Clifford Irving's Legal Novels - 01 - TRIAL - a Legal Thriller (38 page)

The judge banged his gavel. "Stop this horseplay, both of you! Mr. Warren, your objection is sustained. Mr. Bob, go on with your cross-examination."

Calming himself, Altschuler asked, "Your nightclub, which I gather isn't part of God's perfect world, is that a topless nightclub?"

"Yes, sir, it is."

"Young women dance naked from the waist up?"

"Yes, sir."

"They sometimes approach as close as six inches to the customers and shake their breasts in the customers' faces?"

"Sometimes, yes."

"And do they ever perform any sexual services for the customers?"

"Not that I know of," Johnnie Faye said.

She was in control again. With his objections, Warren had bought her time. She had figured it out.

"You said, speaking of Dr. Ott's wife, 'Sharon had died so tragically.' Tell the jury, if you will — how did Mrs. Ott die?"

"I believe she was shot down outside an aerobics center back in 1987."

"Did you have any personal knowledge of those events, Ms. Boudreau?"

"No, I did not. Just what I read in the papers and what Clyde told me."

"Weren't you extremely friendly with a man named David Inkman, known as Dink, whom the police suspected of murdering Mrs. Ott?"

"Objection!" Warren cried. "No predicate, and it's irrelevant, and there's an outrageous implication!"

"Sustained," Judge Bingham said. "The jury will disregard the question and any implication. Get off that, Mr. Bob."

Disregard, but think about it.

"Ms. Boudreau, you owned three guns at one time, isn't that correct?"

"Yes."

"And one of them, a .32-caliber Colt, was unregistered?"

"Yes."

"Are you aware that's illegal?"

"Yes."

"That gun was given to you as a gift?"

"Yes."

"By whom?"

"David Inkman."

"A gift from a dead man." Altschuler sniggered. "Tell us," he said, veering again, trying to confuse her, "after the first time Dr. Ott allegedly struck you, were you concerned for your personal safety?"

"Yes," Johnnie Faye said.

"And didn't you begin carrying a .22-caliber pistol in your handbag so that if Dr. Ott threatened to strike you, you could protect yourself?"

"No, I always carried that pistol. It had nothing to do with Clyde. I believe I mentioned that someone once tried to rape me."

"Did you report that attempted rape to the police?"

"No."

Warren paid close attention. She was in trouble, but she was bearing up. Her hands were steady on the handbag.

"How many drinks did you have at the Hacienda on the night of May 7, Ms. Boudreau?"

"Two or three."

"And so Dr. Ott had at least seven drinks, and possibly eight?"

"Yes."

"Didn't you plan to drink just enough so that you'd stay sober, and didn't you encourage Dr. Ott to drink heavily?"

"No, I didn't do that at all."

"You admit to having a foul mouth, don't you?"

"Sometimes."

"But you have a quick memory?"

"I have a good memory, yes."

"Tell this jury the words you used at the Hacienda bar when you cursed Dr. Ott."

"I don't like to use those words in public, sir."

"Your honor, please instruct the witness to be responsive."

"You can answer, madam," Judge Bingham said.

"I called Clyde a cocksucker and a lying son of a bitch, because he'd told me he wouldn't use any more cocaine."

"Don't you yourself use cocaine and marijuana, Ms. Boudreau?"

"I have in the distant past used small amounts of marijuana. There's a lot of stress in my job. I've never used cocaine."

Altschuler's eyes were inky and threatening like those of a deep-water fish. "Don't you distribute and even sell cocaine to some of your personal friends at your topless nightclub, Ecstasy?"

"No, I don't do that."

"What time was it exactly when you came back to Dr. Ott's house from the Hacienda on the night of May 7?"

"Let's see… we must have left the restaurant around eleven. So call it close to eleven-thirty."

"You went upstairs with Dr. Ott?"

"Yes."

"You had sex with him then, didn't you?"

"Yes. He insisted."

"You mean you didn't want to have sex with him?"

"No. I mean that's right — I didn't want it."

"He insisted, and you didn't want it. He was drunk and under the influence of cocaine, and you were sober. Are you telling us, in those circumstances, he was able to force you to have sex?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Did he threaten you with bodily harm if you wouldn't do it with him?"

