“Innocent until proven guilty,” Pendleton said without much enthusiasm.
Garrett left the lawyer to confer with his client and walked to his spot against the wall, from which he would watch over the courtroom and protect its participants. One of the reasons Courtroom 306 was special was that it had a floor-to-ceiling barrier of bulletproof glass separating the gallery from the rest of the courtroom. It was a precaution so over-the-top that it made the JusticeGuards look sensible, and he was sure people like Judge Alvin Grodberg would no doubt like to see bulletproof walls installed in every courtroom in the building. The barrier did make Garrett’s job easier, no doubt about that. He only needed to watch Nash, and possibly the witnesses that would be called to the stand. But a bulletproof wall wasn’t really necessary, at least not with a skilled deputy sheriff on duty.
And Kurt Garrett was highly skilled.
Ty had been arrested barely a week ago, and already he’d grown so used to the unending noise of jail that the courtroom seemed almost silent. He tipped his head back, closed his eyes, and breathed deep. No yelling. No banging. No loudspeakers or warning sirens or clunking locks. Just sweet, sweet silence. After jail, the bus ride to the courthouse, and his wait in the sub-basement holding cells, it was just about the greatest relief he could imagine.
“Are you feeling alright?” his lawyer said, jarring him out of his moment of peace.
You fucking asshole. Ty kept his eyes closed, but it was useless. The peacefulness had passed, and he felt rage building inside him. His eyes shot open and he saw Pendleton staring at him, pretending to be concerned. “I was great until you opened your mouth.”
“Sorry, I didn’t realize this was nap time.” The lawyer tried to stare Ty down, but it only took three seconds before he cleared his throat and looked at the papers on the table in front of him. Ty shook his head. That’s right, punk-ass bitch.
Good thing Ty didn’t need to rely on this pathetic excuse for a human to get him out of this mess. Like the other day, when this bozo had visited the jail to lecture him about preliminary hearings, as if this were his first prelim, as if he didn’t know what it was all about after doing bad shit of one variety or another just about every day of his life. Come on! Prelims were like a bad joke. They drag you into court, and the prosecutor presents some evidence—it don’t got to be much, just enough to show that some asshole committed a crime, and that the defendant is probably that asshole. No reasonable doubt at a prelim. No jury, either. And if the judge believes the prosecutor, which the judge always does, then the case goes to trial. According to one of Ty’s former court-appointed defense attorneys—a white one with a Jew name who seemed to know what he was talking about, unlike this black asshole—it was also possible for the judge to find that the prosecution did not meet its burden, in which case the defendant would go free. Ty had never seen that happen.
But he was looking forward to seeing it today.
He felt some of the rage drain away, and some of the peacefulness return. He even let himself smile a little, after Pendleton turned away. He had a plan. It was a good plan, and it was going to work. All in good time, though. First he had to wait through a bunch of bullshit evidence and testimony. All in good time.
He tilted his head back again, and let his eyes close. People were talking in important-sounding voices. The deep voice of the judge, the business-like tone of the female prosecutor, and his own dumb-ass defense attorney launching a feeble objection once in a while. Ty let his mind wander instead of focusing on the words. With no jury, he didn’t care who saw him tune out. In fact, he hoped he was pissing them off. More fun that way.
Time passed. He didn’t know how long. When he opened his eyes, he saw that asshole deputy sheriff glaring at him. Ty winked at him, but the man didn’t look away. He held Ty’s stare, and, eventually, Ty had to look away. Pendleton’s face seemed to be focused on the prosecutor. The woman had just finished asking questions of a homicide detective on the stand—Mark Leary, the cop who’d dragged him out of his mom’s attic and arrested him in front of his cousins—and now she was holding up some photographs of a dead body and asking that the photographs be admitted into evidence.
Ty couldn’t really blame Pendleton for staring at her. The woman was fine, tall and thin, but curvy where it counted, with long black hair and legs that looked great in her suit and heels. “I know, nice piece of ass, right?”
“What?” Pendleton shot him a sidelong glare.
