“Stipulate to identification,” Allison says without even looking up.
“The record will reflect an in-court identification of the defendant,” says the judge.
That’s me, the “defendant.” Can’t they just say my name? Do I have to wear a pejorative label instead of just “Luke” or “Mr. Rankin”?
The prosecutor, Ghadiali, reviews his notes. “Did you come to learn whether the defendant was the owner of this vehicle?”
“I learned he was not. The car was registered to someone else, a Trinity Casto. The defendant informed me that he was running an errand for her.”
“I see. Did you seek consent to search the vehicle?”
“I did. The defendant consented.”
“Did you conduct a search of the vehicle?”
“Yes.” He proceeds to run through the search briefly, which included looking through every nook and cranny of the car’s interior and removing a large amount of clothes from the back seat. “Yes,” he says, in response to a question, “we ultimately searched the area beneath the trunk, the area where a spare tire is typically kept.”
“Did you find anything besides a spare tire?”
“We did. We found a shopping bag. Inside that shopping bag were a number of pills and a tube of lipstick.”
“Lipstick?” I whisper to Allison. “Lipstick?”
“Hearing this for the first time,” she whispers back. “Let me listen.”
The trooper goes on to explain that he considered the pills to be “suspect oxycodone” and counted out one hundred pills. The street value, he says, is about a dollar for each milligram, making each eighty-milligram tablet worth $80. So the street value of the batch was $8,000.
“One more thing, Trooper,” says Ghadiali. “Tell us why you stopped this vehicle.”
“Yes, sir.” The trooper clears his throat. “The state police received information from a confidential source to be on the lookout for this vehicle, traveling southbound on Interstate 57 toward Bourbonnais, on a Monday morning. We were told that the vehicle might be transporting suspect contraband. Oxycodone, specifically.”
I reach for Allison’s arm. “What does that mean? What’s going on?”
She is all business, leaning slightly forward, eyes narrowed, intent with concentration.
“No further questions,” says the prosecutor.
The judge looks at the defense table. “Cross?”
Allison gets to her feet. “Trooper, the state police had a confidential informant?”
“Yes, we did.”
“Did the informant identify a specific car?”
“Yes.”
“By a specific license plate?”
“Yes.”
“And a specific name?”
“I…well, yes, as I said, the car was registered to an individual named Trinity Casto.”
“You never heard the name Luke Rankin associated with that vehicle.”
“No,” he says. “I had no information regarding Luke Rankin.”
