Clifford Irving's Legal Novels - 01 - TRIAL - a Legal Thriller (28 page)

Warren waited as long as he dared for it to register.

Then he said, "Mrs. Singh, aren't those just about the exact words, with the phrases in exactly the same order, that you used to describe this man to the police when they arrived?"

"Perhaps. That may be so," Mrs. Singh said.

"I can ask the court to provide you with a copy of your statement to the police. It may refresh your memory. Would you like me to do that, Mrs. Singh?"

"That is not necessary," she replied.

"Are they just about the same words and the exact order of phrases?"

"Most probably," Singh managed.

"And in this courtroom today, when the prosecutor asked you to describe the man you saw running away from the car in the darkness, didn't you use the exact same words and order of phrases that the police copied down as your sworn statement?"

"Most probably," Singh said again.

"Do you have a copy, either here or at home, of your sworn statement to the police?"

"Yes."

"Have you memorized it? Word for word? Phrase for phrase, in the right order, so that there would be no discrepancies?"

"I don't understand," Singh said helplessly.

"Would you like the court reporter to read back my question?"

"No."

"Then please answer it, ma'am. If you can."

"I cannot," Singh said.

"Why not?"

"I did not memorize it, sir. But I studied it."

He had got away with that last one, he realized, breaking the cardinal rule of never asking a hostile witness a question that began with
why.
But no matter how she answered, she had still memorized. That she was a hostile witness Warren had never doubted. The creed of all courtroom combat was: if you are not for me, you are against me.

He moved to the other side of the courtroom, next to Hector Quintana. The jurors' eyes followed him carefully.

"Mrs. Singh, when you talked to the police and described the man whom you saw running away, you said: 'I thought he
might
have been Hispanic' — isn't that so? Just yes or no, please."

"Yes."

"And then to my colleague, Ms. Goodpaster, earlier today in this courtroom, didn't you say: 'He seemed most certainly to be Hispanic'?"

"Yes."

"And a few moments ago, when you were relating to the jury what you told your husband, you said: 'He
was
most certainly Hispanic.' Didn't you, Mrs. Singh?"

"I may have done so."

"Isn't it a fact that with each description, as time moves on, you grow more positive?"

"Objection," Goodpaster called out sharply, a little desperately. "Badgering the witness!"

"Overruled," Judge Parker said, to Warren's surprise. "You may answer, Mrs. Singh."

"I do not know the correct answer," Singh said.

"Isn't it a fact," Warren said quietly, "that when you saw the defendant sitting in this courtroom today, that was the precise moment you decided that the man you saw running away from the car was definitely a Hispanic?"

"That is not actually a fact," she said, glowering.

"What is a Hispanic, Mrs. Singh?"

"A person from Latin America, sir."

"How would you describe such a person physically?"

"They are usually dark. Not very tall."

"You are dark too, Mrs. Singh, and not very tall," Warren said, in his quietest audible voice. "I suspect your husband is also dark. Is either of you Hispanic?"

"Most definitely not," she replied.

"Do you have anything against Hispanics?"

"Not in any particular way."

Warren pounced: "You have something against them in a
general
way, is that what you're telling us?"

"It is just that I have noticed that many of the unemployed and homeless men in our city are of Latin origin."

"Just one thing more, Mrs. Singh." He saw her relax. "At 8 P.M. the parking lot outside your dry cleaners is relatively dark, isn't it?"

"There are lights."

"Are they bright?"

"Yes."

"Was the station wagon parked directly under one of them?"

"Not precisely. But it was not too far away."

"Yes or no, Mrs. Singh. Was it parked directly under one of them?"

"No."

"Do you know how far apart those lights are spaced in the parking area?"

"Goodness, not really."

"Would you say they're placed more than a hundred feet apart?"

"I'm not sure."

"Isn't it a fact, Mrs. Singh, that they're approximately one hundred and twenty feet apart from one another along the outer perimeter of the parking area?"

"I do not know."

"Do you know how far the nearest light is from where you sat in the front of your store?"

"It is not far."

"How far is 'not far,' Mrs. Singh?"

"I am not exactly sure."

