Laura Abbot - Trial Courtship

“What happened next, Mr. Mays?”

“I hit the deck and heard the guy yell something like, ‘Gimme the money.’ Then I remember hearing the shot, and the guy ran like hell. Er, excuse me, Your Honor.”

The judge didn’t look up from the papers on her desk, but gave a brief nod.

“Did the perpetrator see you?” the prosecutor asked.

“I don’t think so.”

“Can you describe the man with the gun?”

“He was about five-six or seven. Kinda hard to tell exactly. He wore dark jeans, athletic shoes, a tie-dyed T-shirt, a black goose-down vest and a navy blue ball cap.”

“I call your attention to People’s exhibit sixteen.” Bedford picked up a fuchsia, yellow and purple shirt. “Mr. Mays, is this the shirt the man in the store was wearing?”

“It looks like it to me.”

With a flourish of the garment, the prosecutor set it down and continued, “Did you happen to notice if he was wearing gloves?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Can you positively identify anyone in this courtroom as the man who was in the store that night?”

“No, I can’t.”

“What happened after the perpetrator fled?”

“I called 9-1-1 and tried to help the victim. But it was too late. He was already dead.”

“That’ll be all. Thank you.”

While the defense attorney sorted her notes, Andrea became aware of the scribblings on Dottie’s tablet. A grocery list! Unbelievable. Thanksgiving was still six days away. Surely the woman could pay more attention here. Yet, she had to admit that occasionally her own mind had strayed to what she would cook Tony this evening.

Ms. Lamb began her cross-examination. “You stated that the man at the counter was five-six or seven. However, except for a brief glimpse before you shoved over the cans, your only other view of him was from the floor looking up. Correct?”

“Yes.”

“From that latter viewpoint, might he have seemed taller?”

“Because of my work, I’m a pretty fair judge of body types.”

“But can you say with certainty, Mr. Mays, how tall the perpetrator was?”

“With certainty? No, ma’am.”

“About the shirt you saw. Wasn’t the perpetrator also wearing—” she stood at the defense table reviewing her notes “—a vest?”

“Yes.”

“Yet, you claim you can positively identify the shirt?”

“Yes. The vest wasn’t zipped.”

“Indulge me with a little test of your powers of observation.” She pulled two similar-looking shirts out of a paper bag and, blocking the witness’s view, arranged them along with the one from the exhibit table on the podium. “Mr. Mays, which of these is the shirt you identified for Mr. Bedford?” She stood aside.

He studied them. “The one on my left.”

The attorney glanced at the judge and said wearily, “Let the record show that this witness identified People’s exhibit sixteen.

“Thank you, Mr. Mays. I have no further questions at this time, Your Honor.”

The judge declared a recess during which the jurors milled around the jury room, several noticeably impatient. The trial was now in its third day, and the prosecution had yet to rest its case. “Hell, we’ll be here all next week,” Chet Swenson complained.

Dottie shook her head sadly. “I don’t know how I’m going to get ready for all my company.”

“Hey, it’s okay with me,” the young man who’d worn the Case-Western Reserve T-shirt on Wednesday said with a sly grin. “This beats going to class.”

Shayla and Andrea walked to the north window, overlooking the lake, glistening silver in the pale sunlight fingering through the light cloud cover. “So, how’s it going with Tony?”

Andrea rued the flush that crept up her neck. “Interesting.” She let the word lie between them, unsure whether she wanted to elaborate.

“Hey, girl, you can’t stop there. I gotta have something to think about besides crime.” She gave an out-with-it gesture. “What do you mean ‘interesting’?”

Grinning, Andrea relented. “Thanks to you and your clever manipulation, I had pizza with him last night.”

“That’s better than ‘interesting.’ That’s progress. So?” Shayla smiled in anticipation.

“He seems very nice. At least he made inroads with my nephew.”

“Whoa! Your nephew? Did he go on your date?”

Andrea backpedaled. “It wasn’t a date, exactly. Just a casual dinner.” She briefly explained about having custody of Nicky. “So, naturally he was along.”

“Kinda cramped your style, didn’t it?” Shayla waved her hands dismissively. “But, it’s a start. And from what I saw this morning, the man’s definitely got the hots for you. So what’s next?”

Andrea paused, aware that she didn’t know anything beyond tonight. Maybe she was kidding herself. Why would there be anything beyond that? Did she even want more? For heaven’s sake, she’d only just met Tony. “I’ve invited him for dinner this evening.”

Shayla gave her a high five. “Way to go! I’m proud of you.” Then her face fell. “There’s only one problem. That means I have to wait until Monday to hear all.”

“Maybe there won’t be much to tell.”

Shayla eyed her up and down, then cackled, “Oh, I imagine there’ll be plenty to tell.”

To Andrea’s relief, the bailiff motioned them to line up again. After court reconvened, Andrea was glad they’d had the break, because the next testimony was highly technical. First, a DNA expert whose tests proved the T-shirt Mays had identified had small bloodstains on it consistent with Mr. Bartelli’s blood, followed by an electronics professional, who discussed the surveillance video camera, its angle and range of view. Last, the judge permitted a replay of tape recorded that night. The picture was fuzzy, but was clear enough to show a male entering the store and threatening the owner. Then just as the man pulled a gun, the soda cans fell in such a way that the view of the register was momentarily obscured. Finally the camera picked up a figure running out the front door. It all happened so fast that Andrea had difficulty separating the actions.

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