T. Bunn - The Great Divide

“That was uncalled for.”

Logan ignored him. “By Miss Hao’s own testimony she heard nothing, Your Honor. All she could say was that she saw a video being made. And we stipulate that even this is highly questionable testimony. The witness repeatedly perjured herself.”

“That is not true.”

“She admitted under cross that she would say anything, do anything to stay in this country. This video was critical to her own case.”

“That does not in any way make the witness a liar, Your Honor.”

“No, but it certainly offers a motive.” Logan did not let up, nor release his grip on the edge of the judge’s bench. “Miss Hao has every reason to want this video to be true. It backs up her own request for political asylum. She said as much herself.”

Marcus countered, “Miss Hao showed herself to be both intelligent and reliable, Your Honor. Her testimony stands as a valid and direct tie-in between Gloria Hall, the factory, and this video.”

Logan shook his head like a bull tossing flies. “This is inherently unreliable testimony, Your Honor. The woman was obviously lying to advance her own cause. We have shown this witness, someone the plaintiff actually brought from jail to testify, to be both a liar and a fraud.”

Judge Nicols pondered a long moment. Marcus felt the air clog until he could not draw another free breath. Finally she decided, “I am going to credit the witness as having given this court a reliable testimony. You may enter the video as evidence.”

Marcus fled before she could change her mind. The trek back across the floor was lengthened by having to stare into the afflicted gazes of Alma and Austin Hall. The previous day had cut deeply. Marcus forced his lungs to unlock. Today would scarcely be better. They had been warned, and they had insisted on remaining. There was nothing else he could do. “Plaintiff calls Maureen Folley to the stand.”

The woman certainly lived up to the Charlie Hayes’ description of the night before-short and stocky and possessing all the charm of a tenpenny nail. As she gave her name to the bailiff and affirmed the oath, she also revealed the flat, toneless voice of a big-city taxi dispatcher. Marcus sorted his handwritten notes, and gave Charlie a short nod. She was perfect.

Marcus rose to his feet and began. “Mrs. Folley, you are a full professor of visual arts at North Carolina State University, are you not?”

“Yes.”

“And your specialty is digital imaging, is that not correct?”

“Yes.”

“Objection!” Logan’s alarm was clearly genuine. “Your Honor, plaintiff has been granted permission to show the video, not render it!”

Judge Nicols did not even permit Marcus to respond. “Overruled.”

“Mrs. Folley, you have testified in a number of trials regarding the authenticity of videotapes, have you not?”

“Yes.”

“What can you tell us about the video we are about to see?”

“That it is all of one piece. It has not been spliced.” She turned to the jury and continued. “Amateur video recorders will scar a tape just like the grooves carved into a bullet exiting the barrel of a gun. This entire tape was shot by the same camera, and in one continuous session.”

“Objection!” Logan pressed against his table, as though needing this barrier to keep himself from racing forward and grabbing Marcus by the neck. “This is unproven, unsubstantiated, theoretical!”

“Overruled. You will have your turn on cross. Proceed.”

“Please continue, Mrs. Folley.”

“I have done a microscopic search of the tape. As I said, the camera ran continuously. What you see was done in one take.”

“Objection! It is just as possible that the tape was spliced together from a series of takes, just done on a machine that scarred it like a camera!”

Judge Nicols rounded on him. “I will not warn you again.”

“But Your Honor, really, this is-”

“Sit.” She held him fast with her gaze. “Proceed, Mr. Glenwood.”

“Before we go further with this testimony, Your Honor, I’d like to show the original tape.”

“Very well.”

Marcus helped the bailiff roll forward the metal stand bearing four televisions, angled so that at least one screen was visible to everyone-judge and defense and jury and the packed audience chamber. A tape machine rested upon a shelf beneath the screens. Marcus walked back to his desk and took the videotape from its packet, his movements slow, making good theater of the process. When the bailiff had turned on the machine, Marcus inserted the tape and pushed the play button.

Gloria Hall reached across time and distance and spoke to the jury. Marcus listened and heard something new. The change was not merely because it was a public performance. It was the first time he had studied the tape since the previous day’s testimony. He knew now that Gloria Hall’s voice held the same dull weeping quality as Hao Lin’s.

The realization added a deeper poignancy to her crude pattern of speech. Her almost invisible form remained silhouetted against the backdrop of overbright light. Marcus risked several glances at the jury, and saw many of them squinting hard, as though seeking to penetrate the light and study the woman more closely. Marcus turned back to the video and watched to its too-brief end.

He left the televisions where they were, creating a technical barrier in the middle of the floor. Alma’s quiet weeping merely punctuated the moment’s piercing quality. “Mrs. Folley, could you describe for the court what it means to digitally clean up a picture?”

“Objection! Your Honor, plaintiff intends to fabricate reality from what is merely theory.”

“Overruled.” Judge Nicols did not even glance his way. “Proceed.”

“Do you require the question to be repeated, Mrs. Folley?”

“No.” She addressed her response to the jury, showing her experience at courtroom testimony. She seemed utterly unfazed by the video, which was natural, as she had probably seen it a full hundred times by now. “Essentially, it is the same as taking an analog tape of old music and remastering it. The video is first digitized, and then rerendered through computer analysis. All ambient particles and, in this instance, unnecessary light are removed. The image is redrawn into tighter focus.”

Marcus realized that the majority of the jury did not understand, and that it did not matter. “But this cleaned-up version is still the same, is it not?”

“The underlying image is identical to the original, yes. Just as it is when you remaster an old jazz recording to hear the sound better.”

“All right. Your Honor, we would now like to show the remastered version of this video.”

“Objection!” Logan started across the floor.

But Nicols was having none of it. “Stay right where you are, Mr. Kendall.”

“But Your Honor-”

“This court accepts the testimony as valid, and has decided to overrule your objection.” The dark jaw jutted forward slightly. “I would advise you to reseat yourself. Now.”

Logan expelled a vast sigh of fury as he retook his seat. Marcus used this moment, when all attention was elsewhere, to reach behind the back of his table and draw forth the blown-up photograph. He held the poster-size print backward as Charlie Hayes fumbled with the easel, so that all the jury saw was the white styrofoam backing. “Mrs. Folley, would you please set up the digital video machine?”

He stood there holding the unseen photograph as the ungainly woman with her flat face and voice retrieved her bulky briefcase from beside Marcus’ chair. Charlie and he had cooked up the plan while discussing the witness the night before. As Marcus watched her feed in the wires and hook up the machine, however, he fretted that they had made a huge blunder. A more unemotional witness he had never sought to bend.