Mystery Writers of America Presents the Prosecution Rests (17 page)

____

F
OURTH DAY
. My suit already wearin’ thin. Before court start, I ask Elisabeth, she think Luis killed Diego.

“I’ve got no idea.”

“Don’t you know if he right-handed and taller than Diego?”

“Couldn’t tell you. I wasn’t paying attention. I’m betting the jury wasn’t either. If he isn’t, Watts has to bring him back
so the jurors can see with their own eyes. If Watts doesn’t bring him back, you can bet he’s right-handed and taller. Hopefully,
that’s the way it will break and I’ll have something else to talk about in my closing argument.”

Watts bring Luis back to testify he left-handed and shorter than Diego. My stomach get cold and my dick get limp. Then Watts
say the People rests. The judge look at Elisabeth.

“Ms. Rosenthal,” he say.

Elisabeth stand, squarin’ her shoulders, lookin’ taller.

“The defense calls Shaila Dewan.”

Elisabeth walk to the back of the courtroom, open the door, and my momma come in wearin’ her Easter dress even though it October.
She a big woman, her hips swayin’. She slow down when she get to where I’m sittin’. She reach out, takes my hand, squeezin’
it tight. Her eyes are red and wet and she smells like wine.

Momma get on the stand and tell her story. Elisabeth thank her. Watts stare at Momma till she can’t look at him.

“You love your son?” he ask her.

“Course I do.”

“Enough to lie to save his life?”

“I ain’t lyin’. He was with me.”

“That’s not what I asked you,” Watts say. “Would you lie to save your son’s life?”

“He’s my son.”

“Do you know what will happen to your son if the jury finds him guilty of capital murder?”

“I know.”

“He’ll be sentenced to death and executed. Do you want that to happen to your son?”

Momma, she hold her head up. “No mother wants that.”

“Any mother would try to prevent that, don’t you think, even if she had to lie?”

“Any mother what loved her baby.”

“Because it’s a mother’s job to take care of her child.”

“That’s right,” Momma say.

“Raise him right. To know the difference between right and wrong.”

“I done my best. Travis he never had no father. I took him to church, but one of them priests done him wrong. After that,
he wouldn’t go back. That’s when he started gettin’ in trouble. It wasn’t his fault.”

“But the incident with the priest happened years ago and you never told the church, the police, the district attorney, or
anyone else about it until after your son was arrested for murder, did you?”

“I didn’t want to embarrass him.”

Watts look through some papers on his table. Must be what lawyers do when they want the jury to know they gettin’ ready for
somethin’ important. Elisabeth done the same thing. Watchin’ him do it makes me have to pee.

“Your son is thirty-five. How old are you?”

Momma get her back up. “I’m fifty-one.”

“How old was Travis when he moved out of your house?”

“He come and go a lot.”

“I’m sure he does. How old was he when he was pretty much living on his own?”

Momma roll her eyes, countin’ in her head. “Seventeen.”

Watts nod. “You still cook for him when he comes over?”

“I do. He likes my meatloaf.”

“How about his laundry? Is he like my kids, always bringing their dirty clothes with them when they come home?”

The jurors laugh. They all got kids. “I’m his momma. He ain’t too old for me to do his wash.”

Elisabeth studyin’ her legal pad, not writin’ a word. I start prayin’, but I don’t think God gonna listen.

“And you did his wash the day of the murder, didn’t you, ma’am?” Watts ask, all smile and teeth. Momma don’t answer. “You’re
not going to lie about a simple thing like doing the wash, are you, ma’am?”

“I done his wash,” Momma say, her hand goin’ to her throat to catch the words before they got out, the wine slowin’ her down
till it too late.

I grip the edge of the table. Elisabeth slide her hand over and ease mine back in my lap.

Watts walk over to the witness stand, puttin’ his hands on the rail between him and Momma. He a big man. Momma can’t see past
him. She lean over, look at me. Her eyes wide, flutterin’.

“He asked you to wash his clothes that day, didn’t he?”

Momma’s head down. She don’t answer till the judge tell her she has to say somethin’. Then her voice so quiet the judge tell
her to speak up.

“Yes,” she say. “He did.”

“Why did he ask you to wash his clothes?”

She wipe her eyes, keep her head down. “They was a mess.”