“Miss Prosecutor. I wouldn’t mind bending her over the prosecution table.”
“That’s Jessie Black, one of the best lawyers in the District Attorney’s Homicide Unit. Show some respect.”
“So you saying you’re outclassed?”
“No, I’m saying she’s laying out the state’s case against us, and you should be paying attention, like I am.”
“You got an answer for everything, don’t you?”
Pendleton shook his head and turned his attention back to Jessie Black.
Ty leaned back in his seat. Didn’t matter how good a prosecutor the bitch was. Ty was going to walk today. Because he had a plan, and it was going to work. And who knew? Maybe he’d bump into her somewhere one day, and show her how he laid out the state’s case. Yeah, he though, allowing himself to smirk. He’d lay it out good and hard.
“Is the Commonwealth ready to proceed?” the judge said.
“Yes, Your Honor,” Jessie Black said. “The Commonwealth calls Troy Dunmore.”
“Here comes the garbage man,” Ty said under his breath. He leaned forward. Show time.
The garbage man seemed to make an extra effort not to look anywhere near Ty’s direction as he took the witness stand and went through the swearing in nonsense. His gaze seemed to alternate between Jessie Black and the gallery. If Dunmore thought some bullet-proof glass was going to save him, he was in for a nasty surprise.
Pendleton leaned sideways in his chair. Ty felt the heat of the man’s breath in his ear and squirmed. “Dunmore is the prosecution’s key witness. Pay close attention and let me know if there’s anything in his testimony that we can use against him. Anything that we can demonstrate is untrue.”
“You learn that watching Law and Order SVU?” Ty snorted. He doubted the garbage man would say anything at all.
Jessie Black approached the witness stand. From his vantage point, Ty couldn’t see her face, but the way her skirt moved over her hips was making him eager to follow through on his earlier ideas. She said, “Good morning, Mr. Dunmore.”
“Good morning.”
Dunmore was black, mid-forties. Close-cropped hair, speckled with gray. The man looked like Ty’s grandfather, who’d spent his whole life polishing shoes. Ty wasn’t sure which job sounded worse—garbage man or shoe-shine man. Ty preferred self-employment. It was the only way a man could reach his full potential, in his opinion.
“Would you please state your full name?” Jessie Black said.
“Troy Dunmore.” The man’s voice was deep, but it cracked on the last word. Ty almost laughed. If the man was nervous now, just wait!
“What do you do for a living, Mr. Dunmore?” They always start with easy questions. Ty knew all of their tricks, probably more than Pendleton knew. Maybe he should go to law school. Hell, if Pendleton could do it, how hard could it be?
“I drive a recycling truck.”
“Can you please tell us a bit more about that?” the prosecutor said, as if she gave a shit about collecting cans and cardboard.
“Not much to say.” Dunmore shrugged. “I drive my routes, collect the recyclables, and transport them to the MRF. That’s the facility—the materials recovery facility, I mean—where we unload.”
Ty snorted again. This time Pendleton jabbed his arm. “Quiet.” Ty sorely wanted to jab him back—maybe with the sharp end of the pen on his legal pad—but that kind of move would screw up his plan. If he wanted to walk today, he had to stay cool.
“What sort of credentials do you need for this job?” J
essie Black said. More easy questions.
“Credentials?”
“Did you graduate from high school?”
“Yes.” Dunmore smiled. Was he warming up to his role as a witness now? We’ll see how long that lasts, garbage man. “Long time ago.”
“Do you have a special type of driver’s license?”
“I have a CDL.”
“That’s a commercial driver's license?”
“Yes.”
“Did your employer require any drug screening or background check prior to hiring you?” Jessie Black said.
“Yes, I believe so. Wasn’t a problem. I don’t use drugs, and I’m not a criminal.” Dunmore straightened his back and looked directly at Ty as he said the last few words. Trying to show that he wasn’t scared, maybe. Good luck with that.
The prosecutor picked up on her witness’s body language and turned to Dunmore with a let’s get down to business expression. “Let’s talk about April 10. When did your work shift begin?”
“Four AM, same as every day.”
