SW06 - The Innocent Woman

by Parnell Hall

  “Yes, I would.”

  “Fine,” Dirkson said. “Mr. Keddie, let me ask you this? Do you keep a record of your trips?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “A written record?”

  “That’s right.”

  Dirkson marked a paper for identification, then handed it to the witness. “Mr. Keddie, I hand you a paper marked for identification as People’s Exhibit Four and ask you if you recognize it?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “What do you recognize it to be?”

  “That is my trip sheet for the night of June tenth.”

  “Now, the jurors will have an opportunity to see this, but for the purpose of your testimony, could you explain briefly what a trip sheet is?”

  “Sure. It’s a record of all the trips I was hired for in the course of the day. It records where I went, what time and how much I was paid.”

  “Now, the trip you were referring to—when you took the young woman—is that on the sheet?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Could you point it out to me and tell me where the trip was to?”

  “Yes. It was to Seventh Avenue and 48th Street.”

  “Seventh Avenue and 48th Street?”

  “That’s right.”

  “That was the address to which you brought the young woman?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Is the time of that trip noted there?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “And what is the time of that trip?”

  “Eight o’clock.”

  “Eight P.M.?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You picked up a young woman and took her to Seventh Avenue and 48th Street at eight P.M.?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “You say you would recognize this young woman if you saw her again?”

  “Yes, I would.”

  Dirkson nodded his approval. “Thank you, Mr. Keddie. Now, let me ask you this—did you communicate what you just told me to the police?”

  “I didn’t go to the police. They came to me.”

  “I understand. But once they did, did you tell them substantially what you told me?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “And did they subsequently ask you to look at a lineup?”

  “Yes, they did.”

  “And who was in the lineup?”

  “Five young woman.”

  “Was one of those young women the defendant, Amy Dearborn?”

  “Yes, she was.”

  “You recognize the defendant, Amy Dearborn, as one of the women you saw in the lineup?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “And was the defendant, Amy Dearborn, the young woman who hailed your cab that night at approximately eight P.M., the young woman you took to Seventh Avenue and 48th Street?”

  “No, she was not.”

  Dirkson frowned. “She was not?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Then how is it that you’ve identified her? How did you pick her out of a lineup?”

  “I saw her.”

  “Where?”

  “Standing on the sidewalk.”

  “When?”

  “When I drove up.”

  “When you drove up where?”

  “Like I said. On 48th Street. When I drove up on 48th Street she was standing there waiting to meet the cab.”

  “Then she was not the woman in the cab?”

  “No. I just said she wasn’t.”

  “And the woman in the cab—is she present here in court?”

  “Sure. I saw her on the way in.”

  “Do you know who that woman is?”

  “Sure. I never met her, but I identified her picture. Picked it out of a bunch of others.” Keddie pointed to the back of the courtroom. “She’s sitting right there. Her name’s Tracy Garvin. She’s the secretary for Steve Winslow.” Keddie jerked his thumb. “You know. The defendant’s lawyer.”

  43.

  “WHAT A FUCKING MESS.”

  “No shit,” Taylor said. The phone rang and he scooped it up. “Yeah, yeah,” he said. “Don’t bother ringing. Just tell them he isn’t here.” He hung up the phone. “Reporters. Media’s going nuts. They keep calling me asking for you.”

  “They’re not calling you,” Tracy said. “Call forwarding’s on.”

  “Well, maybe you should take it off,” Taylor said. “It’s not too bright to be hiding out and routing your calls to where you are.”

  “Let the switchboard filter the calls, Mark,” Steve said. “I can’t afford to miss a call right now. I really need a break.”

  “Yeah, I know. What a kick in the head.”

  “I should have seen it coming,” Steve said. “And I didn’t. What a schmuck. They subpoenaed the cab driver, I figured it was the one who took Amy downtown. It never occurred to me it would be Tracy’s cab.”

  “Why not?” Tracy said.

