“Perhaps because you went to her house the next day, saw that her car was in the driveway, and she didn’t answer the door. Isn’t it true that you didn’t really hear a fight, but you made up that story to the police to sound credible?” I had no idea if this theory was correct, but it sounded like a good one.
“No, I-“
“May I remind you what the penalty is for perjury?”
“Objection, Ms. Ross is badgering the witness.”
“Sustained. Move on, Ms. Ross.”
“May I remind you that you’re under oath?” That was a slightly different way of phrasing the previous question, one that was acceptable, because it wasn’t really a threat.
She finally sighed. “Yes. Okay. I didn’t actually hear a fight. I was concerned the next day because Connie’s car was in the driveway and she didn’t answer the door when I went there with my treats. I knew that she didn’t take walks like I do, and I also knew that she was having trouble with Heath. My mind tends to jump to conclusions.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Nothing further.”
I went back to my table, feeling like goddamned Perry Mason.
The case was still a long-shot, but it was looking slightly better.
Vince was glaring at me from his own table, and I knew that I had scored a point. A small point, maybe, but every point counted.
“Please call your next witness, Mr. Malloy.”
“I would like to call Jacob Weismann to the stand, please.”
I scribbled, knowing that Jacob was going to testify to the existence of a life insurance policy. It was fine that he put the policy into evidence, but it was going to be more than tricky for Vince to prove that Heather knew about it. The second he tried to ask any questions about what Connie might have told Jacob, I was going to object to the hearsay, and hopefully, that would be that.
Vince swore in Jacob, and then asked him to state his name.
“Jacob Weismann.”
“And Mr. Weismann, you are an agent with Mutual of Omaha, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Was the deceased, Connie Morrison, a client of yours?”
“She was.”
“Did you sell her a life insurance policy?”
“I did.”
“I would like to show you the document that I have marked Exhibit B. Can you please identify this for me?” Vince handed Jacob a document and Jacob studied it intently.
“Yes. This a copy of the life insurance policy that I wrote up for Ms. Morrison.”
“For how much is the life insurance policy?”
“Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”
“And did you keep this record in the ordinary course of business?”
“I did.”
“And is drawing up documents, such as this one, part of your regular routine in your business?”
“It is.”
“Can you tell the court who the beneficiary of this policy is?”
“Heath Morrison.”
At that, Vince started to pace around a little bit. “Heath Morrison. Are you familiar with who Heath Morrison is?”
“Yes. I guess that was her son, although I’ve never met him.”
Vince put his hand to his mouth, as if he was contemplating something serious. “Her son. Now, to your knowledge, did Heath Morrison ever come to know that there was a life insurance policy and that he was the beneficiary of it?”
“Objection,” I said, rising to my feet. “This question calls for hearsay.” There was no way I was going to let Jacob answer that question, so pre-emptively objecting was the best way to keep it from coming out.
“Sounds like we need to have a talk,” the judge said. “Mr. Weismann, you are temporarily excused. I would also like to ask the jury to take a short recess. Mr. Weismann, you will be expected back on the witness stand in fifteen minutes, so please don’t stray far.”
The jury obediently filed out of the room, as did Jacob. When everybody was out of earshot, Judge Reiner said to Vince. “Okay, Mr. Malloy, let me have it. What questions were you going to ask your witness? If there’s going to be anything on the record about any conversations that Connie Morrison had with Heath Morrison, then I shouldn’t have to remind you that you can’t do that.” Judge Reiner reached for his Tums and stuffed about five of them in his mouth and shook his head.
“Actually, your honor, I was about to ask the witness about conversations he has had with the defendant.”
“What conversations?” Judge Reiner asked. “He just said that he’s never met the defendant.”
“Mr. Weismann had phone conversations with the defendant,” Vince said, looking at Heather, who was shaking her head. “Explaining the terms of the life insurance policy.”
