David Rosenfelt - Open and Shut

“No doubt. He was the one. I was positive then, and I'm just as positive now.”

Cathy leaves the stand. I definitely did not do enough to damage her. She seemed credible and has no reason to lie. If I were on the jury, I would believe her. And if I believed her, I would vote to convict Willie Miller of murder in the first degree.

I barely have time to reflect on how depressing the situation is when it gets considerably worse. Wallace tells Hatchet, “Your Honor, the state calls Randy Sacich.”

This is not good news; I've never heard of Randy Sacich, and witnesses that I've never heard of are the absolute worst.

“Your Honor,” I protest, “there is no such person on the state's witness list.”

Wallace nods. “We regret that, Your Honor, but Mr. Sacich only came to our attention late yesterday. Our people were questioning him this morning to confirm that he is a reliable witness.”

“Your Honor,” I reply, “I'm not sure our ‘people’ would come to the same conclusion as Mr. Wallace's ‘people.’ In any event, there should not be surprise witnesses before these people.” I point at the jury to show who I am referring to.

Hatchet sends the jury out of the room, and Wallace and I kick it around some more. Hatchet buys his position, and Sacich is allowed in. As the jury comes back into the room, I speak to Willie.

“Do you know who this guy is?”

“Nope.”

With the jury seated, Randy Sacich is brought in, and Willie stiffens in surprise. He leans in to me.

“He's the guy in the cell next to me.”

“Did you tell him anything incriminating?”

“What's that?”

“Bad. Did you tell him anything bad?”

Willie is wounded. “How many times I got to tell you, man? I got nothing bad to say.”

Wallace apparently believes otherwise. He takes Sacich through his connection to this case, which is basically one of geography.

“I'm in the cell next to his.”

Wallace continues, “And from this vantage point, are you two able to talk to each other?”

“Sure,” Sacich says. “Right through the bars.” He says this matter-of-factly, as though they live in suburbia and stop by to borrow cups of sugar.

“Did Mr. Miller ever mention the crime for which he is currently imprisoned?” Wallace asks.

Sacich nods agreeably. “Sure, he talked about it all the time. He didn't talk about nothing else.”

“Did he ever speak to the legitimacy of the charges?”

“Huh?”

Wallace rephrases. “Did he ever say whether or not he had done it?”

Randy responds softly, almost hard to hear. “Yeah, a bunch of times. He said he did.”

“Please speak up so that the jury can hear you, Mr. Sacich.”

As rehearsed, Sacich turns to the jury. “He said he sliced her up and watched her guts pour out.”

The jury recoils in horror from this, and there is an audible rumble in the courtroom. Hatchet bangs his gavel and demands quiet. He gets it.

Wallace finishes with his questioning and Hatchet calls us to the bench. Out of earshot of the jury, he gives me the option of adjourning for the day and starting cross-examination tomorrow, or going ahead right now.

It's a difficult choice. If I delay, the jury sits with this in-controverted bombshell all night. If I go now, I do so without any background information on Sacich and his story. I will be breaking the cardinal sin-asking questions I do not know the answers to.

I consult briefly with Kevin, and he agrees with my assessment. We've got to go ahead now.

“Mr. Sacich, how did you come to live in the same neighborhood as Mr. Miller?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I'm not asking who your real estate agent was, or how big a mortgage you took out on the cell.”

“Objection.”

“Sustained. Mr. Carpenter, less sarcasm and clearer questions would be appreciated.”

“Yes, Your Honor. Mr. Sacich, why are you in jail? What crime were you convicted of?”

Wallace objects as to relevance, and I tell Hatchet that since I had no time to depose this witness, I really need a little leeway. Besides, the offense he has been convicted of might well go to credibility.

Hatchet overrules the objection and instructs Sacich to answer.

“Rape.”

I nod. “Rape. I see. Who did you rape?”

Sacich's eyes dart around the room; he thought he was here to talk about Willie, and now he's being asked to confess to rape under oath.

“I didn't say I did it.”

“Did you do it?” There's no downside to this question. If he says no, he looks like a liar. Yes, and he's a rapist. It's like the old “Do you think I'm fit to live with pigs?”

“No,” is his answer.

I walk over to the jury box. “Did a jury, sitting in a jury box like these people, vote to convict you?”

“Yeah.”

“You wouldn't lie about whether you actually committed the rape, would you? Because if you did, then how could this jury believe anything you say about this case?”

“I'm not lying.”

“So the jury was wrong?”

“Objection. Asked and answered.”

“Overruled. You may answer.”

“Yeah. The jury was wrong.”

“Now, as to what Willie Miller may or may not have told you-”

He interrupts. “He told me he did it.”

“Did anyone else hear him make the confession?”

“I don't know. You'd have to ask them.” He's getting more and more belligerent.

“But when you heard it, when he said it to you, were the two of you alone, or was there anyone else around?”

“We were alone.”

“How long have you been friends with Willie Miller?”

“We just met … we sit there all day and we talk some.”

“Do most people consider you a good listener? Do they have a tendency to confide in you?”

He nods; this is something he can agree with. “I guess so. Sure. I'm a pretty good listener.”

“Do you have any experience in the ministry?” This draws a laugh from the gallery and jury, and an objection from Wallace.

“Your Honor, this is ludicrous.”

“Sustained.”

“Did anyone promise you anything at all in return for your testimony today?”

“No.”

“No talk of a lighter sentence, or of the authorities treating you more favorably in the future?”

Sacich looks toward Wallace, worried about what he is supposed to say. I jump on this. “Do you want to consult with Mr. Wallace? We can take a few moments, and you can get further coaching if that will help you.”

“Objection! This witness has not been coached, and I resent the implication that he has.”

“Sustained.”

“Mr. Sacich,” I continue, “what did the authorities say would result from your testimony today?”

“They told me it would look good on my record.”

“Who reviews that record?”

“The parole board,” he says grudgingly.

It's time to wrap this up. “Okay, Mr. Sacich,” I say, “let's forget about logic and your lack of credibility for a moment, and let's assume this happened the way you said, that Willie Miller told you he had done this crime. Do you believe everything you hear in prison?”

“Depends,” he allows.

“Do you think people ever lie, maybe to make themselves look tougher in the eyes of other inmates, distinguished innocent citizens like yourself? Or do you think that everyone in maximum security prisons is scrupulously honest?”

“Look, I just know what he told me, and he didn't seem to be lying.”

I shake my head sadly. “I'm surprised, Mr. Sacich, because you of all people should know lying when you hear it.”

I dismiss Sacich, and Wallace has only a few follow-up questions for him. Kevin's slight nod to me indicates that he believes we have effectively neutralized Sacich's testimony, and I agree.