Trial Courtship

Andrea couldn’t resist a shudder at Mr. Innes’s apparent chauvinism.

“You say you could see what you presumed to be a gun in the pocket of the man at the counter. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“You also testified you were at the back of the store, a distance of some thirty feet away.”

“Yes.”

“Could you be absolutely sure the man carried a gun in his pocket and not something else?”

The witness became flustered. “Well, when you put it that way...no.”

“In your previous testimony, you referred to the perpetrator as ‘kid.’”

“Yes.”

“How did you determine he was a youth?”

“He wore those big athletic shoes, the ones with all those colors and flashy things. And he wore, you know, one of those hippie-looking multicolored shirts.”

“Could a full-grown adult also wear such shoes?”

“I suppose.”

“And such a shirt?”

Mrs. Innes bit her lip. “I...yes.”

“So you had no proof that would justify your characterizing this person as ‘kid.’”

“I guess that’s right.”

“That’s all I have at this time for this witness, Your Honor.”

The judge thanked Mrs. Innes, then glanced at the prosecutor. “Counselor, call your next witness.”

Andrea’s eyes strayed to the defense table where the defendant was rubbing his hands up and down his thighs. When Ms. Lamb sat down, she touched him gently on the shoulder and his hands stilled.

The next witness, a muscular man of about forty dressed in corduroy trousers and a vividly striped rugby shirt, exuded confidence. From preliminary questions, Andrea learned Ken Mays was the manager of a gym and fitness center in the neighborhood of the store. He sat in the witness box with his feet planted firmly on the floor, knees apart, hands folded casually at his waist.

After the prosecutor asked him to give his version of events, the man responded succinctly. “I had jogged from my apartment to the convenience store, arriving at exactly eleven-thirteen. I know this because I timed my run. I was standing looking at magazines when, over the top of the rack, I saw this guy go up to the cashier. Something about the customer’s behavior made me suspicious. I didn’t move, not wanting to call attention to myself. I saw him pull a gun, and that’s when I moved to the end of the aisle and knocked over a tower of soda cans. I figured maybe I’d scare him away. About the same time, the cashier must’ve tripped the burglar alarm.”

“What happened next, Mr. Mays?”

“I hit the deck and heard the guy yell something like, ‘Gimme the money.’ Then I remember hearing the shot, and the guy ran like hell. Er, excuse me, Your Honor.”

The judge didn’t look up from the papers on her desk, but gave a brief nod.

“Did the perpetrator see you?” the prosecutor asked.

“I don’t think so.”

“Can you describe the man with the gun?”

“He was about five-six or seven. Kinda hard to tell exactly. He wore dark jeans, athletic shoes, a tie-dyed T-shirt, a black goose-down vest and a navy blue ball cap.”

“I call your attention to People’s exhibit sixteen.” Bedford picked up a fuchsia, yellow and purple shirt. “Mr. Mays, is this the shirt the man in the store was wearing?”

“It looks like it to me.”

With a flourish of the garment, the prosecutor set it down and continued, “Did you happen to notice if he was wearing gloves?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Can you positively identify anyone in this courtroom as the man who was in the store that night?”

“No, I can’t.”

“What happened after the perpetrator fled?”

“I called 9-1-1 and tried to help the victim. But it was too late. He was already dead.”

“That’ll be all. Thank you.”

While the defense attorney sorted her notes, Andrea became aware of the scribblings on Dottie’s tablet. A grocery list! Unbelievable. Thanksgiving was still six days away. Surely the woman could pay more attention here. Yet, she had to admit that occasionally her own mind had strayed to what she would cook Tony this evening.

Ms. Lamb began her cross-examination. “You stated that the man at the counter was five-six or seven. However, except for a brief glimpse before you shoved over the cans, your only other view of him was from the floor looking up. Correct?”

“Yes.”

“From that latter viewpoint, might he have seemed taller?”

“Because of my work, I’m a pretty fair judge of body types.”

“But can you say with certainty, Mr. Mays, how tall the perpetrator was?”

“With certainty? No, ma’am.”

“About the shirt you saw. Wasn’t the perpetrator also wearing—” she stood at the defense table reviewing her notes “—a vest?”

“Yes.”

“Yet, you claim you can positively identify the shirt?”

“Yes. The vest wasn’t zipped.”

“Indulge me with a little test of your powers of observation.” She pulled two similar-looking shirts out of a paper bag and, blocking the witness’s view, arranged them along with the one from the exhibit table on the podium. “Mr. Mays, which of these is the shirt you identified for Mr. Bedford?” She stood aside.