Chapter 63
CHAPTER
You may call your next witness,” I said.
Assistant Attorney General Eleanor Lindquist rose from her seat at the prosecution counsel table.
She’d switched up her look—no business suit that day.
Instead, the woman wore a royal blue belted dress with a double row of bright brass buttons adorning the front, from the collar to the conservative hemline.
Made her look more approachable than the drab gray and navy suits. And the dress would photograph well.
Back in my trial practice era, I had to wrestle with those wardrobe issues. Those days were in the past. The black judicial robe I wore spared me all those decisions. Saved a whole lot of my valuable time.
The AAG said, “The State calls Nova Jones to the witness stand.”
My bailiff was in position at the far end of the courtroom. He pushed the door open, took a step into the hall. “Nova Jones!”
I fixed my face, schooled my features. I was worried about that girl.
Concerned about the impact the testimony would have on her emotionally.
It was hard enough to live through the experience.
And now the child would be required to relive it in a huge roomful of people.
Hanging on every word and judging her actions.
But I didn’t want to convey that. If Nova Jones walked into court and saw my face all twisted up with sorrow and dread, like I was anticipating a bloodbath, it would scare the child.
I was the judge of this courtroom. I needed to project calm. To help her remain calm.
She stepped through the door and froze, right in the back of the courtroom. Because it seemed like everyone in the gallery had twisted around in their seats to get a look at her.
I could see it in her face; she wanted to turn and run. So I stood up, waved her forward.
“Good morning, Miss Jones! We appreciate you coming to the courthouse today. I expect this is your first time in a court of law. You’re going to come up here and sit in this chair.”
I pointed at it. And repeated: “You’ll sit up here, right by me.”
Lindquist, the AAG, was staring at me with a bright, brittle smile. Looked irate. Like I’d stolen her part, by speaking the lines she’d rehearsed for the show.
My bailiff was speaking to Nova, urging her to walk on down and take the stand.
For a moment, I thought she might bolt. I could see it in her eyes.
It’s happened before, in my courtroom. In an incest case.
The little girl took one step inside before she turned and fled.
We ultimately had to use video testimony.
Which is tricky in Bullock County. We’re low-tech.
And there’s the Sixth Amendment to consider. The Confrontation Clause.
I was thinking of the Sixth as I watched Nova slowly make her way to the bench.
She was required to relate the details of her trauma to all these strangers, and she’d have to tell her story directly in front of Dr. Gaines.
That was sure to be hard on the girl, a brutal experience.
And then they’d order Nova to point the doctor out in court, identify her for the record.
Finally, Nova arrived in front of the bench. When she looked up at me, I said, “Miss Jones, you’ll need to promise to tell the truth in court. Everyone has to do that. The clerk will administer the oath.”
Lindquist spoke up. “Judge? I thought I’d ask a few questions first. To, you know, demonstrate her comprehension of the oath. Show the court that she understands the significance of sworn testimony.”
I exchanged a glance with Meyers at the defense table. He remained silent. “Ms. Lindquist, the defense hasn’t raised an objection to Miss Jones’s competence as a witness. She’s not a child. The witness is thirteen years old, is that correct?”
Lindquist was still smiling, displaying a shiny mouthful of teeth. “Yes, thirteen, Your Honor. Just a brief exam. For the jury’s benefit.”
I looked back at Meyers. He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. No objection, then. I thought he might accuse the State of trying to bootstrap their witness’s credibility.
“Ms. Lindquist, I want the record to be clear. The court has not required this demonstration. But the defense does not object to it. All right, then, you can proceed.”
I turned my attention to Nova. Made sure my voice was warm when I spoke. “Go ahead and sit in that empty chair, Miss Jones. Up here on the stand, by me. You’re going to answer some questions before you take the oath.”
Nova ducked her head as she stepped onto the witness stand. When she sat, she grabbed the arms of the chair and held on tight.
In a bright voice, the AAG said, “Good morning! Nova, I’m going to ask you questions about telling the truth. Can you look up, please?”
Nova raised her head. Her mouth was trembling. I wanted to reach out, wrap her in a hug, like I’d do if one of my nieces was in that kind of state, upset and scared and shaking.
