“Judge, I would argue that the statement must be admitted inCocheta 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 havepreserved 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.
CHAPTER
63
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 thatgirl. 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.
