careful not to spill tuna fish on her Neiman Marcus suit.
“We’ve got a really pretty outfit for you to wear tomorrow, Mama,” Pajamae said from the floor.
“How I do, Mr. Fenney?”
“Fine, Shawanda. But the hard part’s this afternoon.”
“Think they gonna believe me?”
He thought no but said yes.
“Ms. Jones,” Scott said, “let’s go back to Saturday, June fifth. Did you take heroin that day?”
“I was alive, so I must have.”
“You took it every day?”
“Two, three time.”
“So before you went to work that night, you injected heroin?”
“Yes, sir. Make it easier that way.”
“Make what easier?”
“Sex.”
“All right, then Kiki, another prostitute, came by and the two of you drove over to Harry Hines Boulevard?”
“Yes, sir, our regular location.”
“And you waited for men to come by?”
“We never wait too long.”
“And did Clark McCall come by?”
“Yes, sir, but I don’t know him. He just a white boy in a black Mercedes.”
“And he offered you one thousand dollars to spend the night with him?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Oh, before Clark, did you, uh, work for another client?”
“No, sir, I don’t work for no one. I’m self-employed.”
“I mean, did anyone else pay you for a sex act that night?”
“I give a blow to a cop, but he don’t pay.”
“You engaged in oral sex with a police officer?”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Fenney, that way he don’t bother us. Me and Kiki, we take turns with the cops. They freebies.”
“Okay, so back to Clark McCall. You got into his car and he drove you to his mansion in Highland Park?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you went inside?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And upstairs to his bedroom?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tell the jury what happened then.”
Shawanda turned to the jurors and told them the story of that night without shame or guilt, just as a matter of fact. That she and Clark engaged in sex, after, that is, she made him put on a condom-“I can’t get that AIDS. I gotta take care of my Pajamae”-that he became rough, started slapping her, calling her nigger, that she scratched and punched him in the eye and kicked him in his balls, that he fell to the floor, and that she took her thousand dollars and his car keys, drove herself back to Harry Hines, and abandoned the car.
“And Clark McCall was alive the last time you saw him?”
“Yes, sir, he sure was, cussing me like a redheaded stepchild.”
“What did you and Kiki do then?”
“Go home, go to bed.”
“What did you do the next morning, Sunday?”
“Got up, fixed breakfast for Pajamae, go to church.”
“You went to church?”
She had a bemused expression. “Mr. Fenney, without sinners, no need for churches.”
The jurors smiled at that remark.
“And what were you doing when the FBI came to arrest you?”
“Sitting outside on the stoop, watching Pajamae.”
“Did you know why they were arresting you?”
“They say for killing some man. I said, I don’t kill no one. They don’t believe me.”
“No further questions, Your Honor.”
Ray Burns nearly knocked Scott down, he was in such a hurry to cross-examine Shawanda.
“Ms. Jones, you’re a prostitute, correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And a heroin addict?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you were with Clark McCall the night he was murdered?”
“That what the police say. I don’t know when he be killed.”
“He picked you up for sex, is that correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“He offered you a thousand dollars for the night?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You got into his car, a Mercedes-Benz, correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“He drove you to his home?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You went upstairs, he gave you alcohol to drink?”
“Yes, sir.”
“He removed his clothes, you removed your clothes, and you and Clark McCall engaged in sexual intercourse, correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And then you hit him in the eye?”
“Only ’cause he slap me and call me nigger.”
“And you kicked him in the groin?”
“No, sir, I didn’t kick his growing, I kick his balls.”
“Okay, his balls.”
“’Cause he be coming after me again.”
“And then you grabbed your gun and you shot him?”
“No, sir, I didn’t shoot no one.”
“You know your gun was the murder weapon?”
“I don’t know no such thing. You say that.”
Ray Burns picked up the. 22-caliber pistol.
“This is your gun, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And why do you carry a gun?”
“You live in the projects, you die of old age waiting for the po-lice to come when someone trying to get in your place.”
“You shot Clark McCall, didn’t you?”
“No, sir. I didn’t shoot no one.”
“And you stole a thousand dollars from him?”
“No, sir. I earned it.”
“And you stole his car?”
“No, sir. I borrowed it, to get back where I belonged.”
“To flee the scene of the crime?”