I mentally kicked myself for not scheduling a deposition with this guy, and I was mentally skewering Heather. She didn’t tell me anything about this. In fact, she lied to me about it. When I directly asked her if she knew that Connie had a life insurance policy, she told me no. I looked over at Heather, who was now looking embarrassed.
“Did you know about this?” I whispered to her.
She shook her head, but I could see, once again, that she was lying.
I bit my lower lip, suddenly infuriated at being blind-sided.
“Your honor,” I said. “I would like to have a short conference with my client. If it pleases the court, I would like to go into one of the conference rooms.”
“Make it quick,” Judge Reiner said. “I got the jury standing by and Mr. Weismann cooling his jets out in the hallway. We all want to continue on down the road.”
“I understand.”
I stood up, and Heather reluctantly followed me.
We got into the room, and I closed the door. “Sit down,” I said, feeling my anger boiling up. “Okay,” I said, trying to be measured in my speech, but feeling like I was ready to explode. “What the hell is going on? Why did you lie about the life insurance policy?”
Heather got into her defensive posture. She crossed her arms, glared at me and pursed her lips.
“You need to answer me, and you need to do it quick.” I counted to ten, a technique that I used with Rina when she was driving me batty. I could feel the tendrils of anxiety bubbling up, and I mentally tried to fight it down. Think happy thoughts, think happy thoughts.
This case is over, and Heather beat it down. That was the happiest thought that I could imagine, but somehow it wasn’t really coming to me. They were just words.
“I didn’t tell you because I knew that you were going to judge me. You were going to dump me and I couldn’t have that.” Heather looked out the window, her eyes refusing to meet mine.
“Is that the truth? Is it? I can’t believe that you lied to me.” If she was lying about this, was she lying about everything else? What if I was being played all along? A sickening feeling started in my gut, a feeling that Vince might be right. I might have been representing a guy like John Robinson all along. I felt naïve, a feeling that I wasn’t used to feeling, but it was inescapable. First John, now Heather. If Heather was a cold-blooded killer, and I foolishly fell into her trap, then could I ever trust my judgment again? When it happened back to back, John then Heather?
No fucking butcher knife at the scene. Heather knew all along about the life insurance policy. What fresh hell was I going to find out with the next witness?
“Okay,” I said. “Well, we can’t drag this out. The judge said to make it quick, so let’s get out there. I’ll do my best to try to contain the damage, but goddammit, Heather. Goddammit, if I get one more blind-side, I swear to God, I’ll withdraw from your case. Right in the middle of the trial.” That was a threat, but I knew that it wasn’t a good one. The judge would never allow that. But I was so angry at that point, I wanted to put that fear into Heather. Put the anxiety into her for a little while.
Heather sneered at me, stood up, and walked rapidly out of the room. I put my hands on my table and hung my head. What have I gotten myself
into? I cursed Heather for lying to me and Tammy for foisting Heather on me without my knowledge or consent.
Most of all, though, I cursed myself. I didn’t do my due diligence, and I was being blind-sided. That was what I had coming, I supposed. I was just going to have to soldier on.
I walked back out into the courtroom, feeling that I was needing a drink. It was the first time I had a craving like that in a long time. I closed my eyes, trying to tamp that feeling down, but I couldn’t push it down. I was going to have to do something after this day of trial, something to get rid of my nervous energy and agitation. Maybe get Red Dawn out, my red road bike, and go on a group ride through town. That was what I used to do, and I had gotten out of it for quite awhile.
“Okay,” Judge Reiner said when everyone was back, and Jacob was back behind the witness stand. “Thank you ladies and gentlemen of the jury for your patience. Mr. Weismann, I remind you that you’re under oath. Mr. Malloy, you may proceed.”
“Thank you, your honor. Now, Mr. Weismann, the question that I posed to you before the break was whether or not the defendant, Mr. Morrison, was aware of the existence of the life insurance policy?”
“Yes, he was.”
“How was he made aware?”
Jacob cleared his throat. “After Ms. Morrison saw me in my office, and we drew up paperwork, she asked me to call him to explain the terms of the life insurance policy.”
