“You’re telling this jury you were just so head over heels in love,” she asks mockingly “that you forgot everything you learned about being a psychologist?”
Andy nods, as if she were a student who is close to the right answer but hasn’t quite got it.
“It wasn’t that I forgot,” he says, taking the question literally, “it’s that my feelings for Olivia influenced what I did as a psychologist. For those few weeks I saw Pam just as Olivia saw her: without hope, in almost unending pain, in need of someone who was willing to try to save her from the agony she inflicted on herself every time she was allowed to be free.”
He handles everything Jill throws at him. Marriage? Sure, they talked about it; at one point he and Olivia talked about the possibility of his going back to school to become a physician so he could take care of these children’s medical problems as well. She revisits each part of the case, and, unlike Olivia, he manages to reinterpret a number of Jill’s questions in light of his feelings without seeming argumentative. He tries to place each of his actions in the context of his relation with Olivia.
Finally, Jill shows him the cattle prod and asks him to examine the handle, apparently so the jury will take to the jury room the image of him holding it. It is only at this moment that Andy seems to lose it. He holds it as if he has been asked to inspect a snake with fangs at either end, grab bing it loosely in the middle and holding it at arm’s length.
His face becomes as stiff as his beard. Clearly, this is an uncomfortable moment for him, one I hope the jury can understand.
“Dr. Chapman,” Jill asks, giving the jury plenty of time to freeze this moment on their brains, “would you unwrap the tape from the handle?”
I think to object, but it will only look as if Andy has something to hide. He looks at me, but I nod, and taking the dirty tape which has begun to curl at the end, peels it away from the handle. There is shockingly little tape on the end.
No words about how he felt about Olivia will ever explain why he insulated it so poorly. Since I don’t know the answer either (and I have already asked him in private the same question), I decline to redirect.
As my final witness, I call Charlene Newman, whom Rainey delivered with a smile to the steps of the courthouse precisely at eight o’clock this morning. She has been waiting alone to testify, in a separate witness room guarded by a black deputy I’ve known for years. If he is a member of the Trackers, the organization has changed drastically. Charlene’s straight Indian hair is permed for this occasion, making me wonder if she wanted to show Leon she is taking care of herself or whether it is simply a periodic change. Instead of jeans and a halter top, her costume the day I interviewed her, Charlene is wearing dressy black pants, a white blouse, a vest, and a bolo string tie, the exact outfit worn by the female employees at a Mexican restaurant in town. What the hell. Maybe she can head for the border when she’s through.
She is as nervous as I feared she would be, her voice almost inaudible, and I have to remind her to speak up during my preliminary questions. Her fear brings out Harriet Tarnower’s maternal instincts and the judge practically reaches over and pats her hand.
“Do you know Leon Robinson?” I get around to asking when I finally get her voice level up loud enough to reach the Jury.
Charlene looks down at the little strings resting on her starched blouse.
“He’s my ex-husband,” she says, raising her eyes to meet mine.
“How long were you married?” I ask, wanting to build up to this but afraid she will begin to change her mind as she looks around the courtroom. Though Leon is not in the courtroom, his friends are.
“A total of seven years,” Charlene says, her voice husky with anxiety. I’m afraid she may be having second thoughts.
What does she really have to gain by testifying? I have no idea what she meant last night about “owing him.” At this moment I would be willing to bet she’s ready to cancel obligations all the way around on the theory that she has scared the piss out of Leon. If this happens, I’ll have more egg than usual on my face, but I won’t have to worry about how long she survived after the trial. There is no federal slush fund for witnesses testifying for defendants. She adds, when I am slow in following up, “I was married when I was just fourteen.”
I glance at Andy, knowing he will hate me the rest of my life for what I’m about to do. He is looking down at the table as if he knows he has made a pact with the devil. Maybe he has. I ask, “Ms. Newman, during the course of your marriage did your husband ever tell you he was a member of a group called the Trackers?”
Jill goes through the motion of objecting, but we both know the judge will allow the question. Since she allowed me to ask Leon and he denied it. I can impeach his answer.
“Go ahead, Ms. Newman,” she instructs when we have settled down.
Charlene pauses, looks squarely at the jury and says, “Yeah, about six months ago he told me he was a member.
Leon hates blacks.”
I let go of the podium I have been squeezing. The only way her answer would have been better is if she had used the word “niggers.” I ask a couple of more questions to lock in her answer and then say to Jill, “Your witness.”
Obviously stewing, Jill sits in her chair, still frowning at the judge. She has to make a choice. She can ignore Charlene, which will reinforce her closing argument that Leon’s membership in the Trackers is irrelevant, or she can go after her and try to make her out to be a vengeful, lying ex-wife.
She leans over to whisper into her assistant’s ear. A big smile comes over Kerr’s pretty-boy face, and he stands up proudly as if he had been anointed a Knight of the Round Table. As Kerr starts in on Charlene, I realize Jill can’t resist trying to have it both ways. By sending in the second string, she is hoping to signal to the jury that Charlene’s testimony, if it stands up, isn’t a big deal.. On the other hand if Kerr can score some points, she’ll be happy to use them.
Kerr looks good; there is no question about it. His blond hair is as glossy and wavy as that of any woman in the courtroom. His expensive suit, a three-piece job that is a little warm for September, does not have a wrinkle in it. And, in fact, he gets Charlene to admit that she has developed some real bad feelings about Leon. As a crossexaminer, he’s proficient, cutting Charlene’s answers off where he wants, controlling her with no difficulty. Yet, as Kerr pushes Charlene around, I notice Jill is squirming because she knows she has made a mistake.
Unless Charlene recants her testimony completely, and she will not, Jill knows I will be asking the jury why the prosecution made a big deal out of crossexamination if it didn’t think Leon’s statement to Charlene that he was a member of the Trackers was relevant. Kerr comes back to sit down by his boss’s side as bouncy as a puppy bringing his mistress a dead sparrow between his jaws. On the witness stand Charlene is wiping her eyes. That’s okay.
She may hate Leon’s guts, but she has stuck to her original statement. Jill glared at Kerr as if he hasn’t done exactly what she told him to do.
“No questions,” I say.
Sometimes, less is more.
24
“Ladies and gentlemen,” I begin my closing argument, “I have never had a client like Andrew Chapman. Nor do I ever expect to have one like him again. Frankly, I’m not sure I ever want to have one like him again.” There is some laughter in the courtroom, and about half of the jurors smile.
As expected, Jill had painted a sinister picture of Andy and Olivia, telling the jury before launching into her conspiracy theory, that it would have to find Andy has the mind of a retarded child to allow him to escape guilt in this case.
Slowly, I take in each member of the jury. “In all candor, and most, if not all of you, know this to be true of the criminal justice system in America, much of what happens in America’s courtrooms seems like an elaborate game between the prosecution and the defense lawyer. It’s as if the object of the game is for the prosecutor to jump over a high bar, but the rules let the defense lawyer try to trip up the prosecutor during the attempt. The rules, as you know, are there in our judicial system to protect the individual defendant as well as to safeguard
