by Sydney Bauer
‘The State calls Elizabeth Whitman Haynes, Your Honour.’
And as this elegant, graceful woman walked towards the witness stand, her large, innocent eyes offset by the pale blue floral of her dress, her hair down, resting neatly but softly on her shoulders, he knew he had it won.
48
‘Can you tell us about your relationship with your daughter, Mrs Haynes?’
Elizabeth Haynes sat straight in her chair, her demeanour calm, her voice sincere.
‘Certainly, it was, I would say, very healthy – a normal loving relationship. Of course we had our moments, as I suppose most mothers and teenage daughters do. But overall I believe we were very close. I loved her more than anything on this earth, Mr Katz, as did my husband.’
A dream witness.
‘Did you and your daughter ever experience any friction over her choice of friends?’ Katz was pacing slowly now, commanding the room with his relaxed but confident strides.
‘Certainly not. I liked all of Christina’s friends.’
‘What about Layteesha Martin?’
‘My only regret is that I did not get to know Teesha better. She did not visit the house very often.’
‘Why was that?’ he asked, a look of genuine interest on his face.
‘Well, previously I suspected it was because her mother may have been protective of her. Some parents choose a more cloistered approach to teenage parenting and I respect their decision. But obviously, given the revelations of recent months, I now believe Mrs Martin had a problem with Christina’s racial denomination and, as a flow on to that, a problem with me.’
‘When did you reach such a conclusion, Mrs Haynes – was it immediately after Christina’s death?’
The string of pearls shifted on Elizabeth’s slender neck as she swallowed at the word death.
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Haynes,’ Katz stopped in front of the witness. ‘Please, take your time.’
‘Thank you, Mr Katz. I am all right. The answer to your question is ‘no’. Perhaps I am naive but, even when Mrs Martin was charged with Christina’s murder I found the motive difficult to fathom. One always likes to think the best of people until proven otherwise. To be honest, I could not believe any woman . . . any mother, could leave a young girl to her death simply because her skin was of a different colour to that of her own child.’
‘But, a discovery in your daughter’s own hand made you think otherwise?’
‘Yes, a letter.’
‘Written by your daughter to Teesha Martin.’
‘That’s right, a birthday note.’
At that point Katz walked back to the prosecution’s desk to retrieve the letter which Elizabeth had provided to the DA some weeks previously.
‘Is this the letter, Mrs Haynes?’
‘Yes, that’s it,’ said Elizabeth, shifting slightly in her seat. ‘I found it in Christina’s dresser drawer in the weeks following her . . .’
‘Would you mind reading it for us?’
‘No . . . I,’ Elizabeth took a deep breath as if steeling herself to the task.
‘Mrs Haynes, once again if this is too . . .’
‘No, no I’m fine.’
And so Elizabeth Haynes took out her glasses to read the letter once again. She read the note slowly and then removed her glasses at the same gentle speed before placing the note back in her lap and looking up again. Then she took out a white handkerchief and dabbed at a small tear at the corner of her left eye.
And so it went on, the perfect questions were given their perfect answers with the witness pausing intermittently, just enough to win the sympathy of the jury but not enough for them to doubt her sincerity, or her sanity. Her testimony was merely a regurgitation of her Newsline performance but all the more poignant given this show was live and the stakes were much higher.
Finally Katz tried to extinguish any hope the defence may have of claiming the letter referred to the Haynes rather than Rayna Martin. He had told Elizabeth that this line of questioning was necessary as he needed to ‘put out their fire before they had a chance to light it’. She completely understood and had told him she did not need to be coached on such matters. She could handle this issue herself, and he was confident she was right.
‘Mrs Haynes, looking at the letter now, can you see how some people may come to the conclusion that the parent referred to by your daughter is not Rayna Martin, but in fact, yourself?’
Katz knew Elizabeth had been preparing for this question for weeks.
