“He knew me back then,” Michael reminded her.
“I'll handle it on cross,” Talon repeated. “Got it?”
Michael nodded again. “Got it.”
She patted his arm, fully aware that at least some of the jurors had been watching her and Michael’s whisperings, rather than Earl Daggett walking to the witness stand to be sworn in—which happened in short order. McDaniels stepped forward to begin her direct examination.
Talon wondered whether Quinlan was assigning McDaniels to do all the African-American witnesses. But she supposed they wouldn’t be that obvious. Would they?
“Please state your name for the record,” McDaniels began.
“Earl Jeremiah Daggett,” came the quiet reply.
“Thank you for being here today, Mr. Daggett,” McDaniels said. Again, that was objectionable. But again, it was kind. It might be ingratiating to the jury, or it might come across as trying too hard and off-putting. Either way, no objection from Talon.
Daggett just shrugged in response.
So McDaniels continued. “Did you know a person named Jordan McCabe?”
Daggett nodded.
“You need to answer out loud,” McDaniels explained. “For the record.”
“Yeah,” Daggett complied. “I knew him.”
“How did you know him?”
Another shrug. “Just from around the neighborhood, you know?”
“Was he a friend?” McDaniels suggested.
“I guess,” Daggett answered. “We all just kinda knew each other, you know? It was a long time ago.”
McDaniels nodded. “How long ago?”
Daggett thought for a moment. “We were in high school. So, what, twenty-something years ago. A long time.”
Talon studied Daggett’s demeanor. He didn’t seem engaged. That was good. It made McDaniels’s job more difficult. More importantly, he didn’t seem like he had it out for Michael. And if he didn’t care, why should the jurors?
“What about the defendant?” McDaniels gestured toward the defense table. “Did you know Michael Jameson back then?”
Daggett peered over at Michael, squinting his middle-aged eyes. “I knew a Mikey Jameson back then. I don’t know if this gentleman is him. Could be, It was a long time ago.”
Talon was sensing the theme: It was a long time ago. She liked that theme.
“Let’s talk about the night Jordan McCabe was killed,” McDaniels soldiered on. “Were you there that night?”
Daggett nodded slowly. “Yeah, I was there.”
“And did you see Mr. McCabe get shot?”
Daggett frowned. “Yeah. I saw it.”
Ok, Talon thought, here we go. The million-dollar question. She kept her eyes down, ostensibly taking notes.
“Did you see who shot him?”
Another slow nod. “Yeah, I saw who shot him,” Daggett replied.
Damn.
“But I don’t remember who now,” he finished.
Un-damn. Talon couldn’t keep her head from popping up at that addition.
McDaniels managed to keep her poker-face, but Talon knew it was body-blow. She was reeling, as evidenced by the next question McDaniels grabbed from her brain and threw at the witness. “What were you doing that night?”
A terrible question. They were dealing drugs. Or buying them at least. And maybe robbing the other drug dealers. That question could open the door to a very long discussion about hobbies Jordy McCabe’s mother didn’t know about, or at least didn’t testify about. But it would depend on Daggett’s answer.
“Just hanging out, you know?” he answered. “Nothing special.”
Okay, McDaniels is safe.
“Hanging out?” she questioned. “At two in the morning?”
Or maybe not.
Daggett took a moment. “Like I said, it was a long time ago. I don’t remember exactly what we were doing. I don’t remember exactly what happened. I know Jordy got shot and I know I got the heck out of there. Life went on. For me, at least.”
“And for Jordy’s murderer?” McDaniels pointed out.
“I suppose so,” Daggett agreed. “I been through a lot since then. I’m not looking to go back.”
McDaniels paused. She was both obviously irritated and obviously trying to hide it.
“So you don’t remember who shot your friend Jordy?”
“He wasn’t really a friend,” Dagget answered. “And no, I don’t remember.”
“And you don’t remember what you were doing when Jordy was shot?”
Daggett looked ready to offer another ‘it was a long time ago,’ but Talon stood up before he could answer.