"Isn't it true, Mrs. Singh, that the nearest light is approximately forty-five feet from where you sat?"

"That may well be."

"And isn't it true, Mrs. Singh, that the station wagon was parked at least twenty feet from the base of the nearest lamp?"

"That also may be."

"You came from the back of the laundry a minute or two after you heard the gunshot?"

"Yes."

"Your husband was operating the dry cleaning machines in the back?"

"Yes."

"And it was hot and steamy back there?"

"Oh, yes, near the presses, always."

"Did you wipe your glasses, Mrs. Singh, to get the fog off them, before you looked out into the parking lot and saw the man running away?"

"I do not remember."

"The man who was running away, you saw him clearly?"

"Quite clearly."

"Mrs. Singh, in the Queen's English, which you learned in Jaipur and still speak, does the word 'quite' mean
very,
or does it mean
sort of?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"When I asked you if you could see well at a distance without your glasses, you answered, 'Quite well.' And yet your glasses are to help you see things at a distance, aren't they?"

"Yes, exactly."

"So what you meant when you said 'Quite well' was really 'Fairly well' — isn't that so, ma'am?"

"That is possible."

"When Ms. Goodpaster asked if you saw the man's face when he turned toward you, and you replied, 'Quite clearly' — you actually meant 'fairly clearly.' Isn't that true, ma'am?"

"I could see him," Singh said. "He was dark and scruffy-looking."

"A Hispanic."

"Well, I am not sure of that now."

Warren took a shaky breath and paused to let that register with the jurors.

"And then later, when Ms. Goodpaster asked if you were certain that the man you picked out of the police lineup was the same man whom you saw 'quite clearly' in the parking lot, you replied that you were 'quite certain.' You meant
fairly
certain, didn't you, Mrs. Singh?"

"He was quite similar," Siva Singh replied softly, "if he is not the same man. And if he is not, then I am so terribly sorry. I will not forgive myself."

"Do you think
he
will forgive you?" Warren asked.

Mrs. Singh did not answer.

He was torn between ending right there and going on. There were other areas to cover, but he was afraid now that they would prove anticlimactic. He glanced at the jury. They were with him. They would not forget.

Just a little bit more, he told himself. He wanted to show the jury that Dan Ho Trunh could easily have been followed to the dry-cleaning establishment by someone who knew his habits. A red herring, but he needed it. There was the matter of the murder weapon in Hector's possession, a fact that he could not cast doubt upon the way he had cast doubt upon Siva Singh's positive identification.

"Mrs. Singh, was Dan Ho Trunh also a regular customer, like Mrs. Morrison?"

The witness brightened. The ordeal seemed to be over.

"Yes, he came once a week. He picked up and delivered his things at the same time. A very neat man indeed. He was also a most satisfied customer, as Mrs. Morrison is."

None of the jurors smiled at that now.

"Mr. Trunh came always on the same day?" Warren asked.

"That is correct. On Friday evening."

"Let's say between 5 and 8 P.M.?"

"That is correct."

"And May 19 was a Friday?"

"I believe that is correct."

Thiel had testified that some dirty shirts had been found in the back of the station wagon. Warren was not quite sure where to head from here; he decided to amble along a little while until it came to him. If it did.

"Do you know what he was going to deliver to you that evening, Mrs. Singh?"

"No, sir — how could I know that?"

"Which laundry or dry cleaning of his was in your store, that he was going to pick up? If you remember."

"Ah, I do indeed remember," she said happily. "Five white button-down shirts, a gray suit, and a gentleman's green cotton sweater. He had left them with us the week before. They were picked up and paid for on Monday."

Warren said, "I'm confused. Do you mean the Monday before the murder?"

"No, sir. The Monday following."

Warren frowned, still a little puzzled. "You mean they were picked up by Mrs. Trunh, or one of her family?"

"It was most definitely not Mrs. Trunh or one of her family," Singh said. "But he had the proper ticket."

Warren said, "I won't keep you much longer. Now, going back to Mrs. Morrison when you found her kneeling beside the car—" He stopped.

