Final Argument: A Legal Thriller Part 33

He laughed good-naturedly. "Ted, we're talking about thirteen years ago. I like to think I've got a good memory, but that's pus.h.i.+ng it right against the edge of the envelope."

"You mean you don't remember?"

"That's absolutely correct."

"You didn't tell Sergeant Tanagra that the dog was down by the beach?"

"Look, I'm saying I may have. Or I may not have. I don't want to guess or speculate. I'm under oath, Ted."

"So you are." He was a wonderful witness: arrogant, well-spoken, almost cheerful.

I picked up a slim manila folder from the counsel table, asked the judge's permission to approach the witness, and handed the folder to Neil in the witness box.

"Would you open that folder, please, and look at its contents?"

Neil treated the folder as if it might have been a letter bomb. But he opened it carefully and flipped through the pages inside it. Then he looked up at me calmly. He shrugged. What's the big deal?

"Neil, would you tell the court what you've just looked at?"

"They seem to be copies of a statement I made to the police thirteen years ago-"

"That's all?"

"You didn't let me finish. And a couple of pages of my testimony at the subsequent trial."

"What's the gist of it all?"

"It's my description of the two men who tried to rob the house and then shot my father. And my description of what happened that night."

"Your memory was fresh then, wasn't it?"

"Yes, of course."

"You told the truth, didn't you?"

"Yes, I certainly did."

"Thirteen years have pa.s.sed. Do you have any reason to change your mind about what you saw and what you believe happened on that tragic night?"

He looked at me for a moment, not sure if there was irony in my tone. There wasn't.

"Certainly not."

"You'll stand by what you said to Sergeant Nickerson on the morning of December 6, 1978, and under oath to the trial jury?" "Of course."

I took the folder from his hand and read aloud to the judge: " 'They were young, black, wearing sneakers, jeans, and I seem to remember a dark T-s.h.i.+rt. There were two of them. I didn't get a decent look at the other one, who cut my mother. They were obviously clumsy, they didn't expect anyone to be awake at that hour ... my father surprised them, and they panicked... . No, I don't know how they got onto the property.' "

I looked up at the bench. "That's from the JSO offense report, Your Honor. Mr. Zide signed each page in the margin, including the one I read from. And now, Your Honor, I'll read from the trial transcript. This was on direct examination. I was the prosecutor. I asked the questions, and Mr. Zide answered them."

I took a drink of water, then read: "Q [by Mr. Jaffe]-. Did you see them clearly?

"A [by Mr. Zide]: Oh, yes.

"Q: They weren't in shadow?

"A: No, I could see them quite well. One was a very tall young black man. The other one I don't remember as well.

"Q: Describe the lighting, if you don't mind.

"A: The lamps in the living room were on, and they were s.h.i.+ning out onto the terrace. And in addition, as I recall, the spotlights on the lawn had finally been triggered, I a.s.sume by these two men, so there was a lot of light out there coming from several directions.

"Q: About how far away from you would you say the two men were standing?

"A: Oh ... fifteen or twenty feet, perhaps. Hard to say exactly.

"Q: How is your eyesight, Mr. Zide?

"A: Excellent.

"Q: You don't wear any eyegla.s.ses or contact lenses?

"A: I have twenty-twenty vision. All right, to answer your question, I don't wear gla.s.ses or contact lenses.

"Q: And for how long did the two men remain there on the terrace before they ran away? That is to say, from the time you first saw them to the time they turned their backs.

"A: It's hard to say. A few seconds. But it was long enough for me to see their faces.

"Q: And did you watch them run away?

"A: Yes, for-I don't know-a few moments.

"Q: Did either of them look back over his shoulder?

"A: Yes, the one who shot my father. The big tall one. Just for a second or two.

"Q: Did you see his face then?

"A: Yes.

"Q: Is either of those two men in the courtroom here?

"A: One of them.

"Q: Would you point to him and identify him?

"A: The man who shot my father is sitting at the table there, wearing a blue denim s.h.i.+rt and khaki pants. [The Witness pointed to Mr. Morgan.]"

I laid the papers on the table. "That's accurate, isn't it, Neil? I read it the way it's written and the way you testified, didn't I?"

"Yes, I a.s.sume so."

"Would you like to check?"

"No. I believe you read it accurately."

"Neil, Mr. Morgan's in the courtroom today too, isn't he?"

Next to me, Darryl stirred slightly in his chair.

Neil scowled. He felt I was treating him like a child or an idiot, and he didn't like it. "Yes, he's here," he said.

"Sitting next to me, right?"

"Yes."

"Mr. Morgan, would you please stand up?"

Darryl rose slowly to his full six feet six inches.

"Neil, what's the most outstanding characteristic of Mr. Morgan? What's the thing you notice first?"

"Objection as to relevance," Whatley interrupted.

"That will become clear," I said.

"Overruled," Judge Fleming said. "You can answer, Mr. Zide."

"Well," Neil said, "he's black and he's tall."

"Normally tall?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, there's tall and there's very tall, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes, I see what you mean."

"How would you describe Mr. Morgan?"

"Very tall, I suppose."

"That's how you described him under oath at the trial thirteen years ago, isn't it?"

"Yes, exactly."

"How tall does he look to you?"

"I'm not an expert," Neil said uncomfortably. "I'm not a carnival weight-guesser."

"I'm not asking you to guess his weight, I'm asking you to estimate his height. That's not difficult. How tall do you think I am?"

"Objection," Whatley said.

"Overruled. You can answer. But move it along, Mr. Jaffe," the judge said.

"Probably about five ten," Neil said.

"That's it." I smiled. "Now indulge me, if you will, about Mr. Morgan. How tall is he?"

"Six four or six five," Neil said.

"Would it surprise you if I told you he's six foot six?"

"Not particularly. I told you I wasn't an expert."

"But six foot six is very tall, isn't it? Not as tall as Michael Jordan or Magic Johnson, but still very tall, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes, I would."

"Thirteen years ago, if you remember, was Mr. Morgan any shorter than he is now?"

"I doubt it."

"Is that a yes or a no?"

"It's a no. He wasn't shorter then."

"Thirteen years ago, on the night your father was shot and killed, when Sergeant Nickerson asked you for a description of Mr. Morgan, how did you describe Mr. Morgan?"

"That same way. Black. Tall. Young, I think. He was younger then, obviously."

Now came the litany. He had to be led and hypnotized. It would be excruciatingly boring if the end result didn't promise-barring accident-to be so pleasurable.

"Neil, I read the police offense report aloud, right here in this courtroom, didn't I?"

"Yes."

"And you heard me read it, didn't you?"

"Yes, of course."

"Heard me quote your words as spoken to Sergeant Nickerson?" "Yes."

"When you spoke those words to Sergeant Nickerson, you were telling the truth, weren't you?"

"Of course."

"Your memory was fresh, wasn't it?"