"Mr. McThune and Mr. Lewis, you may now leave the courtroom," Harry said abrupdy. They grabbed the armrests as their feet hit the floor. Fink turned and stared at them, then looked at the judge.
"Uh, Your Honor, -would it be possible tor gentlemen to remain in the-" "I told them to leave, Mr. Fink," Harry said loudly. "If they're gonna be witnesses, we'll call them later. If they're not witnesses, they have no business here and they can wait in the hall with the rest of the herd. Now, move along, gentlemen." McThune was practically jogging for the door without the slightest hint of wounded pride, but K. O. Lewis was pissed. He buttoned his jacket and stared at his honor, but only for a second. No one had ever won a staring contest with Harry Roosevelt, and K. O. Lewis was not about to try. He strutted for the door, which was already open as McThune dashed through it.
Seconds later, Sergeant Hardy entered and sat in the witness chair. He was in full uniform. He shifted his wide ass in the padded seat, and waited. Fink was frozen, afraid to begin without being told to do so.
Judge Roosevelt rolled his chairto the end of the bench and peered down at Hardy. Something had caught his attention, and Hardy sat like a fat toad on a stool until he realized his honor was just inches away.
"Why are you wearing the gun?" Harry asked.
Hardy looked up', startled, then jerked his head to his right hip as if the gun were a complete surprise to him also. He stared at it as if the damned thing had somehow stuck itself to his body.
"Well, I - " "Are you on duty or off, Sergeant Hardy?" "Well, off." "Then why are you wearing a uniform, and why in the world are you wearing a gun in my courtroom?" Mark smiled for the first time in hours.
The bailiff had caught on and was rapidly approaching the witness stand as Hardy jerked at his belt and removed the holster. The bailiff carried it away as if it were a murder weapon.
"Have you ever testified in court?" Harry asked.
Hardy smiled like a child and said, "Yes sir, many times." "You have?" "Yes sir. Many times." "And how many times have you testified while wearing your gun?" "Sorry, Your Honor." Harry relaxed, looked at Fink, and waved at Hardy as if it were now permissible to get on with it. Fink had spent many hours in courtrooms during the past twenty years, and took great pride in his trial skills. His record was impressive. He was glib and smooth, quick on his feet.
But he was slow on his ass, and this sitting while interrogating a witness was such a radical way of finding truth. He almost stood again, caught himself again, and grabbed his legal pad. His frustration was apparent.
"Would you state your name for the record?" he asked in a short, rapid burst.
"Sergeant Milo Hardy, Memphis Police Department." "And what is your address?" Harry held up a hand to cut off Hardy. "Mr. Fink, why do you need to know where this man lives?" Fink stared in disbelief. "I guess, Your Honor, it's just a routine question." "Do you know how much I hate routine questions, Mr. Fink?" "I'm beginning to understand." "Routine questions lead us nownere, ivn... i...*"... Routine questions waste hours and hours of valuable time. I do not want to hear another routine question. Please."-"Yes, Your Honor. I'll try." "I know it's hard." Fink looked at Hardy and tried desperately to think of a brilliantly original question. "Last Monday, Sergeant, were you dispatched to the scene of a shoot-ing?" Harry held up his hand again, and Fink slumped in his seat. "Mr. Fink, I don't know how you folks do things in New Orleans, but here in Memphis we make our witnesses swear to tell the truth before they start testifying. It's called 'Placing them under oath. ' Does that sound familiar?" Fink rubbed his temples and said, "Yes sir. Could the witness please be sworn?" The elderly woman at the desk suddenly came to life. She sprang to her feet and yelled at Hardy, who was less than fifteen feet away. "Raise your right hand!" Hardy did this, and was sworn to tell the truth. She returned to her seat, and to her nap.
"Now, Mr. Fink, you may proceed," Harry said with a nasty little smile, very pleased that he'd caught Fink with his pants down. He relaxed in his massive seat, and listened intently to the rapid question and answer routine that followed.
Hardy spoke in a chatty voice, eager to help, full of little details. He described the scene of the suicide, the position of the body, the condition of the car. There were photographs, if his honor would like to see them. His honor declined. They were completely irrelevant. Hardy produced a typed transcript of the 911 call made by Mark, and offered to play the recording if his honor would like to hear it. No, his honor said.
Then Hardy explained with great joy the capture of young Mark in the woods near the scene, and of their ensuing conversations in his car, at the Sway trailer, en route to the hospital, and over dinner in the cafeteria. He described his gut feeling that young Mark was not telling the complete truth. The kid's story was flimsy, and through skillful interrogation with just the right touch of subtlety, he, Hardy, was able to poke all sorts of holes in it.
The lies were pathetic. The kid said he and his brother stumbled upon the car and the dead body; that they did not hear any gunshots; that they -were just a couple of kids playing in the woods, minding their own business, and somehow they found this body. Of course, none of Mark's story was true, and Hardy was quick to catch on.
With great detail, Hardy described the condition of Mark's face, the swollen eye and puffy lip, the blood around the mouth. Kid said he'd been in a fight at school. Another sad little lie.
After thirty minutes, Harry grew restless and Fink took the hint. Reggie had no cross-examination, and when Hardy stepped down and left the room there was no doubt that Mark Sway was a liar who'd tried to deceive the cops. Things would get worse.
When his honor had asked Reggie if she had any questions for Sergeant Hardy, she simply said, "I've had no time to prepare for this witness." McThune was called as the next witness. He gave his oath to tell the truth and sat in the witness chair. Reggie slowly reached into her briefcase and withdrew a cassette tape. She held it casually in ner uutuu, "~~ when McThune glanced at her she tapped it softly on her legal pad. He closed his eyes.
She carefully placed the tape on the pad, and began tracing its edges with her pen.
Fink was quick, to the point, and by now fairly adept at avoiding even vaguely routine questions. It was a new experience for him, this efficient use of •words, and the more he did it the more he liked it.
McThune was as dry as cornmeal. He explained the fingerprints they found all over the car, and on the gun and the bottle, and on the rear bumper. He speculated about the kids and the garden hose, and showed Harry the Virginia Slims cigarette butts found under the tree. He also showed Harry the suicide note left behind by Clifford, and again gave his thoughts about the additional words added by a different pen. He showed Harry the Bic pen found in the car, and said there was no doubt Mr. Clifford had used this pen to scrawl these words. He talked about the speck of blood found on Clifford's hand. It wasn't Clifford's blood, but was of the same type as Mark Sway's, who just happened to have a busted lip and a couple of wounds from the affair.
"You think Mr. Clifford struck the child at some point during all this?" Harry asked.
"I think so, Your Honor." McThune's thoughts and opinions and speculations were objectionable, but Reggie kept quiet. She'd been through many of these hearings with Harry, and she knew he would hear it all and decide what to believe. Objecting would do no good.