“Thank you very much, Ms. Stoddard.”
Shelly took her seat. Alex leaned into her and said, “That last part was better.”
“Thanks.”
“You never at any time saw the officer brandish his firearm, did you?” Dan Morphew had barely waited for Shelly to make it to her seat to begin his redirect examination.
“No, I can’t say that I specifically recall that.”
“And you can’t sit here and tell us, with any certainty whatsoever, that the officer was even reaching for his weapon when the shot was fired.”
“No, I can’t.”
“Nor can you tell us what the officer was seeing if, in fact, he did reach for his weapon.”
“I couldn’t see what he was seeing, no.”
“You can’t tell us, for example, whether the officer-if in fact he did reach for his weapon-whether the officer did that because the young man in the alley had pulled a gun on him.”
“Objection.” For this one, Shelly stood. “That question assumes facts not in evidence, your Honor.” She pointed at Monica Stoddard. “This witness never said that a ‘young man’ pulled a gun or shot anyone. There has been no testimony about who did that shooting. This witness specifically said that this ‘young man,’ whoever it was, left her line of vision and did not return.”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” said Morphew, as if the point were elementary. “It’s an inference clearly drawn from the evidence.”
The judge stared at Morphew a moment. “The objection is sustained. Rephrase it, Counsel.”
Morphew adjusted his stance a bit to show displeasure, then framed his hands. “Ms. Stoddard, if we were to assume-assume-that Officer Miroballi was reaching for his weapon just before he was shot-you couldn’t tell us if he did that in response to someone pulling a gun on him.”
“No, I have no idea.”
“And we know that someone did shoot the officer, right?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you, ma’am. That’s all.”
“No recross,” Shelly said.
“Let’s take five minutes,” the judge said. “Mr. Morphew, do you have your next witness ready?”
“Judge, we do-could I beg for ten minutes?”
“Okay. Ten minutes.”
“Julio Sanchez,” Morphew said to the bailiff. Then he hustled out of the courtroom.
66
Shelly closed the door behind her. She and Alex were in the evidence room on the side of the courtroom. The prosecution was in charge of custody of the evidence and brought it into the courtroom every day. It served as a confidential meeting place for an attorney and client with a short break.
“Sit there.” She pointed to a chair. She positioned herself on the table, which was holding various exhibits. “I am going to handle this in the way that I think is best. You can give me your opinion and I’ll take it under advisement. But I make the trial strategy.” She patted her chest. “If you don’t like it, you can fire me. Try. Tell the judge you want to fire me. See if he lets you, at this late date.”
“I told you,” he answered. “I won’t let you say that Ronnie or Todavia did this.”
“I haven’t. I’m laying the groundwork. We can decide later.”
Alex brought his hands to his face.
“These people want to execute you, Alex.”
He opened his hands, silently pleading. They stared at each other a moment before he finally spoke.
“I did it, Shelly. I’m the one who shot him.” He held up his right hand. “God as my witness. I shot him.”
His voice had a different quality to it. Deeper yet quieter, as if he were confiding in her. At that moment, she believed him. She had ample reason not to, but she did.
She moved to him, knelt down so she was face-to-face with Alex in his chair.
“I don’t care,” she told him. “Let’s put Todavia next to you in that alley. The jury will be happy to go that way.” She took his hands in hers. “Don’t you see this, Alex? At most, the only person who puts that gun in your hand is a homeless man with mental and social problems. I’ll do what I need to do to him. All you have to say is Eddie Todavia did it and”-she took a breath-“you could walk out of that courtroom.”
He pulled his hands away and got out of the chair, moving around her. He moved to the door and put his hand on it. “And then what?” he asked.
“Then what?” She got to her feet.
“I have more than myself to think about.” He turned around to her. “I accuse Todo of killing this cop and what happens to Angela? What happens to Ronnie?”
She nodded. “He’s a Cannibal, you mean.”
“Shit.” Alex shook his head. His face was crimson. A sheen cast over his eyes. “I just”-his voice cracked; he swallowed hard-“I just got away from this guy.” He began to pace the small room. “I can’t go back to that. You get me out of one death sentence and into another one.”
“I would take care of Angela.” The words startled her, both because she was acknowledging the possible outcome of this case and because-well, she meant it. Angela was not technically her flesh and blood but Ronnie hadn’t made that distinction, and so neither would she.
Alex, whether from relief or fear, broke down. He collapsed in the chair, head in his hands, and wept like she had never seen a boy cry. The tremble of his body, the sounds of anguish emanating from this boy, had the opposite effect on Shelly, emboldened her to action. She gave him his space, taking note of the time-they only had another minute or two, at most. Then she moved to him, knelt beside him again.
“I’m going to help you with Angela either way, Alex. Either way. I’ll do whatever I have to do to make sure that Eddie Todavia never lays a glove on your family.”
“One stupid mistake,” he said. She didn’t know what he meant. It was as if he hadn’t heard what she had said.
She wasn’t following. What mistake did he mean?
“What did you mean before?” she asked him. “You just got away from Todavia. What does that mean?”
It took Alex a moment to calm. He looked up at her, his face washed out, streaked with tears. “The car I hot-wired,” he said. “When I was a freshman?”
Right. Okay. Ronnie had helped Alex out of that. Saved his life, Alex had said. He had hot-wired the wrong guy’s car-
“It was Todavia’s car you took,” she said.
Alex nodded his head. “I didn’t know it was his. But I was the driver. I was the one everyone knew about. Man, of all people, I hot-wired the car of a C-Street Cannibal.”
“He was going to kill you,” she said. “Ronnie talked him out of it.”
“But nothing’s for free.”
“He put you to work for him. He made you sell drugs for him. Oh, Alex.”
Me and Alex is all good. Eddie Todavia had nodded at Alex when he said that yesterday. Alex had nodded back. Now she got it.
Alex opened his hands. “He beat the piss out of Ronnie and then he told me that if I would work for him, he’d let me skate.”
“But that was freshman year. You didn’t start selling until 2003, right? Sophomore year.”
“Todo got busted, like, a month after this happened. It bought me a year. Ten months. Whatever. But he had a good memory. He had moved out to the west side after he served his time. He said he could use a white kid to sell to the professionals that don’t want to come out to his ’hood to score. He also said he’d heard I had a daughter now.” He deflated. “I got the point.”
Shelly stood again, reached for the wall to steady herself. “So you started selling drugs to settle a debt to Todavia.”
He nodded. “I liked the money, too. I admit it. But yeah, that’s how it started.”
“And what Todavia said in court yesterday-you were ‘all good’-he was saying the debt was paid now. He screwed you in court so he felt he owed you one.”
Alex took a deep breath, settled now. “Yeah. I’m free of him now. You go after him, he’ll come back harder.”