First she gave a look that said ‘hurt’, then it turned to a small shake of her head which said ‘disappointed’ and finally she held her head high and made a slight shift in her seat so that her answer was directed at both Katz and at the jury.
‘Mr Katz, I know that from the outside looking in, it appears we lead a privileged existence – and that is largely because we do.
‘My husband’s political and community achievements have been nothing short of amazing, but he has worked hard to get where he is and I am so incredibly proud of his efforts.’ She glanced at her husband, a look of pure admiration in her eyes.
‘Yes, we enjoy the spoils of a fortunate financial situation, we have travelled extensively, we live in a beautiful home, we enjoy all the trappings of a high profile life – and all the stresses that go with it.’ She smiled slightly as if to say ‘I am just a normal woman coping with an extraordinary existence’ and Katz saw half of the jury smile back.
‘So yes, we are lucky, very lucky but . . .’ Now her face would harden a little, preparing herself for what was to come. ‘I do believe that in life, happiness has a lot to do with achievement. My husband has his work and to a lesser degree I have my work in his support, be it getting involved with the community, raising money for charity or supporting him in his campaign efforts.
‘But if you ask me what was my greatest achievement I would have no hesitation in saying . . . Christina.’ She looked at Katz now as if checking it was all right to go on. He looked back, smart enough to realise when not to interrupt. She was truly amazing, one of the best he had ever seen.
‘In my heart I know Christina was born special. It is no secret we tried for many, many years to conceive a child and she came along when all hope was lost. ‘I firmly believe she was born to greatness. She was bright and energetic and funny and sweet. She had such an incredible sense of compassion and, above all, she was my best friend.’
The jury sat in awe as this beautiful creature wiped a single tear from her flawless left cheek.
‘Do I wish we had more children? Yes, of course, but in the same token I would have felt almost greedy wishing for another after God graced us with such a miracle.’
Elizabeth looked at the jury again, this time making eye contact with the women in the group. Katz could not be sure, but he believed Nancy Pirot was crying.
‘All parents have regrets, Mr Katz, and we are no exception. I am sure that my husband regrets not being able to spend more time with his daughter. But I want to say to him, here today, that Christina knew everything her father did was for the greater good of this city, this state, this country and she loved him dearly.’
‘As for me,’ she went on. ‘My regrets lie in the little things . . . the time wasted arguing about a party dress, the ballet recital I missed because we were campaigning in Springfield.’ She paused here allowing every parent in the courtroom to associate with similar regrets.
‘But I am afraid that is just the beginning because you see, Mr Katz, I am facing a lifetime of misgivings. I regret I will not see a nice young man pin a corsage on my daughter’s prom dress. I regret I will not cry the day she leaves for college. I regret I will not cry again at her graduation.
‘I regret I will not watch my husband give her away in marriage. I will never feel the warmth of my grandchild’s cheek against my own and I regret the fact that when I die, my daughter will not be shedding a tear for me.’ She took a deep breath.
‘So . . . if you ask me how some could int
erpret the parent in the letter to be me, my only answer can be that such an accusation is born out of ignorance. For Christina was . . . is . . . will forever be my angel and I would never do anything to hurt her.’
The tears flowed freely now, and Elizabeth instinctively blotted the small smudge of mascara that had formed under her right eye.
‘Mrs Haynes,’ said Katz, his voice appropriately soft and comforting.
‘I am all right, Mr Katz, and please, she turned to the jury, ‘. . . forgive me for going on, but there is one last thing I want to say. One last lament, perhaps the biggest regret of all. In the end I was powerless. In the end I could not protect her from those so twisted by the bitterness of intolerance that their actions defy any form of logic. That is my one true failure, Mr Katz. I am her mother and I could not save her from the world, and I have to live with that for the rest of my life.’
Katz felt an unsurpassed surge of bliss flow through his entire body.
Nobody said a word. It was as if they were all suspended in time. It felt almost sacrilegious to break the silence. Even Stein felt disrespectful when he turned to the defence to say ‘Your witness, Mr Cavanaugh’.
