James Grippando - The Pardon

“It was your decision to move out, wasn’t it.”

“Yes, it was my decision.”

“And Mr. Swyteck was pretty upset about that.”

She hesitated, surprised at how personal the questions were, and suspicious of where this was leading. She glanced at Jack, then looked the prosecutor in the eye. “It was hard on both of us.”

“Well, let me be a little more specific. The two of you had a nasty fight before you left him, didn’t you?”

“Objection,” said Manny. “Judge-”

“Overruled.”

Cindy shifted nervously in her chair. “We had a disagreement, yes.”

McCue smirked. “And I suppose the battle of Gettysburg was also a disagreement.”

“Objection!” said Manny.

The judge frowned at McCue. “Sustained. I’m warning you for the last time about the cheap shots, Mr. McCue.”

McCue was unfazed. “Isn’t it true, Miss Paige, that the defendant literally threw you out of his house?”

“He never laid a hand on me. We had an argument. Every couple I know has arguments.”

“But this wasn’t just like any other argument,” McCue said, moving closer to the witness. “On the morning you left him, Mr. Swyteck really lost control,” he said in a low, serious voice. “He was a different person. Wouldn’t you say?”

“Objection,” said Manny. “Your Honor, this line of questioning is getting ridiculous.”

The judge glared at the prosecutor. “I’d tend too agree.”

“If we could have a sidebar,” said McCue, “I think I can explain the relevance.”

“Make it brief,” the judge said as she waved them for ward.

The lawyers stepped quickly toward the bench and huddled beside the judge, out of earshot of the jury.

“I’ve been patient,” Manny argued quietly, “waiting to see where Mr. McCue is going with this. But lovers’ spats between my client and Miss Paige are completely irrelevant to the issues in this case. This is simply humiliating and improper.”

“It goes right to the heart of the government’s case,” McCue countered, his expression deadly serious. “We have an all-American defendant who looks like the last person on earth who’d kill another human being. But on the inside, Your Honor, Mr. Swyteck is wound a little too tightly. He snapped after the Goss trial. And when he did, he killed his own client. I need the testimony of this witness to prove that he snapped. To prove that stress made him into a different person-someone capable of murder.”

“Miss Paige is not a psychiatrist,” Manny said with sarcasm.

“I don’t want a medical opinion,” McCue fought back. “I want to know what this woman perceived-the woman who has lived with the defendant for the last year, and who has already testified that she knows him better than anyone.”

The judge wasn’t completely persuaded, but she deferred to the state attorney. “I’ll allow it,” she muttered. “But not for much longer.”

“Judge,” Manny groaned, “I-”

“I’ve ruled,” she said sharply.

“Thank you,” said McCue. Manny shook his head, then returned to his seat beside Jack. The prosecutor resumed his position in front of the witness, a little closer than before, almost close enough to touch her.

Cindy tried to be ready for anything as she stared back at McCue. She wondered what the judge had said to him. She hoped he’d move on to another topic, but knew from the gleam in his eye that he wasn’t finished yet.

“How about it, miss?” McCue continued. “On that morning you left your boyfriend-right after Eddy Goss was acquitted, and right before he was murdered-would you say you saw a side of Jack Swyteck that you’d never seen before?”

She looked at Jack, then back at McCue. “I wouldn’t say that. . exactly.”

“He scared you though, didn’t he?”

Cindy reddened. “I don’t know. He could have.”

“ Could have, huh? Well, let me clarify a few things. The morning you left him, you didn’t bother to kiss him good-bye, did you?”

“No.”

“You didn’t even shake his hand, did you?”

“No.”

“In fact, you didn’t walk out on him. You ran out.”

“Yes, I ran.”

“You ran out so fast you didn’t even have time to dress.”

“No.”

“You ran out half-naked, wearing nothing but a T-shirt.”

She gulped, her eyes welling. “It’s what I sleep in.”

“You ran out because you were scared for your own safety, weren’t you?”

She was flustered. She licked her lips, but her mouth was desert-dry.

“Isn’t it true,” he said, “that you told Mr. Swyteck that the Goss trial had changed him?”

Cindy shook her head with confusion. “I don’t remember anything like-”

“Miss Paige!” McCue bellowed, his voice filling the courtroom like a pipe organ. “You thought Jack Swyteck had changed so much, that you told him he was no different from the scum he defended. Isn’t that right!”

“I-” Cindy gasped.

“Isn’t that right, Miss Paige!”

“No, not exactly. I said, ‘You are the scum you defend,’ but-”

“He is the scum he defended!” McCue exclaimed, pouncing on her words for having dared to equivocate. “Thank you, Ms. Paige. Thank you very much for clearing that up for us. I have no further questions,” he announced as he turned away from the witness and headed back to the prosecutor’s table.

She sat limply in the witness chair, her head down and shoulders rounded. Manny approached slowly, to give her time to compose herself before his cross-examination. “Good morning, Miss Paige,” he said in a conversational tone, trying to put her at ease.

Jack listened as Manny tried to rehabilitate her. She explained that she’d spoken purely out of anger on that ugly morning, that she’d never meant a word of it, and that they were now back together. But Jack couldn’t listen. He knew Cindy had told McCue the truth, and nothing could change the truth. The best strategy was to minimize the importance of her testimony, and the longer Manny kept her on the stand, the more important her testimony would seem. Thankfully, Manny didn’t keep her long.

“That’s all the questions I have,” said Manny, dismissing the witness. “Thank you.”

Cindy stepped down and headed for the swinging gate that separated the players from the spectators. As she laid her hand atop the polished mahogany banister, she paused and gave Jack a look that asked for forgiveness.

“We got a problem,” he whispered to Manny.

“It’s only round one,” Manny said, shrugging it off.

“No, you’re missing the point,” Jack said. “It was just me and Cindy in my bedroom that morning she left me. We were alone. ”

“So? Why is that a problem?”

“If Cindy and I are the only two people who know what went on in that room, how did McCue know how to ask her all the right questions?”

For a moment they just stared at each other. Then Jack’s eyes shifted from Manny to Wilson McCue, who was seated at the prosecutor’s table across the room. The state attorney looked up from his notepad and returned the glance, as if sensing the weight of Jack’s stare. He was smiling, Jack noticed, albeit just around his eyes. Jack fought a rising tide of anger. He was ready to leap from his chair and drag it out of him if he had to: How did you know, you bastard? How did you know what to ask her?

“Is the State ready to call its next witness?” asked the judge.

Jack was so engrossed he didn’t hear the words. Then it came to him. Of course McCue had an informant. Who else could it be?

“Your Honor,” the prosecutor announced to the hushed courtroom, “the State calls Miss Gina Terisi.”