“Objection, Your Honor,” she said calmly. “Counsel is leading the witness. Also, asked and answered.”
Good procedural objections, likely to be sustained. Which was guaranteed to further irritate McDaniels.
“The objections are sustained,” Judge Kirchner ruled without even asking McDaniels for a response. “Rephrase your question, counsel.”
McDaniels thought for a moment. Talon knew she was considering impeaching Daggett with his prior statements to the police—25 years ago. But she also knew Daggett didn't I.D. the shooter back then either, not by name anyway. And telling the jury he was a gang member buying drugs probably wouldn't really help McDaniels's case after all.
“No further questions,” she said.
Talon stood up at Judge Kirchner's invitation to cross-examine. She waited for McDaniels to return to the prosecution table, then replaced her at the bar.
“It's been a long time,” Talon repeated his words back to him. “Hasn't it?”
Daggett nodded. “Yes ma'am.”
“Are you the same person you were twenty-five years ago?”
A faint smile and a shake of the head. “No ma'am.” Talon opened her arms to the whole courtroom. “Are any of us?”
“Objection!” McDaniels interrupted. “Calls for speculation.”
'Relevance' would have been the better objection.
“It's permissible lay opinion,” Talon argued.
But the judge didn't buy it. “Sustained.”
It didn't matter. The jurors knew the answer.
“No further questions,” Talon said.
McDaniels didn't redirect. Daggett was excused.
That went pretty well, Talon thought as she sat down again next to Michael, but she made a point of not letting the thought show on her face. Good thing we talked to him before he testified. He must have liked us.
Quinlan stood up. “The State calls Reginald Oliphant.”
CHAPTER 37
“But first, Your Honor,” Quinlan continued, “perhaps we could take a brief recess.”
Talon knew why and was a little disappointed that Quinlan knew too. Oliphant was still in prison. He could be transported from prison easily enough with a few orders faxed to the right people. But the jury wasn't allowed to know he was in prison. So he'd be dressed out in civilian clothes, and would testify without the handcuffs. But until he was on the stand, those handcuffs were staying on. Leg irons too, most likely. And two corrections officers in the courtroom, close enough to tackle him if he made a run for it.
All that meant the jury had to go out of the room long enough for the guards to bring Oliphant in and get him set up on the stand. Then the jury would be brought back in. As if they wouldn't notice this one witness was already on the stand and those two uniformed officers were suddenly there, but gone again after he was done testifying.
It was so much window-dressing and willful ignorance, but it was required. If they marched him in wearing prison garb and belly chains, it'd be a mistrial. And a mistrial caused by the State—it wasn't Talon's job not to screw that up—which would present another argument for dismissal.
So Talon was disappointed Quinlan had been sharp enough to ask for the recess after calling the witness. His plan was to have the jury out just long enough to get Oliphant on the stand, then get them back in before they had too much time to
think about it.
And since that was Quinlan's plan, Talon decided to mess it up.
She didn't object to the recess, but as soon as the jurors were safely inside the jury room, she said, “Your Honor, could we take a longer recess? I wasn't aware the State would be moving from the new lead detective immediately back to witnesses from the original crime. I was able to conduct cross-examination of Mr. Daggett without my notes, but I don't think I should have to examine Mr. Oliphant as well without my materials. I'd like to go back to my office to get my information on Mr. Oliphant.”
Judge Kirchner nodded. “That seems reasonable. Any objection, Mr. Quinlan?”
“Actually, yes, Your Honor,” he answered. “We would object. I have two officers standing by to bring Mr. Oliphant to the courtroom. If we don't bring him now, they'll have to book him back into the jail. I don't know how long it will take to get him out again. And besides, the jury is expecting to hear from Mr. Oliphant. We just announced we would be calling him.”
Exactly, Talon thought.
“Ms. Talon?” the judge invited a response.