“Objection, hearsay,” I said.
“Sustained.”
“Could you please explain to the court, without mentioning anything that Ms. Morrison might have told you, how Mr. Morrison came to know about the life insurance policy?” Vince asked.
“Yes. I called him at his home and explained that Ms. Morrison had taken out a $250,000 life insurance policy and that he was the beneficiary.”
“Do you have any idea why Ms. Morrison would have taken out such a large life insurance policy?” Vince asked.
“Objection, calls for speculation,” I said. “And is possibly going to call for hearsay.”
The judge seemed to consider both objections. “I’ll allow it,” he said. “As long as the answer does not involve anything that Ms. Morrison might have told this witness and as long as the answer is not based upon speculation. You may proceed, Mr. Weismann, on those grounds.”
Jacob seemed unsure on how he was supposed to answer this particular question. He then seemed to hit on a good answer. “When I spoke with Mr. Morrison, he did mention that his father was killed and didn’t have life insurance. I cannot speculate that this was the reason why Ms. Morrison took out this life insurance policy, however.”
“I have nothing further for this witness.”
I didn’t really have good questions for this witness, either. It seemed like the damage was done, so no use trying to drag it out.
“I have nothing for this witness,” I said, standing up.
“Call your next witness.”
Over the course of the next few hours, Vince called witness after witness who were friends of Connie. They all told of a contentious relationship between Connie and Heather, centering around Heather’s need to be referred to as Heather and to be treated like a woman. All of it was tricky for Vince to get into evidence, because they couldn’t say what Connie had told them, but they were around when fights would break out, so they could give the court their impressions of the two women’s relationship that way. I gamely tried to poke holes in each of their stories, but it was such a deluge, that, by the end of the day, I was exhausted.
A portrait of Heather was emerging through their testimony, that of an increasingly erratic person who was losing her mind.
“In one of the fights I witnessed,” one woman, Candace Burrell, relayed, “Mr. Morrison screamed at Connie and took out a pair of scissors and chopped off his hair right in front of her. He chopped off his hair and waved it around in front of her face, screaming, ‘are you happy now? Are you happy now? I look like a bleeping boy, is that what you want?’”
Another woman, Selma Harris, said that she witnessed Heather shoving Connie to the floor. “They were screaming at each other, right in front of me, and he just shoved her like this,” she said, putting her hands in front of her in a shoving motion.
Worse still were Heather’s friends.
“Heather told me many times that she wished her mother were dead,” said one.
“Heather said that she wanted to kill the old bag, and that’s an actual quote,” said another.
I couldn’t believe that all this crazy happened in front of these women and girls, but I couldn’t shake any of them on cross-examination.
But the best was yet to come.
It was the end of the day, at least it was getting to be, for it was 4 PM, when Vince announced that he was going to call the last witness for the day.
“I would like to call Reverend John Scott.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
“Objection,” I said, standing up. “Mr. Scott was on my witness list, not Mr. Malloy’s. I would like to request a motion in limine on what Mr. Scott’s testimony is going to be.”
“Your honor,” Vince said. “I have a right to call Mr. Scott, even though he doesn’t appear on my witness list. I have a right to call him and treat him as hostile.”
“Ms. Ross, what Mr. Malloy is saying is correct. He has a right to call one of your witnesses to the stand. Now, I don’t want to go through the rigamarole of having the jury go out and come back at this late hour, so I’m just going to have to rule on this. Your objection is overruled, Ms. Ross.”
I sat down, my heart pounding. This was vintage Vince, really, and I should have seen it coming. I should have seen that he was going to do something to throw me off, and I walked right into his trap. I kicked myself inwardly as I studiously avoided Heather’s face, which, I would imagine, was boring a hole into me.
I had no idea what Vince was doing with this. It was worse than any surprise witness. The only difference between what was happening with Reverend Scott and a surprise witness was that I couldn’t avoid this. If Vince just sprung something on me out of the blue, some 11th hour witness, I would be able exclude that witness. On this, however, I was going to have do the best I could with it.
