“ Yes. Lying approximately three feet from the body was a nail gun, or stud driver as they’re sometimes called. It had a clip of live ammunition-a plastic strip of. 27-caliber bullets- sticking out the top. That’s how they’re loaded.”
“ What else did you observe in the vicinity of the body?”
“ Approximately eight feet away, in the direction of the exit wound, there was a leather saddle on top a sawhorse. Embedded in the saddle just under the horn was a nail that was bloody at its point and along its shaft. Adhering to the underside of the nail’s head were fragments of bone and skin and what may have been brain tissue.”
One of the jurors, a middle-aged woman schoolteacher, put a lace handkerchief to her mouth. The others sat at rapt attention.
“ From your experience as a homicide detective, what did you then conclude?”
“ Mr. Cimarron had been shot in the right ear at point-blank range by a nail from a stud driver powered by. 27-caliber bullets. The nail exited Mr. Cimarron’s head through the skull just above the left ear and continued until it struck the saddle.”
“ Was this conclusion consistent with Ms. Baroso s statement?”
Cute. Speculation corroborated by hearsay, but H. T. didn‘t want to make a fuss.
“ Yes, it was consistent.”
“ We’ll learn more about the fatal shot both from a tools expert and from the medical examiner,” Prosecutor McBain told his witness, but the statement was intended for the jury.
McBain looked through his notes, made a series of check marks on his legal pad, took a sip of water, and started off in a different direction. “Did there come a time when you had an opportunity to question the defendant?” McBain asked.
“ In a manner of speaking, Mr. McBain. I accompanied you to the hospital the next morning, and we spoke to Mr. Lassiter there.”
Right. I remember the guy now, somewhere in the fog.
“ Tell us what transpired.”
Patterson shot me a look. No lawyer likes surprises, and though I had remembered the prosecutor, I forgot about talking to the cop. Now what the hell did I say? Whatever it was would be admissible as an admission by a party.
“ I told the defendant I remembered him from his pro football days. I recalled a game against the Broncos where he had a couple of sacks and a fumble recovery…”
Great. Five mediocre seasons, and this guy has to remember my best game.
“… so I complimented him on that.”
“ And what did he say?”
“ He sort of spoke in an exaggerated Southern accent and said he always aspired to be mo-bile, a-gile, and hostile, but all he could manage was the last of the three.”
Oh shit.
“ Anything else?”
“ Yes, sir. You informed him of the cause of Mr. Cimarron’s death, and he said…” Racklin made a production of thumbing through his notes. “‘It’s the first time in my life I ever drove a nail straight.’
“ Your witness,” McBain said pleasantly, allowing himself a little smile. If the smile could talk, it would have said, take your best shot, sucker.
H. T. Patterson nodded, as if thanking his adversary for a great favor, and stood to address the witness. “What was my client’s physical condition when you first saw him?”
“ I’m not a doctor.”
“ Oh come now, Detective Racklin. Long before you were a homicide detective, you were a patrolman, were you not?”
“ Yes, sir.”
“ And you testified many times in auto accident cases as to physical condition?”
“ Yes, sir.”
“ And in criminal cases, too?”
“ Yes.”
“ And were my ears deceiving me, or did you this very morning describe Ms. Baroso’s physical condition when asked to do so by the prosecutor?”
“ I suppose I did.”
“ Then why be so reluctant to describe Mr. Lassiter’s condition?”
I just-
“ You just didn’t want to tell the jury that Jake Lassiter was beaten to a pulp by Kit Carson Cimarron.”
“ Objection! Argumentative.”
“ Sustained.” Judge Witherspoon looked at Patterson and instructed him gently, “Please confine your questions to…well, to questions.”
“ Isn’t it true that Mr. Lassiter was beaten to a bloody pulp?”
“ I don’t know if I would characterize it quite that way.”
H. T. Patterson was good. Damn good. As soon as he saw Racklin was defensive, he would pour it on. Trying to hide the obvious when the truth won’t hurt is a common cop mistake. If I attacked Cimarron, it didn’t matter if he ran over me with a steamroller defending himself. So a smart prosecution witness would just shrug and say, yeah, ole Kit got in a few licks. But Racklin was trying too hard to help the prosecution, something that’s almost always a mistake.
“ Well, Detective, how would you characterize a concussion, multiple lacerations and contusions of the torso and all four limbs. How would you characterize bruised ribs, strained ligaments, blackened eyes, blurred vision, a dislocated shoulder, and numerous scars from a bullwhip?”
“ I’d say your client bit off more than he could chew when he jumped K. C. Cimarron.”
Ouch.
“ Really? Did you see Mr. Lassiter do just that? Did you see him jump Mr. Cimarron?”
“ No.”
“ Because you weren’t there.”
“ That’s right.”
“ So your testimony is dependent on what Ms. Baroso told you?
“ That, and from my independent investigation of the scene.”
“ Your in-de-pen-dent in-ves-ti-ga-tion,” Patterson drawled, as if the two-bit words weren’t worth a nickel, “began after you took a statement from Ms. Baroso, did it not?”
“ I don’t follow you,” the detective said.
“ It is not necessary that you do, but I would appreciate it if you would answer the question. Isn’t it true that you first spoke to Ms. Baroso, and after getting her tearful version of the events, you proceeded to in-ves-ti- gate?”
“ Yeah, it’s true. I had to start somewhere, and your client was unconscious.”
“ So he was, having been beaten into that state by Mr. Cimarron, correct?”
“ Yeah, he got hit. I said that.”
Patterson’s voice grew louder. “And thereupon, having been told what supposedly happened by Ms. Baroso, you began to in-ves-ti-gate, or shall we say, you began to gather evidence that would corroborate and confirm, exculpate and exonerate this attractive young woman from any and all suspicion?”
“ The lady was never under suspicion.”
“ What!” thundered Patterson, as if the answer was the biggest shock since the Jets beat the Colts in Super Bowl III. “You never even considered that Mr. Cimarron had been dispatched into the hereafter by…the lady?”
Racklin sighed with exasperation. His look to the jury said these fucking lawyers are a pain in the ass. “Ms. Baroso identified herself as an assistant state attorney in Miami, and then-”
“ Did she show you her badge and ID?”
“ Yes, as a matter of fact, she did.”
“ So here is one dead body on the floor and another man lying unconscious with multiple injuries, and once
