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Kilpatrick greeted Dan at the courtroom door, and not just to be friendly. To his surprise, the man offered him a deal.
“Life. No chance of parole,” Kilpatrick said, arms folded across his chest.
“You call that a deal? I call it your best-case scenario.”
“Have you been watching those jurors, Pike? Because I have. They’re ready to convict.”
“I haven’t put on my case yet.”
“From where I sit, you don’t have a case. You’ll put the kid up there to tell the same cockamamie story he’s been peddling since he appeared out of nowhere. No one bought it before, and no one will buy it now.”
“We’ll see. We might have a few surprises.”
“We have multiple witnesses putting him at the scene of the crime. His name was on the mirror. His prints were on the murder weapon. He threatened—”
“I don’t need a summary. I’ll take your offer to my client. But he’ll turn it down.”
“How can you be sure of that?”
“Because he didn’t do it.” He turned away and, as he did, noticed that the two remaining Coleman brothers, Benny and Phil, were seated together. For once, Dolly wasn’t hovering about telling everyone what to do. Zachary wasn’t with them, either.
Benny nodded amiably. “Morning, Pike.” He could be a decent guy, it seemed, when his wife was absent. \Phil’s fingers were pressed against his forehead.
“You feeling all right?”
“Migraines,” Phil replied. “Stress always makes them flair up. I could barely move this morning.”
“Sorry to hear that. How’s your father doing?”
“Not well. This trial has been hard on him. But he’ll never admit it.”
Benny agreed. “The man is dying.” He drew in his breath. “But when this trial ends, he’s planning a bioluminescent kayak trip. Ever done that, Pike?”
“I’ve always wanted to. Where’s your father now?”
Phil answered. “Said he had to take a phone call. Must be something brewing. He was up late last night.”
Benny turned his head. “I thought I heard something.”
“Probably me. I never sleep well. Haven’t since Afghanistan.”
Dolly entered the courtroom and he tried to disappear, but didn’t move fast enough.
“Are you having an unauthorized meeting with my brother-in-law, Mr. Pike? I should report this to the Bar Association.”
“We’re not discussing the case.”
“Nonetheless, all three of us are listed as prosecution witnesses.”
“But you didn’t testify.”
“You’ve got an excuse for everything, don’t you? That’s how you slick lawyers work. Legal ethics are legerdemain.”
“Unlike the world of business, where decisions are made based upon the common good and the betterment of mankind.”
She smiled, in a lopsided way. “That was actually funny.” She took a step forward, swinging her enormous purse between them. “You know, once this case is over, we should get a drink. We might learn to like one another.”
That sent more shivers down his spine than the man who attacked him with a tire iron. “Would we invite your husband?”
“Why? Do we need someone to clean up afterward?”
Ouch. “I don’t think we’re compatible, Dolly. I did see the quarterlies in the paper this morning, though. Looks like your father-in-law’s business might be hitting a rough patch.”
She waved a dismissive hand. “Just a momentary setback. Happens all the time. We’ve had glitches before. It’s part of the process.”
“If you’ll excuse me—”
“Of course.” She winked. “Don’t forget what I said. The mayor may be cuter. But there are times when a real woman has...advantages.”
He wondered what her husband thought about this banter. Didn’t matter, he supposed. Because that was never ever ever going to happen...
* * *
Dan found Ossie seated at the defense table. He looked nervous, but that was to be expected. Anyone who wasn’t nervous before he went on the witness stand to plead for his life was either completely amoral or too experienced to be innocent. Ossie, on the other hand, was completely innocent and scared to death.
“You ready to do this?”
“Sure.” He took a deep breath, then released it. “I wish I could remember more.”
“Just tell them what you know. No one can blame you for not remembering everything. And no one is going to catch you doing anything wrong as long as you stay honest.”
“But what if they don’t believe me?”
He laid his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Give the jury some credit. Too often, public cynicism about lawyers spills over to juries—and that’s unfair. In my experience, juries work hard and try to do the right thing, despite the difficult situation presented by a keenly flawed system. They’re better at figuring out who’s telling the truth and who’s lying than you might imagine.” He smiled. “You just tell your story. They’ll do the rest.”
* * *
Dan took his time with Ossie’s testimony. He knew the jury had been waiting for this and had been hoping they’d hear from the defendant—far from a certainty in a criminal prosecution. There was no substitute for getting up close and personal with the man accused of committing the crime.
Normally, he would spend the first ten or twenty minutes establishing the witness’s background, but that was difficult in this case, because Ossie was so young and because he remembered so little. He hoped it wouldn’t matter. If the jury didn’t believe Ossie suffered from memory loss, they were sunk.
“Do you remember anything that happened prior to the police finding you on the street?”
