The Gods of Guilt(80)

“Did you see what happened?” I asked.

“Yeah, I saw it. It was a red tow truck. The thing hit you like you weren’t even there and then it kept going.”

I nodded and looked down. I saw Earl’s outstretched hand, palm down on the bloody concrete. I put my hand on top of it.

“I’m sorry, Earl,” I said.





Part 3


THE MAN IN THE HAT

MONDAY, JUNE 17





29





The prosecution took eight days to present its case against Andre La Cosse, strategically finishing on a Friday so the jurors would have the whole weekend to consider its case in full before hearing a single word from the defense. Bill Forsythe, the deputy D.A., had been workmanlike in his presentation. Nothing fancy, nothing over the top. He methodically built his case around the videotaped interview of the defendant and attempted to solidly wed it to the physical evidence from the crime scene. On the tape La Cosse said he grabbed Gloria Dayton by the throat during their argument. Forsythe coupled this with testimony from the medical examiner, who said that the hyoid bone in the victim’s neck had been fractured. This coupling was the center of the case, and all other aspects, testimony, and evidence emanated from it like the concentric circles of waves from a stone thrown into a lake.

Yes, Judge Leggoe had allowed the admittance of the damning video, dismissing my motion to suppress the day before the start of jury selection with the single comment that the defense had failed to show that the police had used coercive tactics or had operated in bad faith in any way during the interview. The ruling was not unexpected and I immediately chose to see the silver lining in it; I now believed I had the first solid grounds for appeal should the verdict ultimately go against my client.

Through the video Forsythe gave the jury motive and opportunity, using the defendant’s own words to establish them. In my many trials over nearly twenty-five years as a practicing attorney I had found nothing more difficult than undoing the damage inflicted upon defendants by their own words. So was the case here. Jurors always want to hear from the defendants, whether in direct testimony, videotape, or audiotape. It is in the instinctual interpretation of voice and personality that we form our judgments of others. Nothing beats that. Not fingerprints, not DNA, not the pointed finger of an eyewitness.

Forsythe threw only one curve ball at me, but it was a good one. His final witness was another escort for whom La Cosse had formerly provided digital services and management. The prosecutor claimed that he had come forward only the day before after learning of the trial for the first time while reading the newspaper. I argued against his being allowed to testify, accusing the state of sandbagging, but to no avail. Leggoe said testimony of prior bad acts of a similar nature was admissible and allowed Forsythe to put him on the stand.

Brian “Brandi” Goodrich was a small man no more than five three. He wore tight stonewashed jeans and a lavender polo shirt on the witness stand. He testified that he was a transvestite who worked as an escort managed by Andre La Cosse. He testified that Andre had once choked him into unconsciousness when he thought Goodrich was withholding money from him. When Goodrich came to, he was handcuffed to a floor-to-ceiling pole in his living room and he watched helplessly while La Cosse ransacked his home looking for the missing cash. Brandi brought all the usual histrionics to the stand with him—he tearfully recounted that he had feared for his life and felt lucky he hadn’t been killed.

At the defense table, I leaned to Andre and smiled and shook my head as though this witness was just a nuisance and not worth taking seriously. But what I whispered to him wasn’t so light-hearted.

“I need to know right now, did this happen? And don’t hang me out there with a lie, Andre.”

He hesitated, then leaned in close to whisper back.

“He’s exaggerating. I handcuffed him first to this stripper pole he had in the living room so I could search the place. I didn’t choke him out. I grabbed him by the neck one time so he would look at me and answer my questions. He was never unconscious and it didn’t even leave a mark. He went to work that night.”

“He didn’t quit or go with someone else?”

“He didn’t quit for six months. Not until he found a sugar daddy.”

I leaned back away from Andre and waited for Forsythe to finish his direct. When it was my turn, I countered initially with a few questions I hoped would remind the jurors that Brandi was a prostitute and that he had never made any report of this near-death experience to the police.

“Which hospital did you go to to have your neck treated?” I asked.

“I didn’t go to the hospital,” he answered.