by John Bowers
“In that case, would you say that the fact that these impressions are so faint is, in itself, definitive? Simply because it’s so rare?”
“Uh…”
“Mr. Chambers, how much were you paid to testify for the defense today?”
He cleared his throat.
“Ten thousand terros. That isn’t unusual, by the way. I’ve been paid to testify in other criminal cases before this one.”
“I see. Does the fact that the defense is paying you affect your testimony in any way?”
“I’m not sure I understand the question.”
“Well, you are obviously saying what the defense wants you to say. But if I had hired you instead of Mr. Crawford, would your testimony be different? Would you be saying what I want to hear?”
“No, of course not.”
“Good. I’m glad to hear that. Tell me, Mr. Chambers…do you still beat your wife?”
The witness looked stunned. His face blanched white, then fused red.
“What! No, of course not!”
“When did you stop?”
He jerked upright in his chair, mouth open and eyes wide.
“Now wait a minute! I never said—”
“Objection! Your Honor, what the hell is Miss Cross trying to pull here?”
Victoria turned and smiled at him.
“What took you so long, counselor? I expected you to object after the first question.”
Crawford ignored her.
“Your Honor…!”
Van Wert’s face was almost as red as the witness’s.’
“Approach! Both of you!”
Crawford, puffing with anger, stomped toward the bench. Victoria joined him, her hands clasped innocently in front of her. She tried to suppress a smile, but failed.
“What the hell are you doing, Miss Cross?” van Wert demanded. “Are you fishing or do you have something?”
“I have something, your Honor.”
Van Wert’s eyes expanded a fraction in surprise.
“What’ve you got?”
Victoria told her.
Crawford protested.
He blustered.
To no avail.
“All right, step back. The objection is overruled.”
Still steaming, Crawford returned to the defense table. Victoria returned to the witness. Jay Chambers stared at her as if she were a rattlesnake…even though snakes had never evolved on Alpha Centauri 2.
“Mr. Chambers, you said you no longer beat your wife.”
“No! I said I have never beaten my wife! You’re putting words in my mouth!”
“I would never do that, Mr. Chambers. It’s unsanitary and spreads germs.”
“Objection! Counsel is mocking the witness.”
“Withdrawn. Mr. Chambers, isn’t it true that on July 13, 0442, your wife called police to your house to settle a domestic dispute?”
Chambers stared at her. He swallowed.
“I never beat my wife. I’ve never laid a hand on her.”
“Please answer the question, Mr. Chambers. Were the police called to your residence on July 13, 0442?”
“Yes.” His response was barely audible.
“Who called the police on that occasion?”
“My wife did.”
“Why did she call the police?”
“We were having an argument.”
“Did the argument get violent?”
“No. It got noisy, but not violent.”
“Were you arrested?”
“No. I was detained and questioned, but not arrested.”
“Why weren’t you arrested?”
“My wife refused to press charges.”
“Your wife refused to press charges. For what, Mr. Chambers? If there was no violence, why would she even consider pressing charges? You can’t be arrested for merely yelling at her, can you?”
Chambers glanced toward Crawford for help, but Crawford only glared back at him with pursed lips. He looked agitated.
“I might have put a bruise on her,” Chambers admitted in a quiet voice. “By accident.”
Victoria walked to the prosecution table and returned with a flat photo.
“Approach the witness, your Honor?”
“Go ahead.”
“Mr. Chambers, do you recognize the person in this digital?”
She held it up for him to see. He stared at it, his face slowly burning red.
“Yes.”
“Is this a picture of your wife, Mr. Chambers?”
“Yes.”
Victoria strolled to the defense table and showed the picture to Crawford, then strolled down the jury box so they could see it as well. The photo depicted a woman whose face looked like one solid blood blister; one eye was swollen shut and the other was barely open. Three cuts had been sutured.
She returned to the witness.
He avoided her gaze.
“Mr. Chambers, the next time you sell your services as an expert witness, may I suggest that you offer a discount? I don’t think Mr. Crawford or Mr. Frie got their money’s worth today.”
“Objection! That’s just petty, your Honor.”
“Withdrawn. Nothing further.”
*
Hayes Crawford put up two more witnesses to testify on Wallace Frie’s behalf. One was a prison guard from Syracuse Island who had worked there for six years when Frie was incarcerated. He testified that the defendant had been a model prisoner, had kept to himself, made very few friends, and caused no trouble. Frie had gone out of his way to avoid fights or confrontations of any kind. He had worked in the motor pool repairing vehicles and stayed out of trouble.
“You never heard him threaten anybody?” Crawford asked.
“No. He was no trouble at all. If all inmates were like him, we wouldn’t need more than two or three guards in any Federation facility.”
The other witness was Frie’s alibi. She was a middle-aged woman who claimed Frie had spent the night of January 24 with her at her apartment. Crawford elicited testimony that Frie had spent the entire night in her bedroom and hadn’t left until time for work.
Victoria cross-examined.
