Chapter 64
Beau Lee stood up and took a deep breath. “At this time, the defense will call Mr. Hollis Montrose.”
Every criminal defense lawyer knows that in a criminal trial, the last thing you want to do is put your client on the witness stand.
It doesn’t matter how much you try to prepare them.
Once they’re on the stand, it is open season from the prosecutor, and there’s very little you can do to stop it.
Every question that either DaSilva or Dilliard would ask Mr. Montrose would be deemed relevant, and there was no end to the line of questioning once the decision was made for him to take the stand in his own defense.
As they say in wrestling, it’s no-holds-barred.
But Beau Lee deemed it the only card left to play.
Even though he was trying to work on something to save Mr. Montrose, at this moment he had no other witnesses to call.
Finn came into the well of the courtroom and pushed Hollis’s wheelchair to the front of the witness stand. “Thank you very much, Office Doyle,” said Beau Lee deliberately. “Your Honor, will you have the clerk swear in the witness?” The judge nodded.
The clerk came forward and asked Mr. Montrose to raise his right hand. “Do you swear to tell the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”
“Yes, ma’am. I promise with my whole heart that I will,” Hollis said.
“Mr. Montrose, let’s start with a bit of your background,” Beau Lee said. “What is your birth date, and where were you born?”
“I was born right here in Chicago on March 17, 1953.”
“You also attended school here in Chicago, correct? Where did you graduate from high school?”
“Yes, I did. I graduated from Wendell Phillips Academy High School, class of 1971.”
“Mr. Montrose, you were a police officer, weren’t you? Tell me about the length of your career in the department.”
“Yes, sir. I became a police officer at the Chicago Police Department in 1983, and I stayed with the department for sixteen years. From there, I joined Metra. I’ve been there going on a little more than nine years.”
“So, Mr. Montrose, you’ve been serving your community as a police officer for twenty-five years?”
“Yes, sir. I am very proud of being a police officer and my lifelong work.”
“Mr. Montrose, we thank you for your service protecting the community,” Beau Lee said, making sure the jury fully understood that Hollis Montrose was also a police officer. The only difference between him and the cops who shot him was that they were white.
DaSilva debated objecting but decided against it, reasoning that it could backfire and bring even more attention to Mr. Montrose’s police career. He’d get his turn soon enough to set the record straight on who he considered Hollis Montrose to be.
“Mr. Montrose, have you ever been convicted of a crime in your life?”
“No, sir.”
“Have you ever even been arrested before in your life?”
“No, sir.”
“Have you ever had any brushes with the law before in your life?”
“No, sir. Never. Up until the early-morning hours of November fifth,” he said.
“And that’s what we’re here to talk about, Mr. Montrose. Can you tell the members of the jury what you remember about that night?”
“Yes, sir. It still seems like a nightmare. It was the worst day of my life—I thought I was going to die,” he recalled as tears started to form in his eyes.
“The hospital psychologist said that I may have some mental blocks trying to remember every detail. But I remember leaving my part-time job for Gunderson Security after my shift had ended at midnight. I was going to stop by Officer Finn Doyle’s house before I went home to my wife, Rocky.
Well, that’s her nickname. Her name is Raquel, but everyone calls her Rocky.
She’s sitting over there behind my lawyers’ table.
Thank God for that woman, because without her love, I wouldn’t be here today. ”
DaSilva stood up slowly. “Objection, Your Honor, respectfully.”
“Sustained.”
Beau Lee walked back to his table, found a box of Kleenex, and handed it to his client. “Mr. Montrose, if you would, continue telling us about that night when you were shot by the Chicago police officers.”
Mr. Montrose took a tissue. “Yes, sir,” he answered, wiping his tears.
“I had just exited the 58-B off-ramp. I merged onto South Yale Avenue and turned left on Sixty-third. I drove for about two miles and then turned right on South Woodlawn Avenue. Flashing blue lights appeared in my rearview mirror, but there were no sirens. I remember thinking they were going to go around me to pursue someone else, because I hadn’t done anything.
I remember looking at the time—it was around 12:17 a.m. At that point, I realized they were trying to pull me over.
I reached into my pocket, where my wallet was, so I could be ready to show the officers my police ID. ”
Beau Lee held up his hands in front of him. “Hold on. You had your wallet with your police identification on you in your pocket that night?”
“Oh yes, sir. And I told the officer that I was a police officer. And I had both of my hands where he could see them. I offered to show him my badge and ID.”
“So did you show the officer your badge and ID?”
“No, sir. Because when I offered them to him, he responded by yelling at me to shut my mouth. Then he opened up my car door and yanked me out. I said again, ‘Man, I’m a police officer!’ His partner came around from the passenger’s side of my car with his gun pointed at me.
