A Reasonable Doubt Susan Sloan (chrysanthemum read aloud TXT) 📖

“Sustained,” the judge said.

“Without stating your opinion on the guilt or innocence of the defendant, Officer Cady,” John Henry continued smoothly, “would you please tell the jury what happened when you encountered the defendant, Mr. Lightfoot, asleep in a box at the scene of the murder.”

“Well, we woke him up, and asked him to come out of his box so we could talk to him and -- ”

“His box?” the prosecutor interrupted.

“Yes, sir,” Cady replied.  “He sleeps in a box out in the alley behind the bar.  Detective Scott’s body wasn’t more than fifteen, twenty feet from where he was, so we thought maybe he might have seen or heard something.”

“I see, thank you,” John Henry said.  “Go on.”

“Well, we asked him to come out of the box, and just as he was coming out, we saw the gun.”

“The gun?”

“Yes, sir, the gun.  It just sort of skittered out from under him.  And then it turned out it was Dale’s gun -- I mean, Detective Scott’s gun.  And that’s when we knew he was more than just a potential witness.  And then, when we told him we were going to take him in for questioning, he tried to take off.”

“Take off?”

“Yes, sir -- he tried to run.  Consciousness of guilt, is what we call it.  So we stopped him and then we arrested him.”

Lily thought about objecting again, but decided not to.

“Thank you, Officer Cady,” John Henry said, and turned to Lily.  “Your witness.”

. . .

“Let me see if I have this straight,” Lily began her cross-examination.  “You thought he might be a witness until you saw the gun, and then you thought he might be guilty.  He tried to run, and you decided he was definitely guilty.  Is that about it?”

“That’s about it,” Cady agreed.

“And what else did you do, Officer Cady?”

“What do you mean, Ma’am?”

“I mean, you tried to take him in, he ran, you caught him -- and then what did you do?”

Cady shrugged.  “I guess I hit him a couple of times,” he said.  “I had to subdue him.”

“A couple of times?”

“Well, maybe a few times.  But he tried to run.”

“A few times, you say.”  Lily nodded to Megan, who jumped up from the defense table to operate the projector that had been placed on the podium.  “Your Honor, at this time, I would like to enter Defense Exhibits 1 through 14 into evidence.”

“Any objections, Mr. Morgan?” the judge inquired.

John Henry wanted to shout yes, but he knew it was just a formality, and that the exhibits were going to come in.

“No objection, Your Honor,” he said.

“The evidence is so entered.”

“Will Your Honor please have the lights adjusted?” Lily requested.

The lights in the courtroom were dimmed, and Megan proceeded to operate the projector.  Being displayed on a big screen in the corner of the room behind the bench, in plain view of the entire courtroom, were the photographs of Jason Lightfoot that Lily had ordered taken on her first meeting with him.  One after another, they showed the injuries the Indian had suffered at the hands of the police officer that had arrested him -- the crusty abrasions, the bloody lacerations, the deep purple bruises.

“These photographs were taken four days after the injuries depicted here had been inflicted, Officer Cady,” she said.  “Are these the injuries my client incurred from a few hits?”

Cady bristled a bit at that.  “A good friend of mine had just been killed, and okay, I guess I got a little carried away.”

“Let’s see, earlier you suggested that Jason Lightfoot’s attempt to run could be interpreted as consciousness of guilt,” the defense attorney continued.  “So, what would you say this action on your part could be interpreted as -- police brutality?”

“Objection,” John Henry said.

“Withdrawn,” Lily responded smoothly, knowing she had made her point.  “Officer Cady, I believe you said earlier that you went looking for a witness after finding Detective Scott’s body -- because it never occurred to you that someone who had just killed a cop would hang around the scene of the crime, is that so?”

“Yes, Ma’am, I think I said that,” Cady conceded.

“And has that been your experience as a police officer these past five years -- that those guilty of committing crimes don’t tend to stay around the scene of the crime?”

Cady saw the trap, but it was too late.  He had already put his foot in it.  “Sometimes,” he was forced to admit.  “But obviously, not always.”

“And on those occasions, when someone you believed had indeed committed a crime was still at the scene when you arrived -- what was the reason they gave for being there?”

“Mostly, they thought they could talk their way out of it,” he replied.  “Like claim they were too drunk or too high to know what they were doing.  And I’ve known one or two who thought they could claim they were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“And it never turned out to be true -- that they really were too drunk or high to know what they were doing, or that they actually were just in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

The witness was clearly uncomfortable with this line of questioning.  “It may have -- once or twice.”

“Officer Cady,” Lily said, knowing again that she had made her point and abruptly changing the subject, “prior to the morning of February 10th, did you know Jason Lightfoot?”

“No, Ma’am, not really, I mean, not personally,” he said.  “I knew he hung around one of the local bars, and I’d heard the name because he had a sheet.  But we never had any cause to interact.”

“A sheet?”

“Yes, Ma’am, he had a pretty long history of arrests.”

“Arrests?  Arrests for what?”

“Drunk and disorderly, disturbing the peace, public nuisance, that kind of stuff.”

“Was he ever convicted for any of these numerous crimes?” Lily inquired.

              “No, Ma’am.  He was not.”

“Why not?”

“I guess they were considered minor offences -- you know, pay a fine, spend the night, go on home.”

“Was there anything in that long history