“He was interested enough in my cab driver,” Tracy said.
Steve Winslow looked at her. His eyes widened. “Son of a bitch.”
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Tracy said.
Mark Taylor looked from one to the other. “You’ll pardon me,” he said, “but I’m not sure what either of you are thinkin’.”
“I don’t know if we should tell you, Mark,” Steve said. “You might not like it.”
Taylor exhaled, rubbed his head. “Hell,” he said. “I hate it already.”
44
Steve Winslow checked his watch. “All set?”
Tracy Garvin nodded. “Yeah.” She dropped the quarter in the pay phone on the corner of Broadway and 72nd Street, referred to her steno pad, and punched in a number.
Moments later a voice said, “District Attorney’s office.”
Tracy raised the steno pad and began reading in a clipped, urgent voice. “Got a tip on the Dearborn case. Don’t put me on hold, don’t transfer me and don’t try to trace this call…. Don’t try it, buddy or I’ll hang up,” Tracy said, raising her voice to drown out the interruption. “I’m talking, you can listen or not. It’s the boyfriend, Larry Cunningham. The one she had dinner with. The defense is trying to keep him off the stand. You know why? She practically told him she was going to do it. She said when she saw him in court she freaked out. The guy framed her and got her fired. Just ’cause he was miffed at her for dumping him. She said it wasn’t enough to beat him in court, she wanted to see him dead.
“That’s right, now shut up. You want to hear this or not? This guy Cunningham, they’re acting like he’s going to be a witness for the defense. But the fact is, they want no part of him. ’Cause the guy’s a wimp, he hasn’t got the nerve to lie, and if he ever got on the stand, he’d panic and spill his guts.
“The kicker is, they don’t dare put him on the stand, because Cunningham knows the lawyer found Amy at the scene of the crime and sent her home to build up an alibi by taking a later cab.
“Never mind who I am, I’m just not going to let that little bitch get away with it.”
Tracy Garvin slammed down the phone, looked up at Steve Winslow. “How was I?”
Steve looked at his watch. “Just great. But the call went thirty seconds over. As our attorney, I would strongly advise us to get the hell out of here.”
45
Judge Wylie frowned down from the bench. “I’m not sure I understand this.”
Dirkson could hardly contain himself. “It’s perfectly simple, Your Honor. A matter has come up which requires our immediate attention. An allegation has been made that is so grave that I can scarcely believe it. But, if true, it alters the whole complexion of this trial.”
“Be that as it may,” Judge Wylie said. “The fact is, we have a witness on the stand who is yet to be cross-examined.”
“I ask that he be withdrawn from the stand in order that I call another witness.”
Judge Wylie frowned. “Your intention is to deny the defense attorney his right to cross-examine?”
“It’s not important,” Dirkson said.
Judge Wylie’s eyes widened. “Not important?”
Dirkson held up his hand. “No, no. I don’t mean that. I just mean I don’t want to go off on a tangent. Yes, of course he has the right to cross-examine. He can cross-examine him later to his heart’s content. If it ever comes to that.”
“If it ever comes to that?” Judge Wylie said.
Dirkson took a breath. “Your Honor,” he said. “It has come to my attention that evidence in this case may have been tampered with. It is possible that there has been a systematic attempt on the part of the defense to simulate events that did not in fact happen, and by so doing to attempt to manufacture an alibi for the defendant.”
“That is a very serious charge. I hope you are prepared to substantiate it.” He held up his hand. “Don’t get me wrong. I don’t mean to say I hope the defense is guilty of an impropriety. I mean if you are making a charge like that, you’d better have something to back it up.”
“I have, Your Honor,” Dirkson said. “Which is why I would like to withdraw this witness.”
“I would imagine the defense would have something to say about that.”
“I have, Your Honor,” Steve Winslow said. “I have not waived my right to cross-examine this witness, and I certainly don’t intend to do so now. I say, call in the jury and return the witness, to the stand.”
“There you are, Your Honor,” Dirkson said. “Just what you’d expect. Knowing what I have in mind, the defense will use any stalling tactic it possibly can. If you return this witness to the stand, the ensuing cross-examination will take all day.”
“I assure you it will not,” Steve said.
“That’s not the point,” Judge Wylie said, irritably. “There’s no limit on cross-examination as long as new subjects are being raised. If they are not, Mr. Dirkson, you can object on the grounds that the question has already been asked and answered. Such objections would be sustained and such tactics would be recognized for what they are. And should they persist, they should be considered contempt of court. So there’s nothing to worry about in that regard, and no reason at all to disrupt the orderly process of this trial. Unless you have any further objection, I intend to return the witness to the stand.”
“You’re inviting a filibuster,” Dirkson blurted.
Judge Wylie’s face darkened. “I believe I have made my position clear. Mr. Dirkson, do you have anything else?”
“No, Your Honor.”
“Fine. Bring in the jury and return the witness to the stand.”
When the jurors had been seated and Jerome Keddie was once more on the witness stand, Judge Wylie said, “Mr. Keddie, yesterday you completed your direct examination. Now is the time for the defense to cross-examine. May I remind you that you are still under oath. Mr. Winslow?”
Steve Winslow stood up. “Thank you, Your Honor.” He walked over to the witness box and looked at the cab driver. He paused dramatically. Then he looked over at the jury. Then back at the witness. Then up at the judge. “No questions, Your Honor.”
There was a gasp from the spectators.
Harry Dirkson’s mouth fell open.
Judge Wylie’s eyebrows raised.
Only the jurors, who had not been present for the argument, didn’t realize what a shock that was. They looked at each other, wondering what was going on.
“Very well,” Judge Wylie said. “The witness is excused. Call your witness, Mr. Dirkson.”
Dirkson was confused by this turn of events, but not enough to deter him from his course. “Call Larry Cunningham,” he said.
Cunningham, giving every indication of resenting being there, entered from the back of the court and strode up the aisle. He took the oath, sat on the witness stand, and glared down at the prosecutor.
“Mr. Cunningham,” Dirkson said. “Are you acquainted with the defendant, Amy Dearborn?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Did you have occasion to see her on the night of June tenth?”
“I have seen her on several occasions.”
“I’m sure you have, Mr. Cunningham. But I’m asking you about this particular one. So allow me to refresh your memory. This was the night Frank Fletcher was killed. The night Amy Dearborn was arrested. I’m asking you if you happened to see her on that date?”
“Yes, I did.”
“You had dinner with her on that occasion?”
“That’s right.”
“And where did this dinner take place?”
“At the Abbey Pub.”
“And just what is the Abbey Pub?”
“It’s a small bar/restaurant on 105th Street.”
“West 105th Street?”
“That’s right.”
“Would that be in the defendant’s neighborhood?”
“Yes, it would.”
“Where does she live?”
“On 107th.”
“Did you pick her up there to go to the restaurant?”
“Yes, I did.”
“What time was that?”
“Sometime between six-thirty and seven o’clock.”