“Quiet, Ms. Rosato!” Judge Guthrie ordered.
Hilliard edged forward on his seat. “Ms. Rosato’s conduct has been outrageous and unethical. She should be replaced by one of her associates. There would be no prejudice to the defendant, because Ms. Rosato’s associates have been in the courtroom every day.”
Judge Guthrie faced Bennie, his expression cold. “Ms. Rosato, what do you have to say for yourself?”
“Judge, I did not plan to dress like my client today. I had no idea what my client would wear. I look like my client, that’s true, but it’s unprecedented to remove me as trial counsel merely for my physical appearance. There’s no case law that holds that a client on trial for her life may not retain her lawyer of choice because that lawyer looks like her.”
Hilliard’s smooth pate snapped around. “There’s no precedent because it’s never happened. How many times you think a twin represents her twin, in a murder trial?”
“Excuse me.” Bennie talked over him, directly to Judge Guthrie. “In addition, if the Court recalls, I did attempt to withdraw my appearance in this matter after my mother’s passing, partly because of my difficulty in representing Ms. Connolly, and the Court denied my motion.”
Judge Guthrie stiffened. “This Court did not, and could not, have anticipated that you would attempt to so boldly exploit the situation.”
“I didn’t do that, Your Honor. The courtroom ID was requested by the prosecutor and the testimony was given by Mr. Munoz, the Commonwealth’s own witness. I merely acted to protect the record and the witness’s testimony, and was under a legal and ethical duty to make a mistaken identity argument at that point. The record is clear that Mr. Munoz could not make a positive ID of my client in court. The jury is entitled to weigh that testimony, as any other, and we should all be back in court right now, starting on my cross.”
“What?” Hilliard was so frustrated he banged his crutches into the soft rug. “After that stunt you just pulled? You should be held in contempt!”
“There’s no basis for a contempt citation,” Bennie shot back. “I haven’t violated a judge’s ruling.”
Judge Guthrie held up a cautionary finger. “Not so fast, Ms. Rosato.” He paused and sighed. “The Court finds itself between a rock and a hard place, counsel. The question is where we go from here. My law clerks tell me that Ms. Rosato may stay on as counsel regardless of the physical similarity between her and her client. The cases suggest, and they are scant indeed, that if the Court were to
Hilliard addressed the judge. “But going forward with Ms. Rosato prejudices the Commonwealth. We can’t do redirect on Munoz and we can’t put up the other neighbors to say they saw Connolly running from the scene, because they’ll be confused by Ms. Rosato’s appearance. It eliminates my afternoon witnesses.”
Bennie edged forward. “Your Honor, if his witnesses can’t make the ID, they can’t make the ID. If his people can say only that they saw a woman who looks a lot like me running by, then that’s not proof of identity beyond a reasonable doubt.”
“Save your closing for the jury,” Hilliard snapped, but Bennie was speaking for the record.
“Your Honor, the prosecution already has Mrs. Lambertsen’s ID. The rest of the witnesses are cumulative, and there’s no prejudice to the Commonwealth.”
“They were corroborative witnesses!” Hilliard shouted. “Don’t tell me how to try my case!”
Judge Guthrie walked around to the front of his chair and sat down slowly, his eyes avoiding both lawyers. “Mr. Prosecutor, I understand your frustration, but there are no other options at this point. We find ourselves in a quandary. The only alternative is a mistrial, and the Court doubts the Commonwealth will request that.”
“Absolutely not,” Hilliard said. “The Commonwealth can’t take the chance on double jeopardy attaching. Then we couldn’t retry Connolly.”
Judge Guthrie nodded slowly, his gaze straying from both lawyers to the window. “Then we must go forward, after lunch. Court resumes, at one-thirty.”
“Thank you, Your Honor,” Hilliard said, almost sarcastically, hoisting himself to his feet, and Bennie followed him to the door, without a word to Judge Guthrie. The judge’s mood mirrored Hilliard’s. They were both trapped and hated her for it. It gave Bennie no satisfaction. She hadn’t acted to confuse Munoz, Connolly had, and Bennie no longer wanted to cheat to win. Worse, the victory she’d gained was only temporary, and the forces behind the conspiracy would redouble their efforts.
Having a tiger by the tail wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, especially in a murder case.
76
Lou glanced at the sky through the windshield of his Honda. The sun struggled through the thick gray clouds that blanketed the red-brick skyline in this part of town. At least it wasn’t raining; he’d worn his good loafers again. He was parked catty-corner to the parking lot in back of the Eleventh, waiting for Citrone to report back. So far he’d had more luck waiting for the sun to come out. The girl at the front desk told him Citrone was expected around ten in the morning, but that was two hours ago.
Lou drained his coffee cup and bided his time, watching the uniforms come and go. No sign of Citrone or Vega. He went inside the precinct house and checked, but the girl kept saying Citrone should be coming in soon. Lou tried calling him at home from a pay phone on the corner, but Citrone’s phone was unlisted. There were two other Citrones in the book and Lou called both. One never heard of Joe Citrone and the other no speaka de English. Nobody bothered to learn the language anymore. Even the immigrants were better in the old days.
Lou considered it, watching the uniforms and looking for Citrone’s patrol car. Number 98, the girl said it was. America was full of people who didn’t want to be American. Lou’s parents never felt that way. They were proud of being German Jews, but they came to America because they wanted to become Americans. They didn’t want Lou and his sisters to speak Yiddish like the other Jewish kids, or God forbid, like Russian Jews. They were looking to the future, not the past.
Lou checked the clock again. 12:18. Anybody else woulda been antsy, but not Lou. Careful police work, step- by-step, would pay off. Sometimes you just had to wait. Not everybody had the patience for it, but he did. It wasn’t always a good thing. It kept him in a bad marriage for way too long. Like a cup of coffee, it just turned cold, and nobody knew where or when.
Lou’s stomach growled. It was lunchtime. Another patrol car pulled into the last space left in the lot. He squinted to read the number. 32. A single uniform got out of the car and started examining the side door, like he’d caught a dent there. Lou scanned the lot. More cars would be coming in now, checking in around lunch.
Another car pulled into the lot, and Lou looked for its number. 10. Son of a bitch! The car parked sideways behind the row in front, blocking them in, and two uniforms got out, talking. They walked over to the cop looking at the dented door and started talking to him, standing around the car. It looked like they were razzing him about the dent. Lou looked at the clock. 12:32. When he looked up, patrol car 98 was turning into the lot. At the wheel was Joe Citrone, with Vega beside him.
Hot damn! Lou waited until Citrone pulled up and parked sideways next to the last patrol car. After Citrone had cut the engine, Lou got out of the Honda. He crossed the street, keeping an eye on Citrone. Citrone had stopped at the threesome gathered around the dent, and Lou hustled onto the lot and made his way between the parked patrol cars. Vega saw Lou coming before Citrone did, and Lou caught Vega warning Citrone by touching his elbow.
“Joe,” Lou called out. “Joe Citrone.”
The tall cop didn’t respond, just stayed cool as Lou approached.
“Remember me? I’m Lou Jacobs, from yesterday.”
“No.”
“We met on the steps, you don’t remember?”
“No,” Citrone said with a poker face, and Lou laughed, taken aback.
“Come on, sure you do. We met. I was with Ed here.” Lou looked at Ed Vega, who was shifting his feet as he stood in front of the other cops. “Hey, kid, tell him.”
“I don’t know you, pal,” Vega said coldly, and Lou’s mouth went dry. They had gotten to Carlos’s kid.
