MS. TANNENBAUM: Out loud?
MR. BURKE: Yes, out loud.
MS. TANNENBAUM: (Reading) ' Application for to the jurors, please. term life insurance policy.'
MR. BURKE: Look halfway down the page, if you would, to the words, 'Summary of con tents.' Would you read the print, also in capitals and also in bold, immediately following those words.
MS. TANNENBAUM: (Pointing) Here?
MR. BURKE: Yes, there.
MS. TANNENBAUM: (Reading) 'Name of in sured, Barrington Tannenbaum. Amount of policy, twenty-five million dollars. Term of policy, six months. Name of beneficiary, Samara M. Tannen baum.'
MR. BURKE: Thank you.
Burke put the application away and moved to the items found in Samara's town house. As Jaywalker had on direct examination, he had her identify the towel as one that looked like hers, the blouse as definitely hers, and the knife as identical to a set in her kitchen. And as Jaywalker had, he gave her an opportunity to explain who, other than she, might have hidden the items behind the toilet tank of her upstairs bathroom. Samara had no answer. She'd been home alone the entire time, from her arrival after visiting Barry until the detectives showed up the following day. Did she think someone had sneaked in and hidden the things there without her noticing, or put them there after she'd been taken away in handcuffs? Or perhaps the detec tives had planted the items, out of some inexplicable desire to frame her?
Again, Samara had no answers.
Had she perhaps hidden them there only temporarily, figuring to get rid of them as soon as she could, only to be surprised by the speed with which the police had shown up? No, she insisted, that wasn't the case; she'd never put them there in the first place, though she couldn't say who had, or how they'd managed to accomplish it.
There comes a time in cross-examination when jurors have heard enough, when their eyes begin to glaze over out of skepticism, and they slide back in their chairs with something that looks very much like outright disbelief. As often as not, that time comes without a clear line of demarcation. In Hollywood, or on the TV screen, there was always a dramatic Gotcha! instant, followed by either loud music or a fade to a commercial break. In real life, there's generally nothing to accompany the moment but sadness.
Samara was no longer being believed. And if Samara was no longer being believed, this trial was as good as over. Jay walker knew that as surely as he knew his own last name.
It was nearly five o'clock. Burke asked to approach the bench. There he requested permission to go over to the fol lowing morning to complete his cross-examination. Judge Sobel agreed. Jaywalker was too beaten to object, and aware that even if he did, it would do no good. At that point, in fact, he'd pretty much decided that nothing would do any good.
Trials are a little like sporting events, at least in the sense that both are contests that develop rhythms of their own after a while. Almost invariably, there's a series of momentum shifts, a pattern of highs and lows that could almost be charted on graph paper. An hour ago, the defense had been riding a crest of sorts. Samara's feistiness had earned her points in the early sparring. But Burke had weathered it, and bit by bit he'd succeeded in surrounding her with the evidence and trapping her with the facts. It reminded Jaywalker of the unsolicited advice he'd once heard an old-time trial lawyer dispensing in the hallway to anyone willing to stop long enough to listen. 'When you've got the facts,' he'd been saying, 'pound the facts. When you've got the law, pound the law. When you don't have either one, pound the table.'
From the outset, the trouble with this case had been that the prosecution had both the facts and the law on its side. At one or two minor high points in the trial, Jaywalker had deluded himself into believing that in spite of that imbal ance, he might somehow figure out a way to walk Samara out of court. Now, he realized, he was going to be pretty much reduced to pounding the table. And while that might produce some noise, it was facts and law that generally produced victories.
That night, in spite of knowing better, Jaywalker poured himself a generous measure of Kahlua, placed it on his kitchen countertop and pulled up a stool. For a good twenty minutes he sat in front of it in near darkness, doing nothing but staring at the tumbler and the almost-black liquid that filled the lower half of it. Even without putting his nose over it, he could smell the thick coffee aroma drifting his way, all but taste the syrupy sweetness as it magically kissed away the harsh bite of the alcohol. Only when he'd told himself for the twentieth time that he couldn't do it- not to himself, not to his profession and most of all not to his client-did he dare to shift his weight slightly, first to one side, then to the other, in order to remove his hands from underneath him, where they'd grown numb from his weight.
Slowly, carefully, he poured the liquid back into the bottle from which it had come. He didn't want to spill any, after all, not with a verdict likely by early next week. He would be needing it then, it and a lot more.
He rinsed out the glass and opened the dishwasher, then saw that it was full, not of dirty dishes and glasses, but of clean ones he hadn't bothered putting away earlier in the week. So he set the glass in the sink. His wife would've scolded him for that act of laziness, he knew. But his wife was dead, and he lived alone now. And suddenly the full impact of that terrible aloneness hit him head-on and knocked the wind right out of him, and he found himself gripping the counter with both hands in order to steady himself. Thank God for that suspension, he told himself. Thank God I won't have to keep doing this anymore.
27
If Jaywalker thought he and Samara had hit bottom the previous afternoon, he was about to learn a whole new defi nition of the phrase. Before the jury was led in Friday morning, Tom Burke asked for a conference in the judge's robing room. Jaywalker told Samara to relax and wait in the courtroom, then followed the judge, the clerk, the court reporter and Burke through the side door.
'What gives?' he asked Burke.
'I'm afraid you're not going to like it,' was all Burke would say. And from the grim look on his face, it was clear he meant it.
Once the reporter was seated and ready, Burke wasted no time in getting to the point. 'I learned this morning,' he said, 'less than an hour ago, in fact, what I'm about to place on the record. It concerns the defendant, and an incident that dates back to when she was fourteen years old and living in Vigo County, Indiana, under the name Sa mantha Musgrove.'
The name actually sounded vaguely familiar, but Jay walker was already too busy feigning righteous indigna tion to pursue that tangent. He'd donned his most exaggerated stage frown, making sure Sobel didn't miss it. No matter what it was that Burke had dug up, it was ancient history, too remote in time to allow into evidence. More over, Samara had been a child at the time. And what if she'd chosen to condense her name? So had Jaywalker, for that matter. Big deal. What mattered was that Samara was twenty-eight now. There was no way in hell Judge Sobel was going to permit Burke to question her about something she'd done when she'd been fourteen.
'It seems,' said Burke, 'that contrary to the defendant's earlier testimony that she left home because she didn't get any birthday presents, the facts are actually a little differ ent. The real reason seems to have been that she was molested by one of her mother's boyfriends, a man by the name of Roger McBride. The defendant appears to have gotten even with Mr. McBride by assaulting him and then fleeing the state immediately afterward. And incidentally, according to my atlas, at least, Vigo County includes Prai rie Creek.'
'Assuming for the moment that this is all true,' said the judge, 'you're going to have a very hard time convincing me that it bears directly on her credibility. First, she was fourteen at the time. Second, it was a long time ago. Third, for all we know, her act may have been justified. And fourth, assault isn't one of those crimes, such as perjury or forgery, for example, that have much to do with truth-telling.'
Jaywalker smiled. He couldn't have said it better himself.