They were words David was dreading for Elizabeth Haynes’ performance had been nothing short of spectacular. He had not objected throughout her entire testimony for fear the jury would hate him for doing so, and he would have been right.
But just as he was about get up from his seat, the bailiff entered the back of the courtroom, with every head in the house turning to look and listen to his heavy footfalls as they made their long, slow journey up the centre aisle towards the defence table.
The bailiff handed two small notes to David. One sealed in a blank envelope but written on a Boston PD notepad and the second on a piece of yellow message paper.
‘One moment, Your Honour,’ said David, sitting back down to read them in a huddle with Arthur.
The first was from Joe Mannix. It read: ‘VV plates sighted Fri 28th – Brookline.’
Then on the next two lines there were two words with an arrow between them: ‘Call > Hotel’
and then: ‘Highgrove > 1025,’
In other words Joe had put Verne’s car, with the plate numbers Amber Wells had provided, near Delia’s house the night of the shooting. And even better the telephone company had confirmed the call to Verne’s room at the Regency Plaza came from the Haynes’ home in Chestnut Hill. They could not believe it. David needed to speak to Joe straightaway.
The second note was a message from Sara, taken by the court clerk. It read: ‘Stop. Wait. Don’t cross EH. CB the key. Flying to Louisiana – need more time. S”
Here he sat, the entire courtroom, the entire city waiting to see how this day would pan out. He was thrilled with Joe’s news and – given the power of Elizabeth Haynes’ testimony – grateful for the interruption. But he also knew he and his team would be ridiculed for ducking one of the most difficult cross examinations in the city’s legal history. They would say he had given up the game, thrown in the towel, bowed out, lost his nerve.
But he had no choice. He had to trust Sara and hope beyond all hope that she had managed to save them from complete disaster.
‘Your Honour, out of respect to Mrs Haynes and given the late hour of the day, the defence would like to suspend their cross examination of this witness to a later date.’
Stein looked shocked. David could feel the air of derision spread throughout the room.
‘The defence is due to start their case tomorrow, Mr Cavanaugh, are you sure you don’t want to question this witness whilst her testimony is still fresh in the jury’s minds?’
‘Yes Judge, the defence has no questions for Mrs Haynes at this time.’
Stein paused, the courtroom buzzed, and members of the jury shook their heads in disbelief.
Katz could obviously not contain himself. David glanced across at the prosecution’s table to see him grinning from ear to ear. Elizabeth Haynes remained composed.
‘All right, Mr Cavanaugh, as you wish. This court is adjourned until tomorrow morning when the defence will call their first witness.’
Stein held his gavel high, like an auctioneer hesitant to sell the merchandise, hankering for a buyer he knew had the goods to seal the deal. But David remained silent and Stein had no choice but to call it a day.
‘Court is adjourned,’ he said, allowing his gavel to hit the bench with all the finality of an execution.
And with that he shook his head, flipped his robe up over the back of his chair and stormed out of the courtroom.
‘There is a police camera on top of the traffic lights at the corner of Warren and Bolyston, that’s one block from Delia’s house,’ said Joe Mannix down the line to David who was still in the office at 9pm. ‘Luckily the car behind Verne’s ran a red. The camera went off and caught Verne’s plates leaving the frame.’
‘What time was it?’
‘About seven thirty. It fits. Gives him enough time to stake the place out, find his hiding place, settle in.’
‘So now we have him at the hotel, in the vicinity of the crime and back at Haynes’ house later that night. And we have the direct call from Highgrove to his room,’ said David, thinking out loud.
‘Yeah. God bless Amber Wells.’
‘Do you have enough to arrest him?’
‘Maybe, but I’d prefer it if our case was ironclad. Haynes knows, and can afford, some of the best lawyers in the country. We have to be careful we don’t go on the attack without a full cavalry behind us.’
‘And what will that take?’
