Steve Martini - Double Tap

“On the couch.”

“So they were both on the couch?”

“Yes. I think that’s what I said. I was only there for an instant and then I left.”

“I understand. How long? No, strike that,” he says. Templeton seems flustered, not sure which way to go. He tries to go back and start over. “When you opened the door, did you actually enter the room?”

“Yes. I went in a few steps. At least, that’s how I remember it.”

“How far is a ‘few steps’?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t measure it.”

“Just an estimate.” says Templeton. “Two feet? Six feet?”

“Maybe three or four feet.”

“So you opened the door and you walked in, maybe three or four feet, and you were looking right at them, correct?”

“No. Actually, as I remember it, I was looking at some papers in my hand. So I didn’t look up right away. That’s why I was surprised.”

“Surprised by what?” Templeton thinks he has a hair of the donkey’s tail.

“By the rapid movement on the couch.” The hair breaks off. “That’s why I went into the office in the first place,” she says. “I had some letters for Madelyn-for Ms. Chapman-to sign.”

“How long were you there, inside the office?” says Templeton.

“Two, maybe three seconds. It was an awkward moment.”

“I’ll bet,” says Templeton.

“Objection.”

“Sustained. The jury will disregard,” says the judge.

If Templeton was hoping for a broad-ranging narrative with color commentary from the witness of the action on the couch, the director’s cut of the videotape, he has come up empty.

“So while you were in the room for these two or three seconds, how close would you say Mr. Ruiz was to Ms. Chapman?”

“Oh, they were quite close.”

“How close?”

“They were up against one another.”

“Up against one another, their bodies touching?”

“Yes.”

“And what were they doing?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Were they touching one another with their hands?”

“As I said, when I looked up, there was a lot of movement. It seemed pretty obvious that they heard me open the door before I looked up and saw them.”

“So there was a lot of furtive movement?” says Templeton.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what that means,” says Rogan.

“Moving around as if they were trying to conceal what was happening?”

“Yes. I would say so. When I looked up, it appeared obvious that there was. . I’m not sure how to put it.”

“Use your own words to describe it.” Templeton is desperate for anything now.

“Well, some physical attraction between them,” says Rogan.

“What do mean by physical attraction !”

“Well, it looked as if perhaps they might have been engaged in an embrace when I opened the door,” she says. “As I said, at that moment, when I came in, I wasn’t looking up. So I can’t be sure. But I got the sense that I might have interrupted a kiss.”

“A kiss,” he says. “That’s what you saw?”

“As I said, I didn’t actually see it.”

“Your Honor, may we approach?” Templeton’s had enough. He wants a conference at the side of the bench.

The judge waves us on. Harry and I both head up. Templeton scampers down from the stool and has to run to stay ahead us. Gilcrest hits the white-noise button on the bench.

“Your Honor, this is absurd. It’s ridiculous.” Templeton is sputtering before he gets to the stairs leading to the judge’s platform. “The witness’s testimony is utterly inconsistent with what’s on the tape. Your Honor, you saw the contents of the videotape. Does the witness’s testimony sound like an accurate description of what happened? No.”

“Your Honor, she’s testifying as to what she saw, her recollections,” I say. “Besides, it’s clear that Mr. Templeton would use the videotape to poison the mind of the jury, to create the impression that a fling on the couch constitutes evidence of a long-term affair-that the defendant was starstruck, infatuated with Madelyn Chapman-when there is no evidence of this at all.”

“He was.” Templeton says it with big eyes, his hands extended on his short arms. “There’s evidence he was stalking her.”

“Your interpretation,” I tell him.

“We’ll see what the jury thinks,” says Templeton.

“Gentlemen, enough.” Gilcrest wants to bring it back to arguments directed to the court.

“Your Honor, I demand the right to treat this witness as hostile and to use the videotape to impeach her. You saw the tape, Your Honor. She makes it sound as if they were holding hands,” says Templeton.

“That’s not what I heard,” I tell the judge. “She said she saw them rearranging their clothing. And that it was obvious that there was some physical attraction between the two of them.”

“That’s what I heard,” says Gilcrest.

“‘Physical attraction,”’ says Templeton. “Describing what’s on that tape as ‘some physical attraction’ is like calling hell a mild warming trend. Your Honor, that videotape has got to come in. Without it the jury has no sense of what was happening here. Certainly not from this witness.” For Templeton the pictures are worth a million words. He wants to show the sweat of passion on the couch so that the jury can get the full measure of motive on which to hang the ornaments of his evidence.

“I think they got the point,” says Gilcrest. “And you can certainly argue it to them on closing,” he tells Templeton.

“Argue what?” says Templeton.

“That there was evidence of physical attraction,” says the judge.

“Yeah, that and a kiss,” says Harry.

“Your Honor. .” Templeton tries, but the judge waves us away from the bench. He has made his ruling: the tape will not come in. Given the choice between warm desire and superheated lust that will poison the jury against the defendant, Gilcrest figures that warm is good enough.

As we leave the bench, the white noise is still on. Harry leans down into Templeton’s ear with his hand cupped but loud enough for me to hear it. “If it makes you feel any better, Larry, we all know that wasn’t his hand she was holding.”

Having gotten the crap kicked out of us for a week, Harry can’t resist rubbing a little salt in the wound.

From my recollection of the security video in Chapman’s office, there was only a momentary glimpse of Karen Rogan in the fish-eye lens as she entered the room, then disappeared. Most of the action on the couch, where it occurred at speeds approaching that of light, was of Chapman and Ruiz pulling their clothes together.

Whether by instinct or intuition, given the understatement that is Rogan’s testimony, I can only assume that she is not buying into the argument that Ruiz killed her boss. Call it good taste, but with Chapman dead and her mother and sister in the courtroom, I suspect that Karen Rogan saw little to be gained by offering up the sordid details of an afternoon long ago.

I pass on cross-examination of the witness. The lesson you learn is to leave well enough alone. But I ask the court to keep her available. With the desperate strategy that is shaping up in my mind, it may be necessary to call Rogan in my case in chief, whatever defense we can muster.

Having been stung in the morning, Templeton is back with a vengeance in the afternoon. He calls Max Rufus to the stand.

The pieces surrounding Rufus are like a Chinese puzzle. Desperately in need of money and concealing an association with Madelyn Chapman that stretches back more than six years, he might be my top pick for the “Some-Other-Dude-Did-It”-of-the-Year award, except for one thing: none of the pieces seem to fit.