“I get flashes—” Ossie’s face twisted, as if he were struggling for memories he could not retrieve. “But it doesn’t come together. I can’t place it. I can’t put it into context. It’s like a movie montage sequence—except I haven’t seen the movie.” He thought another moment. “I know I was alive before I was found in St. Petersburg. My movie didn’t begin there. But I can’t put complete scenes together.”
“Do you remember when the police came?”
“Yes. It’s my first clear memory. And I recall being taken to the hospital. Then the police station. Then the foster home. My clothes were torn. For some reason, I kept thinking about dogs. War dogs.”
“War dogs? Like Doberman Pinschers?”
“I don’t know. My ears were ringing. My vision was blurry at first and I couldn’t think straight. The only thing I could remember with any clarity was my name—Ossie Coleman.”
“Did you tell the police who you were?”
“I told everyone. Doctors, nurses, cops. The guy who brought my food on a tray. Eventually word leaked out that the missing heir had been found. And soon the press was all over it. Everyone wanted an interview. Which I declined—leading to some nasty stories suggesting that I must be a con artist.”
“Did you know about the Coleman family fortune?”
“Didn’t have a clue. Till someone told me.”
“How did you feel about that?”
He shrugged. “Mixed. I liked the idea of having a family, being a part of a family. Very much. The only person I remembered was Joe, back at the cabin—and I didn’t consider him family. And everyone dreams about suddenly inheriting a ton of money. But I also knew that some people would think I was faking to get my hands on the cash. And then when I met the family for the first time—boy, did that turn out to be correct.”
Ossie was telling his story calmly, evenly, honestly. There was no way to know if the jury was buying it, but they were listening.
He was worried about the man on the front row, the one the jury consultant targeted. That guy looked skeptical about every word. He wished the juror would do something outrageous so he could remove him—but that was a daydream.
“How did the Coleman family react?”
“My grandfather—Zachary—wasn’t so bad. I could tell he was skeptical—but I could also tell he had loved his grandson and wanted more than anything to be reunited with him. Before it was too late. He didn’t believe me yet, but he was open to the idea. With time, I think he would realize I wasn’t lying. But his daughter and her husband—Dolly and Benny—they were outright hostile. Called me names I won’t repeat in court, if that’s okay with the judge.”
“We get the general idea. What about the younger brother, Phil?”
“He was quieter. I wasn’t sure how to read him. My hunch was that he would go with the flow, follow the others. But Dolly was never going to be convinced. She didn’t want any more heirs in the mix.”
“And Harrison?”
“He wasn’t there when I met the others. Had a rehearsal or something. We arranged to meet at another time.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.” He glanced at the jury. “That was the night he was killed, I guess. I didn’t know till later.”
“But you were at the theater that night?”
“Yes, I was.”
“You told the police you weren’t.”
“I know. I—I was scared.” He took a deep breath. “So I lied. If I’d had more time to think about it, I would’ve realized what a stupid choice that was. I know lying is wrong, but surely you can see why I did it. The police came after me, chased me, called me names. I didn’t know anyone had seen me at the theater. I was just trying to keep myself out of trouble.”
“But that backfired on you.”
“Big time. Lesson learned. No more lying.”
“How did the conversation with Harrison go?”
“Not well. I probably came at the wrong time. Interrupted. He was playing chess.”
“With himself?”
“Yes. He switched sides. I watched him. He was a serious Brainiac. I asked him to speak on my behalf. I thought if I could get the eldest brother to back me, the others would follow. But he wouldn’t do it.”
“He didn’t believe you were Ossie Coleman.”
Ossie hesitated a moment. “He said that, later. You heard it on the recording. I think he was trying to convince himself, so he could feel better about the choice he was making. But at first, he just said he didn’t want to come forward. He thought it was dangerous. He said he thought people were after me. And he was afraid they might come after him.”
“What did he recommend?”
“Lay low. He said that several times. Lay low. Be patient.”
“What did you think about that?”
Ossie sighed. “I was a fool. I didn’t want to wait for anything. I wanted everyone to know who I was. I wanted all this...turmoil to be over. I pushed him and pushed him. Got mad. Even threatened him a little.”
“You heard the audiotape played in court.”
“Yes. If you’d heard the entire conversation, it wouldn’t sound so bad. That recording seems to have been edited down to the worst parts.”
“But you admit you were there. Did you kill Harrison?”
“No, of course not. I liked him. He wouldn’t do what I needed, but I don't think he disliked me. In fact, I think he liked me more than my other relatives. I think he was genuinely concerned about me, and in his own way, he was trying to help me.”
“Did you take a syringe to the meeting?”
“No.”
“Did you poison him?”
“No.”
“Did you take chemicals to destroy his body?”
“Absolutely not.”
“But you were spotted wearing a backpack.”
“My foster mom gave it to me for schoolbooks. Not killer chemicals. After our conversation ended, I ran out of the room and never came back.”
“And you also spoke to Bradley Ellison?”
“Yes. Still looking for someone who would back me. I needed a friend.”