‘Well, we can be pretty sure Verne is long gone and, even if we had him, he probably wouldn’t give up the boss.’
‘So . . . ?’
‘So we need to prove that Haynes gave the order. We need to know the contents of that telephone conversation.’
‘What is it about this case and conversations,’ said David, finding the irony in their predicament. ‘Anything else?’
‘A Senatorial confession would be nice,’ Joe managed a weary laugh.
They paused, knowing each other well enough to lapse into silence and read each other’s minds in the process.
‘Bad day,’ said Joe.
‘The worst.’
‘David?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Maybe, to most people, it looked like you blew it in there today. But I know you better than that. Just tell me you have something up your sleeve and promise me, if you need my help, you’ll ask.’
‘Maybe I did blow it, Joe.’
‘What about that something up your sleeve?’
‘It’s Sara. She could be my last hope.’
‘Well, don’t worry, Bud. Something tells me she could be your lucky charm, in more ways than one.’
‘DEFENCE SURRENDERS IN MARTIN TRIAL’
‘CAVANAUGH CRUCIFIED BY PASSING ON CROSS.’
‘MARTIN GUILTY? ROGER THAT!’
And Katz’s personal favourite:
‘KATZ GLOATS AS CAVANAUGH CHOKES.’
Well, not the gloating part, but the choking, well, that was something.
It was late, very late, late enough for Roger Katz to still be in his office when the early editions of tomorrow’s papers were picked up by his faithful PA Shelley.
‘Roger,’ said Loretta Scaturro who had been arguing the point with him all evening. ‘Listen to me, we have to stop here. We don’t need Gabe Jackson. Look at the papers, they all agree we have this thing won.’
‘Ah, Loretta. Ye of little faith.’
‘This has nothing to do with faith, Roger. Does Haynes know you intend to call him?’
‘He trusts me.’
‘Yeah, right.’ She shook her head again. ‘Look, if we introduce Jackson we have to renege on our “unconscious” theory, the same theory which got us the charge of murder two in the first place, the same theory that is winning this trial for us. We start saying the Haynes girl was conscious when she reached the cruiser we open the door to
the defence’s God-damned conversation.
‘Secondly, Jackson is a liar – a slimy, two-faced criminal who will say anything to get the majority of his outstanding warrants washed away in return for his testimony. The defence may seem to have been struck mute, but that doesn’t mean they are stupid. They could destroy Jackson on cross and our new argument with it.
‘Finally Roger, you have to ask yourself, what are your motives for wanting to call Jackson? Is it because you believe he will drive the final nail into their coffin, or is it because of your personal vendetta against Cavanaugh – and your egotistical need to play the leading man in one final climax? Because if it is the latter then we are in big trouble. We’ve won it, Roger, just leave well enough alone.’
He’d had enough. The ungrateful bitch should be kissing his feet not beating his brow for taking control and winning this trial in the space of a single day.
Truth be told, he was in control. Haynes knew it, the press knew it and Scaturro knew it too. What she said didn’t matter and bottom line, she was seriously pissing him off.
‘Loretta, do me a favour and shut the fuck up. It’s over for you and you seem to be the last one to get it. Go home, take a pill. Take two or three for all I care. I’ll do this tomorrow with or without you. Just don’t expect to bask in my glory after the fact because in all honesty your days are numbered. I just hope you have the sense to bow out gracefully.’
49
‘All right, Mr Cavanaugh, let me make one thing clear.’ It was early. They were in the Judge’s chambers, just the two of them. ‘I called you in here this morning for one reason and one reason only.’ David stood before a seated Stein, feeling like a naughty school boy before the head principal. It was the last thing David needed, to be chastised by the master for a situation beyond his control barely an hour before he was due to begin their case in court.
‘This is not going to be a conversation. In fact, I do not want you to say a word for fear of jeopardising this legal process. Is that clear?’
‘Yes . . . I . . .’
‘Uh, uh, Mr Cavanaugh. No words . . . just nod if you understand.’