"Wait a minute.
Who
had the proper ticket, Mrs. Singh? Who picked up the shirts and suits and sweaters?"

"I had never seen him before," Singh said.

"Describe him!" Warren demanded.

Siva Singh looked distinctly uncomfortable.

"Do your best," Warren begged.

"I should say he was of medium height. Poorly dressed. He smelled dreadfully of alcohol."

"Was he Hispanic?"

She hesitated. "I cannot say with certainty."

"Was he Asian?"

"Most definitely not."

"Was he black?"

"No." She looked down into Warren's hot eyes. A little frightened by what she saw, she drew back a few inches into the safety of the witness chair. "He had the proper ticket," she bravely explained. "He paid."

Warren wanted to hug her and kiss her. He wanted to dance around the courtroom and click his heels in the air.

But he calmed himself. He said, "Thank you, Mrs. Singh. I have no further questions right now—" He turned swiftly to look up at Judge Parker. "But I ask that this witness remain on call today in the courthouse. And I would like a conference, your honor, in chambers."

Light-headed, his mind spinning through the possibili
ties
, Warren paced the floor of Judge Parker's chambers, moving in and out of dusty blocks of light that beamed through the high windows. The smell of fresh coffee, provided by the bailiff, filled the room.

Warren halted and said emphatically, "I want to take Dan Ho Trunh's widow on a short voir dire, out of hearing of the jury. I'll ask her just one question. Did she or any member of her family ever have the dry cleaning ticket in their possession? If the answer is no, and I believe it will be no, then this is not a capital murder case. Some unknown white man stole Dan Ho Trunh's wallet, probably from his dead body, and three days later that same unknown man picked up the clothing. And he probably saw the murder take place."

"What makes you think
that?"
Goodpaster asked. From a corner of the room, leaning against the bookcase, she was frowning. Warren suddenly understood why. His unspoken assumptions revealed that he knew something that no one else in the room knew.

"Because Siva Singh heard the gunshot. A minute or two later she went to the front of the store, and there was the man leaning into or out of the car window. The woman's a lousy eyewitness, but she ain't completely blind. So whatever this guy was or wasn't doing, he was
there.
I mean, he was in the parking lot when Trunh was shot."

Guardedly, the prosecutor said, "Let's assume for the moment that's all true. Why aren't you suggesting to us that this unknown man shot and killed Trunh?"

"Well, he may have. Maybe he did." Warren had difficulty looking Nancy Goodpaster in the eye.

"And why couldn't Quintana have shot Trunh and thrown the wallet away after he took the money out of it? Somebody else could have picked it up and made off with the laundry ticket."

"There are a lot of possibilities," Warren said, "but only one set of facts." He turned to the judge, who sat behind her desk, still in her robes, chain-smoking. "However it turns out, if the widow never had possession of the dry cleaning ticket, I've got to find this man. I'll need a continuance. At least a week." He cracked his knuckles and flexed the muscles in his back. "I start trial this Monday in the Ott case. I'll need whatever time it takes to finish up in the 342nd."

The judge tapped a blunt finger on her calendar book. "You expect me to tell this jury to go home and spin their wheels for two weeks?"

"If that's what it takes," Warren said, "yes, I surely do."

"You've got a hell of a nerve. I'm going to think on this," the judge said calmly. "Meanwhile, you take the Trunh woman on voir dire and ask your question. Maybe you won't hear the answer you want to hear and that'll put an end to this ruckus. Is she still in the courtroom?"

"She'd better be," Warren said.

===OO=OOO=OO===

The bailiff provided a fresh pot of coffee for the jury, sequestered now in the jury room next to the court coordinator's office. In the courtroom, Mai Thi Trunh settled once more in the witness chair. Warren reminded her that she was still under oath even though the jury was not present.

No, she said quietly, she had never seen the dry-cleaning ticket. She had forgotten all about it. Normally her husband carried such things in his wallet.

"Permission to approach the bench!" Warren headed there, Goodpaster close behind.

"Let's keep this off the record," Judge Parker said, waving away the court reporter who normally hovered nearby, her stenograph on a high tripod. The judge, the prosecutor, and counsel for the defense formed a tight huddle.