Read Online Double Jeopardy by William Bernhardt - Free Book Online
Authors: William Bernhardt
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finish.”
“I’ll arrange something. Tonight I wanted us to have the opportunity to talk face-to-face. Privately. That shouldn’t be necessary again. I’ll get you what you want.”
“I don’t see how.”
“You don’t have to. I’ll take care of it.”
“Listen to me, chump. I’m tellin’ you, they won’t let you near me!”
“Of course they will.” He ground his cigarette out on the table. “I can do anything I want, Al. I’m with the FBI.”
WEDNESDAY
April 17
13
8:50 A.M.
“C ’MON, CHARLIE, YOU GOTTA help me out here.”
“Sorry, Travis. Courtrooms give me the shivers.”
“It’ll only be for a little while.”
“Ten seconds would be ten seconds too long. Get someone else.”
Travis was inside the courthouse coffee shop pleading with Charlie Slovic, the proprietor. “There’s no one else here who fits, Charlie. You’re a perfect match.”
“Besides, who would watch the shop while I’m gone?”
“I’ll take care of that,” Travis assured him. “I promise. You won’t get into any trouble. Think of it as your civic obligation. Kind of like jury duty.”
“I’ve never done jury duty.”
“Well then. You owe us.”
“Sheesh.” Charlie turned down the coffee burners. “I really don’t want to do this, Travis.”
“But you will. That’s what makes you a great American. Am I right?”
Charlie sighed. “Yeah. Right.”
Opening statements passed without any major surprises. On behalf of the prosecution, Cavanaugh gave new meaning to the word melodramatic. Travis thought she overdid it—this situation was already so supercharged with emotion that it reeked of overkill. But the jury didn’t appear to mind. Their attention was riveted to her, except for occasional diversions, when Cavanaugh would describe a particularly horrific act and the jury would glance at Moroconi with disgust.
Travis’s opening statement was much shorter and hinged upon a single point. He didn’t contest the fact that Mary Ann McKenzie had been raped—the medical evidence established that beyond any question. He didn’t try to dissuade the jury from sympathizing with her; as he assured them, he felt for her, too. The only question was whether Al Moroconi was a member of the gang that assaulted her. In order to convict, Travis told them, they would have to find that Mary Ann’s identification of Moroconi was trustworthy. Beyond a reasonable doubt.
Hagedorn instructed the prosecution to call its first witness. To Travis’s surprise, Cavanaugh led with Mary Ann McKenzie. He had expected her to testify, but not right off the bat. The usual prosecution strategy was to build up to the victim—establish the crime through medical and forensic testimony, then bring on the victim for a devastating wrap-up. But for some reason, Cavanaugh had decided to lead with her ace.
Mary Ann McKenzie took the stand. She was sworn in, her voice choking on the phrase I do. Not a good sign, Travis thought. If she can’t get through the oath without a choke, cross-examination might prove impossible.
She looked terrible. Her face was partially wrapped in bandages and still covered with large blue-black bruises. Travis knew she was undergoing reconstructive plastic surgery to restore some semblance of her former face. He also knew it wouldn’t work; this was permanent damage, far beyond the curative powers of the surgeon’s scalpel. Her neck and right arm were in a body cast—probably due to injuries sustained as she was dragged behind the car. She appeared weak, pale, and emaciated.
Cavanaugh began the direct examination. Travis noted that she was using her nice-nice voice; some questions were barely louder than a whisper. After passing through the preliminaries, Cavanaugh brought Mary Ann to the night of the incident.
“Would you please tell the jury what you were doing that night?”
Mary Ann’s lips parted, and her voice emerged in a hoarse whisper. “I went to O’Reilly’s. It’s on Mockingbird.
“I’ll arrange something. Tonight I wanted us to have the opportunity to talk face-to-face. Privately. That shouldn’t be necessary again. I’ll get you what you want.”
“I don’t see how.”
“You don’t have to. I’ll take care of it.”
“Listen to me, chump. I’m tellin’ you, they won’t let you near me!”
“Of course they will.” He ground his cigarette out on the table. “I can do anything I want, Al. I’m with the FBI.”
WEDNESDAY
April 17
13
8:50 A.M.
“C ’MON, CHARLIE, YOU GOTTA help me out here.”
“Sorry, Travis. Courtrooms give me the shivers.”
“It’ll only be for a little while.”
“Ten seconds would be ten seconds too long. Get someone else.”
Travis was inside the courthouse coffee shop pleading with Charlie Slovic, the proprietor. “There’s no one else here who fits, Charlie. You’re a perfect match.”
“Besides, who would watch the shop while I’m gone?”
“I’ll take care of that,” Travis assured him. “I promise. You won’t get into any trouble. Think of it as your civic obligation. Kind of like jury duty.”
“I’ve never done jury duty.”
“Well then. You owe us.”
“Sheesh.” Charlie turned down the coffee burners. “I really don’t want to do this, Travis.”
“But you will. That’s what makes you a great American. Am I right?”
Charlie sighed. “Yeah. Right.”
Opening statements passed without any major surprises. On behalf of the prosecution, Cavanaugh gave new meaning to the word melodramatic. Travis thought she overdid it—this situation was already so supercharged with emotion that it reeked of overkill. But the jury didn’t appear to mind. Their attention was riveted to her, except for occasional diversions, when Cavanaugh would describe a particularly horrific act and the jury would glance at Moroconi with disgust.
Travis’s opening statement was much shorter and hinged upon a single point. He didn’t contest the fact that Mary Ann McKenzie had been raped—the medical evidence established that beyond any question. He didn’t try to dissuade the jury from sympathizing with her; as he assured them, he felt for her, too. The only question was whether Al Moroconi was a member of the gang that assaulted her. In order to convict, Travis told them, they would have to find that Mary Ann’s identification of Moroconi was trustworthy. Beyond a reasonable doubt.
Hagedorn instructed the prosecution to call its first witness. To Travis’s surprise, Cavanaugh led with Mary Ann McKenzie. He had expected her to testify, but not right off the bat. The usual prosecution strategy was to build up to the victim—establish the crime through medical and forensic testimony, then bring on the victim for a devastating wrap-up. But for some reason, Cavanaugh had decided to lead with her ace.
Mary Ann McKenzie took the stand. She was sworn in, her voice choking on the phrase I do. Not a good sign, Travis thought. If she can’t get through the oath without a choke, cross-examination might prove impossible.
She looked terrible. Her face was partially wrapped in bandages and still covered with large blue-black bruises. Travis knew she was undergoing reconstructive plastic surgery to restore some semblance of her former face. He also knew it wouldn’t work; this was permanent damage, far beyond the curative powers of the surgeon’s scalpel. Her neck and right arm were in a body cast—probably due to injuries sustained as she was dragged behind the car. She appeared weak, pale, and emaciated.
Cavanaugh began the direct examination. Travis noted that she was using her nice-nice voice; some questions were barely louder than a whisper. After passing through the preliminaries, Cavanaugh brought Mary Ann to the night of the incident.
“Would you please tell the jury what you were doing that night?”
Mary Ann’s lips parted, and her voice emerged in a hoarse whisper. “I went to O’Reilly’s. It’s on Mockingbird.
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