"No. He just shoved me down on the bed."

"But you knew, didn't you, when you went upstairs with him, that he wanted to have sex with you?"

"No, I didn't."

"You thought he just wanted you to tuck him into bed?"

"I thought he wanted to talk."

"You couldn't talk downstairs in the living room?"

"I'm sure we could have. But he wanted to go up. I was feeling sorry for him." Suddenly, amazingly, tears flooded Johnnie Faye's eyes. "Sir, I shouldn't have gone up and gone to bed with him to have sex." Her voice choked. "I'm ashamed that I did that, but I'm not perfect. People don't always do the right thing every hour of the day and night."

Altschuler hesitated. With a witness like Johnnie Faye Boudreau he would normally slash at her character, impeach her believability, approaching the task with the distaste of a man forced to clean out a blocked sewer. But now she bent with every blow like a pliant branch. Yes, her girls shoved their breasts into men's faces; yes, she had smoked marijuana; yes, she had called Clyde a cocksucker; yes, she had gone to bed with him. And now there were tears.

"So that night," Altschuler asked, "you had sex with him completely against your will? He
raped
you?"

"No, he couldn't do it. That's what got him so angry."

"He couldn't perform, and that made him angry?"

"Yes, sir."

"He slapped you in the face?"

"Yes."

"Were you frightened when he got angry and slapped you?"

"A little."

"And so you rushed downstairs to get your pistol out of your handbag?"

"No, sir."

"You did rush downstairs to get your handbag, didn't you?"

"I got dressed and walked down in a hurry. I needed my handbag because my car keys were in it. I wanted to leave."

"You had left your handbag on the living room sofa, is that what you claim?"

"Yes."

"You knew your pistol was also in your handbag, didn't you?"

"I didn't think of that at the time."

"You always carried that pistol in your handbag, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"Are you telling us that on the night of May 7 you didn't know your pistol was in your handbag?"

Jesus, Warren thought, he's good.

"I'm not saying that—"

"Stop. Is the answer yes or no, Ms. Boudreau?"

Johnnie Faye wiped her eyes and turned to Judge Bingham. "Your honor, that's like asking me, 'Do you still beat your dog?' I can't give a simple yes or no honest answer. I want to answer truthfully, but he won't let me."

"Answer as best you can," the judge said.

"My answer is: I knew it was in my handbag, but I wasn't
thinking
about it being there."

And she's good too, Warren thought. It was a contest worth watching. But he was not sure whom he was rooting for.

"She's answered," the judge said. "Move along, Mr. Bob."

"When you went downstairs to the living room and picked up your handbag with the pistol in it, Ms. Boudreau, you say that Dr. Ott followed you. You could have left the house then, couldn't you?"

"He came downstairs before I'd got the handbag."

"You're telling us that you were sober, and you couldn't have picked up your bag and walked or run out the front door before a drunken man clambered out of bed and stumbled down a long flight of stairs?"

"He was right behind me."

"How far behind you?"

"I don't know, I didn't turn around. I heard his footsteps behind me, and I heard him shouting."

"And he blocked the front door so you couldn't leave?"

"No, he didn't do that then. That was long before."

"Ms. Boudreau, right after the murder, was your memory fresh as to what had happened?"

"Yes."

"Less than forty minutes after the murder, didn't you tell Sergeant Ruiz that Dr. Ott had blocked the front door
after
you and Dr. Ott had come downstairs?"

"Yes."

For half an hour Altschuler played the theme of her prior inconsistent statement to Ruiz. Johnnie Faye admitted that she might have said certain words to Ruiz, but the facts were incorrect. She had been confused. She might have thought her memory was fresh, but she was actually in shock.

"So," Altschuler said, "you picked up the poker from the fireplace to strike him?"

"No, sir."

"You didn't pick up the poker?"

"Yes, but I picked it up because he threatened me."

"You were going to defend yourself with the poker?"

"Yes."

"You meant to kill him with that heavy iron poker, didn't you, or inflict serious bodily harm?"

"No, sir. I meant to keep him away from me with it."

