Lisa Scottoline - Mistaken Identity

“Yes.”

Bennie checked the jury, alert this morning, listening tensely. The videographer had edged to the front of his seat, as had the librarian. They wanted to see what Bennie could do to Harting, which only confirmed the lawyer’s theory about the impact of her testimony. “Now, Ms. Harting, you testified yesterday that you and Alice Connolly were friends, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And you testified about a conversation you had with Alice Connolly after computer class one day.”

“Yes.”

“And you testified that Alice Connolly told you that she had killed Detective Della Porta, is that right?”

“Yeah, I said that, but I’m thinkin’ I should tell the truth today.”

Bennie blinked. “Pardon me?”

“I’m goin’ to tell the truth today.”

Bennie thought she’d misheard. “The truth?”

“I mean, that was wrong, what I said yesterday.”

Bennie fumbled for her bearings. “You mean that Alice Connolly did not tell you that she killed Detective Della Porta?”

“Yeah.” Harting’s eyes flickered a flat green. “Alice never tol’ me nothin’ like that.”

Bennie hid her bewilderment. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Judge Guthrie cocking his head, his reaction restrained, and most of the jurors looked confused. Dorsey Hilliard’s face morphed into a horrified mask. She remembered what DiNunzio had told her this morning about Burden’s prosecuting the man who had injured him, and concluded that Connolly was payback for the conviction.

“Ms. Harting,” Bennie asked, “do you mean that your testimony of yesterday, that Alice Connolly told you that she had killed Detective Della Porta, was false?”

“Yes. I lied on her yesterday.”

“Objection!” Hilliard said, snatching his crutches and rising to his feet almost before they were completely supporting him.

“On what grounds?” Bennie asked.

Hilliard looked over, his mouth open slightly. “The question was leading.”

“It’s your witness,” Bennie shot back. “This is cross, remember?”

“Order!” Judge Guthrie barked, reaching for his gavel. “Mr. Hilliard, please take your seat. Ms. Rosato, please address your questions to the witness.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Bennie said. She had no idea why Harting was recanting, but she had to pin down this testimony. “Ms. Harting, were you lying when you testified that Alice Connolly told you she killed Anthony Della Porta?”

“Yes.”

“Were you lying when you testified that Alice Connolly said she thought she’d get away with the murder because she was too smart for everybody?”

“Yes.”

“Ms. Harting, is it your testimony today that everything you said on this stand yesterday was false?”

Judge Guthrie leaned toward the witness, his mouth set in a grim line and his forehead wrinkling deeply. For the first time in this trial, his plaid bow tie looked askew. “Ms. Harting, it is incumbent upon the Court, since you appear without counsel in this matter, to inform you that perjury, which is the making of a false material statement under oath, carries a heavy penalty in Pennsylvania. Do you understand that, Ms. Harting?”

“Yeah,” the witness answered, and blinked once. It was the only reaction evident on her face. “Alls I said yesterday was a lie. I lied on Alice and I’m sorry.”

For a minute Bennie had no idea how to follow up. So she asked the only question she wanted answered, which had to be on the minds of the jurors. “Ms. Harting, there is one last question. Why did you lie yesterday?”

“Because I wanted Alice to go up for the murder. We was never friends. She did somethin’ bad to me, somethin’ real terrible, between us. I wanted to get her back, so I called up the D.A.” Harting paused. “But las’ night in bed I thought about it and I prayed to my Lord Jesus and I knew I couldn’t go through with it. I’m sorry. I truly am.”

Bennie didn’t believe a word of it. Something must have changed Harting’s mind about testifying against Connolly. Someone had gotten to her, overnight. Who? Connolly, or someone sent by her. Bennie felt torn, sickened. Harting’s testimony today was the truth, but it had come the wrong way. “I have no further questions,” she said, and returned to her seat without looking at Connolly.

Hilliard took the podium and swiped his head with an open palm. “Ms. Harting, I must say, I am absolutely astounded at your testimony this morning.”

“Objection,” Bennie said. “The prosecutor may not comment on the testimony, Your Honor.”

Judge Guthrie shifted forward in his chair. “Mr. Hilliard, please.”

“Yes, sir,” Hilliard said, sighing theatrically. “Ms. Harting, is it your testimony today that everything you said yesterday was a complete and utter fabrication?”

“Objection, asked and answered,” Bennie said, and Judge Guthrie groaned.

“Sustained. Mr. Hilliard-”

Hilliard raised a hand. “I’m sorry, Your Honor. This comes as such a shock.”

Bennie stifled her motion to strike. Hilliard’s histrionics were futile. The prosecutor was in a terrible bind and he knew it. There was no quicker way to lose a trial than to have a star witness recant.

“Ms. Harting,” Hilliard said, “you took an oath to tell the truth yesterday, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Ms. Harting, did you understand you took that oath yesterday?”

“Yes.”

“But you didn’t tell the truth yesterday?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Even though you swore on a Bible, before your Lord Jesus, when you took that oath to tell the truth?”

“Yes. I’m sorry. I truly, truly am.”

Hilliard nodded. “When you got up on the stand this morning, the judge reminded you that you were still under oath, didn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“So that means you took an oath to tell the truth today, do you understand that?”

“Yes.”

“So you took an oath to tell the truth yesterday and you took an oath to tell the truth today. How do we know you’re telling the truth today?”

Bennie rose. “Move to strike this line of questioning, Your Honor. The prosecutor is harassing his own witness.”

Hilliard straightened his broad shoulders at the podium. “Your Honor, in view of the morning’s events, the Commonwealth requests permission to question Ms. Harting as a hostile witness.”

“Granted.” Judge Guthrie shifted back in his chair.

“Ms. Harting,” Hilliard said, rapid-fire, “were you lying yesterday or are you lying today?”

“I’m tellin’ the truth today, I swear it.” Harting turned her body toward the jury, though she didn’t make eye contact with a single juror. “I am tellin’ the truth now, I swear to you. I prayed to Jesus, and he helped me. I done wrong in my life, I know, and I wanted to get Alice back, but it was wrong and I want to do the right thing-”

“Ms. Harting,” Hilliard interrupted. “Look at me, not the jury, and please answer my question, and my question only.”

At her chair, Bennie could barely listen to the exchange. How had Connolly gotten to Harting, from a holding cell? Had she sent Bullock to the prison last night? He could have represented that he was an attorney and gotten in even after hours. But the prison logs would show a lawyer visit and they could be checked with a phone call. Bennie guessed Hilliard’s thinking tracked hers, because he scribbled a note and handed it to an associate, who scooted from the courtroom.

Hilliard resumed his questioning. “Ms. Harting, you say that you prayed to Jesus. Do you attend chapel regularly in prison?”

“Not regular.”

“When was the last time you attended chapel in prison?”

Shetrell’s eyes fluttered. “I pray in my own way.”