“A mess,” Watts say. “What did he have on his clothes that made them such a mess?” Momma look at me again. “You don’t need
to look at your son. He can’t tell you what to say. Not now. Not in front of the judge and the jury. Now there’s only one
thing you can do. Tell us the truth.”

Momma turn toward the jury, then back at me, then she stare down at the floor. “His clothes was all bloody.”

“But you couldn’t get the blood out, could you?” Momma shake her head. “So you went to Travis’s apartment and got him clean
clothes, the clothes he was wearing when the police arrested him at your house. On the way back, you probably threw his bloody
clothes in a Dumpster. Am I right?”

Momma cryin’ now, snot runnin’ out her nose. “He’s all I got. He’s my baby.”

Goddamn Momma and her wine.

____

I
T TAKE TWO
hours for the jury to find me guilty of capital murder. Only reason it take so long, the bailiff tole me, was on account
of the jury wantin’ to stay long enough so the county had to pay for they lunch.

Elisabeth come see me two days later wearin’ a blood-red dress showin’ a shape I didn’t know she had. First time I seen any
color in her or on her wasn’t black or gray. Girl had a glow. We was back in the room at the jail where prisoners and lawyers
talk. Asked me how they treatin’ me.

“Better than you did,” I say.

She shrug her shoulders. “I don’t blame you for being angry, but it was a tough case. I did the best I could.”

“Bullshit. You did what you said you had to do. Jus good enough to get my ass convicted.”

She cross her arms, leanin’ against the wall. “If I recall, Travis, you were the one who didn’t tell me that you’d bragged
to Luis Pillco how you’d cut someone who hadn’t paid you.”

“And you the one who say she got too many cases to go talk to Luis even though the DA tole you he their whole case.”

She nodded, walked over to the table in the middle of the room. “I should have talked to Luis, but it wouldn’t have mattered.
The judge would have let him testify anyway.”

“That’s what you tole me, but one thing I learned on the street, it don’t matter what you say so much as how you say it. You
actin’ so surprised and mad’bout what Luis say make me look worse than Luis done. Make it look like I didn’t tell you.”

“I was surprised because you didn’t tell me,” she say. She sit down at the table, runnin’ her fingers over the initials prisoners
done carved on it.

“Ain’t what Luis say.”

She stop runnin’ her fingers. “You’re locked up. Luis is on the street. You couldn’t know that.”

“But you ain’t denyin’ it. One of my boys gone see Luis. He say you talked to him, knew what he was gonna say.”

“Then you can’t be angry with me for not talking to him,” she say, smilin’ like she beggin’ me to smack her.

“Then all that shit about was Luis taller than Diego and was he right-handed, that was all an act. Shit! You knew he wasn’t’cause
you talked to him. That boy was my only out. The jury mighta decided he the one cut Diego, but you made sure that the DA brung
him back so the jury see I the only one what coulda done it.”

“I took a chance,” she say. “It didn’t work.”

“That the way it is?”

“That’s the way it is.”

I let that sit. Pull my chair around close to her; let her smell the jail on me. She start to get up. I grab her arm, see
sweat poppin’ above her lip. I talk low to her.

“My momma come see me yesterday. She say you come over to her house the night before she testified.”

“That’s right. I had to get her ready for her testimony.”

“That why you brought her those bottles of wine?”

Elisabeth’s eyes get wide lookin’ at her arm turnin’ red where I’m squeezin’ her. Then she look at the door where the guard
s’posed to be watchin’ us,’cept I facin’ her and got my back to the door. No way he can see what I’m doin’ and she know the
guard ain’t allowed to listen to what we sayin’.

She cough like somethin’ stuck in her throat. “I thought we were going to win. I told her to save it until after the trial
for a celebration.”

I put my face right next to hers. “Now, I tole you my momma like her wine too much. You knew she’d have them bottles empty’fore
she ever open her mouth in that courtroom.”

She yank on her arm. I let her go, keep her from screamin’. Now she sit back in her chair, squintin’ at me like she tryin’
to figure out how smart a nigga I am.

“Why would I want your mother to be drunk when she testified?”

I get out my chair, shove it against the table. “Damn bitch! I ain’t no dumb ass! You made sure that jury found me guilty.”

She get up and move for the door. I cut her off, back her up again.

