Jury of One

65

Shelly removed the Daily Watch from the newspaper stand at the bus stop. She skipped the front page and went straight to Metro, where she would expect to see coverage of the trial yesterday. She reacted audibly to the headline.

DEFENSE BLAMES DRUG DEALER IN MIROBALLI TRIAL

She laughed, because she didn’t know how else to respond, and touched her eyes. The reporter, not surprisingly, had missed the subtlety and just taken out portions of quotes from the cross-examination. Yes, she had alluded to Todavia’s guilt, but that was hardly the highlight.

Still, this was interesting. If this was how a reporter viewed the evidence presented yesterday, is that how the jurors saw it, too? For all of her posturing on Todavia’s reliability, did they walk away thinking she was accusing him of murder? She wondered if any of the jurors would violate their oath, intentionally or otherwise, and catch that headline. Would they have the same reaction Shelly did?

For someone whose ultimate goal here was to argue self-defense, this was not the impression she was trying to give. Was she still pleading self-defense?

God, what a case. She longed for the easy stuff again, the school disciplinary cases, the civil lawsuits, even the juvenile stuff, where one’s assignment was largely straightforward.

She forced some breakfast down her throat in the court cafeteria below the courthouse. She drained two cartons of orange juice but barely touched the grapefruit or toast. She read the entire article only because it was possible that some of the jurors had done the same, and she wanted to know what might taint their opinions.

The reporter expressed surprise at the turning of the tables on Todavia, after the defense had notified the prosecution of a self-defense theory. The first day of trial was entertaining theater, said the writer, ranging from a damning opening statement to one particularly humorous episode to a tough cross-examination of the admitted drug dealer.

Little of substance, other than the reporter’s complete misreading of her strategy. She tapped the table and headed up to the lobby of the courthouse. She saw a camera crew and a news reporter pacing in circles. She had almost slipped past when the man called to her. She refused comment but she couldn’t exactly run; she was in a line for the metal detectors. Used to be, lawyers could flash their credentials and get past all that, but security-conscious officials would have none of that now. Everyone got checked.

So she was a captive audience. The reporter threw several questions at her as she looked into the lights and saw the red button light up on the camera. She muttered a couple of professional pleasantries, but he wouldn’t leave.

“Are you giving up on self-defense?” No comment. “Do you think someone else killed Officer Miroballi?” No comment.

“Are you supporting your father’s re-election campaign?”

She looked at the reporter and smiled. “That’s my business.”

Finally, it was her turn through the metal detector, and she was on her way to the courtroom at eight-thirty. Alex was seated in his chair. He looked positively dreadful. Cleaned-up and appropriate, sure, but up close, the purple circles beneath his bloodshot eyes had darkened.

She patted him on the shoulder. “You clean up nice,” she told him.

He looked at her and flashed a glimpse of his old self. “Death row chic,” he said, tugging his suit collar.

“Hey, come on now.”

Shelly looked over her notes one last time. Alex had his pad of paper out as well. He had taken notes and slipped the occasional comment or question to Shelly. She invited his participation. If he was anything like her, he had to feel like he was doing something.

The courtroom was just as blue as the day before, possibly more so. She sensed that some of the police officers in the front rows were different from yesterday. She imagined that it was considered an off-duty obligation to attend the slain officer’s trial.

Sophia Miroballi walked in with her mother, presumably, just before nine, but a space had been kept open for her. Notably absent was any familial representation from the defendant’s family. Elaine Masters-Laney-worked the day shift and probably had difficulty moving it around. That assumed she had tried to make such arrangements. Shelly couldn’t be sure of that. She had adopted Ronnie late in life-typical for attorney adoptions-and her husband had died, leaving her and Ronnie with little in terms of financial support. Laney, in rather dire straits herself, had taken on another boy, Alex, which said something about the kindness in her heart. But somewhere along the way, she had lost control. Laney had turned to booze. Shelly was not unsympathetic but, for Christ’s sake, the woman could offer a modicum of support for Alex right now.