“If Mr. Quinlan had the foresight to notify the guards to have Mr. Oliphant waiting in the wings,” she answered, “I would think he could have let me know as well. I understand why he wanted to surprise me, but I'm asking to not be completely ambushed. I just want an opportunity to go to my office and round up my materials and my investigator.”
“Investigator?” Quinlan gasped. “Why does she need her investigator? We didn't receive any notice that her investigator had interviewed Mr. Oliphant.”
“I didn't say he had,” Talon answered. “And if he did, I don't have to tell you. It's defense work product.”
“I object, Your Honor,” Quinlan said. “We should have been given discovery about this.”
Talon was about to explain why that wasn't true, but the judge beat her to it.
“Discovery is not reciprocal in Washington, Mr. Quinlan,” Kirchner explained, a bit impatiently. “You know that. The defense only has to provide information about a witness if they intend to call them. I presume, Ms. Winter, you weren’t planning on calling an eyewitness to the murder your client is charged with committing?”
“Correct, Your Honor,” Talon confirmed.
“Correct,” Judge Kirchner echoed. “So let’s address the real issue. How long do you need, Ms. Winter?”
“Not long,” Talon answered. “Two hours should be enough.”
“Two hours?” Quinlan wailed. “That’s far too long, Your Honor. Like I said, I have everyone on notice and waiting.”
“Not everyone,” Talon reminded the court.
The problem with complaining and expecting things to go exactly the way you want them to—a professional hazard for prosecutors—was that it could irritate the person who was actually in charge: the judge.
“Two hours seems reasonable,” Judge Kirchner ruled. “We will reconvene at four o’clock.”
Which was another bonus. It would jam Oliphant’s testimony up against the end of the court day. If it was difficult to bring him in once, it would be even more so to have to bring him back again tomorrow morning. Quinlan might feel pressure to cut corners to finish in time.
As it turned out, that wouldn’t be a problem, but Talon wouldn’t know that until after she returned from her office, and Curt’s.
* * *
“Knock, knock,” Talon announced as she entered Curt’s office across the hall from her own office suite. She realized she hadn’t been there before. It just seemed more natural that he would come to her. “Curt? You here?”
It was similar to her set-up, with a receptionist’s desk by the front door and small, individual offices beyond. Only, there was no receptionist—not right then anyway—and it sure looked like most of the offices were unleased.
“Curt?” she repeated.
“Talon?” Curt called back. He stepped out into view and approached the front door. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you in session today?”
“Yes, we’re in session,” she answered. “Quinlan just called Oliphant to the stand. I came back to get my materials.”
“What materials?” Curt asked.
Talon reached out and rested a finger on his chest. “You.”
Curt cocked his head askance.
“I want you to sit through his testimony,” she explained. “Tell me if he says anything different. If he does, I’ll call you during our case-in-chief to impeach him.”
“Unless what he says now is better than what he said then, right?”
“Of course.” Talon smiled. Her finger was still on his chest. “Smart boy.”
He looked down at her finger and she finally removed it. “I should probably dress for court then, huh?” he asked. He was wearing a tight-fitting T-shirt and well-worn jeans.
She liked how it looked on him, but not for court. “Yeah,” she agreed. “Clean yourself up. Then meet me in court in an hour and a half.”
* * *
Ninety minutes later, they were both in the courtroom. Talon at counsel table with Michael, and Curt—in a blue blazer and open-collared shirt—in the gallery one row behind Alicia, who was sitting through every single witness. Eleven minutes later, Judge Kirchner took the bench.
“Are we ready to proceed?’ she inquired.
Talon stood up to answer, “Yes, Your Honor. Thank you.”
The judge looked to Quinlan. “Is the State ready?”
Quinlan also stood to address the court. “Yes, Your Honor. If I could just have a moment to call the jail, I will have Mr. Oliphant transported.”
Kirchner assented and after a whispered phone call and few more minutes’ wait, three uniformed corrections officers brought Reginald Oliphant into the courtroom. He was deposited onto the witness stand and the corrections officers fanned out: one by the door to the hallway, one next to the jury room door—there was an exit to the outside hall through there—and one directly behind the witness box. Nothing said ‘not in custody’ like an armed guard looming over the witness’s shoulder.
