah does look a little like him. She's got his cleft chin and same coloring.”

  I could feel my blouse sticking to my skin in back and under the arms. I leaned forward and pulled at the collar to let the air circulate. It didn't help much.

  “Terri, these next days in court will be our only remaining chance to win over the jury. Maybe we've raised a few red flags in their thinking about the prosecution's case, but I don't know if it's enough.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Juries are made up of people. People don't think and behave like machines. The jurors are going to want some substitute theory about what happened. They don't necessarily have to believe that is what happened, but subconsciously they'll find assurance in knowing it could have happened. And that will make it easier for them to come down on the side of acquittal.”

  Terri's body tensed ever so slightly. “What do you have in mind?”

  “I'll certainly point to the fact that Weaver offended people, but I'd also like to raise Melissa as a possible suspect.”

  “But if Bram wasn't Hannah's father—”

  “Right. But as you just told me, he might have been. Or maybe he wasn't, but Melissa honestly believes he was. She wouldn't be the first woman to have drunk too much, or been drugged, and wind up in the bed of someone she couldn't remember.”

  Terri pressed her palms to her cheeks. She stared at the table in silence for several moments. “We can't do that to her, Kali. She's a sweet, lonely kid. I think Ted and I may be the first people in her life who've treated her decently. It would be devastating if we turned on her.”

  “Even if she killed Bram?”

  “She didn't.”

  “How can you be certain?”

  There was, again, the shadow of a thought passing over Terri's face. “I just know, that's all.”

  Our eyes met briefly, then Terri turned away. “Besides,” she said. “The evidence doesn't fit.”

  “Maybe not perfectly. But it's closer than nothing at all. Melissa was still driving Ted's Explorer at the time. With sheepskin seat covers. She's a blonde. She could easily have had a pair of purple sunglasses. Your manicurist found some easily enough.”

  “There are hundreds of people who fit that description.”

  “Melissa had access to your house. She could have taken your gun.”

  “She didn't,” Terri said emphatically. “The gun was stolen several years ago.”

  “There's nothing to show that, though, but your word.”

  Terri folded her arms and rocked forward in her seat. Her face had taken on an ashen hue. “I didn't do it,” she said. “I didn't kill him. That's what's important.”

  “What's important, Terri, is convincing the jury that you didn't.”

  CHAPTER 35

  Jared was working away furiously at the computer when I got back to the office. He had the window open and Santana playing not so softly in the background.

  “Hey, boss. How'ya stepping?” He turned the volume down.

  “I'm stepping just fine, Jared. One foot after the other. Any phone calls?”

  “Two
. Nick wants you to call him when you get a chance. And Alexander Rudd was looking for you.”

  “Rudd?” I dropped my briefcase onto a chair. “Did he say what he wanted?”

  “Only that you'd given him this number and he needed to speak to you. He sounded kinda weird.”

  “Weird how?”

  Jared thought for a moment. “Nervous maybe, or upset. Emotional, I guess. That's probably a better description.”

  “I hope to God he hasn't suddenly recognized Terri as the woman he saw outside of Weaver's place.”

  “If that was the case, wouldn't he contact Pelle's office rather than you?”

  “Under normal circumstances, yes. But Rudd's a dead man, remember? Twice dead, in fact. I don't imagine he wants to get too close to the law.”

  Jared tipped backward in his chair. “In that case,” he said with a smirk, “he wouldn't be calling you, would he?”

  “Smart ass.”

  “Damn straight.” Jared turned his attention back to the computer screen.

  “Did he say where I could reach him?”

  Jared shook his head. “Said he'd call back later. I gave him your home number, I hope that was okay. But with this being Friday and all, I figured you'd want to talk to him sooner rather than later.”

  “Thanks.”

  I opened the window in my own office, letting the afternoon breeze filter through, kicked off my shoes, and returned Nick's call.

  “Are you fixed for Monday?” he asked.

  “I hope to be by the time Monday arrives.”

  “Does that mean there are a few holes that need plugging?”

  I opened the office door and motioned for Jared to turn down the volume, which had crept back up as soon as I'd picked up the phone. “It's more that we have no explanation of our own to offer,” I told Nick. “I don't suppose you've come up with anything on Roemer?”

  “The guy acts like he's pissed at the world so his quarrels with Weaver might not mean much. And the waiter at the restaurant the night Weaver died said all three of them seemed to be in good spirits.”

  “Maybe. But Roemer is eager to see Terri convicted. He tried to intimidate me in the stairwell after court the other day.”

  “What happened?”