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Kilpatrick’s next witness was Margaret Tully, the theater board member who allegedly clashed with Harrison on many occasions and urged him to forego Shakespeare in favor of more crowd-pleasing productions. Kilpatrick wasted little time establishing who she was, her credentials, or the fact that Harrison worked under her direction.
What surprised him was how little talk there was about the conflicts between the two. Perhaps Kilpatrick thought that might make her testimony seem suspect. But as far as you could tell from her direct testimony, she and Harrison got on like bandits, and she was grief-stricken by his death.
“I noticed that Harrison hadn’t come backstage during or after the performance, as was his custom,” she said. Late fifties. Thick black glasses. Hair in a bun. “I assumed he had a reason. He had seemed stressed lately. If I had only taken the time to knock on his door...” She shook her head. “Maybe this would have turned out differently. Maybe I could have saved him.”
More likely, she would’ve ended up dead herself. “Did you notice anything of interest that night?” Kilpatrick asked.
“Yes. I saw the defendant at the theater. Earlier. Backstage.”
That caused some of the jurors to lean forward with interest. “Did you mention it to anyone?”
“No. I had no reason to think anything was wrong.”
“But you recognized the defendant.”
“Yes. I’d seen his picture in the paper. I knew he was the imposter claim—”
“Objection,” Dan said.
The judge shrugged haplessly. “Maybe you could use a different word...”
“I knew he was the boy claiming to be Ossie Coleman,” Tully continued. “And I knew Harrison didn’t believe it.”
“Did you talk to the defendant?”
“No. Wish I had.”
“Did he do anything suspicious? Say anything?”
“No. And he wasn’t around long.” She snapped her fingers. “But he was wearing a backpack. Dark green, I think. I looked away for a moment to watch the show, and the next thing I knew, he’d disappeared.”
“Thank you. Pass the witness.”
Presumably Kilpatrick wanted to establish that Ossie was on the premises before he called the forensic witnesses to explain what he supposedly did while he was there.
He stood between the witness and the defense table, blocking her view. “Ma’am, when you were backstage that night, was it lighted or dark?”
“I—I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Were the lights on backstage?”
“No. But there was a lot of light coming from the stage.”
“A lot, or a little?”
She shifted uncomfortably. “Enough to see by.”
“Enough to see by a little, right? But not all that clearly.”
“Clearly enough.” She obviously did not like being questioned.
“Did you tell anyone about this at the time?”
“No. I had no reason to.”
“But you told people after.”
“Starting with the police. Are you suggesting that I shouldn’t’ve?”
“I’m suggesting there wasn’t enough light for you to identify a stranger.”
“It was your client.”
“Did you decide that when you saw him—or after you heard the police wanted him for murder?”
“It was...at the time. When I saw him.”
“Are you sure?”
She hesitated just an instant before answering. “Yes.”
“Did you talk to any members of the Coleman family about it?”
“Did I—what?”
“Harrison Coleman wasn’t the only member of the family you know, was he?”
“No.”
“And you’re aware that they’d all like my client to disappear?”
“I—only—I’ve heard Dolly mention a few—”
“But you maintain that you knew the figure in the darkness was my client, even though you’d never seen him in person and the lighting was low, because...what? His height? His build?”
“His face.”
“Which you could make out in the darkness.”
“Yes.”
“Think hard about this. Is it possible—even remotely possible—that you saw someone else backstage?”
“No.”
“Listen to my words. Is it even remotely possible?”
“No.” She pointed toward defendant’s table. “It was him. I saw him.”
“But you didn’t say so at the time. Only after the police arrived, and Detective Kakazu saw the name in the fog and issued a warrant for his arrest. Then you connected the name with the shadowy figure you saw backstage. But not before.”
“It was him.”
“Let me ask you another question. Is Harrison’s office backstage?”
“Not exactly. It’s in the rear of the theater. Near the back door.”
“Which is presumably how a killer would enter, right?”
“I’m sure I don’t know.”
“A person wanting to keep a low profile wouldn’t come through the front door, would he? He’d be spotted by dozens of people.”
“True.”
“And if you’re traveling from the back door to Harrison’s office, which is right next to the back door, and you’re carrying a bunch of diabolical chemicals to eradicate the body, you’re not going to stroll backstage for no reason, are you?”
“He had a reason,” she said, her back stiffening. “I just don’t know what it was. He was probably looking for Harrison. When he didn’t find him backstage, he went to the office.”
“Ms. Tully, please don’t speculate. Just tell the jury what you actually know. You saw someone backstage. You’re not sure who it was. The killer had no reason to wander backstage. You clashed constantly with Harrison and probably didn’t like him very much.”
“I didn’t dislike him.”
“This identification is a guess you’re making after the fact. If the police hadn’t suggested Ossie was there, you never would’ve thought you saw him.”
“I’m telling you, I saw him.” She pointed again. “Him. Him!”
He smiled and turned toward the jury. “Well, that’s funny, ma’am. Because as I expect most of the jurors have already noticed, during the break, I asked my client to step out and brought in another man to sit at the table with me. He’s a young kid who works downstairs at the coffee shop. He’s about the same size and age as Ossie, but hardly an identical twin. And you just identified him as the man you saw backstage. Even though he tells me that on the night of the murder, he was vacationing at Disney World.”
He nodded toward the judge. “No more questions.”