“But he didn’t think you were really Ossie Coleman.”
“You know—he never once said that to me. He just refused to help. He said his employer wouldn’t like it.”
“Meaning Conrad Sweeney. The man who was paying him to investigate the case.”
“He didn’t say. But that’s why I offered to help him—you know, with the truck and stuff. Sounded like someone else was bribing him to speak out against me. I offered to help him if he would tell the truth. I know I shouldn’t have done it, but—I was desperate.”
“Thank you, Ossie.” The kid had told his story well. Convincingly, with no wasted words. He wasn’t going to prolong it. He just hoped it would be enough. “Your witness.”
Kilpatrick made a slow approach, probably deliberately trying to unnerve Ossie. He could see Ossie’s demeanor change, even before Kilpatrick spoke. He had never been at ease, but now he was visibly apprehensive.
“You admit you’re a liar, right?”
Ossie looked hurt. “I admit that I lied to the cops about being at the theater.”
“You only fessed up after you got caught lying.”
“I made a mistake. And I regret it.”
“Now that you’ve been caught. But the fact remains—you lied.”
“That is true.”
“And for all we know, you’re lying now.”
“I have not lied today.”
“We have no way of knowing. It might just be that you haven’t gotten caught yet.”
Ossie’s unease appeared to grow. “I’m not lying.”
“Why was your name written on the bathroom mirror?”
“I don’t know.”
“How did the syringe get in the trash bin outside the home where you lived?”
“I don’t know.”
“No idea?”
He squirmed a bit. “My roommate in the foster home may have put it there.”
“Why would he do that?”
“I’ve seen him come home with red eyes and a funny smell. I think he may have a drug habit.”
“Did you shoot him up?”
“Of course not.”
Kilpatrick sprang forward. “Then how did your fingerprint get on the syringe?”
Ossie stayed calm. “I’m not convinced it was. I think your fingerprint expert saw what she wanted to see.”
“Seriously?” Kilpatrick laughed out loud. “You think you know more about fingerprints than the expert?”
“The expert admitted she had only a partial print. I think my attorney showed how uncertain her testimony was.”
Kilpatrick turned toward the judge. “You honor, I move that this response be stricken from the record.”
Dan rose. “The prosecutor asked a question and the witness answered it. He can’t object because he didn’t like the answer.”
“I object because this witness is not an expert.”
“Then you shouldn’t have asked him what he thought.”
“I object again! This is outrageous!” Kilpatrick was getting heated—which gave Dan a pleasant buzz.
Kilpatrick continued. “Not one of these people is qualified to question the integrity of an expert witness.”
“Could we just move along?” Judge Smulders said. He lowered his voice. “I was hoping to get home in time for supper.”
Kilpatrick turned back toward Ossie. “When the police came to your home—you ran.”
“I was scared. I didn’t want to be locked up. Does anyone?”
“But you ran from the police.”
“To get my lawyer.”
“Did you think the police were going to hurt you?”
“I thought it was a distinct possibility. Especially after one of them used the n-word.”
Kilpatrick fell silent for a moment. “According to you.”
“He used several other terms that...were about my skin color. Called me ‘murdering lying black trash.’”
Several of the jurors reacted with creased foreheads and squinted eyes. He could tell this mattered to them. And they would surely notice that Kilpatrick was not denying it.
“I’ve been doing this job for a long time,” Kilpatrick said, “and if there’s anything I know for certain, it’s this. Only one kind of person runs when the police come calling. The guilty kind.”
“You say that because you’re white. White and rich. College educated. If you spent a day with me, or any of the kids in my foster home, you’d see the world in a different way. A far more dangerous way.”
“Stop trying to distract the jury. You ran as soon as you saw the police outside your house. You had no reason to mistrust them at that point.”
“They’d been treating me like a liar since they found me. The first officer who took my statement said, ‘Ossie Coleman, huh? Sure. Guess you’re tired of living in the ghetto.’ Another one muttered, ‘Another colored kid looking for a handout.’”
“Your honor, this is outside the scope—”
Dan rose. “The prosecutor asked a question and Ossie answered it, in the most honest way possible.”
“He’s trying to erect a smokescreen.”
“He’s trying to get to the truth, your honor. Pretending the police are never at fault is the smokescreen. Reports of police brutality toward people of color make the news almost every day. An unarmed man shot in his own backyard. A teenage girl attacked at a party. How long are we going to pretend the police are colorblind when it’s obvious they aren’t?”
“This is way off topic. Your honor, I—”
To everyone’s surprise, Ossie cut Kilpatrick off. “You’re trying to silence me. But I will not be hushed.” Ossie rose to his feet. “No disrespect, your honor. But the police have been out to get me from the first moment I showed up. And I don’t think it’s just because I’m telling a wild story and I can’t prove who I am. I think a white boy telling the same story would get far more respect. But I’m not white. And that makes all the difference.”