Open and Shut - By David Rosenfelt Page 0,71

her the fact that she was treated at a hospital for her injuries, and produces the emergency room record to substantiate her account. He then turns her over to me to cross-examine. I have no idea what the hell to ask her.

“Ms. Martez, did you report this alleged incident to the police?” I ask.

“No, I was not a citizen then, and—”

“You were here illegally?”

“Yes, but now I am an American. I became a citizen two years ago,” she says proudly. Great, next I'll get her to show the flag she's knitted to hang over the courthouse.

She tells the court that she was afraid to report the incident, because she did not want to risk deportation. And she didn't see any coverage of the first trial, because she was in another city living with her sister. It was only when she saw the current media blitz that she recognized Willie and came forward, which she considered her duty as a citizen of America, the country she loves, the land of the free and the home of the brave.

I end my cross, before I do any more damage to my client's case. I do this even though I would very much like to kill my client for not telling me anything about this.

Kevin, Laurie, and I arrange to meet with Willie in an anteroom after the court session, and we sit there talking, waiting for his arrival. Kevin is distraught that he blew it by not following up on Martez's name, but I don't blame him. I blame myself.

“I didn't lay a glove on her.”

“How could you?” Kevin asks.

I ignore that; it doesn't fit in with my self-flagellation. “I'm a lawyer defending somebody on trial for his life. I'm supposed to be prepared.”

Laurie tries to change the subject to the defense's case, which is coming up rapidly. She asks who my first witnesses are going to be.

“Witnesses?” I ask. “You mean I'm supposed to have witnesses that can help my client?”

“Andy—”

I cut her off. “I must have been out the day they went over that in law school. Because I don't have a goddamn thing, and—”

I could go on like this for hours, but I'm interrupted by Willie being led into the room. Thank goodness, the one person I'd rather beat up than myself.

Willie, in an uncharacteristically contrite manner, tells us that the story Diana Martez told is true. He had a drinking problem for over three years, but he became sober at least six months before Denise McGregor was killed.

“You told us you never had a problem with alcohol before,” I say.

“I was embarrassed, okay?”

This man who has been on death row for murder for most of the past decade was embarrassed to reveal that he had a drinking problem, which he subsequently conquered. The mind boggles.

“Are there any more little incidents out there like this that you're too embarrassed to talk about? Were you involved with the Kennedy assassination? Or maybe the Lindbergh kidnapping?”

“Come on, man. There's nothing else.”

“How did you become sober?”

“I joined a program. It wasn't easy, man, but I did it,” he says with some restored pride. He gives us the name of someone in management at the program, and then we let the guard take him away.

Before he leaves, he says, “I'm sorry if I screwed things up.”

My anger has been defused, and I tell him that it's okay, that we'll deal with it, even though we won't.

Laurie, Kevin, and I go back to my office for our evening meeting. I tell Laurie I want her to keep after Betty Anthony. I still have this notion that the answer to everything lies in that photograph, and the answer to that photograph lies with Betty Anthony.

We kick around our plans for the defense's case, and when we're done Kevin is the first to leave. Laurie lingers behind, and we get to talking. I ask her a question that I shouldn't, but which I am psychologically unable to avoid asking.

“How are things with what's-his-name?”

“You mean Bobby Radburn?”

I nod. “That's him. The guy who couldn't throw a baseball through a pane of glass.”

“He's a creep,” she says. “It's a common ailment among men.”

I should be glad to hear this, and I am, but I also feel bad that she has obviously been hurt and disappointed.

“Listen, Laurie … there's something I need to tell you.” I say this without having a clear idea what it is that I need to tell her.

“Don't.” She lets me off the hook.

Before I can