Джон Гришэм - A Time for Mercy

“And he was in uniform?”

“Yes. He took off his gun and just pulled down his pants. I was wearin’ a skirt. He wrapped it around my neck. When we were drivin’ home I couldn’t stop cryin’, so he took his gun and punched it into my ribs, said to stop it, said he would kill me if I breathed a word. Then he laughed and said he wanted me to walk into the house like nothing had ever happened, said he wanted to see how good an actor I was. I went to my room and locked the door. Drew came to check on me.”

As gripping and lurid as her testimony was, Jake knew it would be a mistake to punish the witness and the jury with the details of all five attacks. They had endured enough, and he had plenty of ammo for the rest of the trial. He stepped to the defense table to get some notes, a legal pad for a prop, and glanced at Carla on the third row. With perfect timing, she did a quick slit of the throat with an index finger. Red polish. Cut. Move on.

He returned to the podium and continued. “Kiera, on the night Stuart died, you were home with Drew and your mom, correct?”

“Yes sir.”

Dyer stood and said, “Objection, Your Honor. This is leading.”

With irritation, Noose said, “Sure, it’s leading, Mr. Dyer, but it’s going into the record anyway. Overruled. Please continue, Ms. Gamble.”

“Well, we were home, waitin’ as usual. He was out, late, and the situation had become much worse. Drew and I were beggin’ Mom to leave before somebody got hurt, and I had made the decision to tell her I thought something was wrong with my body, that I might be pregnant, but I was still afraid because of him and because there was no place for us to go. We were trapped. If she had known about the rapes and all she would, well, I’m not sure what she would have done. But I was still afraid of him. So, anyway, long after midnight we saw the headlights. Drew and I were huddled together on my bed with the door jammed for protection. We heard him come in, Mom was waiting in the kitchen, and they got into a fight. We heard her get slapped and she yelled and he cussed her, and it was just awful.” More tears, another brief delay as the witness fought to control herself.

She wiped her eyes and moved closer to the mike.

“Did Stuart go upstairs?” Jake asked.

“He did. Suddenly everything was quiet down there and we heard him on the stairs, staggerin’, fallin’. Obviously drunk. He was stompin’ up the stairs, callin’ my name, sort of singing it like an idiot. He rattled the doors, yelled for us to open them. We were so afraid.” Her voice cracked and she cried some more.

The terror she and Drew felt at that moment was now palpable in the courtroom. Watching that poor girl cry and wipe her face and try to be strong after all she had endured was heartbreaking.

Jake asked, “Kiera, would you like to take a break?”

She shook her head, no. Let’s get it over with.

Once Stuart backed away and went down the stairs, she and Drew knew something terrible had happened to their mother. Otherwise, she would have fought him on the stairway. They waited in the dark, curled up together, both crying, as the minutes passed. Drew went down first, then Kiera, who sat on the kitchen floor with their mother and tried to revive her. Drew called 911. He was moving around the house but Kiera did not know what he was doing. Then he closed the bedroom door, and she heard the shot. When he came out she asked him what he did, though she knew. Drew said, “I shot him.”

Jake listened carefully and occasionally glanced at his notes, but he managed to steal looks at the jurors. They were not watching him. Every eye was on the witness. “Now, Kiera, when you came down the stairs and found your mother, were you still worried about Stuart?”

She bit her lip, nodded, “Yes sir. We didn’t know what he was doing. Once we saw Mom on the floor, we figured he’d kill us too.”

Jake took a deep breath, smiled at her, and said, “Thank you, Kiera. Your Honor, the defense tenders the witness.” He sat down and loosened his collar. It, along with the rest of his shirt, was soaked with sweat.

Lowell Dyer approached the podium with trepidation. He couldn’t attack such a vulnerable and wounded girl. She had the jury’s complete sympathy and any unkind word from the prosecutor would only play in her favor. He began a disastrous cross with “Ms. Gamble, you keep looking at some notes you have there. May I ask about them?”

“Sure.” She pulled the folded sheet of paper from under her leg. “Just my notes about the five rapes.”

Jake could not suppress a grin. He had laid the trap and Dyer was blindly walking into it.

“And when did you make these notes?”

“I’ve worked on them for some time. I went back through some calendars and made sure I had the dates right.”

“And who asked you to do this?”

“Jake.”

“Has Jake told you what to say here on the witness stand?”

She was ready. “We’ve gone through my testimony, yes sir.”

“Has he coached you on how to testify?”

Jake stood and said, “Objection, Your Honor. Every good lawyer prepares his witnesses. What’s the point, Mr. Dyer?”

“Mr. Dyer?”

“I’m just probing, Your Honor. It is a cross-examination and I’m allowed some latitude here.”

“If relevant, Your Honor,” Jake said.

“Overruled. Continue.”

Dyer asked, “Could I see your notes there, Ms. Gamble?”

Written materials used for reference by witnesses were fair game, and the instant Dyer saw her glance at her notes he knew he would get them. In a moment, though, he would wish he had ignored them.

She held them up, as if to offer them to the prosecutor, who asked, “Your Honor, may I approach the witness?”

“Sure.”

He took a single sheet of paper and unfolded it. Jake let the mystery of its contents hang in the air for a few seconds, then jumped to his feet. “If it pleases the Court, we’ll be happy to stipulate and admit Kiera’s notes into evidence. We even have copies here for the jurors to look at.” He waved some papers.

The notes, written in her own hand and in her own words, were Libby’s idea. She had seen the ruse before in a rape case in Missouri. At the direction of the defense lawyer, the victim had prepared little reminders to help her through the ordeal of testifying. A hard-charging D.A. had demanded to see her notes, and it had been a fatal mistake.

Kiera’s written accounts of the five rapes were far more graphic than her testimony. She wrote of the pain, fear, her body, his, the horror, blood, and the ever-increasing thoughts of suicide. They were numbered, Rapes 1 through 5.

Once Dyer held the sheet of paper, and glanced at its contents, he realized his blunder. He handed it back, quickly, and said, “Thank you, Ms. Gamble.”

Jake, still standing, said, “Hang on, Judge. At this point the jury has the right to know about the notes. The State has put them into question.”

Dyer said, “The State has the right to be curious, Judge. This is a cross-examination.”

Jake said, “Of course it is. Your Honor, Mr. Dyer went after the notes because he was fishing and trying to prove that this witness has been coached by me and told how to testify. He thought he had caught us when he saw the notes. Now, though, he’s backing down. The notes are in play, Your Honor, and the jury has the right to see them.”

“I’m inclined to agree, Mr. Dyer. You asked to see them. It doesn’t seem fair to keep them away from the jury.”

“I disagree, Your Honor,” Dyer said in desperation, but could offer no reason.

Jake, still waving copies, said, “I submit the notes into evidence, Your Honor. Let’s not keep this from the jury.”

“Enough, Mr. Brigance. Just wait your turn.”