“That’s early.”
Dunmore nodded. “You get used to it.”
“Did you drive your usual route?”
“I did.”
“And that route included the alleyway behind a bar called Cooper’s?”
“Yes.”
“Please tell us exactly what you saw occur in that alleyway on the morning of April 10.”
Ty chewed his lip. This was it. Moment of truth. Pendleton’s body seemed to straighten beside him. He imagined the lawyer thinking up all the objections he could use to try to derail the garbage man’s testimony. Won’t be necessary, my friend.
Dunmore leaned forward. He looked out at the gallery and raised his voice. “I was driving my route. Cooper’s and the other businesses on Ludlow leave their recyclables by their back doors, in the alleyway. My truck doesn’t fit, so I walk down the alleyway. Usually it’s quiet so early in the morning, no one around. But on April 10, I saw—” His voice died all of a sudden as something in the gallery caught his eye. Ty did not need to turn around to know what that something was.
Jessie Black stepped closer to the witness stand. “Go on, Mr. Dunmore. What did you see?”
Dunmore’s gaze darted from the gallery to Ty. Ty grinned at him. Dunmore looked back to the gallery, and then to the prosecutor. He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Jessie Black glanced over her shoulder at the gallery, and Ty saw the confusion on her face. He had to work hard not to laugh. One of the best lawyers in the District Attorney’s Homicide Unit? Please. Show some respect my ass. “Please tell the court what you saw,” she said, trying again.
“I didn’t see anything.” Dunmore’s voice sounded flat now. His posture slumped and the defiant gleam left his eyes. He shook his head again. “I’m sorry, but—”
Jessie Black held up a hand, and the garbage man shut up. Turning to the judge, she said, “Permission to treat Mr. Dunmore as a hostile witness, Your Honor.”
Pendleton jumped up from his chair. “Objection, Your Honor. There are no grounds here for treating Mr. Dunmore as hostile. He’s answering Ms. Black’s questions—”
Now Ty was really having trouble not laughing. He had to rub a hand over his mouth to hide the corners of his lips twitching up.
“Your Honor, the witness’s current testimony contradicts previous statements made to the District Attorney’s Office and the Police Department,” Black said. “Moreover, his sudden change in attitude in just the past few minutes shows a desire not to tell the truth, whether because of intimidation or—”
“Who’s intimidating him, Your Honor?” Pendleton spread his hands.
The judge sighed. “I agree that Mr. Dunmore appears to have undergone a very sudden change in demeanor. I’m granting permission to the Commonwealth to treat Mr. Dunmore as a hostile witness.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.” Jessie rounded on the garbage man. Bitch didn’t look half as confident as she had ten minutes earlier, when she’d been asking Dunmore all about his fascinating career driving a garbage truck. “Mr. Dunmore, did you give a statement to Detective Mark Leary regarding events that you witnessed on April 10?”
“I spoke with the detective, but—”
“It’s a yes or no question.”
“Right, but—”
The judge leaned toward Dunmore. “Answer yes or no, please.”
Dunmore slumped lower in his chair, as if he could melt right through his seat and out of the courtroom. “Yes.”
“In your statement,” Black said, “did you describe seeing an argument between two men in the alleyway, ending with one man shooting the other?”
Dunmore looked at the gallery again, his face twitching. “Yes, but—”
“Did you describe the shooter to a police sketch artist?”
“Yes.”
“Did you later look at a photo array and identify a photograph of the defendant, Tyrone Nash, as the man you saw shoot and kill another man in the alleyway on April 10?”
Dunmore’s face whipped toward her. “I lied! I never saw the shooter’s face! I wanted to make the detective happy, so I told him what I knew and I made up the rest. I lied!”
Jessie Black looked as angry as her witness. “Yes or no only, Mr. Dunmore!”
“Fuck yes or no. I lied to the police. I did not see Tyrone Nash. I never saw Tyrone Nash!”
Black’s face flushed red. “Why are you saying this now? Did something happen here today? Did someone threaten you?”
The judge pounded his gavel. “That’s enough, Ms. Black.”
