Lisa Scottoline - Mistaken Identity

“Yes.”

“Rowhouses line Winchester Street, do they not?”

“Sure.”

“And you arrested Alice Connolly in front of which house, I don’t recall you testifying.”

McShea looked heavenward for a moment. “I don’t know. It was at the end of the block, the east end.”

“Was there anybody else who heard this except you and your partner?”

“Nobody else was there.”

“Did Ms. Connolly shout this confession?”

“No.” McShea snorted derisively. “People don’t usually shout murder confessions in public. Her voice was lower than normal.”

Bennie tried to visualize it. “Help me understand this, Officer McShea. You testified that you and Officer Reston had to subdue Alice Connolly, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“So I assume her face was down on the pavement and her hands were behind her while you were attempting to handcuff her, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“And you testified she was struggling and kicking, right?”

“Yes.”

“And you testified you were standing above her, struggling with her, correct?”

“Yes.”

“And you were shouting, ‘Get down, get down’?”

“Yes.”

“So how did you hear Alice Connolly make this so-called confession, if her voice was lower than normal?”

McShea paused. “Okay, it was a little louder than that.”

“How much louder?”

“Loud enough to hear.”

“Loud enough for the neighbors to hear?”

“Not that loud.”

Bennie scratched her head, for effect. “Officer McShea, I’m confused. A minute ago, you testified that Alice confessed in a lower tone than normal. Now you’re saying it was a normal tone of voice. Which is it, Officer McShea?”

“Normal.”

“Normal enough for you to hear, but not normal enough for anyone but you and your partner to hear?”

“Objection, Your Honor,” Hilliard said, and Judge Guthrie leaned forward.

“Sustained.”

Bennie couldn’t do any more with it on cross. She’d have to bring the Winchester neighbors in, in the defense case. “Officer McShea, were you friends with Detective Della Porta?”

“We knew each other.”

“How well did you know each other?”

“Saw each other at police events and whatnot. Before he got promoted out, to detective.”

“You said ‘promoted out.’ Do you know which district Detective Della Porta was promoted from?”

“The Eleventh, I think.”

“Officer McShea, did you ever serve in the Eleventh District?”

“No, I was always in the Twentieth. It’s the neighborhood I grew up in.”

“Was your partner, Officer Reston, friendly with Detective Della Porta as well?”

“Yes.”

“To your knowledge, has Officer Reston always served in the Twentieth?”

“No.”

“He was transferred to it?”

“Yes.”

“From where?”

“From the Eleventh.”

Bennie thought about it. “So Detective Della Porta and your partner, Art Reston, both served in the Eleventh?”

“Yes.”

Bennie hesitated. It was folly to try to root out a conspiracy in open court, in real time, but she had no choice. Whatever dirt they were into started in the Eleventh District and probably stayed there if the pattern held true. “Officer McShea, did you ever visit Detective Della Porta at his apartment?”

“Maybe once or twice.”

Bennie’s heartbeat quickened. She needed to pin down the specifics of any connection between the two men. “What were the occasions that you visited Della Porta’s apartment?”

“He gave a party, I think. Coupla parties. It was a while ago.”

“How many parties?”

“I don’t remember, it was a while ago.”

“You testified that you recognized Detective Della Porta’s house number when it came over the radio, isn’t that right?”

“Yes.”

“So it had to be a lot of parties for you to remember the house number and the house, didn’t it?”

“Objection,” Hilliard said, but Bennie raised her palms in appeal.

“This is cross-examination, Your Honor.”

“Sustained,” Judge Guthrie ruled, and began reading papers on the dais.

Bennie glanced at the jury. The librarian looked concerned again and the videographer shot a veiled look at the judge. Judge Guthrie was playing a risky game. If the jury sensed the bias in his rulings and felt that they weren’t getting the truth, they’d side with Bennie. She decided to emphasize it to them. It was the only way to combat the judge. “Your Honor, the jury is entitled to understand the connection between Detective Della Porta, Officer McShea, and Officer Reston.”

“There is no connection!” Hilliard protested.

“I’ll rephrase that,” Bennie said. “The jury is entitled to understand what, if any, connection exists between these three police officers.”

“Sustained,” Judge Guthrie ruled again. He leaned over the open index on his desk and for the first time since the cross-examination began, met Bennie’s eye directly. She sensed he was trying to warn her off. For her good? For his? In any event, she wasn’t listening.

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Hilliard said, taking his seat, and Bennie turned to the witness.

“Officer McShea, I’ll change the subject for you. Please tell the jury what your job duties are as an active uniformed police officer.”

“What do you mean?” McShea asked, wary now, and Bennie slipped her hands into her pockets.

“I mean, what do you do as a cop?”

“I protect citizens from crime and enforce the law.”

“What kinds of law?”

“Robbery, murder, auto theft.”

“Laws against the use and sale of drugs, as well?”

“Objection,” Hilliard said, half rising on arms braced against counsel table. “What possible relevance do Officer McShea’s duties have to a murder case?”

Bennie faced Judge Guthrie. “Your Honor, in his direct, the prosecutor established Officer McShea’s credentials as a police officer, a father, a husband, even as Santa Claus. The defense is entitled to explore that once he’s opened the door. It’s a simple question, Your Honor.”

“I just don’t see any point to it, Your Honor,” Hilliard said, glancing at the jury.

Judge Guthrie peered over his glasses. “You may explore this in a very limited scope, Ms. Rosato.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Bennie said, and faced the witness. “Officer McShea, do you enforce drug laws in your district?”

“Yes.”

“What type of drugs?”

“Marijuana. Cocaine, crack cocaine, heroin. Methamphetamine. PCP. Ecstasy. Shall I go on?”

Bennie shook her head. “That’s plenty. Officer McShea, have you ever arrested anyone for use or sale of any such drugs?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever confiscated any drugs in connection with those arrests?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever confiscated any cash in connection with those arrests?”

“Objection!” Hilliard said, rising and reaching for his crutches. “This is far beyond any relevant inquiry, Your Honor.”

Judge Guthrie nodded. “I agree, the objection is sustained. Ms. Rosato, please move on to your next line of questioning.”

“Yes, Your Honor.” Bennie addressed the witness and prepared to let it rip. “I have one final question, Officer McShea. Were you aware that Detective Della Porta was involved in a conspiracy of police officers to sell confiscated drugs?”

“Objection!” Hilliard thundered, grabbing his crutches and leaping to his feet.

“Sustained!” Judge Guthrie ruled, the stem of his reading glasses almost falling from his mouth. His eyes flared as he looked past Bennie to the jury, then to the gallery on the other side of the bulletproof divider. Spectators chattered to each other, courtroom artists drew at speed, and reporters dashed off notes. “Order! Order!” he shouted, rooting through the papers for his gavel, then forgoing it altogether. “Order in the Court! Order!” The judge turned to Bennie. “Ms. Rosato, if you ever ask a question like that without laying a proper foundation, I’ll hold you in contempt. Do you understand?”