William Lashner - Fatal Flaw

“WE HAVEtime for one more witness this afternoon, Mr. Jefferson,” said Judge Tifaro. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, Your Honor. The People call Lawrence Cutlip to the stand.”

“Lawrence Cutlip? I don’t see a Lawrence Cutlip on your witness list, Counsel.”

“It’s a late addition, Judge, in light of Mr. Carl’s decision to abrogate his agreement on the stipulation about the identity of the victim. Mr. Cutlip will identify her as Hailey Prouix.”

“Ah, yes. Any objection, Mr. Carl?”

“No, Your Honor.”

“I thought not. All right, then, Mr. Jefferson, but keep it short.”

“I aim to, Your Honor, yes I do.”

The doors in the rear of the courtroom swung open and a cold breeze slipped in, followed by the decrepit remains of Lawrence Cutlip.

Cutlip, in his wheelchair, was dressed in his good jeans, with a fresh flannel shirt and clean white sneakers, all spiffed for the occasion. His thick grizzle was shaved close, and his wild ruff of white hair was combed back and fastened to his skull with grease. Even his dentures were in place, clean white pieces of plastic interspersed among the brittle natural teeth to which his gums still hesitantly clung. The oxygen tank was sympathetically hanging from the rear of the chair, its clear plastic line hooked around his ears and under his nose. Cutlip occasionally and noticeably wheezed as he was pushed forward by a large woman in short-sleeved nursing whites.

As the old man slid down the aisle between the benches and into the well of the court, he hunched in the chair, looking about himself suspiciously, not sure what to expect. When he saw Beth and me, he smiled awkwardly, as if we were old acquaintances of uncertain temper, and we smiled back warmly, as if we were old friends. We kept smiling even as the woman, biceps bulging, lifted Cutlip’s chair to the witness box, even as Cutlip raised his hand, even as Cutlip gave and spelled his name, gave his address, swore his oath to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing nothing nothing, so help him God, but the truth.

“Mr. Cutlip,” said Troy Jefferson, “how are you related to Hailey Prouix?”

“She was my niece, poor girl, the daughter of my sister.”

“Does she have any other family?”

“Well, her daddy was a Cajun boy who died when she was young, and her mama left off this earth not ten years back. That leaves just me and her sister, Roylynn. But Roylynn ain’t exactly all there, if you know what I mean, not even able to take care of herself. So that about leaves only me.”

“Were you close to her?”

“Yes, sir. You know, my sister wasn’t so disciplined, not really hard enough to get along in this world, so when her husband, he died in that lumber accident, she needed some help with them girls. I was living my life, minding my own business, but I saw that she and the girls needed me, and so I moved on in and supported them girls as best I could until they was old enough to take care of themselves.”

“That was quite a thing, Mr. Cutlip.”

“I couldn’t let them pretty little girls just drift away like that. The way I saw it, I never had no choice. I only done what I had to do. Anyone with half a heart would have done the same.”

“Did you stay close to Hailey through the years?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Were you aware that she was engaged to Guy Forrest?”

“Yes, I was. She told me all about him.”

“So you knew he was married.”

“Yes, with them kids, too. I told her it was a mistake to get involved with the likes of him. He didn’t seem the most stable, from what she told me, and from what he done to his wife and kids, not the most loyal neither. And then when she told me they was fighting over money, I got scared for her. I told her to get away from him, to get out before it was too late. There’s no telling what a man like that could do. I told her, I did, but when it came to boys, she never did listen to me. She never listened to nobody.”

Through the whole of this little speech Judge Tifaro was staring at me, giving me that look of hers, the stare that made you want to check your law license just to prove to yourself you didn’t pick it up along with a screwdriver and a fifty-foot garden hose at Sears. She was wondering why I wasn’t objecting from the first word, why I had done what I had done to let this man on the stand in the first place.

“No objection, Mr. Carl?” she said finally.

“No, Your Honor, but thank you for your concern.”

She stared, I shrugged, Jefferson continued.

“And then what happened?”

“What the hell do you think happened? She ended up dead.”

“I’d like to show you now a folder of photographs taken of the crime scene, People’s Exhibit Six, already entered into evidence, and ask you to look at it, please. I want to warn you, Mr. Cutlip, the pictures are terribly disturbing.”

Cutlip leaned forward in his chair as Jefferson brought him the folder. He opened the folder on the shelf in front of him and went through the photographs carefully, one by one by one. By the third his face was scrunched up as if against the cold and his upper lip was quivering. By the fifth he was in tears. By the ninth he was unable to look at them any longer and closed the folder. Only his soft sobs and wheezes could be heard in the courtroom.

“Mr. Cutlip…”

Cutlip wiped his eyes with the back of his big, slack-skinned hand.

“Mr. Cutlip. I have to ask you a question now. The pictures show a woman lying dead on a mattress. Do you recognize that woman?”

Cutlip gasped at the air and then said,”Yes.”

“Who is it, Mr. Cutlip?”

“It is my niece. Hailey Prouix.”

“Are you sure, Mr. Cutlip?”

“I knowed her all her life. I couldn’t be surer about nothing in this world.”

“I need to show you another set of photographs. People’s Exhibit nineteen, photographs from the autopsy. If you could just look at the first two, please.”

Cutlip nodded, the good soldier, and took the folder. He shuddered at the first photograph, winced at the second, closed the folder like it was a curse.

“Same,” said Cutlip. “It’s the same. It’s Hailey.”

“Hailey Prouix.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you miss her?”

“Mr. Carl,” said Judge Tifaro, “are you awake?”

“Yes, ma’am, I am.”

“Any objection to that question?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Go ahead, Mr. Jefferson, ask it again.”

“Do you miss her, Mr. Cutlip?”

“Yes, I surely do. I’m in line for the insurance money, but I’d just as soon as toss it for how I’m getting it. She was like a daughter to me, more. She was taking care of me still, she was taking care of her poor sister, and then that there man killed her. He done this to me, and now my heart weeps tears of blood. I got no choice but to miss her, to miss her ever day, ever damn day of the rest of my sorry life.”

“Thank you, Mr. Cutlip,” said Jefferson, trying unsuccessfully to hide his grin. “I pass the witness.”

The judge’s stare of inquest aimed right at my skull continued even as she asked for Troy Jefferson and myself to approach the bench. She waited for the court reporter to set up right by her side before she spoke.

“Mr. Carl,” she said, “do you have any idea what you are doing in this trial?”

“Not really, ma’am, no.”

“I didn’t think so. You backed out of a stipulation which allowed this man and his tears onto the stand. I gave you opportunities to object at every step of his testimony, and still you ignored them. Is there anything you want to do now, any motion you want to make?”

“All I want, Your Honor, is the chance to pose a few questions to Mr. Cutlip myself.”