Black backed away from the witness stand. She ran her fingers through her hair. “Sorry, Your Honor.”
“It seems clear to me that you’ve lost your key witness,” the judge said. “Unless the Commonwealth has additional evidence placing Mr. Nash at the scene of this crime, I am going to discharge him.”
Ty didn’t bother hiding his smile now. He was going to walk out of here. In a few minutes, he was going to stand up and walk out of here. He’d done it. The plan worked.
“Ms. Black?” the judge prompted.
Jessie Black paced in front of the prosecution table. Ty could sense her frustration. An hour ago, she’d had her hand on his throat, but he’d knocked her hand away, and she was reeling. And soon, when she least expected it, he’d put his own hands on her.
After a moment, she turned back to the judge. Ty thought she hesitated for a second, and when she spoke, she sounded reluctant, as if she were saying something because she had to say it, and not because she wanted to say it. “The Commonwealth has another witness.”
“What witness?” Pendleton was on his feet again.
Black glanced at the lawyer, and Ty saw that reluctance again. “His name is Reginald Tuck.”
Ty’s mouth went dry. No. No fucking way.
“Objection, Your Honor. This is the first I’m hearing of this witness.”
“We didn’t think we would need him, while we had Mr. Dunmore’s cooperation,” Black said. “Obviously that’s changed now.”
Pendleton leaned down, putting his face close to Ty’s ear. “Do you know who she’s talking about?”
“Fuck off.” Ty turned away from his lawyer. His vision of walking out of here had just popped like a fucking soap bubble. The state was going to make its case after all. He was going to trial. For murder. The plan hadn’t worked.
He needed a new one.
2
One month later, Jessie Black entered the two-story lobby of the Criminal Justice Center with her mind focused on Tyrone Nash’s murder trial. She had a pretty good feeling about it, despite the loss of Dunmore’s eyewitness testimony. The police had found decent circumstantial evidence, and Nash’s nasty demeanor wasn’t likely to impress a jury. The only aspect of the case that made her nervous was her last-minute, substitute witness, Reggie Tuck.
She would have liked to blame Warren Williams, the head of the DA’s Homicide Unit, for forcing her to call
Reggie to the stand, but she knew it was the right call. She’d been the one to name him at the preliminary hearing, after all.
And he didn’t matter. Not really. The trial had officially begun the day before with jury selection and opening statements, and it had gone well. Today she would begin calling witnesses—solid ones like Mark Leary and the medical examiner. By the time she called Reggie Tuck, she would already have shown the jurors that Nash was a murderer. Reggie was just insurance. Belts-and-suspenders, as her father would say.
That’s bullshit and you know it.
She was trying to push away the thought, walking across the CJC’s lobby on autopilot while her attention was focused inward, and she almost walked right into a coffin-sized podium being wheeled toward the public elevators by delivery men. She almost dropped everything she was carrying, but managed to regain her balance just in time. It took her a second before she realized what she’d almost hit. She was aware that the courthouse had signed a deal to try out new bulletproof judge’s benches from some cutting edge security firm, but she hadn’t realized they would be delivered today—or how massive and ugly the things were.
She gave the delivery men space, then hefted her attache case and moved through security to the elevator bank, where lawyers, staff, witnesses, cops, and others waited for rides to the courtrooms above.
Her first stop was the holding area connected to the seventh floor courtroom hosting Nash’s trial. The holding area was a secure space where defendants could be detained during the time between their ride up from the sub-basement holding cells and their entrance into the courtroom. Defendants and other prisoners.
One of the deputy sheriffs, Kenny Rodriguez, greeted her. “Need help with the dry cleaning?” He tilted his bald head at the garment bag Jessie held over her shoulder. The deputy had been working security at the CJC for as long as Jessie had been a prosecutor—long enough to know the bag contained a nice suit. He tried to take the plastic hanger from her, but she held onto it, the hook digging into her hand.
“Thanks, Kenny, but I’m good.” The holding area’s cells were relatively quiet this morning. She scanned the faces. “Where is he?”
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