Dan Morphew rushed in just under the bell. He seemed harried, and he was taking it out on his two assistants. Why the long face? She felt a bit of relief, regardless. Always nice to see your adversary sweating. She tried to watch him without watching. He was whispering something quite serious to a young assistant, and then he pointed at Shelly.

The jury entered the room and took their seats. Shelly wore her pleasant face. Morphew hardly even looked up when he spoke to the judge. “Call Monica Stoddard,” he said.

The witness walked into the room and caught some attention from the audience. She was tall and athletic and not unattractive. She was dressed her best in a blue suit and heels, simple jewelry. She seemed nervous as she was administered her oath. Many people were when they got in that box.

“Good morning, ma’am,” said Morphew, making it to the podium with a notepad. “Please state your name and spell your last name for the record.”

He took her through her job description and background. He seemed to spend a little too much time on her education and positions as an architect over the years. He was building her up so she could buttress the testimony of a homeless person, the only other eyewitness to the shooting. Finally, Morphew made it to the building where she worked, the Forrester Insurance Building, which was across the street and to the south of the alley where the shooting occurred. She was working late in her office on the nineteenth floor. He took her to the relevant date and time.

“I saw a boy running from a police officer. He was wearing a coat and a cap.” She was using her finger to point at her imaginary view. “He ran into the alley and the officer was behind. The officer was not as fast.”

“Go on,” Morphew urged.

“Well, the boy disappeared out of my view. The officer made it to the alley and stopped somewhere in there, but still in my view.”

“You couldn’t see the entire alley from your window?”

“No. The officer ran for just a couple of seconds. Well, here.” She adjusted in her seat. “He stopped first at the very front of the alley. Like, still on the sidewalk. He had a radio in his hand and I think he said something into it. Then he walked a few steps. He didn’t go that far.”

It didn’t seem that Morphew had prepared this testimony very well. That seemed odd. She was not a critical witness, but still. What had been occupying Morphew’s time since yesterday at trial?

“Then tell us what you saw.”

“I saw the officer talking. I mean, I couldn’t hear anything. But he seemed like he was talking to someone. Then he seemed to jerk, kind of, and then I saw him fly backward and fall on the ground. He’d been”-she ran a hand across her face.

“He’d been shot in the face?”

She closed her eyes. “Yes.”

“Ma’am, you mentioned that the officer had a handheld radio in his hand.”

“Yes.”

“What about his other hand?”

“I think it was free. He wasn’t holding anything.”

No. Shelly checked her notes on that. No.

“What about when he was talking to whoever it was-did he do anything different with that hand then?”

“Not as far as I could see, no.”

“And you could-well, that’s fine. That’s fine. Now, did this officer do anything, at any time here, that you would perceive as threatening or aggressive?”

Shelly thought to object but she would lose, and that would highlight the testimony.

“I didn’t see him do anything like that, no.”

“Did you ever see this officer, at any time, draw his weapon?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“And did these events take place in the city, county, and state in which this courthouse is located?”

“Yes, they did.”

Morphew nodded. “That’s all I have, your Honor.”

Shelly had little for this witness. She stood at her chair. “Good morning, Ms. Stoddard. I’m Shelly Trotter. We’ve met before.”

“Yes. Good morning.”

“Just a few questions. You couldn’t see this other person, whom the officer was chasing?”

“No, not once he went far enough in the alley.”

She put her hand on Alex’s shoulder. “You can’t identify this young man as the person who was running, can you?”

“No, I can’t.”

“Your view wasn’t sufficient to see his face.”

“My angle wasn’t, no.”

“Sure.” She moved away from Alex now, toward the podium. She didn’t want to discuss this other person while standing next to Alex. “This boy, once he left your line of sight, he never came back into your sight.”

“That’s right.”

“So you couldn’t tell us whether, for example, he had his hands up?”

“No, I couldn’t.”

“You don’t know what kind of a conversation they had.”

“No.”

“Or even if they had a conversation.”

“That’s right.”

“The part of the alley you couldn’t see-you can’t tell us how many people were in that alley, can you?”

Alex’s head whipped around at her. She avoided his stare.