The lawyer said, “Nova, when people testify in court, they make a promise to tell the truth. Do you know what that means?”
I saw her release the arms of the chair. She slipped her hands under her thighs, hiding them from view. “Uh-huh.”
“So you know the difference between the truth and a lie?”
“Yeah.”
Her voice was so soft, the jurors might not be able to hear her. I said, “Can you speak up, Nova? I know it’s hard, but those folks in the jury box want to hear what you have to say.”
She nodded. Repeated it. “I know the difference.”
Lindquist said, “Is it wrong to tell a lie, Nova?”
“It’s wrong.”
The AAG mimed placing one hand on a Bible and raising the other. “Nova, some people put their hand on a Bible to swear to tell the truth. Are you familiar with the Bible?”
“Yes.”
“Do you go to church?”
“Yes, ma’am. Victory Baptist.”
This line of inquiry was spinning out of control. “Ms. Lindquist, it feels like you’re rehabilitating a witness who hasn’t even testified yet. Where are you going with this?”
Lindquist resented the interruption. Her eyes were chilly as she regarded me. “Just a couple more, Judge. Nova! Does the Bible say it’s wrong to tell a lie?”
“It’s false witness.”
The girl was demonstrating biblical knowledge that a lot of people lack. But the questions weren’t making her more comfortable with the witness chair. She swayed to one side and had to grip the arm of the chair again. I feared she was in danger of passing out.
“I’m cutting this off, Ms. Lindquist.” To Nova, I said, “You feeling all right, Miss Nova?”
She blinked rapidly, turned to face me. The girl was breathing fast. I could see the fabric of her T-shirt move in time with her heartbeat, like her heart was pounding so hard it wanted to jump outside her chest.
“Miss Nova, talk to me. Are you feeling faint?”
She clenched her jaw, didn’t speak. But she shook her head.
I said, “You sure? I can recess. We can start over again when you feel up to it.”
The look of despair she gave me spoke more eloquently than words. She would never feel up to it.
So we needed to proceed, then. I spoke briskly, like it was an ordinary case. “Administer the oath to the witness, please. She’s demonstrated that she understands what it means.”
Luna stepped up to her. “Raise your right hand, please,” she said. “Do you swear or affirm that you will tell the truth?”
“I do,” Nova said. She dropped her hand into her lap.
Eleanor Lindquist picked up a legal pad from the counsel table and positioned herself directly in front of Nova, so the jury could see them both. “Nova, please state your age.”
“Thirteen.”
“And where do you live?”
“Magnolia Apartments. 416 South Street, Union Springs, Alabama.”
“Nova, did you learn that you were pregnant in the past year?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
A direct jump to the heart of the issue. I was surprised that she dispensed with the buildup.
“How’d you find out?”
I could see Nova swallow before she answered. Wished I had a bottle of water from my chambers; her mouth was probably dry.
“The nurse at school. Miss Cocheta. I kept on having to go to her office, because I didn’t feel good. Sometimes I was sick to my stomach. She thought it was a bug at first, a stomach thing. Then she figured it out.”
“What did she do?”
“She gave me a test, the kind you take into the bathroom.”
Nova glanced up at me. I suspected she wasn’t comfortable explaining that she had to pee on the test stick. I gave her a nod, to encourage her to continue.
Lindquist said, “What happened with the test?”
“There were two lines. Two lines meant you were pregnant.”
“Did you know you were pregnant? Before you took the test?”
Nova shook her head. She was quiet for so long I thought I’d have to tell her to speak up. Finally, she said, “I didn’t want to think about it.”
“But you knew there was a chance, right? Because you’d been to a party a few months prior. Where the partying got out of control. Right?”
She didn’t answer.
Lindquist waited. Walked closer to the stand. “Didn’t you go to a party and have too much to drink? And end up in a car with an older boy?”
“Objection! Leading,” Benjamin Meyers said.
I paused for a beat. But he was right, the objection was valid. “Sustained.”
The AAG was getting frustrated with her witness. “Nova, just start at the beginning. Tell us about the party. No need to be embarrassed. Please.”