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

He had come to Port Hancock at the age of thirty-six, lured by the newly-elected mayor of the quaint city, whom he had known since college, to become the youngest ever to fill the position as the city’s highest law enforcement official.

He had maintained his quarterback physique, boasted a full head of hair, sported a sweeping moustache, and was about to begin his tenth year in office.  He had a reputation for being tough, but fair.  There were few in town, or in the county, for that matter, who were as respected as Chief McAllister.

“Can you tell us how long Dale Scott had been a member of the Port Hancock Police Department?”  John Henry began, as soon as the witness had been sworn in.

“Fourteen years,” McAllister replied.  “He was already on the force when I took office.”

“And for how many of those years was he a detective?”

“The last five.”

“What kind of a police officer was he?”

“An excellent one,” the chief affirmed.  “And he had an office full of commendations to back that up.  The record shows that he cleared ninety-four percent of his cases, and the conviction rate associated with his arrests was the highest in the department.  He was very thorough in his investigations, and always on time with his paperwork.  He set a very high standard, not only for those who were already here, but for all those who came after him.”

“Do you know what he was doing in the seaward alley on the night of his death?”

McAllister sighed.  “In addition to their normal duties, Detective Scott and his partner were assigned to a regional drug enforcement task force.  They kept their own hours on that.  Sometimes, I knew where they were and what they were doing, sometimes, I didn’t.  That night, I’m afraid I didn’t.”

“Can you think of any reason why Detective Scott might have been in that particular alley on that particular night?”

“Sure,” McAllister said easily.  “A lot of trafficking goes on down on the docks -- illegal trafficking in stuff like alcohol, cigarettes, drugs -- the sort of thing that port cities unfortunately have to deal with.  The contraband comes in mostly at night.  Detective Scott could have been doing reconnaissance, or meeting with a snitch, or scouting for a raid -- there were a lot of reasons he could have been in that alley.”

“Did Detective Scott know the defendant?”

McAllister nodded.  “Yes, he did,” he declared.  “As a matter of fact, he’d had a number of encounters with Mr. Lightfoot over the years.  According to the record, Dale had brought him in at least a dozen times.  They were all minor charges, though, mostly relating to the defendant being drunk and disorderly.”

“Would you say there was some animosity between the two of them?”

“Certainly not on Dale’s part,” the chief replied.  “Arresting someone, whether for a felony or a misdemeanor, isn’t something a police officer enjoys doing.  It isn’t personal.  It’s part of the job.”

“Thank you,” John Henry said.  “I have no further questions.”

. . .             

“Chief McAllister,” Lily began, “I believe you said that Dale Scott was a good police officer, is that correct?”  It was the one thing she regretted -- having to destroy the reputation of Lauren’s husband, after all.

“It is, and he was -- one of the best, and as I said, he had the commendations to prove it,” McAllister replied.

“And you trusted him?”

“Absolutely.”

“Absolutely?”  Lily questioned.  “Are you saying that, in all the years that he was a member of your department, he never crossed the line?  You never had occasion to discipline him?”

“Dale Scott was a good police officer,” Kent McAllister affirmed.  “Day in, day out, he put it all on the line to keep this community safe, and he lost his life because of it.  This is not an easy job -- it’s a hard one.  Sometimes, it’s a real balancing act, and we all make mistakes.”

“I take that to mean that he did cross the line, and that he did make mistakes, and that you did indeed have occasion to discipline him?”

“I doubt there’s a police officer anywhere who hasn’t gotten a bit overzealous at least once in his career,” the police chief said.

“Once you said?”

McAllister shifted in his seat.  “Well, yes, I said at least once, but it could have been a couple of times.”

“A couple of times?” Lily echoed sharply.  “How about a dozen complaints of unnecessary roughness filed just in the past two years alone?  Black eyes, broken noses, split lips, cracked ribs, a ruptured spleen -- is that what you mean by overzealous?”

“Look, I didn’t come here to make excuses for Dale Scott,” the witness declared.  “He was who he was, and he did his best, just like everyone else.  Sometimes the kind of people he had to deal with weren’t the most cooperative.  Sometimes they resisted.  Sometimes they had to be subdued.  It would be great if it were otherwise, if everyone respected that a police officer was just doing his job, and a heck of a tough job at that.  But unfortunately, that’s not always the case.”

“Was it really part of the job -- or was it simply part of Dale Scott?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, his record seems to suggest that perhaps he got off on hurting people.  In fact, weren’t you constantly making excuses for him?”

“No, that’s not true,” the police chief declared.  “All this stuff you’re dredging up, it was all minor -- there was nothing major.”

“Putting a hungry, homeless man in the hospital with a ruptured spleen because he stole a turkey sandwich is minor?”

“Objection!” John Henry cried because he didn’t know what she was talking about.  “Are we really going to put the victim on trial here?”

“I’m just trying to get all the facts before the jury, Your Honor,” Lily said.  “If they’re entitled to know everything relevant about Jason Lightfoot, aren’t they equally entitled to know everything relevant about Dale Scott?”

“It’s just plain character assassination,” John Henry argued.

“Is the prosecutor really saying that showing