Alex was unfazed. “The last thing I want in this case is a mistrial. All I did was ask the witness if he knew the man in the back of the courtroom.”
“Which,” Bradshaw said, “is totally irrelevant since we agreed he’s not going to be a witness. Now I’m the one who has to ask for a mistrial. There’s no way to predict how the jury will interpret what just happened. We’ve got no choice but to start over with a new jury.”
“That’s a load of crap, Your Honor.”
Judge West pointed his gavel at Alex. “I won’t have that language in my courtroom, Counsel.”
“My apologies, but Mr. Bradshaw couldn’t be more wrong. If you’ll let me proceed, I’ll demonstrate the relevance.”
Judge West peered at her over the top of his glasses. “You better do just that, and if you don’t, I’ll reconsider Mr. Bradshaw’s request for a mistrial.” He turned to the jury. “Ladies and gentlemen. A trial is a lot like live television. You never know what’s going to happen. As I instructed you at the beginning of this trial, you are to keep an open mind until you have heard all of the evidence and I have instructed you regarding the law in this case. The only evidence you may consider is from the testimony of the witnesses and the exhibits that are admitted into evidence. You shall not consider anything else, including that man’s sudden departure from the courtroom. The witness will answer Ms. Stone’s question.”
Jameer Henderson was slumped in the witness chair, wringing his hands. He looked up when the judge told him to answer.
“Mr. Henderson,” Alex said, “who was that man?”
Henderson answered, his voice soft and shaky. “I can’t say.”
“You’ll have to speak up so the jury can hear you.”
“I can’t say.”
“Because you don’t know or you’re afraid to say?” Henderson hesitated, shifting his attention from Alex to his wife, who was struggling to compose herself. “I can see that you’re concerned about your wife. Is that because of this man?”
Henderson shook his head again. “I can’t say.”
The courtroom, though built during the Depression, had been renovated and equipped with the latest technology, including television monitors the lawyers could use to display exhibits. There was a small monitor at each counsel table and at the judge’s bench and a larger one for the jury and the witness.
Grace Canfield connected her laptop so that its screen would appear on all the monitors, gave Alex a thumbs-up, and pushed a button on her laptop, filling the monitors with a photograph of the man who’d just run from the courtroom. Judge West came out of his seat and slammed his gavel onto his bench.
“This court is in recess. The jury is excused and I will see counsel in my chambers. Now!”
Chapter Four
Judge West’s chambers were a judicial man cave, all dark leather and brass-button upholstered furniture, a burnished oak desk, and matching bookcases jammed with volumes of case reporters and statutes, one wall reserved for pictures with politicians and hunting buddies, his personal hall of fame.
He planted himself in his desk chair, not realizing he’d brought his gavel with him. He tossed it onto his desk next to a wood carving of a judge grasping a pair of holstered six-guns strapped around his robe, Overruled etched on a brass plate at the base. He gripped his chin with one hand, tugged on his flabby jowls, and opened fire.
“Alex, what in the hell is going on? The minute that man walked into my courtroom, I called you and Tommy to the bench and asked if either one of you knew who he was. You obviously knew but you didn’t tell me. I don’t like it when lawyers lie to me.”
“I didn’t lie, Your Honor. You wanted to make sure he wasn’t going to be a witness. I wasn’t going to call him, and Tommy said he wasn’t going to either. I thought that covered it.”
“You know better than that!” Judge West said, thumping his hand on his desk. “When I ask you a question, I goddamn well expect a direct and truthful answer! If this was the first time you’d pulled a stunt like this, I’d let it slide, but I’m getting damn tired of it!”
Bradshaw saw his chance. “The problem, Judge, is that by flashing this man’s picture all over the courtroom, she’s made a bad situation worse. You’ve already told the jury to disregard him, and now she’s made that impossible.”
Alex held up her hand. “Hang on, hang on. First, Your Honor, I apologize for not answering your question more directly. I didn’t mean to mislead the court. Second, Tommy is the last person who should be complaining about the jury being shown pictures. Third, if you’d let me finish my cross-examination of the witness, you’ll see the relevance. If the witness refuses to answer, I’ll call my investigator, Grace Canfield, to testify. She’s on my witness list and she took that photograph and a number of others of the same man.”
“You had him under surveillance? Why?”
“We had Mr. Henderson under surveillance. His statement was the strongest evidence the prosecution had. I’ve represented people from that neighborhood for years, and nobody snitches. Yet this guy walked into the East Patrol station and fingered my client for murder ten days after the fact. I knew there was no way I’d get the truth just by asking him, so I had Grace keep an eye on him. I wanted to know as much about him as I could.”
Judge West leaned back in his chair and threw up his hands. “All right. But I’ve got one other question and I want a straight-up answer. Did you know this mystery man was going to be in the courtroom?”
Alex grinned. “No, sir, I just got lucky.”
When they returned to the courtroom, Kalena Greene was standing in the row behind Jameer Henderson and his family, her hands on their shoulders. Jameer was comforting his wife and holding his children in his lap. He eased them onto the pew, and Kalena led him back to the witness stand.
The bailiff brought the jury in. Grace Canfield put the man’s photograph back on the monitors and handed Alex a remote control for the laptop.
Alex acted as though nothing had happened. “Before the break, Mr. Henderson, I asked you if you knew the man who ran out of the courtroom. You told me that you couldn’t say, so let me try it another way. You see the photograph of the man displayed on the monitors?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you agree that the man in this photograph is the same man who came into the courtroom with your wife and children and then ran out the door?”
“Yeah.”
Alex pointed the remote at the laptop, clicking through to the next photograph. “And is that a photograph of the same man going into your barbershop?”
Henderson hung his head. “Yeah.”
Alex clicked again. “And is that a photograph of the same man coming out of your house on Garfield?”
“Yeah.”
Another click. “And is that a photograph of the same man talking to your wife and kids at a playground near your house? It looks like he’s got his hands on the backs of your children’s necks. Is that what it looks like to you?”
Henderson flinched. “Y’all can see for yourself.”
“Yes, I can. Now, you know who this man is, don’t you?”
“Yeah, but you don’t unnerstand! You don’t know what it’s like!”
“Then help me understand. Tell the jury who this man is.”
Henderson twisted and turned in his chair. “His name is Kyrie Chapman.”
“And who is Kyrie Chapman?”
“He’s a cousin to Wilfred.”
“Wilfred Donaire, the murder victim?”
“Yeah.”
“Why didn’t you want to tell the jury his name?”
Henderson turned to the judge, his eyes wet. “I got to answer that?”
Judge West didn’t hesitate. “You do.”
Henderson squirmed, looking for a way out, then cast another pained look at his wife, who wiped her eyes and nodded at him. He nodded back at her, letting out a resigned sigh.
“Kyrie come in my shop after Wilfred got killed. He said. .
Bradshaw interrupted. “Objection. Hearsay as to what Kyrie Chapman told him.”