“How many people?” The witness grimaced. “Other than that one boy I saw, no.”

“There could have been more than one person out of your sight line and you wouldn’t know.”

“That’s right. I would have no idea.”

Alex cleared his throat, still directing arrows at her with his eyes.

“Your Honor,” Shelly said, “one quick moment with my client?”

The judge nodded.

Shelly walked over. Alex got out of his chair and put his mouth to her ear. “What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to show that she doesn’t know anything.”

“No, you’re not. You’re saying it wasn’t me.”

She looked at him for a moment. She moved to his ear. “Alex, you sit down and shut your mouth. Do not ever glare at me like that again with the jury present. Or I swear to God, I’ll go to the prosecutor right now and tell them all about Ronnie.”

She smiled at him, for the jury’s benefit, and tapped him playfully on the shoulder. “Okay?” she said sweetly. “Sorry about that, Ms. Stoddard.” She moved away from the defense table and the podium, into the well of the courtroom. She was trying to stand directly between the jury and Alex. She heard him take his seat behind her.

“Ms. Stoddard, you said that the officer had a radio in one hand, and as for the other hand, I believe you said, you thought he wasn’t holding anything. Isn’t it more accurate to say that you aren’t sure about that?”

“Umm.” The witness looked up at the ceiling, squinted. “I don’t remember seeing a gun in his hand.”

“Let me put it this way, Ms. Stoddard. Can you rule out the possibility that he didn’t have a gun in his hand? You can’t, can you?”

“Rule out the possibility.” She played with that. “I guess it was my understanding that he didn’t have a gun in his hand.”

“Your understanding.” Shelly looked over at the prosecutor. “Do you mean someone told you that?”

“Oh, jeez.” She sighed loudly. “Well-”

“Ms. Stoddard, do you remember when I paid you a visit?”

“Yes.”

“And I brought a gentleman with me.”

“Yes.”

“And didn’t you tell us”-Shelly made a point of retrieving her notes and reading from them verbatim-“didn’t you tell us that ‘he had a walkie-talkie in his hand, but I don’t know about the other hand.’ Isn’t that what you told us?”

She seemed embarrassed by the question. Shelly smiled at her with sympathy. She wasn’t trying to berate the witness.

“I said that?”

“I’m asking you, ma’am. Didn’t you tell us that you didn’t know about that other hand?”

“Well. It was dark.” She threw up her hands. “I don’t really remember that he had a gun, but I don’t have a real specific image in my head of that hand. It was more like-a big picture sort of thing? I saw a police officer chasing a guy. I guess on the specifics of whether that officer had a gun in his hand-I guess I’m not positive one way or the other.”

“You don’t know about that other hand,” Shelly summarized, tying the witness to precisely what she had told Shelly and Joel in her office.

“I guess I don’t, no.”

“Okay. Let’s move on then. You said that the officer ‘jerked’ before the shooting.”

“Yeah.”

“Would you mind, Ms. Stoddard, standing up and showing us exactly what you mean by that?”

The witness shrugged and got up. “Well, I guess it’s hard to replicate.”

“Sure.”

The witness feigned a quick spasm of her upper body. Her body seemed to rotate to the right. “It was like something surprised him or something.”

Ouch. Surprise was not the word she wanted to hear. “Looks like”-Shelly tried to replicate the witness’s movement-“looks like he was pivoting a little.”

“Maybe. It was really quick. I didn’t really analyze it.”

“Of course. You can take your seat, by the way, thank you. So, his upper body sort of twisted or moved or something.”

“Something like that, yes.”

“His feet were planted.”

The witness recoiled, as if she were being asked too much. She thought about it a good long while, moving her body slightly as she tried to reenact the image.

“I mean,” Shelly tried, “he didn’t jump backward or forward, did he?”

“No. He didn’t do that.” The witness sighed, and slowly nodded. “I guess you’re right. His feet didn’t move.”

“Okay, great.” Shelly squinted over the jurors’ heads as if she were trying to get to the bottom of this. “Seems like-you tell me-seems like when you just did that, it was sort of like a shiver that started from the left side of his body and moved to the right.”

