William Bernhardt - Hate Crime

“In this case, I disagree,” Christina replied. “The prosecutor’s motive is all about how my client supposedly felt. Most of his opening statement was a long rant about how my client supposedly feels. What he believes. How it motivated him. I think we’re entitled to rebut.”

Judge Lacayo pondered for a longer than average time before answering. “It is unusual, but I think Ms. McCall’s point is not without merit. And I think this will be of interest-and perhaps of use-to the jury.”

In sentencing, Christina thought. That’s what he’s thinking. The jury will want to know how he feels now when they decide later whether to give him the needle.

“The objection is overruled,” Lacayo said. “The witness may answer.”

“I’m very sorry about what I did,” Johnny said, his voice raw and earnest. “Truly sorry. There’s no excuse for it. Even though I didn’t do the worst parts. But I watched them being done. And I didn’t prevent them. I know it’s not an excuse, but I really am not used to drinking like I had that night, and I think it somehow… sort of drained my will. I was just going along when I should’ve been resisting.” He looked first at the jurors, then out into the gallery. “I truly regret what I did, and I believe I should be punished for it. I will accept any punishment for it. The only thing I ask is-don’t punish me for a crime I didn’t commit. I did not kill Tony Barovick. I did not cause his death. Brett did not cause his death. His death could not have resulted from the beating we gave him.” He turned his eyes back to the jury. “And that’s the God’s honest truth.”

After the direct, Judge Lacayo called for a recess. Christina was glad for the chance to relax and tell Johnny how well he was doing-but she was not pleased to see Drabble get additional time to plan his cross. By the time the trial resumed, he was ready.

“You admit that you participated in a beating of the deceased, Tony Barovick, that lasted about thirty minutes, right?” It was interesting how Drabble’s body language had changed, Christina noted. With his own witnesses, of course, he was friendly and open. Even with Ellen Christensen, he was gentle, respectful. But now his body was stiff and tense, his gestures were hard and direct, and his voice was cold, unyielding. Exactly what the jury would want him to be.

“I admit that, yes,” Johnny said cautiously.

“And you say you did this not out of hatred for homosexuals, but because this particular homosexual made advances toward you.”

“I’m not saying it was right, but… yes. That’s what triggered it.”

“And now we’re supposed to believe you’re sorry about what you did, and just say, well, no harm, no foul?”

“Objection,” Christina said, rising. “Argumentative.”

“Overruled,” Lacayo responded. Judging from his manner, he had as little confidence in Johnny’s contrition as Drabble.

“I am sorry,” Johnny said. Somehow, even though his testimony hadn’t changed, it played differently when Drabble stood behind the podium. Now Johnny’s voice seemed thin, even strident. As if he were working to convince rather than simply explaining. “I mean that.”

“And when did you have this sudden epiphany that you had done something wrong?”

Johnny tossed his shoulders. “I think I knew it all along. That’s why I had to see my mother. Absolutely I knew it was wrong when Brett started… seriously hurting that man. When it was all over, I felt terrible.”

“Mr. Christensen,” Drabble said, one hand on his hip, “would you care to guess how many witnesses I have who will testify that you were bragging about what you did at Remote Control?”

He hesitated. “I… don’t know.”

“Come on, take a guess. I’ll give you a hint-it’s a two-digit number.”

“Most of that was Brett.”

“But not all of it.”

“No,” Johnny said quietly. “Not all of it.”

“Why?” The sarcasm in Drabble’s voice was unmistakable. “If you were so stricken with grief, so burdened with the horror of what you had done, why would you brag about it in that bar?”

“I was with my friends. Brett and Gary and the others. I suppose I was trying to impress them.”

“Of course, we’ve heard Gary Scholes testify that he was anything but impressed by what he heard. He said he found your bragging heartless and grotesque.”

“I wish he’d told me that.”

“Maybe an hour later, when Officer Montgomery interrogated you, he said you were similarly lacking any remorse for what you had done.”

“The cops aren’t going to give me any breaks,” Johnny answered. “They were and are determined to nail me to the wall.”

“Imagine that.” Drabble picked up a thick document bound between leather covers that Christina knew to be the transcript of the interrogation. “So did you or did you not express any of this sorrow when you were questioned?”

“I really don’t remember.”

“Well,” Drabble said, turning the pages, “do you recall saying repeatedly, ‘He asked for it! All he got was what he asked for!’ ”

“I… might’ve said that.”

“I have to tell you, Johnny-that doesn’t sound particularly contrite to me.”

“I was just trying to explain-”

“Here’s another one,” Drabble said, flipping to another page. “Apologies to the court for the language, but I think the jury needs to hear it as it was spoken. You said, ‘That goddamn queen touched me. He touched me! So I touched him back. Hard.’ ”

“I was still with Brett when I said that,” Johnny said. “I suppose I was trying to impress him. I didn’t want him to think I was weak.”

“And here’s my favorite,” Drabble said, ignoring him. “ ‘God hates queers. That’s why he sent AIDS. And that’s why he sent me.’ ”

“Look, I was very upset that night. I’d been drinking, and it was late, and I wasn’t thinking straight and-”

“And you just accidentally beat to death someone you hated and then acted self-righteous about it.”

“No!” Johnny insisted. “It wasn’t like that. I was sorry-”

“Why? After all, that flaming queen touched you.”

“I don’t know why I said that. I didn’t mean-”

“I suppose you had to do something to speed things along, since AIDS wasn’t doing it fast enough.”

“That’s not what I meant!” Johnny insisted, and each time he did Christina knew he sounded less persuasive. Drabble was ramming the kid’s own words down his throat-probably the most effective cross-ex technique imaginable. “I’ve told you already what I felt, and what I believe. But I would never have done any serious harm to him.”

“Right. Because all the serious harm was done by Brett.”

“That’s true!”

“All you did was rough him up a bit. Maybe cracked a few ribs, that’s all.”

“I did not-”

“Maybe cut him with your knife.”

“That’s not true, either.”

“Isn’t it?” Drabble glanced down at his notes. “It was your knife, wasn’t it? You tried to push the hammer off on Brett, but the knife was yours. Right?”

Johnny’s face began to sag. “Yes. It was mine. Just a Swiss Army knife that my-”

“According to the coroner’s report,” Drabble said, reading, “ ‘Tony Barovick was cut by knife in twelve different places.’ Does that sound accurate?”

“I… don’t remember.”

“Twelve lacerations is not an accident, Mr. Christensen. That’s the work of someone who is enjoying it.”

“They weren’t serious injuries! None of them. Just little cuts. They couldn’t have killed him.”

“No. They would’ve just hurt a lot. Possibly scarred him for life. And terrified him.”