  Steve shrugged his shoulders. “Dirkson foxed me. Suckered me in. Your cab driver shouldn’t be part of his main case. He’s a rebuttal witness. Assuming he got him at all. The way it plays is, Dirkson makes a case for the fact Amy Dearborn went down there at eight o’clock and popped Frank Fletcher. Then we put on our case and try to prove she didn’t. We bring out the fact she showed up at ten o’clock and try to build up an alibi by showing she couldn’t have left the restaurant in time to do it. Once we put in that testimony, Dirkson rebuts it with this cab driver showing she was standing there on 48th Street at the time she said she was home. As such, the cabbie’s testimony’s proper and relevant.”

  “You’re saying it isn’t?”

  “Absolutely. He didn’t give Amy Dearborn a ride anywhere, and he doesn’t place her at the scene of the crime. He puts her on West 48th Street. If I cross-examine him on it, he’ll put her right here in front of the office. Big fucking deal. It’s not incriminating at all and it’s got nothing to do with the crime. It’s relevant only as rebuttal.”

  “Then why didn’t you object to it?”

  “I didn’t see it coming. He kept leading the witness along, asking about the fare and the trip sheet and the whole bit, and the whole time I thought it was Amy’s ride. I was getting ready to challenge him on identity. Which is the only thing I can challenge him on, since I know she took the ride.

  “Then, whoops, presto chango, dorked again, wrong cab driver. Suddenly my world’s turned upside down and I don’t know what the fuck to do. That’s why I took the adjournment. I’m not sure how to play this. In theory, I could object to the whole thing, try to get the cab driver’s testimony stricken as incompetent, irrelevant and immaterial. But so what? The damage is done. It’ll be on the front page of the tabloids tomorrow, the jurors heard it, and you know how much a judicial admonition to strike it from their minds and give it no weight will have. Plus, the minute I try to tell the defendant’s story, it will become relevant. And Dirkson will just smear us with it again.”

  “Can’t get much worse, can it?” Taylor said.

  “Yeah, it can,” Steve said. “Dirkson could subpoena Tracy, try to get her to testify.”

  “She can’t,” Taylor said. “She’s got professional privilege.”

  “To conversations, yes. Anything Amy Dearborn told her is privileged. Anything Tracy did...” Steve waggled his hand. “It’s a fine line.”

  “You mean she’d have to talk?”

  “I’d go to jail for contempt first,” Tracy said.

  “You wouldn’t have to,” Steve said. “Because I’d be the one advising you not to talk. Of course, I may go to jail for contempt. But that might be preferable to aiding and abetting and conspiring to conceal a crime.”

  The phone rang. Taylor scooped it up, listened. He covered the receiver. “It’s for you.”

  “I thought your switchboard was screening calls.”

  “They are. It’s the boyfriend. Wanna take it?”

  “Boyfriend?”

  “Larry Cunningham.”

  “Great,” Steve said. “I c
an’t wait to hear his bright idea.” Steve took the phone. “Yeah?”

  “I just called to say I don’t like the job you’re doing.”

  “Oh, no?”

  “No. They call a witness puts Amy right at the scene of the crime, what do you do, you ask for an adjournment.”

  Steve rolled his eyes, looked at Tracy and Mark. “Well, what would you like me to do?”

  “Challenge the guy. Don’t let him get away with that. The guy says eight o’clock, bullshit. Maybe that’s the time the guy picked her up, but not the time he dropped her off. Now, I don’t know where your secretary lives or how long the ride took, but that’s a starting point. Tackle the guy on the ride and get him to admit it was later. Push him past eight-thirty, the guy’s already dead, according to the medical examiner.”

  “Thanks for the advice,” Steve said with heavy irony.

  “I know it’s just a start,” Cunningham said. “But then you get me on the stand saying she didn’t leave the restaurant till after eight. Well, that’s important, see. This guy’s testimony undercuts that, if it’s eight o’clock. So push him back. Otherwise, when you put me on the stand it’s going to be hard to make it stick.”

  “No kidding.”

  “I mean it. If you don’t do a good job with this witness, we are in deep trouble.”

