Stone Cold

Chapter Three

“Did you know the murder victim, Wilfred Donaire?” Bradshaw asked.

“I used to cut his hair.”

“How about the defendant, Dwayne Reed? Was he one of your customers?”

“Not for a long time.”

“Well, the defendant has been in jail for six months waiting to be tried for murdering Mr. Donaire. How about before he was arrested?”

“Nah, not before.”

“How would you describe your shop?”

Henderson squinted at Bradshaw. “What do you mean?”

“Well, do men come there just to get their hair cut?”

Henderson smiled. “Nah, some of my regulars, they come there and hang, you know what I’m sayin’? Sit around talkin’ and like that.”

“Was Wilfred Donaire one of your regulars?”

“Yeah, he was.”

“How about the defendant?”

“Nah, he don’t run wit’ dem.”

“How did you learn that Mr. Donaire had been murdered?”

“Saw it on the news.”

“Was it something your regulars talked about while they were sitting around your shop?”

Bradshaw had done a good job settling Henderson down. They were in a rhythm, trading questions and answers. It was the perfect time for Alex to make an objection just to try to throw them off.

“Objection. Hearsay,” she said from her chair, knowing it wasn’t and knowing that wasn’t the point.

“Overruled.”

Bradshaw didn’t miss a beat. “You may answer.”

“Everybody was talkin’ ’bout it.”

“Sometime after that, did the defendant come into your shop?”

“Yeah, he did.”

“Were any of your regulars there when he came in?”

“No. Was jus’ me.”

“Did the defendant say why he was there?”

“Said he wanted a haircut, so I give him one.”

“Did you notice anything about the defendant while you were giving him a haircut?”

“He was wearing a gold chain round his neck.”

“Can you describe it in more detail?”

“It had the word magic spelled out in the middle of it.”

“How is it that you remember the chain?”

Henderson took a deep breath. “On account of Wilfred had a chain like that. People called him Magic.”

Bradshaw picked up a clear plastic evidence bag and handed it to Henderson. “I’m handing you state’s exhibit twenty-one. Detective Rossi has testified that the defendant had this gold chain in his possession when he was arrested. Do you recognize it?”

“Yeah, that’s the chain I been tellin’ you about, the one Wilfred like to wear.”

“Did you ask the defendant where he got the chain?”

“No, sir. Wasn’t none of my business.”

“Did the defendant say anything to you about the chain?”

“He ax me did I like it.”

“Did he say anything else?”

“Just that he got it off a dead nigger shoulda known better than to mess wit’ him.”

Bradshaw let the answer hang for a moment, giving it time to soak in with the jury.

“Thank you, Mr. Henderson. No further questions.”

The last thing Alex wanted to do when her client had just taken a brutal shot was act like he’d taken a brutal shot. She was out of her chair before Bradshaw got back to his.

“Mr. Henderson, you said you heard about Mr. Donaire’s death on the news.”

“That’s right.”

“And how long after that did Dwayne Reed come into your shop?”

“He come in the next day.”

“And how long after that was it before you told the police what you claim Dwayne said?”

“A week.”

Alex held up his statement. “According to the statement you gave the police, it was ten days later. Is your sworn statement wrong?”

“No, it ain’t wrong.”

“Then your testimony today is wrong.”

Henderson folded his arms across his chest. “I don’t know.”

Alex turned to the jury, her eyebrows raised. “You don’t know?”

“Well, I guess I’m off a little bit.”

“We can agree on that much, Mr. Henderson. Now, the police didn’t come to you to find out if you knew anything about this crime, did they?”

“No.”

“In fact, you just walked into the East Patrol station and said you had information about Mr. Donaire’s murder. True?”

“Yes, ma’am. That’s right.”

“You weren’t subpoenaed?”

“No, ma’am.”

“You knew that Wilfred Donaire was a drug dealer, didn’t you?”

“I knew he could fix you up, if that’s what you mean.”

“I mean you knew he was a drug dealer. You knew that. True?”

Henderson pulled out his handkerchief and dabbed at his forehead. “Yeah. I guess so.”

“You guess so? Did it bother you that one of your regulars was a drug dealer?”

“Wilfred never bothered me none. If I only cut hair for the people in my neighborhood what never did nuthin’ wrong, I wouldn’t have nobody’s hair to cut.”

That brought another chuckle, two black men on the jury nodding and mouthing an amen. Alex pressed ahead, pointing to the black man at the back of the courtroom.

“That man followed your wife and children into the courtroom. Who is he?”

Bradshaw interrupted. “Objection! Relevance.”

Before the judge could respond, the man bolted from his seat, crashed through the courtroom door, and disappeared amid a chorus of gasps from the jury. Mary Henderson cradled her children and began to cry as Jameer Henderson buried his face in his hands. Judge West banged his gavel, his face beet red.

“Counsel will approach!” Alex and Bradshaw did as they were told. “Ms. Stone. You better have a good explanation for what just happened because if I find that you deliberately tried to force a mistrial, I’ll throw you in jail for contempt.”

Alex was unfazed. “The last thing I want in this case is a mistrial. All I did was ask the witness if he knew the man in the back of the courtroom.”

“Which,” Bradshaw said, “is totally irrelevant since we agreed he’s not going to be a witness. Now I’m the one who has to ask for a mistrial. There’s no way to predict how the jury will interpret what just happened. We’ve got no choice but to start over with a new jury.”

“That’s a load of crap, Your Honor.”

Judge West pointed his gavel at Alex. “I won’t have that language in my courtroom, Counsel.”

“My apologies, but Mr. Bradshaw couldn’t be more wrong. If you’ll let me proceed, I’ll demonstrate the relevance.”

Judge West peered at her over the top of his glasses. “You better do just that, and if you don’t, I’ll reconsider Mr. Bradshaw’s request for a mistrial.” He turned to the jury. “Ladies and gentlemen. A trial is a lot like live television. You never know what’s going to happen. As I instructed you at the beginning of this trial, you are to keep an open mind until you have heard all of the evidence and I have instructed you regarding the law in this case. The only evidence you may consider is from the testimony of the witnesses and the exhibits that are admitted into evidence. You shall not consider anything else, including that man’s sudden departure from the courtroom. The witness will answer Ms. Stone’s question.”

Jameer Henderson was slumped in the witness chair, wringing his hands. He looked up when the judge told him to answer.

“Mr. Henderson,” Alex said, “who was that man?”

Henderson answered, his voice soft and shaky. “I can’t say.”

“You’ll have to speak up so the jury can hear you.”

“I can’t say.”

“Because you don’t know or you’re afraid to say?” Henderson hesitated, shifting his attention from Alex to his wife, who was struggling to compose herself. “I can see that you’re concerned about your wife. Is that because of this man?”

Henderson shook his head again. “I can’t say.”

The courtroom, though built during the Depression, had been renovated and equipped with the latest technology, including television monitors the lawyers could use to display exhibits. There was a small monitor at each counsel table and at the judge’s bench and a larger one for the jury and the witness.

Grace Canfield connected her laptop so that its screen would appear on all the monitors, gave Alex a thumbs-up, and pushed a button on her laptop, filling the monitors with a photograph of the man who’d just run from the courtroom. Judge West came out of his seat and slammed his gavel onto his bench.

“This court is in recess. The jury is excused and I will see counsel in my chambers. Now!”