"And then he took the poker away from you?"

"Yes."

"He was drunk and stoned, and you were sober, and yet he was able to take the poker out of your grasp? You couldn't elude him?"

"Yes, he was able, and no, I couldn't elude him."

"And he blocked your path to the front door?"

"No, sir, not then. He threw me onto the sofa."

"And then you took the pistol from your handbag?"

"No, sir. Not until he raised the poker and said he was going to kill me with it."

"That's when he charged across the room at you, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you shot him twice as he was charging at you, isn't that so?"

"No, sir. He stopped short, he stood still, and I said, 'Don't take another step, Clyde, or I'll shoot you.'"

"You had already cocked the action?"

"No, sir. I didn't cock it."

"But when you took the pistol out of your handbag, you released the safety catch so that it would fire, didn't you?"

"I must have done that without thinking."

"You said you were a very good shot, didn't you?"

"Yes, on a target range."

"What part of Dr. Ott's body did you aim for?"

"His shoulder."

"Left shoulder or right shoulder?"

"Left, I think."

"Show us how you held the gun. Just use your finger and point it at me. You can stand up from the witness chair if you like."

After a pause — but no objection came — Johnnie Faye stood and raised her hand, fist clenched, index finger protruding. Her elbow was bent.

"Your arm wasn't level?"

"No, sir."

"Can't you shoot more accurately if your firing arm is level?"

"Yes, you can."

"On the firing range at Western America, don't you shoot with your arm level and extended in order to hit the target?"

"Yes."

"So with your arm bent, weren't you taking a grave risk that your shot, which you say was aimed at his left shoulder, might be off a few inches and hit him in the heart instead?"

"I didn't think about the risk. I was frightened."

"You knew that gun had its sear filed off illegally, making it fully automatic — you knew that, didn't you?"

"I knew about the sear. I didn't know that was illegal."

"You pulled the trigger three times, didn't you?"

"No, just once. But it kept on firing."

"You missed with the first shot?"

"I don't know."

"You mean you may have missed with the last shot? Shot him twice in the head and chest, and then fired another round to make it seem as if you'd just been shooting wildly?"

"No, sir, I don't mean that. I mean that I didn't know then and don't know now which two of the three shots hit him."

"Ms. Boudreau, isn't it a fact that you could have run around him and made your way to the front door and the safety of your car?"

"No, sir, I was on the sofa."

"Isn't it a fact that you could have used your pistol to keep him at bay while you ran or walked past him?"

"No, sir. Even if I could have done that, he could have used that poker to brain me when I ran by."

"You didn't think it was worth a man's life to take that risk?"

"I wasn't thinking that clearly."

"You thought it was better to kill him and be done with it?"

"No, sir."

"Isn't it a fact that he never picked up the poker?"

"No, sir, he did pick it up."

"Isn't it a fact that the reason his palm prints weren't on the poker was because after you shot him you picked up the poker yourself and then pressed a dead man's fingerprints onto it?"

"No, sir, that's absolutely not a fact."

"Come on, Ms. Boudreau — didn't you decide to kill Dr. Ott because you were in a rage that he wouldn't marry you?"

"No, that's not true either."

"What
is
true, Ms. Boudreau?"

"That I shot him in self-defense. That if I hadn't done it, he might have killed me.
Would
have killed me."

"Ah, but which is it? Might have or would have? You're not at all certain, are you?"

"I was certain then," Johnnie Faye said, "that he
would
have killed me."

"I take it you're no longer so certain."

"Yes, I still am. He would have done it."

"But a moment ago you used the words
might have,
didn't you?"

"Yes, I did."

"So there
is
a doubt in your mind!"

Johnnie Faye took a deep breath. "Sir, ever since this happened on the night of May 7 I've been in agony over it. I've hardly slept. I didn't hate Clyde. Taking a person's life is the worst thing a human being can do, and if you take the life of someone you once loved, even if you didn't mean to do it, you live in hell forever. So, yes, there have been doubts in my mind — lots of them. Terrible moments. I cry all night long sometimes. But I believe with all my heart — unless I wanted to take the chance that he would kill me — that I had no choice."