“Mr. Forsythe, you can file your notice to appeal anytime you want, but there is no stay. We’re back in session in ten minutes.”
She gave Forsythe a moment to come back at her. When he didn’t, she ended the session.
“I think we’re finished here.”
On the way back to the courtroom, the defense team kept a steady separation of fifteen feet behind the state team. I bent over to whisper to Jennifer.
“You hit it out of the park,” I said. “We’re going to win this thing.”
She smiled proudly.
“Legal helped me with the talking points when I was driving him back last night. He’s still sharp as a razor.”
“You’re telling me. He’s still better than ninety percent of the lawyers in this courthouse.”
Up ahead in the hallway I saw Lankford holding the door to the courtroom open and waiting for us after Forsythe had gone through. We held each other’s eyes as I approached, and I took the door gesture as a signal. As an invitation. I touched Jennifer on the elbow and nodded for her to go ahead into the courtroom. I stopped when I got to Lankford. He was a smart guy. He knew the effort to stop the trial and stop me had failed. I gave him an opening because I still needed one side of the conspiracy to cave. And as often as I had crossed swords with Lankford, I wanted Marco to go down even more.
“I’ve got something you should take a look at,” I said.
“Not interested,” he said. “Keep moving, asshole.”
But there was no conviction in it. It was just his starting point in a negotiation.
“I think this is something you’ll be very interested in.”
He shrugged. He needed more in order to make the decision.
“And if you’re not interested, your pal Marco will be.”
Lankford nodded.
I went through the door and entered the courtroom. I saw Forsythe at the prosecution table. He had pulled out his phone and was making a call. I assumed it was to a supervisor or to somebody in the appellate unit. I didn’t much care which.
Lankford passed me and went to his seat at the rail. I went to the defense table and picked up the iPad I had borrowed from Lorna. I engaged the screen and cued up the video from the Sterghos house, then stepped over to the railing and put the device down on the empty seat next to Lankford as I brought my right foot up to tie my shoe. I whispered without looking at Lankford.
“Watch it to the end.”
As I stood up, I scanned the crowded courtroom. Word that Department 120 was where the action was had already spread through the courthouse. In addition to Moya’s men, who were in their usual spot, there were at least six members of the media in the first two rows, a variety of suited men I identified as fellow lawyers, and the highest concentration I’d seen in a long time of professional trial watchers — the retired, unemployed, and lonely who wander courthouses every day in search of human drama, pathos, and anguish. I wasn’t sure whether the draw was Marco’s appearance or the fact that the defendant had been nearly stabbed to death the evening before in the CCB’s basement, but the message had been transmitted and the people had come.
I spotted Marco four rows back. He sat next to a man in a suit who I assumed was his lawyer. Marco hadn’t bothered to dress for the occasion. He was wearing a black golf shirt and jeans again, the shirt tucked in so the gun holstered on his right hip was fully on display. The gunslinger look.
I decided that I needed to try to do something about that.
I looked down and saw that Lankford had already viewed the silent video and returned it to the empty seat. He sat there in what appeared to be a daze, perhaps understanding that his life was unalterably going to change before the end of this day. I brought my other shoe up onto the chair to tie. I bent down again, my eyes on Marco in the gallery as I whispered to Lankford.
“I want Marco, not you.”
41
The judge took the bench as promised and briefly eyed the number of people in the gallery.
“Are we ready for the jury?” she asked.
I stood to address the court.
“Your Honor, before we call the jury, I would like to address a couple of matters that have just now come up.”
“What is it, Mr. Haller?”
She said it with exasperation clearly in her voice.
“Well, Agent Marco is here presumably to testify as a witness called by the defense. I would like to request that I be allowed to treat him as a hostile witness and I would also ask that the court direct Agent Marco to remove the firearm he is wearing openly on his belt.”
“Let’s take these one at a time, Mr. Haller. First, you have called Agent Marco as a defense witness and he has so far not answered a single question. On what basis should you be allowed to treat your own witness as a hostile witness?”
Classifying a witness as hostile would allow me more freedom in questioning Marco. I could ask leading questions needing only a yes or no response.
“Your Honor, Agent Marco has sought to avoid testifying at this trial. He has even brought his lawyer with him today. Additionally, the one and only time I have met Agent Marco, he threatened me. I think that makes him, well, hostile.”
Forsythe stood to respond, as did Marco’s attorney, but the judge waved them off.
“Your request is denied. Let’s start the testimony and see how it goes. Now, what troubles you about Agent Marco’s sidearm?”
I asked if she could direct Marco to stand in the gallery so that she could see his gun. She agreed and ordered him to stand.
“Your Honor,” I said, “I believe that his wearing his weapon in such an open way is threatening and prejudicial.”
“He is a law enforcement officer,” Leggoe said. “And that will be established, I’m assuming, when he begins his testimony.”
“Yes, Judge, but he’s going to walk by the jury on his way to the stand looking like he’s Wyatt Earp. This is a courtroom, Judge, not the Old West.”
The judge thought for a moment and then shook her head.
“I’m unconvinced, Mr. Haller. I’m denying that request as well.”
I had hoped the judge would read between the lines and understand what I was seeking. I was going to push Marco out of his comfort zone and, depending on how things went, possibly even accuse him of murder. You never know how people are going to react, even law enforcement officers. I would have been far more comfortable knowing Marco was unarmed.
“Anything else, Mr. Haller? The jury has been most patient waiting on us.”
“Yes, Judge, one more thing. This morning I will call Agent Marco, followed by Investigator Lankford. I would ask that you instruct Mr. Lankford to remain in the courtroom so that I can ensure his testimony.”
“I will do no such thing. Mr. Lankford is expected to be where he should be, but I will not restrict his movements in the meantime. Let’s bring the jury in now.”
I glanced back at Lankford after the ruling and saw his cold-eyed stare trained fully on me.
The jury was finally seated, and the judge took five minutes to explain to them that the defendant would likely not be present for the rest of the trial. She said this was due to a hospitalization that had nothing to do with the trial or the case at hand. She admonished them not to let the defendant’s absence affect their deliberations or view of the trial in any way.
I then took my place at the lectern and called James Marco to the stand. The federal agent stood in the gallery and stepped forward with an undeniable confidence and ease in his stride.
After the preliminaries that identified him as a DEA agent and member of the ICE team, I quickly got down to the script I had worked out in my head during the sleepless night before.