The only thing that I could think of was that Vince was cutting me off, so that I couldn’t use this guy myself. I really didn’t know how else he was going to be used.
I turned around, and there Reverend Scott was, looking even creepier than he did at the church, if that was even possible. He was now walking slowly with a cane, and he had on a large wide-brimmed hat. He had grown his hair out long and he had pulled it into a pony-tail. He was wearing faded jeans and an even more faded button-down shirt. On his feet were Birkenstocks, which showed his long toenails. I started to feel personal revulsion just watching him, and I knew that his testimony was going to bring up an even larger sense of disgust.
He took his seat at the witness stand, raised his right hand and was sworn in.
“Mr. Scott,” Judge Reiner said. “Before you proceed, I would like to ask you to remove your hat. This is a courtroom and I demand decorum.”
At that, Reverend Scott removed his hat, which didn’t do much for him at all. He still looked like a crazy hippy, just slightly less-so. The ironic thing was that this guy was no hippy – hippies would find his views on gays and women sickening. And as far as I knew, no hippies would be down with having gay children killed just because of who they were.
“Could you please state your name for the record,” Vince said.
“John Lewis Scott,” he said.
“Mr. Scott, what is your profession?”
“I am a Reverend. My congregation is the Church of the Living Breath.”
“Was Ms. Morrison a member of your church?”
“Yes she was.”
“Was she a faithful member of your church?”
“Yes she was.”
Just then, I suddenly knew that I had a different strategy. I could se
e a door opening, and I knew that I could get my church witnesses on the stand after all. That was, if they were willing to come in. They were under subpoena, but my investigator was having problems locating them. They were terrified of testifying, and I knew that. But if I could find them, I could bring them in to impeach this Reverend.
“What is the philosophy of your church?”
“We preach the gospel,” he said. “We focus on the teachings of Christ. Our sermons focus on loving thy neighbor, turning the other cheek, and showing how the teachings of Christ can enrich our congregants’ lives.”
Funny, I don’t remember Christ saying anything about killing gay people. I don’t recall him saying anything about homosexuality at all, as a matter of fact.
“How long did Ms. Morrison attend your church?”
“She had been a member of our church for about three years.”
I stood up. “I would like to object to the relevance of this witness’ testimony. Whether or not the deceased was religious is of no importance to this court.” I sat down.
“Mr. Malloy, I’m inclined to agree with Ms. Ross. Where is this going?”
“Can I have a short conference?” Vince asked.
Judge Reiner rolled his eyes, but banged his gavel. “I would like to excuse the jury for another ten minute break. The witness may also be excused, but, please, Mr. Scott, stay close, because you might be finishing up on the stand. Thank you.”
After everybody left, Judge Reiner addressed Vince. “I should have done this first, I guess, but Ms. Ross makes a point. Where is this testimony with this Reverend going?”
Vince cleared his throat. “It’s a preemptive strike, your honor. Ms. Ross is going to attempt to show that Ms. Morrison was violent and brainwashed by this church, so I’m going to show the jury that this church isn’t about that. I’ve talked to this Reverend, and he has assured me that his church speaks the gospel and isn’t about hate, unlike the portrayal that Ms. Ross is planning on making.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. And I really wouldn’t believe the judge if he was going to go along with this nonsense.
“Judge Reiner, I thought that I made it clear to Mr. Malloy that I’m going to wait to see if he meets his burden of proof before I made my decision on how I wanted to proceed. If I see that he didn’t meet his burden that my client killed her mother, then I’m going to rest and not try for self-defense. That would mean that I wouldn’t put this Reverend on the stand, either. I don’t know why Mr. Malloy couldn’t just wait to see if I called the Reverend, and then cross-examined him. That’s how it normally goes. I’ve never heard of preemptive strikes like this before, and I ask that you not allow it.”
Harper Ross Legal Thrillers vol. 1-3 Page 28
