William Bernhardt - Double Jeopardy

“What happened?”

“I searched all through the bar. She wasn’t there, so I left. As I crossed the parking lot these men jumped out of nowhere and grabbed me.”

“How many were there?”

“Six. Three black men, three white. I think. Everything happened so quickly.”

Cavanaugh advanced toward the witness stand. “Can you tell us what happened next?”

“They threw me down on the asphalt and … hit me. In the face. Several times.” She pointed to a still-vivid abrasion just beneath her left eye. “That’s when I got this. They hit me so hard—I was afraid I’d lose my eye. Then they took my keys out of my purse, threw me in the trunk of my car, and closed the lid.” She turned toward the jury, eyes wide. “It was so … terrifying. I was trapped in the trunk—I couldn’t see, I couldn’t hear. I didn’t know what they were going to do to me. I was so scared.”

Cavanaugh stood beside Mary Ann, careful not to block the jurors’ view, and addressed her in a quiet voice. “When did you see them next?”

“After they stopped the car. They opened the trunk and pulled me out by my hair. We were somewhere near White Rock Lake—I’m not sure exactly where.” Her hands began to tremble. “Two of them pinned me down to the ground. It was wet and muddy. I tried to get away, but there were so many of them—and they held me so tight. I was helpless.”

“What happened next?”

Mary Ann looked down at her lap. “One of them ripped off my slacks and … and—” She turned away and covered her face with her hands.

“Did he rape you?” Cavanaugh asked.

Technically, Travis knew Cavanaugh was leading the witness. He also knew that if he objected, the jury would crucify him.

Mary Ann nodded her head. Tears began to appear in the corners of her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Cavanaugh said. “You have to answer verbally for the benefit of the court reporter.”

After several false starts, Mary Ann managed to say, “Y-Yes. Yes. They all did.”

“How many of them?”

She shook her head. Tears were streaming down her face. “All six of them. Some of them more than once. The third one”—she clenched her eyes shut—“he peed on me.”

“The man urinated on your body?”

She nodded. “In my mouth. On my breasts. All over me. Then he flipped me over on my stomach, pressed my face into the mud, and said—that thing.”

“I’m sorry, Mary Ann, but you need to tell the jury what he said.”

Mary Ann looked as if she would rather die, but she eventually answered the question. “He said, ‘I bet she likes it doggie-style, stupid cunt.’ And then he—he—oh God !” Her voice dissolved into uncontrolled sobbing. “I begged them to stop! It hurt so much! I begged them! But they just kept on and on. I was crying, pleading. And they laughed at me!”

Travis checked the jury. Her outburst had electrified them. If they had any questions about her veracity before—which Travis seriously doubted—the questions had evaporated.

Cavanaugh paused to allow Mary Ann to collect herself. “Did you recognize any of the men?”

Mary Ann raised a trembling hand and pointed at Moroconi. “He was there.”

“Was he the one who urinated on you?”

“No. He came after that. Fourth.” Her eyes seemed to be turning inward, as if she were experiencing the whole nightmare over again. “He was so mean. He hurt me. On purpose. He pounded on my breasts. He tore me. Inside. I was bleeding and crying, and he didn’t care. The doctors say I’ll never be able to—to—” Again her words were drowned in tears.

“Have children?” Cavanaugh completed.

Mary Ann nodded. “Y-Yes.”

“And you subsequently were forced to undergo an emergency double mastectomy. Correct?”

Mary Ann covered her chest. “Yes.”

“Do you recall anything else Mr. Moroconi did or said?”

“Yes. He was the one who suggested they tie me to the back of my car and drag me.”

“Why would he want to do that?”

“He said, ‘Just to teach the dumb bitch a lesson.’ ”

“Subsequent testimony will show you were dragged for over a mile,” Cavanaugh said quietly. Counsel was testifying, but Travis wasn’t about to protest. “What happened after that?”

“They tossed me back in the trunk, drove around for several hours, then threw me out on the side of a dirt road. Like I was … just a piece of garbage.” Her voice was beyond tears; it took on an empty, despairing tone. “I hurt so bad. I felt so … ruined. I just wanted to die. That was the only thing I kept thinking. I just wanted to die.”

14

10:45 A.M.

WHEN MARY ANN FINISHED, the courtroom was deadly silent. Several of the jurors were crying.

Travis knew he would have to break this spell. He would have to play the villain and ask Mary Ann the tough questions. He also knew that even if the jurors ultimately agreed with him, they would hate him. Who wouldn’t?

“Psst.”

It was Moroconi, hissing into Travis’s ear.

“Yeah?”

“Ask how often she gets laid.”

“ What ?”

“Ask her about her sex life. I bet she’s had a good fuck or two in her time.”

“Brilliant suggestion,” Travis said. “You’re a real sweetheart.”

“Listen to me, Mr. Big-Shot Attorney. I’ve seen this routine played before. The jury might be a little pissed off at first, but once they hear about all the other times she’s had sex, all the different positions she’s tried, and all the different guys she’s screwed, they’ll change their minds. They’ll wonder if she wasn’t looking for some action in that bar that night, if she didn’t maybe ask for what she got.”

“Get a grip, Moroconi,” Travis said emphatically. “No way.”

“What do you mean? You got to do this.”

“I don’t got to do anything. Especially not for—” He stopped himself just in time.

“For what? For a guy too dirty for you to touch with your lily-white hands? I tell you, this is a sure winner!” Moroconi’s face tightened. “Who’s the client here?”

“You are. And I’m the attorney. An officer of the court. And I’m not doing it.”

“You self-righteous son of a bitch. What the hell are you plannin’?”

“Just wait and see.”

“You prick. You’ll be sorry you screwed with me.”

Hagedorn pounded his gavel on the bench. “Mr. Byrne! I hate to interrupt what is undoubtedly a fascinating conversation, but may I inquire if you would like to cross-examine this witness?”

Travis rose to his feet. “Yes, your honor. I would. But may I request a brief recess before we begin?”

Hagedorn glanced at his watch. “Well, we could probably all use a break. Court will resume in five minutes.”

Travis didn’t have a nice-nice voice, but he was going to have to fake it as best he could. If the jury thought he was being mean to Mary Ann McKenzie—prematurely—they’d never listen to another word he uttered.

“Miss McKenzie, my name is Travis Byrne, and as you probably know, I represent the defendant. I’d like to ask you a few questions, if that’s all right.”

“Certainly,” she said, barely audibly.

“I know this is very hard for you, ma’am. If you need to stop at any time, just tell me.”

“All right.”

“Do you feel able to proceed?”

She nodded.

“Thank you. I appreciate your cooperation.” Surely that was a sufficient show of sympathy. Now to get on with it. “Ma’am, when you were first questioned by the police, you didn’t identify Mr. Moroconi by name, did you?”

“Of course not. I didn’t know his name. I’d never seen him before that night.”