  “Thanks for the tip,” Steve said, and hung up the phone.

  “What was that all about?” Taylor asked.

  “Amy’s boyfriend doesn’t like the way I’m handling the case, thinks I’m going to spoil his star turn on the stand.”

  “Nice guy,” Taylor said.

  “He’s a prince. Problem is, I’m rapidly reaching a point where I might have to depend on his testimony.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No, I’m desperate. You may not have noticed, but things are not going well. Unless we can come up with something, I may have to put that schmuck on the stand.”

  “What good will that do?” Tracy said.

  Steve shook his head. “Probably none. He’s Amy’s boyfriend, and the jury will expect him to lie to save her. If I put him on the stand, his testimony’s virtually worthless. The only way it would mean anything would be if Dirkson called him.”

  “Why’s that?” Taylor said.

  “Then he’d be a prosecution witness, and Dirkson would be bound by his testimony. He’d have to try to impeach him.”

  “You mean if he said he was eating dinner with Amy Dearborn, Dirkson would have to try to prove he wasn’t?”

  “Right.”

  “Could he do that?”

  “Who cares?” Steve said. “It would be a breath of fresh air just to see Dirkson in an uncomfortable position. The way things stand, all the pressure’s on us. The problem is, Dirkson’s got no interest in Cunningham.”

  “He was interested enough in my cab driver,” Tracy said.

  Steve Winslow looked at her. His eyes widened. “Son of a bitch.”

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Tracy said.

  Mark Taylor looked from one to the other. “You’ll pardon me,” he said, “but I’m not sure what either of you are thinkin’.”

  “I don’t know if we should tell you, Mark,” Steve said. “You might not like it.”

  Taylor exhaled, rubbed his head. “Hell,” he said. “I hate it already.”

  44.

  STEVE WINSLOW CHECKED HIS watch. “All set?”

  Tracy Garvin nodded. “Yeah.” She dropped the quarter in the pay phone on the corner of Broadway and 72nd Street, referred to her steno pad, and punched in a number.

  Moments later a voice said, “District Attorney’s office.”

  Tracy raised the steno pad and began reading in a clipped, urgent voice. “Got a tip on the Dearborn case. Don’t put me on hold, don’t transfer me and don’t try to trace this call.... Don’t try it, buddy or I’ll hang up,” Tracy said, raising her voice to drown out the interruption. “I’m talking, you can listen or not. It’s the boyfriend, Larry Cunningham. The one she had dinner with. The defense is trying to keep him off the stand. You know why? She practically told him she was going to do it. She said when she saw him in court she freaked out. The guy framed her and got her fired. Just ’cause he was miffed at her for dumping him. She said it wasn’t enough to beat him in court, she wanted to see him dead.

  “That’s right, now shut up. You want to hear this or not? This guy Cunningham, they’re acting like he’s going to be a witness for the defense. But the fact is, they want no part of him. ’Cause the guy’s a wimp, he hasn’t got the nerve to lie, and if he ever got on the stand, he’d panic and spill his guts.

  “The kicker is, they don’t dare put him on the stand, because Cunningham knows the lawyer found Amy at the scene of the crime and sent her home to build up an alibi by taking a later cab.

  “Never mind who I am, I’m just not going to let that little bitch get away with it.”

  Tracy Garvin slammed down the phone, looked up at Steve Winslow. “How was I?”

  Steve looked at his watch. “Just great. But the call went thirty seconds over. As our attorney, I would strongly advise us to get the hell out of here.”

  45.

  JUDGE WYLIE FROWNED DOWN from the bench. “I’m not sure I understand this.”

  Dirkson could hardly contain himself. “It’s perfectly simple, Your Honor. A matter has come up which requires our immediate attention. An allegation has been made that is so grave that I can scarcely believe it. But, if true, it alters the whole complexion of this trial.”

  “Be that as it may,” Judge Wylie said. “The fact is, we have a witness on the stand who is yet to be cross-examined.”

