“That’s not going to be easy,” said Frank, shaking his head. Late-afternoon sunlight was painting the room in sepia tones. “I mean, we can’t win the jurors over with Hask’s smile, or anything like that—he physically can’t smile, and frankly, those rusty dental plates give me the willies. And shouldn’t a good defendant show more horror when crime-scene photos are displayed? I was hoping the Tosok taboo about internal matters would have worked in our favor there, but all Hask did was wave that topknot around in various patterns. The jury will never understand what those mean.”
“Don’t underestimate juries,” said Dale. “They’re a lot smarter than you might think. I’ll give you an example: I once handled a personal-injury case; not my normal thing, but it was for a friend. Our position was that the reason the person had been injured was because the car’s seat belt was faulty. Well, during our case, every time I mentioned that, I took off my glasses.” He demonstrated. “See? After I’d done that a few dozen times, the jury was conditioned. Then, whenever the automaker’s lawyer tried to point out alternative possible causes for the accident, I’d just take off my glasses. Never said a word, see, and there’s nothing in the transcript. But I’d take off my glasses, and the jury would be reminded of the faulty seat belt. We won 2.8 million in that case.”
“Wow.”
“If the jury can learn that ‘glasses coming off’ means ‘defective seat belt,’ it can also learn that ‘topknot waving side to side’ means Tosok laughter, or that ‘topknot lying flat’ means Tosok revulsion. Don’t worry, son. I think our jury knows Hask and the other Tosoks a lot better than you think they do.”
“So then we should put Hask on the stand.”
“Maybe… but it still worries me. Nine times out of ten, it’s a disaster, and—”
The door to Dale’s office opened, and Hask strode in. “I wish to testify,” he said at once, lowering his weight onto the single Tosok chair.
Dale and Frank exchanged glances. “I advise against it,” said Dale.
Hask was silent for a moment. “It is my decision to make.”
“Of course, of course,” said Dale. “But you’ve never seen a criminal case before; I’ve seen hundreds. It’s almost always a mistake for the defendant to take the stand.”
“Why? What chance is there that they will find me innocent if I do not testify?”
“No one ever knows what a jury is thinking.”
“That is not true. Your shadow jury has already voted to convict me, has it not?”
“No, it hasn’t.”
“You are lying.”
Dale nodded. “All right, all right. But even if it has, taking the stand is almost always the wrong move. You only do that when you have no other choice.”
“Such as now,” said Hask. As always, his natural voice rose as the words were spoken, making it impossible to tell if it was a question or a statement.
Dale sighed again. “I suppose. But you know that Linda Ziegler will let to cross-examine you?”
“I understand that.”
“And you still want to do it?”
“Yes.”
“All right,” said Dale, resigning himself to it. “But we’ll put you on the stand first.”
“Why first?” asked Hask.
“Because if Linda eviscerates you—forgive the metaphor—we’ll have the rest of our case-in-chief to try to recover.” Dale scratched his chin. “We should talk about your testimony—figure out what you’re going to say.”
“I am going to tell the truth, of course. The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”
Dale raised his eyebrows. “Really?”
“You cannot tell, can you?” said Hask.
“Tell that you’re innocent? Of course I believe that, Hask, but—”
“No, tell if I am telling the truth.”
“What? No. Aren’t you?”
Hask fell silent.
There was an even bigger-than-normal crowd of reporters outside the Criminal Courts Building the next morning. Many dozens of reporters shouted questions at Dale and Frank as they entered, but Dale said nothing. Inside the courtroom, the excitement was palpable.
Judge Pringle came in, said her usual good morning to the jurors and lawyers, and then looked at Dale. “The defense may now begin its case-in-chief,” she said.
Dale rose and moved to the lectern. He paused for a moment, letting the drama build, then, in that Darth Vader voice of his, he boomed out, “The defense calls Hask.”
The courtroom buzzed with excitement. Reporters leaned forward in their chairs.
“Just a second,” said Judge Pringle. “Hask, you are aware that you have an absolute constitutional right not to testify? No one can compel you to do so, if it is not your wish?”
Hask had already arisen from his special chair at the defense table. “I understand, Your Honor.”
“And no one has coerced you into testifying?”
“No one. In fact—” He fell silent.
Dale kept an expressionless face, but was relieved. At least he’d taught Hask something. He’d closed his mouth before he’d said “In fact, my lawyer advised me against testifying,” thank God.
“All right,” said Pringle. “Mr. Ortiz, please swear the witness in.” Hask made his way to the witness stand. As he did so, a court worker removed the human chair and replaced it with a Tosok one.
“Place your front hand on the Bible, please.” Hask did so. “You do solemnly swear or affirm,” said the clerk, “that the testimony you may give in the cause now pending before this Court shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”
“I do so affirm,” said Hask.
“Thank you. Be seated, and please state and spell your name for the record.”
“Hask, which I guess is H-A-S-K.”
“Mr. Rice,” said Judge Pringle, “you may proceed.”
“Thank you, Your Honor,” said Dale, slowly getting to his feet and making his way to the lectern. “Mr. Hask, what is your position aboard the Tosok starship?”
“My title was First.”
“ ‘First’—is that like ‘first officer’?”
“No. The First is the person who comes out of hibernation first. It was my job to deal with any in-flight emergencies, and also to be the first revived upon arrival at our destination, in order to determine if it was safe to revive the others.”
“So you are a very important member of the crew?”
“On the contrary, I am the most expendable.”
“The prosecution has suggested you had the opportunity to kill Dr. Calhoun. Did you have that opportunity?”
“I was not alone with him at the time he died.”
“But you can’t account for your presence during the entire window of opportunity for this crime.”
“I can account for it. I simply cannot prove the truth of the account. And there are others who had equal opportunity.”
“The prosecution has also suggested that you had the means to kill Dr. Calhoun. Specifically, that you used a monofilament carving tool to sever his leg. Would such a tool work for that purpose?”
“I suspect so, yes.”
“But a murder conviction requires more than just opportunity and means. It—”
“Objection. Mr. Rice is arguing his case.”
“Sustained.”
“What about motive, Hask? Did you have any reason to want to see Dr. Calhoun dead?”
Ziegler was on her feet. “Objection, Your Honor. CALJIC 2.51: ‘Motive is not an element of the crime charged and need not be shown.’ ”
“Overruled. I’ll present the jury instructions, counselor.”
“Hask, did you have any motive for wanting to see Dr. Calhoun dead?”
“None.”