“Miss Winters… I’m sorry, is it Miss or Mrs.?”
“Mrs. I’m a widow.”
“Okay, I’m sorry to hear that. How well do you know Mr. Frie?”
“Not terribly well. We spent a few nights together.”
“You are a registered prostitute?”
“Yes. I live on a pension from my late husband, but sometimes money gets a little tight. Working part-time gives me a little extra income.”
“I understand. You’re absolutely certain that Mr. Frie never left your quarters on the night of January 24th?”
“Yes.”
“How can you be so certain? Surely you must have fallen asleep, didn’t you?”
“Yes. But I have a bird.”
Victoria stared at her.
“You have a bird?”
“Yes, Ma’am. A myna bird.”
“I don’t understand.”
“That is one noisy bird. When he gets excited, he whistles. Shrill, like a factory whistle. Practically blows your eardrums out.”
“Okay, but…”
“When the lights go out, that bird falls asleep. But he’s a very light sleeper. If anything moves during the night, he wakes up. And when he wakes up, he starts whistling. I tell you, that thing could wake the dead.”
“So, you’re telling the jury that, if Mr. Frie had gotten out of bed or tried to leave the apartment, he would have wakened the bird?”
Sonia Winters smiled.
“Exactly! There ain’t no way that Wallace left the room without me knowing it. That bird would have woke me up.”
Victoria gazed at her a moment, then released her breath through puffed cheeks.
“Thank you. No further questions.”
Victoria strolled back to her table. She glanced at Andy Gabel, who looked a little happier than he had the day before. But he avoided eye
contact with her.
“Mr. Crawford, your next witness?”
Hayes Crawford stood up and buttoned his suit coat. He stared at papers on his table for a moment, looking as though he had forgotten something but didn’t know what. After a few seconds, he drew in a deep breath.
“Your Honor…at this time, the defense r—”
“Objection!”
Victoria hadn’t even sat down yet, but spun around to face the courtroom. Crawford, his mouth still open, stared at her.
“Excuse me?”
“Miss Cross…” Van Wert looked undecided whether to be angry or curious. “What are you doing?”
“Your Honor, before the defense rests its case, I need a brief recess.”
“For what purpose?”
“I…need to consult with someone.”
“You need to consult with whom?”
“Ten minutes, your Honor. That’s all I need. After that, everything will become clear.”
“Miss Cross, this isn’t only highly irregular, it’s unprecedented in my experience. Why do you need a recess before the defense rests its case?”
“It’s in the interest of justice, your Honor. I promise.”
Van Wert stared at her for long seconds, eye to eye. Victoria gazed right back, her own eyes wide and innocent. Van Wert turned to Crawford.
“Mr. Crawford, you can rest now, or you can rest after a recess. What’s it going to be?”
Crawford turned to stare at Victoria. She spun to face him and stared right back, nodding her head minutely to encourage him to go along with her. He lifted both hands out to his sides and then dropped them.
“Okay, I admit I’m curious. No objection to a recess, your Honor.”
Van Wert looked disappointed, but she banged the gavel.
“Court is in recess. Back here promptly in ten minutes, and nobody better be late!”
She stood up and descended the steps to the door at the rear of the courtroom.
Victoria skittered toward the defense table before Crawford could get away. She gripped his left elbow and leaned in close.
“I need to talk to you,” she said. “Right now!”
“What the hell has gotten into you?” he demanded.
She put her lips against his ear.
“Right. Fucking. NOW!”
He pulled back and stared into her intense blue eyes from four inches away. She did her best to pierce his brain with her gaze.
“Okay, fine. What the hell.”
“Conference room, across the hall. Let’s go!”
Several spectators had gotten out of their seats and were milling about, most of them watching the drama and wondering what the pretty prosecutor was up to. Victoria had to excuse her way through them to reach the outside corridor, with a confused and perplexed Hayes Crawford on her heels. They stepped into an empty conference room and Victoria closed the door. She turned to face him.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he demanded.
Victoria took a deep breath. She was on shaky ground and knew it. What she was about to do was not only irregular, it was unheard of. It was a huge risk.
“I need you to put your client on the stand,” she said.
“What!” He looked shocked. “What the hell are you talking about? You can’t ask me to do that!”
“I know. But I am asking.”
“Why? Is your case so weak that you can’t win without ripping my client’s guts out on the stand?”
“I’m not going to rip his guts out. You have my word on that. But I do need to cross-examine him.”
Crawford laughed in consternation.
“No fucking way! You could be disbarred for even talking to me like this.”
“I know. And yet I’m still doing it. Which means I must have a pretty good reason, don’t you think?”
“What reason would that be?”
“I can’t tell you that. You’ll just have to trust me.”
“Oh, sure. The clueless, idiot defense attorney just blindly hands over his trust to a spaced-out Federation prosecutor and sacrifices his client in the process. You have more nerve than even I gave you credit for.”
“Look, Mr. Crawford…”
She stopped, took a deep breath to calm herself, and released it.
