Chapter 62
CHAPTER
I sat at the bench, doing my damnedest to stifle my impatience. The janitorial team was giving the task their best effort. They’d swept the broken glass away, wiped it off the wooden benches. Two men were securing a sheet of plywood where the big pane of glass used to be.
Unbelievable. Everyone on those sidewalks had a cell phone on their person. Those devices contained cameras capable of taking still photos and video. But we couldn’t run down a picture of the offender.
The door to the courtroom opened and a white teenage boy stepped inside. “When’s court starting up?”
I swung around in my judicial chair, inclined to snap at the intrusion. When I saw the boy in my courtroom, wearing a BCHS fleece shirt, I was confused. “Shouldn’t you be in school?”
“My journalism teacher sent me over here.”
That sent a jolt of alarm through me. “What on earth for? You’re surely not putting this trial in the school paper.”
That would be horrific for Nova Jones. The middle school also received copies of the school paper.
“No, ma’am.” He glanced around the courtroom, like he was checking it out. “I’m covering the trial for my class project. Can I come in and sit down?”
“No. Not right now.”
My bailiff was sitting in a chair right outside the jury room, guarding the door. I said, “Ross, has the jury finished eating their lunch?”
“Yes, ma’am, Judge. They’re visiting inside the jury room. I can hear it.”
I didn’t intend to let them dawdle; I was impatient to resume the trial proceedings.
The stone-thrower who’d interfered with my courtroom by breaking the window was likely feeling triumphant about his misdeeds.
“Ross, you and Luna take the jurors to the restrooms. I’m going to let the lawyers know we’ll reconvene in fifteen minutes. ”
To the high school kid, I said, “Fifteen minutes. Wait in the hallway with the other spectators.”
I made the calls myself, since Luna was tied up with the jurors. In a quarter of an hour, we were all back in place. I’d hoped that the head count in the spectators’ section would be reduced, that the citizens might be inconvenienced by the delay and move along with their lives.
Sad to say, that wasn’t the case. The courtroom was at full capacity, every seat taken. That white boy in the school sweatshirt had found a spot; he managed to squeeze in at the far end of a bench.
Once we were back in trial, the DA called Deputy Wallace Greismer to the stand. After the deputy was sworn in, the DA plucked an exhibit off his counsel table. Something on paper, with multiple letter-sized sheets stapled together.
The DA cleared his throat. The sound served as an alert; it was a nervous tic of his. I edged forward on my seat, wondering what trick he’d try to pull.
The DA said, “Deputy, I’m handing you State’s Exhibit number 9. Can you identify it, please?”
The deputy took the exhibit and briefly leafed through the pages. “It’s a witness statement. Taken from Cocheta Bass.”
Benjamin Meyers was on his feet. “Whoa! This is clearly improper. Your Honor, may we approach?”
“You may.” As Benjamin Meyers and Robert Reeves came to the bench, the court reporter positioned herself so that she could hear the conference.
Benjamin Meyers dropped his voice. “Judge, I suspect the DA is trying to slide a written witness statement from Cocheta Bass into evidence. The late Ms. Bass was a school nurse at the middle school in Union Springs. What Mr. Reeves wants to do is a blatant violation of the hearsay rule. The prosecution has prejudiced my client by even making reference to the document.”
“Mr. Reeves?”
“Judge, I would argue that the statement must be admitted in Cocheta Bass’s absence. The witness is unavailable. You understand that, right, Meyers? The woman is dead. She can’t testify.”
I broke into the spat. “Let me see the exhibit.”
Reeves retrieved the statement from the deputy and handed it to me. It was fairly lengthy. A question jumped out at me: the deputy asking the school nurse to describe “the abortion plot.”
I flipped to the last page. “This is an ordinary witness statement. Not a sworn affidavit or a deposition.”
Benjamin Meyers said, “That’s my point, Your Honor.
The defense was not present. There was no opportunity for cross-examination.
There’s a Sixth Amendment problem here, a constitutional issue.
My client has the right to confront and cross-examine the witnesses against her.
But Cocheta Bass isn’t available for cross-examination now, and the defense was not present when this statement was taken. ”
“Counsel for defendant is correct on this issue. The objection is sustained,” I said. I offered the stapled statement back to the DA. He snatched it from my hand.
“You sure you don’t want to reconsider, Judge?
This is the evidence that corroborates the testimony of Nova Jones.
Without this statement, the case falls entirely on a child’s shoulders.
That’s a rough burden to bear.” He lifted his own shoulders in a shrug.
“Hope you’re comfortable with the position you’re putting the girl in. ”
There—he’d done it again. Pissed me off, trying to paint me as the oppressor.
I was barely able to keep my voice down as I responded.
“Don’t you go blaming the weaknesses of your case on me, Mr. Reeves.
And don’t you dare lay your shortcomings on your thirteen-year-old witness—or the defense, either.
You were scheduled to hold a preliminary hearing in this case months ago, which would have preserved your witnesses’ testimony.
Cocheta Bass would’ve been available to testify under oath, and subject to cross-examination by the defense.
But you persuaded the defendant’s original attorney to waive the hearing. That’s on you, Mr. DA.”
I dismissed them from the bench with a wave of my hand. To the jury, I smiled and said, “Y’all, I apologize for taking so long up here. You’ll disregard the DA’s last question of the deputy. The defense objection is sustained.”
“No further questions.” He sounded as snippy as a teenage girl.
I excused the deputy. As he marched out of court, the DA turned his back to me. He walked to the prosecution counsel table and commenced a whispered consultation with his co-counsel.
I let it go on for a minute or so. At length, I had to interrupt their private conference.
“Mr. Reeves, Ms. Lindquist? Is the State ready to proceed?”
Reeves straightened up. Returned to his seat. And then his face lit up with a smarmy grin. In an artificial tone of courtesy, he said, “We’re ready, Your Honor.”
Something about the look in his eyes gave me a chill.