William Bernhardt - Perfect Justice

“Is that what happened?”

“No. Fortunately Vuong’s friends came to his rescue. They pushed Vick away, then overpowered him. Vick wasn’t so tough once the tables were turned. I have to say, they did some serious pounding of their own. Vick’s face was cut and bleeding, and the rest of him didn’t look any too healthy.”

“What happened next?”

“They tossed him right out the door.” She had apparently been coached not to repeat the hearsay statement Judge Tyler had excluded. “That was the last we saw of him. I figured we’d probably never hear from him again. I had no idea. …”

“I sure you didn’t, Mary Sue. No more questions, your honor.”

“Mr. Kincaid?”

Ben walked slowly to the witness stand, carefully considering his strategy. Whether he believed her testimony or not, Mary Sue was an older woman and a respected member of the community. Treating her like the enemy would be a big mistake.

Ben reintroduced himself and tossed her a few softballs, easy questions intended to ease into the cross-examination. But eventually, before the jury got too bored with the chitchat, he knew he had to get to what really mattered.

“Now, ma’am, prior to that night at the bar, did Donald Vick strike you as a hothead?”

“Oh, no. Anything but. He was a quiet fellow. Timid almost. But you know”—her voice dropped to a whisper—“it’s always the quiet ones.”

“Move to strike,” Ben said. When would he learn to keep his clever comments to himself? “Donald never picked a fight at your house, did he, ma’am?”

“Oh, no!”

“Never threatened you, did he?”

“No, no. Of course, I’m not Vietnamese.”

“Now that’s an interesting suggestion.” Ben walked slowly back to defendant’s table, drawing the jury’s eyes away from the witness. “Donald actually had some Vietnamese friends, didn’t he?”

“I’d be very much surprised.”

“Didn’t you yourself admit a Vietnamese visitor to Donald’s room two nights before the murder?”

“Well … that’s true.”

“Who was the visitor?”

“I don’t know.”

“Was it Tommy Vuong?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Was it anyone in the courtroom?”

Mary Sue scanned the faces in the gallery. “I don’t think so.”

“What about Donald’s other visitor?” Ben paused dramatically. “The woman.”

“I—I don’t—”

“Didn’t a woman come to visit Donald Vick the night before the murder?”

“Well … yes …”

“And didn’t she enter Donald’s room while he was there?”

Heads turned in the jury box. Ben was afraid the reputation of Mary Sue’s boardinghouse would be tarnished for some time to come.

“Y-yes.”

“Do you know who the woman was?”

“Never saw her before.”

“Was she Vietnamese?”

“No. White.”

“Would you recognize her if you saw her again?”

“I think so.”

“Is she in the courtroom today?”

Mary Sue took a quick look. “I don’t see her.”

“Did Donald have any other Vietnamese visitors?”

“Not that I noticed—”

“Is it possible that he had some visitors when you weren’t around?”

“Well … I suppose it’s possible.”

Ben had made his point. It was time to move on. “Let’s turn to the following afternoon, at the Bluebell Bar. You say Donald walked up and started pounding Tommy Vuong. But, ma’am—wasn’t there a bit of conversation before the pounding started?”

“Uh—conversation?”

“Right. Between Vick and Vuong?”

Mary Sue frowned. “They did talk. …”

“Vuong talked to Vick?”

“Mostly the other way around, as I recall.”

“Did you hear what they said?”

“No. He’s your client. Why don’t you just ask him what they said?”

Would that it were so simple. “How long did this conversation last?”

“Well, I wasn’t timing it. About a minute, I’d guess.”

“Did any of Vuong’s friends overhear the conversation?”

“I doubt it. The bar was quite noisy.”

“And then what happened?”

“Vuong turned his back while Donald was still talking. Just ignored him.”

“And that’s when Donald hit him?”

“I guess that’s right.”

“So the fight emerged from the discussion. Argument, probably. Possibly an argument begun two nights before at your boardinghouse.”

“I said it wasn’t Tommy Vuong that came to visit Vick!”

“Are you sure?”

“I am. With God as my witness, I’m sure.”

Ben slowly crossed the courtroom. “Ma’am, I don’t want to be indelicate. But isn’t it true that you have a drinking problem?”

“I beg your pardon!”

“I don’t mean to embarrass you, ma’am. But you are fond of the bottle, aren’t you?”

“I … occasionally take a small glass of sherry just before bed.”

“Well … according to your testimony, on the day of the murder, you were in the Bluebell Bar. In the middle of the afternoon. Right?”

Mary Sue lifted her head indignantly. “True.”

“And you weren’t there just to play pinball, were you?”

Mary Sue looked down at her hands.

“Ma’am, the jury is waiting for your answer.”

“No,” she said quietly. “I wasn’t there just to play pinball.”

“In fact, you sometimes take a drink or two in the morning. Right?”

Her eyes began to well up. “It’s just so hard some mornings … since Joe passed on and … and—”

“My point is this,” Ben interrupted, hoping to make this easier for her. “Drinking affects your vision, doesn’t it?”

“Well, I don’t know … I guess it could.”

“Ma’am, had you been drinking two nights before the murder?”

“I … suppose I might’ve done …”

“Are you sure it wasn’t Tommy Vuong who came to your house to see Donald Vick two nights before the murder?”

“I told you it wasn’t!”

“True.” Ben slowly turned toward the jury. “But haven’t you also said that all those Vietnamese look alike to you?”

Mary Sue’s lips parted, then froze. Her mouth worked wordlessly for a few moments.

“Thank you,” Ben said, walking back to defendant’s table. “No more questions.”

48.

BEN WAS IN THE back of the Hatewatch office, in a smallish cubbyhole he had transformed into his War Room. He was poring over his notes for the next day’s trial when Mike and Jones entered.

“Nice work on that boardinghouse lady,” Mike said. “I think you seriously impeached the veracity of her identification.”

“That’s true,” Ben agreed. “But that doesn’t alter the fact that Donald picked a fight with Vuong a few hours before he was killed. That combination of inconvenient facts is going to be very hard for the jury to forget.”

“I expect so.” Mike noticed that Ben was craning his neck, peering over Mike’s shoulder. “Looking for something?”

“Oh … not really. I just thought … maybe …”

“Christina? Sorry. I did see her in town today. I think she was going on a picnic. It’s amazing how well she gets on with the locals. You could take some lessons from her. Haven’t seen her around here, though.”

“Oh.” Ben glanced down at his notes. “It’s not important. I just thought perhaps she might have …”

“Changed her mind?” Jones said. “Christina? Don’t count on it, Boss.”

“Yeah. Stupid of me. I have other problems to worry about anyway.” He dropped his pencil. “But I sure could use a good legal assistant.”

Jones pulled some papers out of his satchel. “Here’s some research I did this afternoon on the admissibility of confessions. Should come in handy tomorrow.”