Open and Shut - By David Rosenfelt Page 0,70
may or may not have told you—”
He interrupts. “He told me he did it.”
“Did anyone else hear him make the confession?”
“I don't know. You'd have to ask them.” He's getting more and more belligerent.
“But when you heard it, when he said it to you, were the two of you alone, or was there anyone else around?”
“We were alone.”
“How long have you been friends with Willie Miller?”
“We just met … we sit there all day and we talk some.”
“Do most people consider you a good listener? Do they have a tendency to confide in you?”
He nods; this is something he can agree with. “I guess so. Sure. I'm a pretty good listener.”
“Do you have any experience in the ministry?” This draws a laugh from the gallery and jury, and an objection from Wallace.
“Your Honor, this is ludicrous.”
“Sustained.”
“Did anyone promise you anything at all in return for your testimony today?”
“No.”
“No talk of a lighter sentence, or of the authorities treating you more favorably in the future?”
Sacich looks toward Wallace, worried about what he is supposed to say. I jump on this. “Do you want to consult with Mr. Wallace? We can take a few moments, and you can get further coaching if that will help you.”
“Objection! This witness has not been coached, and I resent the implication that he has.”
“Sustained.”
“Mr. Sacich,” I continue, “what did the authorities say would result from your testimony today?”
“They told me it would look good on my record.”
“Who reviews that record?”
“The parole board,” he says grudgingly.
It's time to wrap this up. “Okay, Mr. Sacich,” I say, “let's forget about logic and your lack of credibility for a moment, and let's assume this happened the way you said, that Willie Miller told you he had done this crime. Do you believe everything you hear in prison?”
“Depends,” he allows.
“Do you think people ever lie, maybe to make themselves look tougher in the eyes of other inmates, distinguished innocent citizens like yourself? Or do you think that everyone in maximum security prisons is scrupulously honest?”
“Look, I just know what he told me, and he didn't seem to be lying.”
I shake my head sadly. “I'm surprised, Mr. Sacich, because you of all people should know lying when you hear it.”
I dismiss Sacich, and Wallace has only a few follow-up questions for him. Kevin's slight nod to me indicates that he believes we have effectively neutralized Sacich's testimony, and I agree.
Wallace calls Diana Martez, another name I am not familiar with. I am about to stand and object, when Kevin points to her name on the list. It says that she works at Cranford Labs, a company that does work in DNA and more conventional blood testing. We never bothered to interview her because we had planned our strategy in this area, which was to argue about the collection techniques and possible contamination of the samples, rather than about the science itself.
I'm surprised that Wallace is calling Martez at this point in the case, but I'm not worried about it. That changes the moment she walks into the room and I see Willie Miller's face. All he says, very softly, is “Ooohhh, shit.”
All I can do is sit there and brace myself for what is sure to be a disaster, and it is just that. Martez is a twenty-six-year-old Hispanic woman, whose connection to the case has nothing whatsoever to do with the laboratory at which she works. That is a coincidence, and one which Wallace knew he could rely on to minimize the likelihood of our checking her out in advance.
Wallace leads her through her story, which takes place on a June night nine years ago, almost three years before the McGregor murder. Speaking with a heavy Spanish accent, she relates meeting Willie Miller at a bar. He was drinking heavily, but she agreed to go outside with him. He walked her into an alley behind the bar, where he became verbally abusive. When she tried to leave and reenter the bar, he punched and kicked her.
“I screamed. I begged him to stop, but it was like he couldn't even hear me. I thought he was going to kill me.”
“What happened next?” asks Wallace.
“His friends came out and pulled him off of me.”
“Was that easy for them to do?”
“No, it took four people. He was completely out of control. Kicking and screaming profanities.”
“Did you speak to any of them afterward?”
She nods. “Yes, they said he had done this before, that he had a drinking problem he couldn't control.”
Wallace draws out of