'Protection. He was who I was stayin' with before I took up with Vince.
He don't... didn't like Vince, and Vince was scared of John John.'
'Did John John take you in?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Let's move to the day that you killed Mr. Phillips. Can you tell the jury what happened around four-thirty in the afternoon?'
'Yes, sir. I'd been at John John's for about two weeks and I guess I was starting to feel safe, so I went out for a walk. The next thing I knew, Vince's car screeched up beside me and he jumped out and yanked me in it by my hair.'
'Did you resist?'
Harwood shook her head slowly. She looked ashamed.
'It happened too quick. One second I was on the street, then I was on the floor of the car. Every time I tried to get up he'd pull my hair or hit me. Finally, I just stayed still.'
'What happened when you got to his house?'
'He drug me into the bedroom.'
'Please describe Mr. Phillips's bedroom.'
'It's real big with this king-size water bed in the middle and mirrors on the ceiling. There's a stereo and big- screen TV. And its weird.
Vince painted it black and there are these black curtains around the bed.'
'What happened in the bedroom?'
'He . . . He ripped off all my clothes. Just ripped them.'
Harwood started to cry. 'I fought, but I couldn't do nothin'. He was too big. After a while I just gave up. Then . . . then, he . . .'
'It's okay Marie,' Knapp said. 'Just take your time.'
Harwood took two deep breaths. Then, in a trembling voice, she said, 'Vince made me get down on my knees. Then he put cocaine on his . . . his thing. I begged him. I didn't want to do it, but Vince just laughed. He grabbed me by the hair and made me... I... I had to suck it .. .'
Harwood broke down again. Her testimony was getting to Tracy and she wondered how the jurors were handling it. While the defendant regained her composure, Tracy glanced toward the jury box. The jurors were pale and tight-lipped. Tracy looked over at Abbie Griffen and was surprised to see the deputy district attorney sitting quietly, and apparently unconcerned, while Harwood stole her jury.
'What happened next?' Knapp asked when Harwood stopped crying.
'Vince raped me,' she answered quietly. 'He done it a couple of times.
In between, he'd beat me. And . . . and all the time he was screamin' at me on how he was gonna kill me and cut me up.'
'Did he tell you what he would use?'
'Yes, sir. He had a straight razor and he brung it out and held it to my face. I squeezed my eyes tight, 'cause I didn't want to see it, but he slapped me in the face till I opened them.'
'After he raped you the last time, what happened?'
'Vince fell asleep.'
'How did you finally escape?'
'It was the razor,' Harwood said, shuddering. 'He left it on the bed and forgot. And . . . and I took it, and I . . .'
Harwood's eyes lost focus. She ran a hand along her cheek.
'I didn't mean to kill him. I just didn't want him to hurt me anymore.'
She turned pleading eyes toward the jury. 'It was almost an accident. I didn't even know the razor was there until I touched it. When I picked it up off of the bed Vince's eyes opened and I was so scared, I just did it. Right under his chin is all I remember.'
Harwood started to gulp air.
'Do you need a break, Miss Harwood?' Judge Dial asked, afraid Harwood might faint or hyperventilate.
The witness shook her head. Tears coursed down her cheeks.
'Marie,' Knapp asked gently, 'you've seen the autopsy photos. Mr.
Phillips was cut many times on his body. Do you remember doing that?'
'No, sir. I just remember the first one, then it's a blank. But . . . but I probably done that. I just can't picture it.'
'And why did you kill Mr. Phillips?'
'To get away. Just to get away, so he wouldn't hurt me no more. And .
. . and the cocaine. I didn't want to be a slave to the cocaine no more. That's all. But I didn't mean to kill him.'
Harwood buried her head in her hands and sobbed. Knapp looked at Griffen with contempt. In a tone that suggested a dare, he said, 'Your witness, Counselor.'
Just before Griffen rose to begin her cross-examination, the courtroom door opened. Tracy looked over her shoulder and saw Matthew Reynolds slip into a vacant seat in the rear of the court next to a prim gray-haired woman. As he sat down, the woman glanced toward him, then flushed and snapped her head back toward the front of the courtroom.
Tracy could understand the woman's reaction, but it angered her. She supposed that Reynolds was used to those shocked first impressions and had conditioned himself to ignore them. Tracy's own reaction to seeing Reynolds was not one of shock or disgust, but of awe. If she could pick any job in the country, it would be as Matthew Reynolds's associate, but Reynolds had responded to her employment inquiry with a tersely worded letter that informed her that his firm was not hiring.
Reynolds was America's most famous criminal defense attorney and his specialty was defending against death penalty prosecutions. He was a strange-looking man who had been battling the grim reaper in courtrooms across America for so long that he was starting to resemble his adversary. Six-five and gaunt to the point of caricature, Reynolds seemed always on the verge of collapsing from the weight he bore on his frail shoulders. Though he was only forty-five, his hair was ash gray and had receded well back from his high forehead. His paper- thin skin stretched taut across sunken cheeks and a narrow, aquiline nose. The skin was as pale as bleached bone, except for an area that was covered by a broad hemangioma, a wine-red birthmark that started at the hairline above Reynolds's left eye, extended downward over his cheek and faded out above his upper lip. You would have thought that jurors would be put off by Reynolds's odd looks, but by trial's end they usually forgot them. His sincerity had been known to move jurors to tears. No one he represented had ever been executed.
Griffen started her cross-examination and Tracy turned back to the front of the courtroom.
'Do you feel up to continuing, Miss Harwood?' Griffen asked solicitously.
'I'm . . . I'm okay,' Harwood answered softly.
'Then let me start with some simple questions while you regain your composure. And anytime you want me to stop, just say so. Or if you don't understand a question, just tell me, because I don't want to trick you. Okay?'
Harwood nodded.
'When you were living with Mr. Phillips, it wasn't all bad times, was it?'
'I guess not. I mean, sometimes he could be sweet to me.'
'When he was being sweet, what did you do together?'
'Drugs. We did a lot of drugs. We partied.'
'Did you go out together?'
'Not a lot.'
'When you did, what did you do?':
'Vince liked movies. We'd see lots of movies.'
'What kind did Vince like?'
'Uh, karate movies. Action movies.'
'Did you like them?'
'No, ma'am. I like comedy movies and romantic ones.'