“If you think it’s my fault, you can appeal on the grounds of ineffective assistance of counsel, just like I told you before.”

I ball my fist, cock my arm, but I don’t let fly. “I asked you what chance I had and you say you my only chance,’cept you
don’t tell me you gonna steal it from me. I scare you enough you do all that?”

Her face start quiverin’, her eyes all wet, then hard. “Yes, Travis. You scared me that much. The DA had a good case on paper,
but it had holes. They had no physical evidence to tie you to the murder, and Luis’s criminal record and the deal the DA gave
him made him a vulnerable witness.”

“You coulda let him take the fall instead of me.”

“I could have, except he was innocent and he wasn’t my client. You were guilty. I couldn’t take the chance that you’d get
off.”

“Why you do me like that? You ain’t supposed to judge me. You supposed to be my lawyer.”

She turn away from me. I put my hand on her shoulder, spin her back around. She slap my hand away.

“A few years ago, I won a case for someone just like you, and a month later he slaughtered the guy who testified against him,
along with his wife and kids. That’s when I said no more nightmares. I stopped caring about who I represented. You’ll die
in prison and I won’t lose any sleep.”

“I’ll get a new lawyer. Tell him what you tole me.”

She let out a sigh. “Of course you will. I’ll be called to testify and I’ll lie and the judge and jury will believe me, not
you.”

The door open and two deputies come in, the DA followin’ right behind them. Elisabeth she look at me, her mouth open wide
enough for my whole fist, but I don’t swing at her.

“Your client authorized us to tape your conversation,” the DA say.

“Like I tole you,” I say to Elisabeth, “every day is a knife fight.”

BY JAMES GRIPPANDO

T
he doctor told me I have two years to live,” she said. “Three, tops.”

My mouth fell open, but words came slowly. “Damn, Jessie. I’m so sorry.”

It wasn’t the kind of news you expected to hear from a woman who had only recently celebrated her thirtieth birthday.

It had been six years since I’d last laid eyes on Jessie Merrill. The split had been awkward. Five months after dumping me,
Jessie had called for lunch with the hope of giving it another try. By then I was well on my way toward falling hopelessly
in love with Cindy Paige, now Mrs. Jack Swyteck—something I never called her unless I wanted to be introduced at cocktail
parties as Mr. Cindy Paige. Cindy was more beautiful today than she was then, and I had to admit the same was true of Jessie.
That, of course, was no reason to become her lawyer. But it was no reason to turn her away, either. This had nothing to do
with the fact that her long auburn hair had once splayed across my pillow. She’d come to me as an old friend in a genuine
crisis—and at the moment, she seemed to be on the verge of tears.

I rifled through my desk drawer in search of a tissue. She dug one from her purse.

“It’s so hard for me to talk about this,” she said.

“I understand.”

“I was so damn unprepared for that kind of news.”

“Who wouldn’t be?”

“I take care of myself. I always have.”

“It shows.” It wasn’t intended as a come-on, just a statement of fact that underscored what a waste this was.

“My first thought was
You’re crazy, Doc. This can’t be.
”

“Of course.”

“I mean, I’ve never faced anything that I couldn’t beat. Then suddenly I’m in the office of some doctor who’s basically telling
me, ‘That’s it, game over.’ No one bothered to tell me the game had even started.”

I could hear the anger in her voice. “I’d be mad, too.”

“I was furious. And scared. Especially when he told me what I had.”

I didn’t ask. I figured she’d tell me, if she wanted me to know.

“He said I had ALS—amyotrophic lateral sclerosis.”

“I’m not familiar with that one.”

“You probably know it as Lou Gehrig’s disease.”

“Oh.” It was a more ominous-sounding “oh” than intended. She immediately picked up on it.

“So, you know what a horrible illness it is.”

“Just from what I heard happened to Lou Gehrig.”

“Imagine how it feels to hear that it’s going to happen to you. Your mind stays healthy, but your nervous system slowly dies,
causing you to lose control of your own body. Eventually your throat muscles fail, you can’t swallow anymore, and you either
suffocate or choke to death on your own tongue.”

She was looking straight at me, and I was the one to blink.

“It’s always fatal,” she added. “Usually in two to five years.”

I wasn’t sure what to say. The silence was getting uncomfortable. “I don’t know how I can help, but if there’s anything I
can do, just name it.”