“Wait a second,” Mike interrupted. “Go back to the part about being roughed up.”
“You would like that part.” The corner of her lips turned up. “You know someone who’s been roughed up?”
His eyes seemed intensely focused, but not on anything in the firing range. “I think just maybe I do. Come on.”
She followed close behind. “Where are we going?”
“Out for a drink,” he said, putting on his coat. “Back to Remote Control.”
Hard to know what to think of that development, he thought, as he left the courtroom. Mother taking the witness stand. Pleading on her boy’s behalf. Surely the jury would take that for being exactly what it was. A desperate attempt by a loved one to save her son-by lying. Not to be believed. More sad than evil.
I should’ve killed those damn lawyers when I had the chance, he thought, as he crushed the newspaper between his hands. I had them in my sights. And I let them get away.
He’d been beating himself up about it ever since, not that that made the two any more dead. He’d screwed up-and now he was paying the price. Sure, he’d been reluctant to tote up another murder or two when there had already been so many. How long could the cops remain so ignorant? But it seemed as if every time he rested a bit, every time he thought he might be secure, could relax, prop up his feet and watch this case go away permanently-something happened. Something that made him worry that the whole mess was going to crumble all around him. Again.
He’d gotten another revolver, to replace the one he had dropped before. He was ready to go. He would content himself to watch and wait, for the time being. But when the time to move arrived-and given the way he felt at the moment, it wouldn’t be long-he wouldn’t hesitate. He’d go after them. The chick and her partner. If he got half a chance, he’d take out Christensen, too. Save the state the trouble.
Your days are numbered, he thought, as he passed through the courthouse doors and stepped into the sunlight. He had a plan now. One that was certain to solve his difficulties, once and for all. And leave the world with two less lawyers.
So much the better.
43
“Personally,” Christina said, taking her seat at the head of the office conference table, “I thought Drabble’s cross of Ellen was lame.”
Ben’s eyes fluttered closed. He hated these posttrial postmortems. “I thought it was brilliant. What did you think, Vicki?”
The petite intern couldn’t seem to bring her eyes up off the table. “I… did think he made his point.”
Christina frowned. “Well, whether the jury bought it or not, Johnny has to make a good impression.”
“You’re telling the wrong person,” Ben said, pointing at the defendant sitting between them.
“Johnny,” she said, looking intently into his eyes. “You understand how serious this is, don’t you?”
“Hard to miss.” He was wearing more casual clothes than the blue suit Christina dressed him in for court each day, but under the conference table, his feet were shackled. The marshals were posted in the corridor just outside their office. The court had allowed him to come back to the office to prep for his testimony, but they still weren’t taking any chances. “This trial isn’t exactly going my way.”
“That’s all right. Tomorrow is another day. Have you got that legal research I asked for, Vicki?”
“On restricting hearsay admitted against the defendant’s interest? Some.” Her voice became even less audible than usual. “Most of it isn’t helpful.”
“Then keep looking. If we could suppress some of the testimony Drabble is sure to use to impeach Johnny, it would be a big help.”
She nodded. “I’ll be at the computer terminal just across the hall.” She left the room.
“The most important thing is that you seem sincere,” Christina explained to Johnny. “Even when you admit to less-than-admirable things, as you’re going to have to do. You must seem truthful. And remorseful. The prosecution has been painting you as a monster. You have to show them that you’re not.”
“I’m not anyone’s monster,” Johnny said indignantly.
“Don’t act defensive. Best to speak in a calm, relaxed manner,” Ben said. “Maybe a little slower than you normally would. Give yourself time to think.”
“That’s especially important on cross,” Christina added. “Drabble will try to rev things up, get you talking fast, talking before thinking, leading you down the garden path, then catching you in some kind of trap. Before you answer any question, you have to ask yourself-what is he after?”
“You think he’ll cross me more than he did my mother?”
“I can guarantee it. Your mother was a sympathetic figure, so he made his point delicately and sat down. With you, the gloves will be off.”
“Is it so important that he trashes me?”
“To his case, yes,” Christina answered. “But more to the point-it will be easy.”
“What, because I’m so stupid?”
“No. Because what you did-what you’ve admitted you did-makes you such an easy target.”
“Look at the jury from time to time,” Ben advised, “but not all the time. They don’t want someone playing to them, they want to observe you interacting with the prosecutor. But glance their way occasionally, especially when you’re making important points. Just to show them you’re not afraid to. Eye contact always suggests sincerity.”
“Okay. I can do that.”
“Most of all,” Christina said, leaning in close, “you must not lose your temper. No matter what Drabble says. Losing your temper would be disastrous.”
“Not a problem. I’m not a hothead.”
“Johnny-”
“I’m not!”
“Johnny, almost every time I’ve talked to you, you’ve started shouting.”
“That’s because you ask me things just to cause trouble.”
“And you think Drabble won’t? His whole cross will be designed to get your goat. Because if he can make you blow up on the stand, the jury will be all that much more likely to believe you lost it the night of March 22 and beat a man to death. Intentionally. With malice.”
“Okay, no temper flares. I promise.”
“One more thing,” Ben interjected. “You cannot rattle on about your personal beliefs regarding gay people or gay lifestyles. Not a word of it.”
“I thought we had the First Amendment in this country.”
Ben’s teeth clenched. “If you want to die by lethal injection for your First Amendment rights, fine. Because I can guarantee that if you start rattling on about wreaking God’s vengeance on sodomists, that’s what’s going to happen.”
“This isn’t San Francisco, you know. Some of those jurors might agree with me.”
“Yeah, they might, but this isn’t a political debate. It’s not a referendum on lifestyle choices. This is your trial for your life.”
“It goes to motive,” Christina explained. “If you start some jeremiad about homosexuals, the jury will believe you could feel self-righteous enough to do what the prosecutor says you did for the reason he says you did it.”
“Well, I’m not going to lie.”
“I’m not asking you to lie.”
“But,” Ben jumped in, “I can guarantee Drabble will grill you on your beliefs regarding gay people. And if you launch into some hyperzealous screed, he’ll crucify you. No-you’ll crucify yourself.”
Johnny’s brow creased. “Then what the hell am I going to say?”
“I think it’s okay to say that based on your Christian values, you disagree with the homosexual lifestyle,” Christina said. “But there’s no reason to go on and on about it. And you have to say it without the least trace of anger or malice.” She paused. “I think that’s the most important thing, don’t you, Ben?”
“No. I think the most important thing is to seem remorseful. That’s what the forgiving, unconvinced jurors-if there are any-will be looking for.”
“I don’t get you.”