  “I ask that he be withdrawn from the stand in order that I call another witness.”

  Judge Wylie frowned. “Your intention is to deny the defense attorney his right to cross-examine?”

  “It’s not important,” Dirkson said.

  Judge Wylie’s eyes widened. “Not important?”

  Dirkson held up his hand. “No, no. I don’t mean that. I just mean I don’t want to go off on a tangent. Yes, of course he has the right to cross-examine. He can cross-examine him later to his heart’s content. If it ever comes to that.”

  “If it ever comes to that?” Judge Wylie said.

  Dirkson took a breath. “Your Honor,” he said. “It has come to my attention that evidence in this case may have been tampered with. It is possible that there has been a systematic attempt on the part of the defense to simulate events that did not in fact happen, and by so doing to attempt to manufacture an alibi for the defendant.”

  “That is a very serious charge. I hope you are prepared to substantiate it.” He held up his hand. “Don’t get me wrong. I don’t mean to say I hope the defense is guilty of an impropriety. I mean if you are making a charge like that, you’d better have something to back it up.”

  “I have, Your Honor,” Dirkson said. “Which is why I would like to withdraw this witness.”

  “I would imagine the defense would have something to say about that.”

  “I have, Your Honor,” Steve Winslow said. “I have not waived my right to cross-examine this witness, and I certainly don’t intend to do so now. I say, call in the jury and return the witness, to the stand.”

  “There you are, Your Honor,” Dirkson said. “Just what you’d expect. Knowing what I have in mind, the defense will use any stalling tactic it possibly can. If you return this witness to the stand, the ensuing cross-examination will take all day.”

  “I assure you it will not,” Steve said.

  “That’s not the point,” Judge Wylie said, irritably. “There’s no limit on cross-examination as long as new subjects are being raised. If they are not, Mr. Dirkson, you can object on the grounds that the question has already been asked and answered. Such objections would be sustained and such tactics would be recognized for what they are. And should they persist, they should be considered contempt of court. So there’s nothing
to worry about in that regard, and no reason at all to disrupt the orderly process of this trial. Unless you have any further objection, I intend to return the witness to the stand.”

  “You’re inviting a filibuster,” Dirkson blurted.

  Judge Wylie’s face darkened. “I believe I have made my position clear. Mr. Dirkson, do you have anything else?”

  “No, Your Honor.”

  “Fine. Bring in the jury and return the witness to the stand.”

  When the jurors had been seated and Jerome Keddie was once more on the witness stand, Judge Wylie said, “Mr. Keddie, yesterday you completed your direct examination. Now is the time for the defense to cross-examine. May I remind you that you are still under oath. Mr. Winslow?”

  Steve Winslow stood up. “Thank you, Your Honor.” He walked over to the witness box and looked at the cab driver. He paused dramatically. Then he looked over at the jury. Then back at the witness. Then up at the judge. “No questions, Your Honor.”

  There was a gasp from the spectators.

  Harry Dirkson’s mouth fell open.

  Judge Wylie’s eyebrows raised.

  Only the jurors, who had not been present for the argument, didn’t realize what a shock that was. They looked at each other, wondering what was going on.

  “Very well,” Judge Wylie said. “The witness is excused. Call your witness, Mr. Dirkson.”

  Dirkson was confused by this turn of events, but not enough to deter him from his course. “Call Larry Cunningham,” he said.

  Cunningham, giving every indication of resenting being there, entered from the back of the court and strode up the aisle. He took the oath, sat on the witness stand, and glared down at the prosecutor.

  “Mr. Cunningham,” Dirkson said. “Are you acquainted with the defendant, Amy Dearborn?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Did you have occasion to see her on the night of June tenth?”

  “I have seen her on several occasions.”

  “I’m sure you have, Mr. Cunningham. But I’m asking you about this particular one. So allow me to refresh your memory. This was the night Frank Fletcher was killed. The night Amy Dearborn was arrested. I’m asking you if you happened to see her on that date?”

  “Yes, I did.”