"I heard that."
"And did you hear-"
The D.A. stood. "Objection. Your Honor, I'm not a stickler on legal technicalities, but every time Mr. Fenney says 'hear' and the witness says 'heard' I think the witness' testimony might constitute hearsay, which would be inadmissible."
"Your Honor," Scott said, "asking if the witness 'heard' something is the same as asking if he 'knew' something. It's just a more agreeable way for me to phrase the question, isn't that right, Mr. Petrocelli?"
"Uh, yeah. That's right. It's more agreeable."
The judge turned to the witness. "Mr. Petrocelli, do you have personal knowledge of these matters?"
"Personal knowledge?"
"Did you personally see the instruments evidencing Mr. Rawlins' debt? Like a promissory note."
Gabe smiled. "Judge, there ain't no promissory notes."
"So how did you learn of these debts?"
"I was told about them."
"And now you're telling us what someone else told you?"
"Yeah. That's what I'm doing."
"Well, that's the very definition of hearsay."
Bobby's laptop pinged. He read: "And, Your Honor, it is an exception to the hearsay rule if the declarant is unavailable to testify. Rule eight-zero-four."
The Assistant D.A. jumped up and pointed at Bobby. "Objection! He's cheating!"
"Cheating, Mr. Newman?" The judge almost laughed. "Mr. Truitt already objected to the hearsay."
"Yeah, but I'm objecting to Mr. Herrin using messages from Ms. Douglas. That's not fair."
The judge turned to Bobby. "Is she messaging you, Mr. Herrin?"
"Uh, yes, Judge, she is."
The D.A. turned to Bobby. "Is it really an exception?"
Bobby shrugged. "How would I know? I got a D in evidence. But Karen said it's an exception if the declarant is unavailable to testify due to death."
"Who's dead?" the judge said.
"One of the Vegas boys testifies, he's dead," Gabe said.
The D.A. had heard enough. "Never mind, Your Honor. I withdraw the objection. If Professor Douglas says it's an exception to the hearsay rule, then I'm sure it is." He turned to his assistant. "Sit down, Ted."
"Very well. Continue, Mr. Fenney."
"Mr. Petrocelli, did you hear that Mr. Rawlins did in fact throw two golf tournaments earlier this year?"
"Yeah, I heard that."
"And did you hear that his creditors gave him a cut of the profits, three million dollars in cash?"
"Yeah, I heard that, too."
"And did you hear that Mr. Rawlins was supposed to throw a third tournament but inadvertently sank a long putt to win?"
"I heard that, too."
"And that that putt cost his creditors many millions of dollars, which did not make them happy?"
"Yeah."
"Mr. Petrocelli, did you hear who killed Trey Rawlins?"
"Uh, no, I didn't hear that."
"Thank you."
The D.A. had no questions for Gabe.
"Defense calls Clyde Dalton."
The courtroom doors opened and Goose walked in. He was wearing slacks, a wrinkled shirt, and a clip-on tie. Scott had never before seen him without a golf cap on. His gray goatee needed trimming, and his gray hair was thin on top and pulled back in a ponytail. It wasn't a good look on a middle-aged man whose name wasn't Willie Nelson. Goose took the oath then sat.
"Mr. Dalton," Scott said, "what is your nickname on the pro golf tour?"
"Goose."
"Would it be more convenient for me to call you Goose?"
"Uh, yeah, that would be more convenient."
Scott first took Goose through the facts of his employment with Trey as a caddie and the events surrounding the termination of that employment on a Mexican golf course during a tournament that Trey eventually won.
"And did Mr. Rawlins owe you a caddie fee of one hundred thousand dollars?"
"Yeah, he did."
"And did he pay you that fee?"
"No, he didn't."
"Were you unhappy about that?"
"Uh, yeah, I was unhappy about that."
"What was your opinion of Trey Rawlins?"
"My opinion was that he was a prick." Goose caught himself and looked up at the judge. "Can I say that?"
"You just did."
"Maybe you should strike that remark from the record."
"You've been watching too much TV. The jurors are over twelve, they've heard it before."
"Goose, did you kill Trey?"
"No, I did not."
"Were you aware of his cocaine habit?"
"I suspected. He'd be jumpy sometimes."
"Were you aware of his gambling habit?"
"Yeah, I knew about that."
"What about his gambling debt?"
"Nope."
"Did you think he threw those two tournaments, when he missed the short putts?"
"Seemed a little strange 'cause he never missed short putts."
"Did you ask him why?"
"Why what?"
"Why he missed those short putts."
Goose chuckled. "Uh, no, I didn't do that. You ask a golf pro why he missed a short putt to win a million bucks and you're liable to get a putter rammed up your… he wouldn't appreciate that question."
"Do you now caddie for Pete Puckett?"
"Yep."
"Where do you live?"
"Austin."
"Where does Pete live?"
"On a ranch outside Austin."
"Have you ever been to his ranch?"
"Yeah. He asked me out to go deer hunting."
"So Pete knows how to use a gun?"
Goose nodded. "Oh, yeah. Real good."
"Did he shoot a deer the day you were out with him?"
"Yep. Big one."
"What'd he do after he killed it?"
"Cut it up. He carries this big ol' Bowie knife looks like a god-" He grimaced and glanced up at the judge. "Looks like a sword. He slit that deer from head to hoof, gutted it, hung it up-"
"He field-dressed the deer?"
"Uh, yeah. That's what he called it."
"Bloody, isn't it?"
"Oh, it's awful."
"So Pete's handy with a knife?"
"You could say that."
"Would you say that?"
"Uh… he's handy with a knife?"
"Does Pete have a daughter?"
Goose nodded. "Billie Jean."
"How old is she?"
"Seventeen."
"Did Pete know she was having a carnal relationship with Trey?"
"Nope. But he knew they were screwing."
"How'd he feel about that?"
"He didn't feel so good about that."
"Did he say anything to you about that?"
"Said Trey was a no-good mother-" Another sheepish glance at the judge. "Said he was a pervert."
"Pete wasn't happy about the affair?"
"Nope."
"Where were you on Thursday, June fourth?"
"Orlando. Caddying for Pete at the Atlantic Open."
"Did you and Pete travel together to the tournament?"
Goose nodded. "We flew from Austin that Monday."
"Did Billie Jean go with you?"
"No, she stayed back in Austin."
"Why?"
"Pete said she didn't feel so good."
"So you arrived in Orlando on Monday, then what?"
"Played a practice round on Tuesday, pro-am on Wednesday."
"And what was Pete's mood?"
"Foul. Something was bothering him, but he didn't want to talk about it."
"What time did you and Pete tee off on Thursday?"
"Eight A.M. "
"What time did you finish the round?"
"About noon."
"How'd Pete play?"
"Godawful. Shot an eighty-five. Couldn't focus."
"Was that unusual for Pete?"
"Oh, yeah. Now, he don't shoot sixty-five, but he don't shoot eighty-five. He's a one-under, one-over kind of player. But he could always focus. Not that day."
"Then what did you do?"
"Flew home to Austin."
"After the first round of the tournament? Why?"
"Pete wrote down the wrong scores on two holes, signed his card. Automatic DQ. Disqualification."