Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
John was uncomfortable.
The chair was made of the same kind of hard wood as countless school chairs and was as rigid as any ever encountered. The contours cut into the lacquered seat didn’t fit to his contours. The back made him itch at the shoulder blades. The arms were set too low and his elbows didn’t reach the wood. He fought the urge to slouch.
“”Please state your full name and occupation.”
“John Andrew Phillips,” he replied. “Coroner.”
“You are currently a coroner for the county in which this trial is being held?”
“Yes.”
The prosecutor was a man of moderate height and bearing, with beady eyes set into a face beginning to go soft from rich food and little exercise. His hairline had begun to recede, and the expensive weave meant to cover up his growing pate wasn’t worth the money he’d paid for it. He looked just like a vain man who didn’t want to lose his hair. His voice was moderate, and his manner was somewhat theatrical. John had expected the man to act like this. The courtroom can be a place of high drama.
“Are you familiar with the defendant?”
Sherry was at the table, wearing a white, long sleeved blouse with a peter pan collar, simple black skirt, sheer hose and black shoes with very little heel. John thought the outfit was very much out of character for her. But Michael Jones had suggested she wear it as a way to look pleasant and appealing to the jury. He was probably right. Defense attorneys learn about such things in their early years and the lesson stays with them throughout their career.
“Yes,” John answered.
“In what way?” The prosecutor, who’s name was Albermarle, was leading up to something.
“We have worked together on a number of cases.”
“Point of fact, Doctor,” Albermarle said in a stern voice, “haven’t you worked VERY closely with the defendant?”
Here is comes, John thought. “What do you mean?”
“I have it on good authority that the two of you were . . . intimate.”
John knew it wasn’t true, but also knew how it looked to someone on the outside looking in. “The defendant and I have never been intimate.”
Albermarle was having none of it. “I find that hard to believe, Doctor.”
John didn’t answer. It wasn’t a question, so he didn’t see the point of speaking.
The silence drew out.
“Isn’t it true that, on more than one occasion, the defendant spent the night in your apartment?”
John grinned. The prosecutor had sprung his trap. “During a case that both Ms Jones and I were working on, I was wounded.”
“Wounded? How?”
“I sustained a stab wound to my right shoulder.”
“I see. Please continue.”
John sighed. “After I was treated and released from City Hospital, the pain medication they gave me had a side effect of insomnia.” He looked at Sherrie. She sat stock still, her hands folded in her lap, her eyes fixed on him. Her hair had been pulled back into a ponytail, and the affect seemed to highlight the tired look in her face and eyes. “Ms Jones was kind enough to sit up with me and talk.”
“Talk?” Albermarle hooted.
“Yes,” John replied. “Talk.” He looked back at the prosecutor.
“I find that hard to believe. An attractive young woman, a virile young man? I should think biology would take over.”
Once again, John didn’t speak. He knew that the technique of the prosecutor was to make such statements and cause the witness to add to his testimony. Sometimes the witness said something he didn’t mean to say, leading to questions he didn’t want to answer. John was determined not to fall for that old trick.
Albermarle stood and stared at John. John returned the stare with what he hoped was a look of expectation.
“So you and the defendant didn’t . . . ?” He didn’t finish the sentence.
“Didn’t what?” John asked.
After another long pause, the prosecutor finally asked the question. “You and she didn’t have sex?”
“No.”
Albermarle paused again. John sat very still and let the silence draw out.
“Doctor, are you a homosexual?”
“No.”
“And yet you say that you and the defendant spent the night together and did not have sex?” Albermarle turned and smirked toward the jury.
“The combination of drugs not only made me an insomniac, but induced the common side effect of impotence.” John spoke in his best, clinical voice. No sense being dramatic about it.
Albermarle seemed to chuckle slightly, then gave John a look of skepticism. “I find that hard to believe.”
“Believe what you like,” John said. John knew that Albermarle was trying to establish a personal relationship between witness and defendant. Once that was established, John knew he would be declared a hostile witness and the prosecutor would be granted wide latitude with his line of questioning. John was determined to stand his ground, so to speak.
“The fact remains, Doctor, that you and the defendant have had a close relationship. Isn’t that true?”
“We worked together,” John admitted.
“And while the two of you worked together,” the man continued, “didn’t you save her life?”
“Did I?” John was being cagey, even difficult, and he knew it. He wanted to prosecutor to make all the necessary statements to establish his facts. John wasn’t going to do it for him.
Albermarle went to his notes and produced a sheet of paper. “I have in my hand the arrest record of one James Atkins.” He read the date. “In the notes, the defendant states that, during an altercation with Atkins, you came to her rescue.” He looked up at his witness.
John sat silently.
“Is that true?”
“I heard a commotion outside my window,” John answered. “I looked out to see Ms Jones and Mister Atkins fighting. I went outside to help.”
“From the description here,” Albermarle said, “you went out the door in only your t-shirt and briefs.”
John didn’t move.
“Is that true?”
“It was after midnight,” John explained, “and I was sitting in bed reading a book. When I saw that Ms Jones was fighting, I reacted without thinking.”
Albermarle nodded. “I see.” He put down the page and picked up another. He read the date. “You were discharged from your military service?”
“Honorably,” John replied.
“It says here that you had earned a citation for excellent marksmaship. True?”
“Yes.”
“And did you teach the defendant to shoot?”
“Myself and a police officer,” John replied.
Albermarle nodded. “It sounds to me like you and the defendant had become friends.” He put down the page. “Would you call that a fair characterization of your relationship?”
John knew that an affirmative response would give Albermarle what he wanted. And he would be like an attack dog with his questioning. “We worked together,” John repeated.
“It doesn’t appear that way to me, Doctor!” Albermarle stood and stared hard at his witness.
John knew that he was expected to cower and snivel. Not me, he said to himself. He sat and returned the stare and continued to say nothing.
“Your Honor,” the prosecutor said, “I would like to move that this witness be declared hostile.”
Michael Jones immediately objected. He and Albermarle traded verbal jabs and veiled insults for several seconds.
John took the opportunity to take a good look at Sherrie. She was wearing makeup, which, in and of itself, was very much out of character for her. He could see the sagging of the skin under her eyes, and the slight softening of the outline of her jaw. She was trying to be the perfect and believable defendant, and it was difficult for her.
He could tell she wanted to run away and hide. Duing one of those sleepless nights, she had admitted that she hated loud noises and loud arguments. While she was a teenager, her parents often bickered, and when their tempers boiled over their voices could sound especially loud to young Sherrie. More than once she escaped to her room and hid in a closet or under the bed. John wondered if that experience made her more antisocial than normal. She didn’t want to ever hear that kind of arguing again.
“Doctor Phillips,” the judge said.
John turned his head to look at the woman.
“You may step down for the moment.”
He nodded and got up. The judge left her chair and went down the short steps to a door. As she opened it, Albermarle and Michael Jones were right behind her.
As he left the witness box, John kept his eyes on Sherrie. He knew she was trying to be strong, but he could also tell that she’d just as soon have been in her apartment hiding from the world. He reached the space between the tables and gave her a quiet smile that he hoped would reassure her. She grinned in return.
He went past the bar rail and found his seat.
