“Oh, Ronnie,” she mumbled. He had kept himself entirely out of the fray. He didn’t know why Alex was talking to Miroballi, he was going to say. He didn’t participate in a cover-up of the crime. Sure.
She looked up at Morphew.
“Sorry, Counselor,” he said, and she sensed that, on some level, he meant it.
“You’ve been recording everything all along?”
“Actually, no. We really don’t do that as much as we should.” He shrugged. “I got to thinking that somebody must have helped your guy. I mean, we never found the gun. Where could he have put it that we didn’t look? That meant Ronnie. So a few weeks ago, I got the bright idea. Only Ronnie hadn’t been coming around. He stormed in last night and we were ready for him.”
“But he didn’t admit to disposing of the weapon.”
“No, he didn’t.”
She waved the paper in her hand. “Have you given me everything on this kid, Dan? You’re expecting me to believe that this all came about as a hunch?”
“I am. Because it’s true.” He leaned into her. “You think I’m going to withhold evidence from you? That’s not a smart career move.” He straightened again. “We’ve been by the book all along, Shelly, and you know it. C’mon, let’s go talk to Petey.”
They went to the judge. Shelly objected to the “ambush” but she had no chance. The prosecution was entitled to continue their investigation. They had just come upon this tape, and it spawned an interrogation of Ronnie Masters. He waived the right to counsel-Shelly had been provided the waiver as well-and ultimately had secured the services of the public defender to work out a deal.
“I’ll allow a brief continuance, Ms. Trotter,” the judge offered. “After we finish our witnesses today.”
Only twenty minutes ago, she had said the words to Alex-that she would put Todavia in that alley, the gun in his hand. Nobody, besides a homeless man, would say otherwise. It was a good case. And now this.
She got up from the chair in a daze. She felt like she’d been hit over the head with a brick. She had only one thing going for her.
Ronnie had made the decision easier for her.
She was allowed all of five minutes to show this to Alex. “Thank God,” he said, when he learned that Ronnie was off scot-free. “There’s no way Ronnie gets in trouble now?”
“That’s right. Tell me what’s true and what’s not,” she said, referring to the numbered paragraphs that would constitute Ronnie’s principal testimony.
He reread the allegations and looked at Shelly. “Every word of this is true.”
She felt like the floor had collapsed beneath her. She was back at the bottom of the mountain again.
“We still can say self-defense,” Alex offered. “This doesn’t say it wasn’t self-defense.”
“Let’s proceed,” said the judge as the jurors took their seats. “See what we can get in before lunch.”
“The People call Julio Sanchez,” said Morphew.
68
“My name is Julio Edgar Sanchez.” Ray Miroballi’s partner was in uniform, his hat in his lap. The sizeable witness stand, the high railing, dwarfed him. His hair was neatly combed; his skin was smooth and almost glossy, possibly the result of perspiration. This would be a tough memory for the officer, and his encounter with Shelly when she accosted him had not been the most pleasant, either. All in all, there were probably many places Sanchez would rather be.
Dan Morphew was comfortable directing police officers, something that came with every case. He moved with efficiency through the essentials-shield number, years on the force, assignment to the second precinct of Area Four.
“Ray was my partner for three years,” said Sanchez.
Shelly had to continually work her way out of the avalanche that had just fallen on her. Ronnie Masters would put the gun in Alex’s hand, when no other credible evidence could have. Ronnie had turned on Alex out of fear. And Alex was letting him.
“Take you to February eleventh of this year, Officer.” Morphew now used the lectern centered between the prosecution and defense table, but moved behind it so the defense could look at the jury, and vice versa. Shelly had continually reminded Alex that the jurors would sneak glances at him throughout the trial, not seeking confrontation but wanting to look at the person they were judging.
“We got started that day at one o’clock. We worked the precinct.”
“You were patrolmen.”
He nodded.
“Officer, an audible answer, please.”
“Yes, we were patrolmen. We drove a patrol car. Squad Thirteen.”
“What was your shift?”
“One to nine.”
“And describe the day for us, Officer. February eleventh.”
“Well, I can’t remember every detail, y’know. But it was a normal day. We drove around the second.”
“The second precinct?”
“Right, the second precinct.” Sanchez described the boundaries of the second precinct in Area Four. The precinct included such neighborhoods as the Andujar projects on the west side and the city’s downtown.
“We made a couple arrests that day, I’m pretty sure. Like every day. Nothing big happened, though. Not until later.”
“And what happened around seven-thirty that evening, Officer?”
“We were by the train station. Ray said he wanted to head over to the City Athletic Club. We were going to pay a visit to his confidential informant.”
“Now, when you-”
“Objection.” Shelly got to her feet. “Move to strike based on lack of foundation, your Honor. This witness has no idea about any confidential informant.”
The judge nodded. “Lay the foundation, Counsel,” he said to Morphew.
“Yes, Judge.” Morphew pointed at Alex. “Officer, before the night of the shooting, had you ever seen the defendant before?”
She could object to that, too, but she didn’t want to show her hand.
“Yeah, I saw him a couple of times before.”
“Describe these times.”
“Ray met with the kid a couple of times.”
“Where? When?”
“They met at Abbott Park. It’s down south of the commercial district. I think the first time was right around Thanksgiving-”
Right. The first time Alex had met with Miroballi was November 24 of last year.
“-and the second was, I think, beginning of December.”
Also correct. December 1, 2003, was the second time they had met.
“I went with him. Ray said you never knew with a confidential informant. He said he wanted some backup just in case.”
“Object to the hearsay,” said Shelly.
Morphew was prepared on this point, naturally. These were critical facts for him. “These statements go to state of mind. They aren’t offered for the truth of the statements. They’re offered for the fact that they were made.”
“I’ll allow them,” said the judge.
“Judge.” Shelly was on her feet. “State of mind, at this point, has no relevance. This is a thinly veiled attempt to establish-”
“I said that I will allow it, Counsel. Your objection is overruled.”
The word on Judge Dominici was that he was a prosecutor’s judge. Most, but not all, former prosecutors who assumed the bench were. This didn’t mean that they jumped up and down and applauded the prosecutor and booed and hissed at the defense attorney. It was always more subtle. Subtle, as in, at a critical evidentiary juncture of the case, you go the prosecutor’s way.
The judge was wrong on this, and she had to make her case for the court of appeals. She argued, despite the judge’s attempt to close debate, for the better part of a minute.
“You are overruled,” the judge repeated.
“So I watched from my car,” Sanchez continued at Morphew’s prompting. “Both times. Alex over there and Ray talked for a while. Then Ray would go back to his car and I’d go home, too.”
“On each of those days, Officer, did you ask Ray afterward what had happened?”
“Yeah.”
“And what-what information did he give you?”