William Bernhardt - Hate Crime

“You heard what I said.” Drabble projected his voice so every reporter in the courtroom could hear. “I won’t stand by quietly while you thwart justice. The answer is no.”

But Judge Lacayo’s answer, happily, was yes. He was wary of denying the defense anyone they called a critical alibi witness-especially, Ben suspected, when the case looked like a prosecution win, which would guarantee an appeal. He offered Drabble extra time to prepare his cross which, to Ben’s surprise, he declined.

“That won’t be necessary, your honor,” Drabble grumbled. “I have a pretty good idea what I’m going to do.”

What can he be thinking? Ben wondered. As always, any time a prosecutor knew something he didn’t, he was left with an unshakable foreboding.

Christina handled the direct examination of Ellen Christensen. It wasn’t an easy task for her-especially knowing what she did about the woman’s past with Ben-but she also knew it would be a mistake to ask Ben to do it.

After establishing who she was, where she lived, and her relationship to the defendant, Christina took her directly to the time in question.

“What were you doing on the night of March 22?”

“I was at home. Alone. I’m a widow-my husband died two and a half years ago.”

“What were you doing?”

“After dinner, I read a novel. The new Anne Tyler.”

“Would you please tell the jury where you live?”

“At the corner of Madison and 21st. Near campus.”

“And near Remote Control?”

“Yes. Very near.”

“Did you have any visitors that night?”

“One.” She paused. “My son. John Christensen.”

“And what time was it when he came by?”

“I can’t say exactly, but I remember my grandfather clock striking 11:00, so it was a little later than that. About 11:10, 11:20, I’d guess.”

There was a discernible rustling in the gallery. Now the crowd-and the jury-understood the importance of her testimony. While she had their attention, Christina thought it would be an advantageous time to establish a little essential background information.

“Have you been close to your son in recent years, Mrs. Christensen?”

Ellen’s gaze went downward, not toward the jury, as Christina would’ve preferred. It was acceptable to seem a little nervous-jurors expected that. But Christina didn’t want it to be too extreme-especially not with a witness whom they were likely to be skeptical of from the outset. “We were close for many years. After I married his father. I loved him-I love him-just as if he were my biological son. In my mind, he is. But after Larry died… he seemed to change. He became distant. It was almost as if he blamed me for Larry’s premature heart attack. He started spending less time at home and more time with his friends-often friends I did not approve of. When he finished high school and wanted to go to college, it was a relief.”

“Did you know about his involvement with the fraternity? And the Christian Minutemen?”

“Yes, even as little as I saw him, he made sure I knew about that.”

“Did you approve?”

“Of course not. Larry and I were always very liberal in our thinking. In a way I think perhaps that was why he did it. It was the ultimate way of punishing me, of rebelling. By being a part of something I found truly appalling.”

“How did he look when he came to see you that night?”

“Horrible. Strung out. His hair was a mess, he was drenched in sweat. His clothes were dirty and there were… splatters of blood on his shirt and hands. And he reeked of alcohol.”

“Why did he come?”

“He said he needed to talk to someone-someone he could trust. I was pleased and flattered of course, but that died fast. When he told me what he’d done.”

“What did he say?”

“He said he’d been with a friend. They’d both been drinking. Johnny is not a good drinker. It turns him into someone… someone entirely different from himself. He said they kidnapped a man in a parking lot and beat him. It wasn’t his idea, he said, it was his friend’s-but he felt as if he had to go along with it. He said they hurt this poor man-for a long time. Johnny said he had tried to stop his friend, but the friend wouldn’t listen.”

“Why would he tell you this?”

“Because he felt awful about it. The alcohol had worn off, his friend’s influence had diminished-and he was riddled with guilt.”

Out the corner of her eye, Christina checked the expression on the jurors’ faces. They were skeptical-understandably so. This was directly contradictory to everything they’d heard so far, and the first hint of remorse they’d heard in the entire trial. It was coming too late to be readily convincing.

“How so?”

“He knew they’d done a horrible thing. He hadn’t forgotten everything his father and I taught him. It had just been… buried somewhere. Somewhere deep. But now it all came pouring out of him.”

“What did you do?”

“Not much. I just held him. Tried to comfort him. Told him…” She paused, drawing in her breath. Christina sensed she was struggling to retain her composure. “Told him I still loved him and always would. No matter what. And then he left.”

“Did you notice what time he left?”

“I did. By then, I knew it might be important. It was 11:28, according to the clock in my kitchen. He’d only been there about ten minutes.”

Christina closed her notebook. There were only two more questions left, and it was important that her witness get them both right. “Ellen, in the aftermath of the tragedy, you spoke to the police, didn’t you?”

“Yes. Several times.”

Rather than let the prosecution make a fuss about this on cross, Christina knew it was best to raise the issue on direct. “Did you tell them what you just told us?”

“No. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t have lied about it. But I couldn’t volunteer that he had come to my house and… basically confessed. I didn’t know then that Johnny himself would admit what he had done. I didn’t know then that the principal remaining question would be where he went when he left the bar a little after eleven. When that became an issue-I knew I had to come forward.”

“And you’re absolutely sure that Johnny was with you at the time of approximately 11:10 to 11:28?”

“Absolutely. And there wasn’t time for him to go anywhere else.”

Christina nodded. So far, so good. Only one more hurdle to jump. “Mrs. Christensen, as you know, the main question before this jury at present is not whether your son beat Tony Barovick, but whether he killed him. When he visited you that night, did he refer to that at all?”

“He did.”

“What did he say?”

“He said that his friend Brett had wanted to kill him. As he described it, Brett had been consumed with something like a blood rage, had all but lost his mind. He wanted to murder the boy in some horrible fashion. But my Johnny stopped him.”

“So you’re certain Johnny didn’t kill Tony Barovick?”

“More than that. As ironic as it might seem, Johnny saved that boy’s life.”

“Thank you. Pass the witness.”

That had gone well, Christina thought, as she returned to her seat. Better than she’d expected, actually. She couldn’t gauge whether the jury was buying it, but the points had been established. Whether they made an impact, ultimately, would depend on whether the jury believed Mrs. Christensen was telling the truth. At any rate, she hadn’t left any openings for Drabble’s cross, at least as far as she knew.

Drabble slowly approached the podium. Christina could only imagine what he had up his sleeve. She had cautioned Ellen not to become restless; this cross could easily go on for hours.