They were yelling at me to shut my mouth and get down on the ground.
They were telling me to put my hands flat on the ground above my head.
And I had them there the whole time, telling them I’m a police officer.
And one officer said something about, ‘I don’t care if your Black President Obama is in the White House, you need to shut up, because you all are still not in charge.
We are still in charge. And you do what we say. ’ ”
“You remember the officer making a reference to President Obama the night you were shot?”
“Yes, sir. He said something to the effect that it doesn’t matter if he is the president and that we’re still in charge.”
“What did you take that to mean, Mr. Montrose?”
“I didn’t know what it meant. All I know is they were yelling with guns pointed at me from multiple directions. Then other officers arrived and started pointing their weapons at me, too. I was afraid for my life.”
“And what happened next from what you can remember?”
“I was yelling that this is just a misunderstanding. I heard one of the officers who arrived on the scene say, ‘What do we have here?’ The officer that yanked me out of the car said that I was weaving like I was drunk or like I was on something, and I interrupted him and said I wasn’t weaving.
Then the officer who yanked me out of the car kicked me in my side.
I could tell he’d cracked my ribs. It was extremely painful.
The pain overtook my whole body. I remember recoiling and reaching up to protect my ribs.
Then I heard somebody yell, ‘Gun, gun!’ I tried to say no, that it was a misunderstanding, but all of a sudden, I started to feel hot burning sensations in my back, in my buttocks, my leg, and my shoulder.
Afterwards, I felt nothing. I thought it was the end of my life. ”
Hollis was sobbing by the end. The courtroom was still, but you could hear quiet sniffles from the crowd, and one juror took her napkin to wipe her eyes, while another juror desperately tried to keep his lips from quivering. The weight of Hollis’s pain hung heavy in the courtroom.
“Mr. Montrose, I’m so sorry you have to relive this.”
“It’s okay, Mr. Cooper. I relive it every day when I wake up and try to get out of bed thinking I can still walk.”
“Is it true that as a result of the police officers shooting you, that you are now paralyzed from the waist down?”
“Yes, sir. I will never be able to walk again. I’ll never be able to control my bowels again, either.
And I’ll never be able to make love to my wife again.
And that is very hard to deal with. I was an independent person.
Now I have to have people change my diaper like I’m a helpless infant.
But I thank my wife, Rocky, because she and my family and my friends have been there by my side. ”
DaSilva stood up again. “Your Honor. Respectfully, I must object based on relevance.”
“I understand, Mr. DaSilva. The objection is sustained. Mr. Cooper, please move on,” she said softly.
“Mr. Montrose, do you ever remember taking your wallet out of your pocket?”
“No, sir.”
“Do you remember having handcuffs put on you?”
“No, sir. I was completely unconscious. I only knew they put handcuffs on me from the video.”
“Objection,” DaSilva shouted more aggressively. “Hearsay, and I will ask that his answer be stricken from the record.”
“Sustained. The jury will disregard the defendant’s reference to the video.”
“Mr. Montrose, you didn’t put handcuffs on yourself, did you?”
Mr. Montrose smiled faintly. “No, sir. I did not.”
“Were you made aware that one of the officers on the scene put handcuffs on you?”
“Objection!”
“Sustained.”
“Mr. Montrose. Did you ever fire your gun that night during this traffic stop?”
“No, sir. I did not, Mr. Cooper.”
“Mr. Montrose, did you even retrieve your gun on the night of the traffic stop?”
“No, sir, Mr. Cooper.”
“Mr. Montrose, did you comply with all of the officers’ commands during the traffic stop?”
“Yes, I did, Mr. Cooper.”
“And yet they still shot and paralyzed you.”
“Objection. Improper question.”
Sustained again, but it didn’t matter. Beau Lee was cooking with gas now and not letting up on the momentum. He knew he’d get a few objections, but he felt good about driving his point home.
“Mr. Montrose, can you think of any reason why these police officers shot you that night during this traffic stop?”
Objected for improper questioning—sustained.
He kept going. “Mr. Montrose, do you feel that there’s anything you could have done to prevent these police officers from shooting you?”
Objected for relevance—allowed, in a shocking move. Beau Lee nearly turned to look at Lambert but stayed focused.
“No, sir, Mr. Cooper. I can’t think of anything I could have done to prevent them from shooting me like they did, because I can’t change my skin color.”
Beau Lee stood there for a moment in complete silence, letting what Mr. Montrose said sink in for the whole court. “Thank you, Mr. Montrose. I have no further questions, Your Honor. I pass the witness.”
“I think this is a good time to take our lunch recess for today. The court will be in recess for one hour. Then at that time, we will begin with the cross-examination of this witness by the district attorney.” Then the judge struck her gavel.