A Reasonable Doubt by Susan Sloan (free novels .txt) 📕

she told him.  “But don’t worry.  I’m heading for bed pretty soon.”

“You’ve got all the momentum on your side, what with Lauren’s testimony and the drug angle  and, of course, Robin Hood.  In my opinion, you’ve got a good case for diminished capacity, and certainly as good a case for self-defense as John Henry was able to put on for premeditated murder.”

“Yes, but you know the saying about how a woman in a man’s world has to be twice as good to be equal.”

“And aren’t you?”

She grinned at him.  “Sure I’m equal, but right now, I’d settle for one last little miracle.”

. . .

Too soon, it was morning, and Lily was suffering all the tweaks and lurches of a nervous stomach.

“Is the defense ready to proceed?” Judge Pelletier inquired.

Feeling almost as wilted as the blue seersucker suit she was wearing, Lily rose to her feet.  “We are, Your Honor,” she said.

“Call your first witness.”

Lily took a deep breath and let it out as slowly as she could.  She had begun this case looking for nothing more than to keep her client off death row.  Now, every fiber of her being was concentrated on trying to convince five men and seven women that Jason Lightfoot was in nothing less than a fight for his life when he shot and killed Dale Scott.

“Defense calls Charles Graywolf to the stand,” Lily said.

The defendant’s uncle, his long white hair flowing freely down his back, glided soundlessly down the aisle to the witness stand.  He was wizened, as tall as Jason, and almost as lean.  His city clothes hung awkwardly on him.

“Mr. Graywolf, you are Jason Lightfoot’s uncle, are you not?”

“I am,” Graywolf confirmed.  “Jason’s mother is my youngest sister.”

“On the Sunday just before Dale Scott was killed, did you spend time with your nephew?”

“I did,” Graywolf replied.  “He hitchhiked out, went to his mother’s place, like he did almost every Sunday, and then he came to our house.  We ate dinner, we talked some, we walked a bit, and then I drove him back to Port Hancock.”

“How did he seem to you that day?”

“He was normal.”

“And what was normal?”

“He’s a quiet boy by nature, and he was quiet,” Graywolf said.  “He may have been a bit more upset about his mother than usual.  But as I recall, he was happy about some work he was gonna be doin’, startin’ the next day.”

“What work was that?”

“He said he was gonna start workin’ on a boat that come into dry dock.  He lives to work on boats, that boy.  That accident he had ten years back was the worst thing ever happened to him.  Anyway, he was gonna work for someone he’d worked for in the past, he said, so he was lookin’ forward to gettin’ paid.”

“He didn’t always get paid for his work?”

“Nope,” the old man said.  “A lot of times, people promised to pay him but then, for one reason or another, never did.”

“How did he feel about that?”

“He took it better than I would’ve,” Graywolf asserted.  “He used to say if they were so hard up they had to stiff a homeless man, then they probably needed it more’n he did.”

“Do you think he meant it?”

The Indian nodded.  “He meant it.  He’s a free spirit, my nephew, and he lives a simple life.”

“So he was happy on Sunday because he was going to be working on a boat on Monday and he knew he was going to get paid?”

“Yep,” Graywolf said.  “He’s never happier than when he’s got a boat under his feet.”

“And would you say he acted more or less the same that Sunday as on any other Sunday you saw him?”

“Yes, I would.”

“You didn’t detect any stress?  And agitation?  Any anger?”

“Nope,” the Indian said.

“Did he ever mention Police Officer Dale Scott to you?”

Graywolf shook his head.  “Never heard the name until Jason got arrested for his killin’.  Years ago, he used to get himself in trouble for bein’ disorderly, and I know now that Scott was the cop that used to beat up on him.  But I never heard about it from Jason.  I had to read about it in the newspaper to find out.”

“So, as far as you know, Jason held no resentment toward the deceased?”

“As far as I know, Jason holds no resentment towards no one.”

. . .

John Henry and Tom Lickliter exchanged whispers, weighing the impact of Graywolf’s testimony on the jury, deciding what to do about it.

“Mr. Morgan?” Grace Pelletier prompted.  “Do you wish to inquire?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Your Honor,” John Henry said, as though not realizing the court was waiting on him.  “We have no questions for this witness.”

Lily smiled to herself.  It was something she would have done as a prosecutor -- let the jury think the state believed the witness’s testimony to be so inconsequential as to not even merit cross-examination.

“You may call your next witness, Miss Burns,” the judge said.

“Defense calls Billy Fugate to the stand,” Lily said.

The owner of The Last Call Bar & Grill walked slowly down the center aisle, his ill-fitting suit coat fastened too tightly around his girth, looking neither right nor left as the attorney had suggested.  He didn’t have to look anyway.  He knew everyone was watching him.  He could feel their eyes on him.  When he got to the witness stand, he raised his hand as the attorney had told him he would have to do, and swore to tell the truth.  Then he climbed the two steps up to the witness chair and sat down.  He was perspiring profusely.

“Mr. Fugate,” Lily began.

“Billy,” he corrected her.

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s Billy,” he repeated.  “Just Billy.”

“All right then, Billy,” Lily corrected herself, “it’s quite warm in here.  Would you like to take your jacket off?”

“Yes, Ma’am, I sure would,” he said gratefully, and peeled off the soggy suit coat.

“More comfortable now?”

Billy nodded.  “I guess as comfortable as anyone can figure on, bein’ up in front of a real judge and jury,” he said.

Some of the jurors