Scott Pratt - An Innocent Client

“Why?” the judge said.

“I need some time to sort this out. This is a complete surprise to me.”

“That’s quite obvious, Mr. Martin, but I’m not accustomed to stopping murder trials because prosecuting attorneys are surprised. Do you have any more questions for the witness?”

“Permission to treat the witness as hostile, your honor.”

“She’s your witness, Mr. Martin.”

“I realize that, but her testimony is not what I was told it would be.”

“You mean you haven’t even interviewed her?”

“Agent Landers interviewed her. He told me what her testimony would be. She signed a statement. He showed it to me.”

“Use the statement, then,” the judge said.

“Permission to treat her as hostile, your honor,” Martin said.

Judge Green waved the back of his hand at Frankie, as though he was shooing him away. “Go ahead,” he said, “but I don’t think it’s going to make any difference.”

Martin straightened himself and turned back to Sarah. “Isn’t it true, Miss Dillard, that you entered into an agreement with the district attorney’s office to provide truthful testimony in this case?”

“Yes,” Sarah said, “and that’s exactly what I’m doing.”

“Isn’t it true that you told Agent Landers that Angel Christian, the defendant in this case, confessed that she killed Reverend Tester during a conversation you had with her at the jail?”

“No, that isn’t true.”

“Did you not sign a statement to that effect?” Landers held up a piece of paper I assumed was Sarah’s statement.

“I signed a statement Agent Landers wrote. He’d already written it before he came to see me. It was a lie. I’m sorry I signed it.”

“So you’re now saying you signed a false statement?”

“That’s right.”

“You’re accusing a police officer of drafting a completely false statement which you willingly signed?”

“He drafted the statement. I signed it. He never even asked me any questions. He told me if I signed the statement and testified in court he’d see to it that I got out of jail. I’ve never spoken to the defendant.”

Martin turned and glared at Landers. “May I have a moment, your honor?”

“Make it quick.”

Martin moved to the prosecutor’s table and began to whisper in Landers’s ear. Landers shook his head emphatically and whispered back. The exchange very quickly turned into a heated argument, with both men whispering forcefully back and forth. At one point I heard Landers curse. I hoped the jury heard it too.

Martin went back to the lectern.

“You’re lying, aren’t you, Ms. Dillard? You’re trying to help your brother.”

“No,” Sarah said. “You guys were the ones who were trying to get me to lie. The agent said it would give me a chance to get back at my brother.”

“Do you expect this jury to believe you, Ms. Dillard?” Martin said. “You’re a convicted thief and a drug addict, aren’t you?”

“I was a convicted thief and a drug addict when Agent Landers came to the jail. That didn’t seem to bother him when he was trying to get me to lie.”

“This is ridiculous,” Martin said. “I move to strike her testimony, your honor.”

“On what grounds, Mr. Martin? On the grounds that she didn’t testify the way you wanted her to? Your motion is denied. Do you have any more questions for her?”

“It wouldn’t do any good,” Martin said as he turned away from the lectern. He seemed to deflate like a torn balloon. “She’d just lie.”

He sat down. I debated for a minute whether I should ask Sarah anything. She’d already done plenty of damage, but I couldn’t resist twisting the knife a little, so I stepped to the lectern.

“The truth is that you and I haven’t always gotten along well, have we?” I began.

“Not always.”

“As a matter of fact, your most recent conviction was a direct result of my reporting you to the police, wasn’t it?”

“It was.”

“And you were angry with me for doing that, weren’t you?”

“Very angry.”

“How long is your sentence?”

“Six years.”

“And how much of that sentence would you have had to serve if you’d testified the way Mr. Martin expected you to testify?”

“I would have been released immediately.”

“Do you have a copy of the agreement?”

She produced her copy, and I asked the judge to enter it as an exhibit. Martin objected on the grounds of relevance, but the judge overruled him.

“Miss Dillard,” I said, “would you explain to the jury exactly how this agreement came about?”

“Agent Landers came to see me a couple of months ago and asked me if I’d help them by getting to know Miss Christian. He said he wanted me to talk to her and find out everything I could about her and then tell him everything she said. I told him I wasn’t interested, and he left. Then, a few weeks ago, after I’d been sentenced to six years, he came back. He said he could offer me two things: a sentence reduced to time served and a chance to get back at you. I asked him what he wanted me to do. He said he needed me to sign a statement saying that Angel Christian confessed to the murder of Reverend Tester. He already had the statement written up when he came to the jail. It said during a conversation in the cell block, Miss Christian told me she left the Mouse’s Tail strip club with Mr. Tester after she agreed to have sex with him. She went with him back to his hotel room. It said she went into his room and drugged him, then she killed him and took all of his money. It said she felt no remorse because the man she killed was a pig.”

“A pig? That’s a nice touch. Did Miss Christian say any of those things to you?”

“No. I’ve never even talked to her.” She pointed at Landers. “He made it all up.”

“Why did you sign it?”

“Because I hated being in jail. Because I was furious at you for having me arrested. I blamed you for everything. But I realize now I was wrong. It wasn’t your fault I was in jail. It was my fault.” She looked directly at the jury. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry for a lot of things.”

“Thank you, Miss Dillard.”

I thought Judge Green might grant us a judgment of acquittal at the close of the state’s proof. He should have, but ultimately he didn’t have the courage to let a first-degree murder defendant walk out the door without sending the case to the jury.

He looked at me and said, “Call your first witness.”

I stood up. I had witnesses waiting in the hallway, including Virgil Watterson and Erlene Barlowe, but I didn’t think I needed them.

“The defense rests, your honor.”

Martin and I delivered our closing arguments, both of which were brief. The jury retired to deliberate. It took them less than an hour to come back with a verdict.

I knew Angel was guilty, but the jury didn’t. They set her free.

July 31

4:15 p.m.

As soon as the not-guilty verdict was announced, Frankie Martin and Landers got up and walked out without saying a word. Amid the hugs and the tears and the congratulations, I watched Junior Tester walk stiffly out of the courtroom. I was sure he hated me more than ever. I’d portrayed his dead father as a drunken hypocrite who might have been killed by anyone, and the jury’s verdict had given the portrayal at least some validation. As he disappeared through the doorway, I wondered how he’d feel, or what he might do, if he knew the truth about what happened in the motel room that night. I also wondered how long I’d have to keep looking over my shoulder. He hadn’t made a peep during the trial.

Erlene Barlowe was flitting around the courtroom like a socialite, hugging anyone who’d stand still long enough for her to get her arms around them. She even hugged one of the bailiffs. When she came up to me, she kissed me on the cheek and whispered a sincere thank you in my ear. I wanted to tell her what I knew about the Corvette and the blood, but at the time, it just didn’t seem like the thing to do.