“The witness will answer the questions asked,” said the judge, “without mention of what others may have told him.”
“Let me restate it,” said Jack. “You went there to check on McKenna, but not on official business.”
Vince shifted in his chair, and it obviously pained him not to be able to take a shot at Jamal. “Basically, yes.”
“You and McKenna’s father were friends?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“At that time, I’d say about seven years.”
“Since McKenna was in elementary school, then?”
“That sounds right.”
“Would you describe your relationship with McKenna as close?”
“She used to call me Uncle Vince, if that answers your question.”
“Would you say that she regarded you as someone she could trust?”
“Of course,” said Vince.
“Someone she could rely on?”
“There was nothing I wouldn’t have done for McKenna.”
“Someone who would tell the truth?”
“Objection,” said the prosecutor, rising.
“Overruled. The witness will answer.”
Vince paused, but Jack didn’t read it as any kind of confusion as to courtroom procedures. It was the question that had given him pause-Vince’s acute awareness that defense lawyers didn’t ask questions without a hidden agenda. “She certainly had no reason to think I was a liar,” said Vince.
“Exactly,” said Jack. “McKenna Mays had no reason to believe that her uncle Vince would lie to her. Correct?”
Again he hesitated, but Jack had left him little wiggle room. “I would say that’s true.”
Jack faced the judge. “With the court’s permission, I would like to play the answering machine recording of McKenna Mays. It’s the key piece of evidence in the state’s case against my client.”
“No objection,” said the prosecutor.
“All right, let’s hear it,” said the judge.
Neil came forward to help the judicial assistant find the CD among the grand jury materials. She marked it, inserted it into the player, and then waited for Jack’s cue.
“Just to set the stage,” said Jack. “Sergeant Paulo, can you tell us exactly where you were at the time of this recording.”
Vince was slow to respond. “I was in her bedroom,” he said, his tone forced, as if it were a struggle not to get emotional.
Jack knew that these were painful memories for him, but seeing his reaction-and knowing that he had no choice but to take him down this road-was almost equally painful for Jack. “Where was McKenna?”
“On the floor,” he said softly. “I knelt at her side, and raised her head up.”
Jack wished he didn’t have to ask the next question. “How was McKenna doing at this point?”
“Not well,” he said, and the words hit Jack sharply, as if Vince had reached inside his tormented self and told Jack, “Up yours for asking.”
“She’d been stabbed?”
“Several times,” Vince said. His voice almost cracked, but he drew a deep breath, and he sounded like a cop again. “She had defensive wounds on her hands, and a large puncture wound to her rib cage that was spewing bloody foam from her lungs. She was also bleeding heavily from a slash across the left side of her neck. Her pulse was weak. When I called her name, her eyes opened, but her body was going cold. I pulled a blanket from the bed and covered her, tore a sheet into bandages and applied them to the wounds. It didn’t do much good.”
“Was that when you dialed nine-one-one?”
“Redialed. I had already called once, and the second time was to find out what was taking so long. Then I noticed that McKenna was trying to say something.”
“So you hung up and dialed your answering machine?”
“At this point…” He paused and gathered himself. “It looked bad for McKenna. My law enforcement instincts took over. If she was going to tell me what happened, I wanted to have a record of it. I was in no position to take notes and didn’t have a recording device. The idea popped into my head to get it on my answering machine. So that’s what I did.”
Jack gave him a moment, then signaled to the judicial assistant. “Let’s listen,” said Jack.
The assistant hit PLAY, and after brief static, there was noise on the line, probably the sound of Vince holding the phone to McKenna’s lips. Then in a faint voice, the victim spoke:
“Tell me,” she whispered. “Am I dying?”
“No, sweetheart,” said Vince. “You’re gonna be just fine.”
Jack paused the recording.
“That’s the first time you told her she was not going to die-correct, Sergeant?”
Vince seemed momentarily confused, as if he hadn’t expected the question. “Yes,” he said.
“Thank you,” said Jack, and then he glanced back at his client. Jamal was staring at the carpet, his forehead resting on the table’s edge, as if it were all unbearable. The recording resumed.
“Really?” said McKenna.
“Who did this to you?” said Vince.
“Am I going to die?”
“No, McKenna. You’re going to be fine. Who did this?”
Jack paused the recording again. “Sergeant, am I correct that this is the second time you told her she was not going to die?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you,” said Jack, and the recording continued with McKenna’s ever-weakening voice.
“You really think I’m going to be okay?”
“Yes, it’s not your time. I saw much worse than this in Iraq, and they’re all fine. Tell me who did this to you.”
Jack hit PAUSE once more.
“Sergeant Paulo, that makes three times that you told her she was not going to die.”
“Yes.”
“In less than a minute.”
Vince swallowed hard, seeming to sense where this was headed. “I
… yes.”
“And after you gave her those three separate assurances, you asked her, ‘Who did this to you?’ ”
“I believe so.”
“And her answer was ‘Jamal.’ ”
“That’s correct.”
Jack glanced over his shoulder at his client, and their eyes met. Jamal looked scared, terrified, really. Jack wasn’t sure if he looked innocent, but he didn’t look guilty, either. If he had, Jack wouldn’t have found the strength to go on.
He took a step closer to the witness. “Your intention was to make McKenna believe that she was not going to die,” said Jack.
“She was scared. So scared she couldn’t even talk.”
“Scared of dying, right?”
“Yes.”
“So you told her she was not going to die.”
“Right.”
“Three times.”
“Only so she wouldn’t be scared.”