Kirchner’s bailiff went to fetch the jury as Quinlan approached Oliphant. If Talon hadn’t known better, it looked like he was introducing himself. Had he not talked to Oliphant in advance?
When the jury was seated, Judge Kirchner bade Oliphant to stand and raise his right hand to be sworn in.
Oliphant declined. “No.”
Kirchner raised an eyebrow, then looked to Quinlan, who seemed as surprised as anyone else. She turned back to Oliphant. “You won’t swear to tell the truth?” she asked.
“No,” Oliphant answered. “Because I ain’t testifying.”
Talon felt her heart race, but tried to keep her elation off her face. Fake note-taking wasn’t appropriate either though. This was too out of the ordinary not to pay attention.
“You have to testify,” Judge Kirchner said. “You’ve been compelled to appear by the State.”
“They can compel me to appear wherever they want,” Olpihant said, “but they can’t compel me to say anything.”
Kirchner thought for a moment. “I could hold you in contempt until you agree to testify.”
“Oh, what, and hold me in jail?” Oliphant laughed. “Been there, done that. I ain’t testifying. Not for the State. I ain’t a snitch.”
Talon might have preferred something more affirmative, like, ‘Michael Jameson didn’t shoot anyone,’ but she’d take this turn of events. Quinlan, on the other hand…
“Your Honor,” he squeaked, “perhaps another brief recess would be in order?”
Kirchner didn’t seem enamored at the suggestion. “We all just got back in here, Mr. Quinlan. If the witness refuses to take the oath to tell the truth, he can’t testify. How do you want to proceed?”
Quinlan thought for a moment. “I’d like a recess to speak with the witness, Your Honor.”
Talon stood up. “I’d object to that, Your Honor,” she said. “The witness is on the stand, sworn or not. It would be inappro
priate for either side to have a private conversation with him at this point.”
“I agree with Ms. Winter,” Kirchner said. “We’re not going to do that. You called the witness. The witness is on the stand. You can ask me to hold him in contempt or you can call another witness.”
Quinlan considered. He didn’t bother to look back at his co-counsel. Talon hoped the jurors were catching that too. “The State would ask you to hold the witness in contempt, Your Honor,” he said.
“Denied,” Kirchner replied. “You should have known this was going to happen, counsel. I’m not going to penalize a witness who would have told you he wasn’t going to testify. Especially for the reasons given.”
That last bit didn’t help as much. The judge understood going back to prison with a ‘snitch jacket’ would mean real physical danger to Oliphant. But confirming it as a valid reason did sort of suggest that Jameson was guilty. You don’t snitch out an innocent person. Still, she’d take it. And quickly, before Quinlan got the judge to change her mind.
“May I excuse my investigator then?” Talon asked. She didn’t actually need permission to do that, but she wanted to end any further conversation about Oliphant actually testifying.
Judge Kirchner was visibly irritated at this turn of events. Quinlan looked bad, but it spilled onto her a bit too when a witness refused to take the oath she was trying to administer. “Yes, counsel.” Then she looked at the clock. “And we will adjourn for the day.”
They needed to get the jurors out of there before they could transport Oliphant back to the jail. Judge Kirchner narrowed her eyes at Quinlan. “Be ready to call your next witness first thing tomorrow morning,” she instructed, “and make sure they’re actually going to testify.”
“May I ask who the next witness will be?” Talon interjected.
“Arnold Langston,” Quinlan practically snapped. “From the crime lab.”
The ballistics expert, Talon knew. And probably their last witness. Smart way to finish, she had to admit. Or it would have been, if Det. Jefferson had been allowed to preview the ballistics match, then Daggett and Oliphant had identified Jameson as the shooter.
“Thank you,” Talon chimed.
Talon Winter Legal Thrillers Box Set Page 20