“Oh”-she dropped her head back-“that sounds right.” She looked at Shelly. “I mean, ‘shiver’-it would be an awfully bad shiver.”

“Okay, we’ll use your word. ‘Jerk.’ The officer jerked in a way such that he turned slightly to the right. Isn’t that what you showed us?”

“Yeah, that makes sense.”

“You said, Ms. Stoddard, that the witness had a radio in his hand.”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t hear Mr. Morphew ask you which hand was holding the radio. It makes me curious.”

Morphew, at the sound of his name, looked up from his notes at Shelly with an expression that said, I’d object to the cheap shot but it’s not worth it.

“Left hand,” said Ms. Stoddard.

“Left hand. Radio in his left, right hand you’re not sure.” She did the twist again, though slower than the quick jerking motion the witness had described. “He jerked to the right, and his right hand maybe had a gun in it, maybe was free.”

“Correct.”

“You didn’t happen to see what his right hand did, when he jerked to the right?”

Stoddard was following Shelly’s right hand, which moved toward her right hip. She seemed to get the point, too. “No, actually, I didn’t specifically notice that.” She heaved a sigh. “I guess I wish I had taken notes or something.”

Some of the jurors smiled, so Shelly did as well. Shelly patted her right hip with her free right hand. “His holster was on his right side, wasn’t it?”

“Oh, wow. I have no idea about that.”

That was fine. That much could be easily established.

“And one more topic, Ms. Stoddard. The other officer? Do you recall that he was back at the car when the shot was fired? Back at his patrol car?”

“Yes.”

“Now, I assume you weren’t paying much attention to him while these events were taking place.”

“No.”

“When did you next become aware of him?”

“Oh, at some point after that, I saw him jogging down to the alley and he went in. Then he ran to the other officer and he held him.”

“Did you see him do anything else?”

“I think-I was going to the phone to call 911. But then I heard a siren, so I figured they already knew.”

“There was a gap of time there, when you weren’t watching.”

“That’s-that’s right, yes.”

“Thank you very much, Ms. Stoddard.”

Shelly took her seat. Alex leaned into her and said, “That last part was better.”

“Thanks.”

“You never at any time saw the officer brandish his firearm, did you?” Dan Morphew had barely waited for Shelly to make it to her seat to begin his redirect examination.

“No, I can’t say that I specifically recall that.”

“And you can’t sit here and tell us, with any certainty whatsoever, that the officer was even reaching for his weapon when the shot was fired.”

“No, I can’t.”

“Nor can you tell us what the officer was seeing if, in fact, he did reach for his weapon.”

“I couldn’t see what he was seeing, no.”

“You can’t tell us, for example, whether the officer-if in fact he did reach for his weapon-whether the officer did that because the young man in the alley had pulled a gun on him.”

“Objection.” For this one, Shelly stood. “That question assumes facts not in evidence, your Honor.” She pointed at Monica Stoddard. “This witness never said that a ‘young man’ pulled a gun or shot anyone. There has been no testimony about who did that shooting. This witness specifically said that this ‘young man,’ whoever it was, left her line of vision and did not return.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” said Morphew, as if the point were elementary. “It’s an inference clearly drawn from the evidence.”

The judge stared at Morphew a moment. “The objection is sustained. Rephrase it, Counsel.”

Morphew adjusted his stance a bit to show displeasure, then framed his hands. “Ms. Stoddard, if we were to assume-assume-that Officer Miroballi was reaching for his weapon just before he was shot-you couldn’t tell us if he did that in response to someone pulling a gun on him.”

“No, I have no idea.”

“And we know that someone did shoot the officer, right?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you, ma’am. That’s all.”

“No recross,” Shelly said.

“Let’s take five minutes,” the judge said. “Mr. Morphew, do you have your next witness ready?”

“Judge, we do-could I beg for ten minutes?”

“Okay. Ten minutes.”

“Julio Sanchez,” Morphew said to the bailiff. Then he hustled out of the courtroom.