I held the videotape up, described it as video of Louis Roulet’s first appearance, and asked to enter it as a defense exhibit. Minton tried to block it as something I had not produced during discovery, but that was easily and quickly shot down by the judge without my having to argue the point. He then objected again, citing the lack of authentication of the tape.
“I am just trying to save the court some time,” I said. “If needed I can have the man who took the film here in about an hour to authenticate it. But I think that Your Honor will be able to authenticate it herself with just one look.”
“I am going to allow it,” the judge said. “Once we see it the prosecution can object again if so inclined.”
The television and video unit I had used previously was rolled into the courtroom and placed at an angle viewable by Corliss, thejury and the judge. Minton had to move to a chair to the side of the jury box to fully see it. The tape was played. It lasted twenty minutes and showed Roulet from the moment he entered the courtroom custody area until he was led out after the bail hearing. At no time did Roulet talk to anyone but me. When the tape was over I left the television in its place in case it was needed again. I addressed Corliss with a tinge of outrage in my voice.
“Mr. Corliss, did you see a moment anywhere on that tape where you and Mr. Roulet were talking?”
“Uh, no. I—”
“Yet, you testified under oath and penalty of perjury that he confessed crimes to you while you were both in the courtroom, didn’t you?”
“I know I said that but I must have been mistaken. He must have told me everything when we were in the holding cell.”
“You lied to the jury, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t mean to. That was the way I remembered it but I guess I was wrong. I was coming off a high that morning. Things got confused.”
“It would seem that way. Let me ask you, were things confused when you testified against Frederic Bentley back in nineteen eighty-nine?”
Corliss knitted his eyebrows together in concentration but didn’t answer.
“You remember Frederic Bentley, don’t you?”
Minton stood.
“Objection. Nineteen eighty-nine? Where is he going with this?”
“Your Honor,” I said. “This goes to the veracity of the witness. It is certainly at issue here.”
“Connect the dots, Mr. Haller,” the judge ordered. “In a hurry.”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
I picked up the piece of paper and used it as a prop during my final questions of Corliss.
“In nineteen eighty-nine Frederic Bentley was convicted, withyour help, of raping a sixteen-year-old girl in her bed in Phoenix. Do you remember this?”
“Barely,” Corliss said. “I’ve done a lot of drugs since then.”
“You testified at his trial that he confessed the crime to you while you were both together in a police station holding cell. Isn’t that correct?”
“Like I said, it’s hard for me to remember back then.”
“The police put you in that holding cell because they knew you were willing to snitch, even if you had to make it up, didn’t they?”
My voice was rising with each question.
“I don’t remember that,” Corliss responded. “But I don’t make things up.”
“Then, eight years later, the man who you testified had told you he did it was exonerated when a DNA test determined that the semen from the girl’s attacker came from another man. Isn’t that correct, sir?”
“I don’t… I mean… that was a long time ago.”
“Do you remember being questioned by a reporter for theArizona Starnewspaper following the release of Frederic Bentley?”
“Vaguely. I remember somebody calling but I didn’t say anything.”