“Hayes…listen to me. Three weeks ago you offered me a half-million terros to work for you. You said I was worth it. Did you say that sincerely, or were you just blowing smoke in my ear?”
He peered at her in indecision, a frown wrinkling his forehead.
“I meant it.”
“Okay, then, what’s changed? If I was worth it then, I’m worth it now.”
He tilted his head.
“Are you saying that you want the job?”
She scowled.
“No! The whole point I’m trying to make is that if you trusted me then, enough to try to hire me, then trust me now. I promise you won’t regret it.”
“What are you up to?”
“I’m not going to tell you that until I cross-examine your client. If I’m wrong, then it doesn’t matter. But if I’m right, you’re going to want this to happen.”
“I don’t get it…”
“You don’t have to. Just trust me! Put your client on the stand!”
She reached for the door and pulled it open. Before leaving the room, she looked back.
“And this conversation never took place.”
Chapter 32
“The defense calls Wallace Frie to the stand.”
A rustle in the gallery betrayed surprise from the spectators, who probably hadn’t expected the defendant to testify. Wallace Frie stood up from the defense table and made his way to the witness stand. He was still wearing the thread-bare suit from the day before. His kinky grey hair had been trimmed and he was clean-shaven. His leathery skin was darkly pigmented and showed evidence of every one of his fifty-eight years. His eyes betrayed a certain fatalism, as if he had resigned himself to never getting justice. He took the oath and settled into the witness chair.
Hayes Crawford approached, looking unprepared, which he probably was.
“How are you doing, Mr. Frie?”
“I’m all right.”
“Comfortable? You need a cup of water or anything?”
“No, I’m fine.”
Frie’s eyes darted around the courtroom like a cat that is unaccustomed to being indoors and doesn’t trust its surroundings. His gaze lingered on Victoria an extra few seconds, then returned to Crawford.
Crawford apparently hadn’t prepared any questions for a witness he hadn’t expected to call. He fumbled about looking for questions to ask.
“Mr. Frie, without discussing the charges against you in your previous trial, were you guilty of those charges?”
“No.”
“You were wrongly convicted?”
“Yes.”
“You said at the time that you were framed. Do you still believe that?”
“I don’t believe anything. I know it for a fact.” Frie spoke slowly in a deep, somewhat husky voice.
“Do you know who framed you?”
“I’m pretty sure I do.”
“And who was that?”
“Lloyd Randal.”
“Agent Lloyd Randal, of the ACBI?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why would Agent Randal frame you?”
“I don’t know. Prob’ly to cover for somebody else.”
“Somebody else? Like who?”
“I have no idea.”
“Do you think he was covering for himself? For something he did himself?”
“Maybe. I don’t know.”
“Was anyone else involved in the frame?”
“I don’t know for sure, but I suspect they were.”
“Do you have any idea who that might be?”
“No.”
“Did you kill Lloyd Randal?”
“No.”
“Did you, or do you, own a gun?”
“No.”
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“Have you, at any time since your release from prison, been in possession of a gun?”
“No.”
“A weapon of any kind?”
“No.”
“Agent Henry Majors testified that, when he searched your room, he found a gun under your bed, with a box of bullets.”
“I heard him.”
“The gun is here in the courtroom. So are some of the slugs that were fired by that gun.”
“It’s not my gun. Somebody planted it.”
“How can you be so sure that somebody planted it?”
“Because it wasn’t there when I left that room. There was no gun in that room, and no bullets, neither.”
“Did you, twelve years ago, tell Mickey Tullis that somebody ought to kill Lloyd Randal?”
“Yeah, I prob’ly did. I don’t remember it exactly, but I was pretty upset at that time. I might have said anything.”
“Did you tell Mr. Tullis that you were going to kill Lloyd Randal?”
“No. Definitely not. That I would remember.”
“Where were you the night Agent Randal was killed?”
“I was with a woman.”
“Mrs. Winters?”
“Yes.”
“What time did you go to her place?”
“After work. I bought her supper first, then we went to her apartment.”
“And you were there all night?”
“Yes.”
“What time did you leave?”
“About seven-thirty, when it was time to go to work.”
“So you did not lie in wait in Lloyd Randal’s driveway and shoot him from ambush when he got home?”
“No, I din’t.”
Crawford studied some notes in his hand, as if groping for more questions. Finally he sighed.
“Mr. Frie, before we finish, is there anything you would like to tell the jury about your situation?”
Frie grimaced, then shrugged.
“Just that I din’t do it. Not this time, not the last time.”
“How do you feel about the criminal justice system at this point?”
“Afraid I don’t trust it. Looks like men like me can fall through the cracks pretty easy.”
Crawford nodded, then glanced at Victoria as if reluctant to release the witness to her. He tapped the railing next to the witness box. He heaved a sigh.
“Thank you, Mr. Frie. No further questions.”
He walked back to his table and sat down. His eyes were like lasers as they followed Victoria toward the witness box.
