Grant of Immunity (23 page)

A
s he’d done
countless times before, Fitz sat at the counsel table, with a prosecutor on one side and a defense attorney at the other. Like before, he waited for a prosecution witness to give testimony to support the State’s case. Except this time, he believed that the star prosecution witness was a liar. And Sean, the murder victim’s son, the boy he’d watched grow into a man, was on the other side of the table. Was part of the defense team.

Fitz felt out of place, surreal, as he squinted in the harsh fluorescent light.

“The People call Jake Babbage as a witness,” Reynolds announced.

Babbage moved with deliberate strides to the witness box, turned to face the clerk, raised his thick hand to be sworn. Babbage wore gray slacks and an ill-fitting blue blazer that didn’t accommodate his muscular bulk. He sat, leaned back, splayed his fingers on the counter in front of him, and surveyed the courtroom. His hawk eyes were expressionless, but lingered an instant when he made eye contact with Fitz.

Once again, this son of a bitch is back in court
, Fitz thought.

Reynolds walked to the podium, a determined look on her face. “Sergeant Babbage, what is your occupation?”

“I’m a police officer.” Babbage replied.

Just like Reynolds to ask this question, Fitz thought. Obviously she was doing this to give Babbage more credibility. Fitz was certain Jordan would object and the judge would sustain, but she’d have made her point to the jury.

But Jordan didn’t object.

“How long have you been a police officer?”

“Sixteen years.”

Again Jordan just sat passively.

Reynolds continued to push the point, asking Babbage a series of questions about his last assignment, going over his background—including the fact that he was a patrol sergeant who supervised a dozen patrol cops. Babbage’s answers were smooth, calm, deliberate, pausing for just the right amount of time, establishing a harmony between questioner and professional police officer.

Reynolds is playing this exactly right
, Fitz thought.

The jurors had to be thinking they were in the presence of a prosecution team in control, a team that would guide them through the deliberative process and convince them beyond a reasonable doubt that Daniel Hart was guilty of murder.

And Jordan is letting her get away with it?

Finally, Reynolds got to the facts. Shown the snapshot of Sarah Collins with five-year-old Sean and two-year-old Erin, Babbage nodded somberly. Yes, that was Sarah and her two kids. Yes, he had a clear recollection of the events nineteen years ago—a time before he became a police officer.

He recounted word-for-word the same story that he’d given in his immunity statement. How he and Sarah had gone off to a secluded area because Sarah was uncomfortable kissing in front of the defendant. How the defendant came up from behind and knocked out Babbage. And when Babbage awoke, finding himself bound with duct tape, he saw the defendant use a knife to force Sarah to perform oral sex.

And finally, after struggling and losing consciousness, seeing Sarah’s mutilated body. Throughout his testimony, Babbage looked at the jury, punctuated his answers with facial expressions of sincerity and concern.

Fitz took a quick look at the jurors. All eyes were riveted on Babbage. Several jurors were scribbling in their notepads. One or two were crying.

“Sergeant Babbage,” Reynolds said in an angry voice, her eyes moist, “can you identify the man you saw that night who forced Sarah Collins to orally copulate him, the man who admitted to you that he murdered her?”

“Yes.”

“And is this person in the courtroom?”

“He is.”

“Could you point him out and describe what he is wearing?”

Babbage pointed at Hart. “That’s him. Daniel Hart. Sitting at the counsel table, wearing a dark suit and sitting in the second seat to my left.”

“May the record reflect,” Reynolds said, “that the witness has identified the defendant?”

“It will so reflect,” Judge Fields said.

With a look of utter contempt, Reynolds glanced over at Hart and announced that the People had no further questions.

Hart, still pale, ignored Reynolds’s gaze. Instead Hart stared unblinking at Babbage. Fitz stole another glance at the jury. Several were shaking their heads. An older woman in the first row glared at Hart.

Reynolds had buried the defendant
, Fitz thought.

Why had Jordan allowed it?

H
art arrived early
for the 7 a.m. meeting at Amanda’s office. The office was open and Amanda greeted him with a cup of hot coffee and a wonderful smile. He always felt a lift when he saw her. She was wearing a perfectly fitted, charcoal-gray skirt and jacket that accentuated her slim figure with a powder-blue silk blouse that made her eyes look a lighter shade of blue. He knew it was natural for a man to be attracted to his female lawyer, especially someone as beautiful as Amanda, so he guarded himself against that. But he’d always admired and respected her, and never failed to enjoy being in her presence when they worked together professionally. Maybe in another world, things might have been different.

Sean arrived, and Hart’s mood shifted downward as they got to work discussing strategy.

Last night, Amanda told him to get a good night’s sleep and to be ready to discuss his reaction to what Babbage had testified to so far.
Right
, he’d thought. As if he could get any sleep. Most of the night he lay awake, reliving the night of the murder, agitated and outraged—
there was no limit to Babbage’s capacity to perjure himself
. When Hart did fall asleep, the dreams were unbearable flashbacks where, again and again, he failed to save Sarah.

“The critical issue today is also central to the trial—Babbage’s recorded immunity statement,” Amanda told them. “No detail can be overlooked—nothing left ambiguous and nothing left to chance.” She’d hired a court reporter to transcribe and index every word, and she went over the transcript again and again, comparing it to the police reports and pictures in the murder book.

Amanda played the audio recording of Babbage’s immunity statement.

As it played, Hart felt his face burn. He fidgeted in his chair, rubbed his temples, and his eyes teared. When Babbage claimed that Hart struck Sarah across her face, Hart couldn’t bear to remain sitting. He stood and paced back and forth to the corner window as the recording ran on.
Could anyone really take what Babbage said seriously
? Hart wondered. He tried to be objective, to put himself in the mind of the jurors listening to Babbage. After all, as a judge he’d had to weigh credibility time and again, and Babbage’s story was full of holes. But the murder was so violent and so brutal, that the jury might want desperately to attach blame to someone and overlook inconsistencies. After all, Babbage was a police officer and juries wanted to believe the police. When the audio playback got to the part of his driving Babbage’s car, Hart couldn’t help himself and blurted, “That’s absurd. Snake drove a stick-shift Pontiac GTO. I’d just turned fifteen—I didn’t even know how to drive an automatic transmission.”

“I don’t have to remind you, Daniel,” Amanda said gently. “The jury’s going to be watching you if any part of the audio recording is played for them. Just scribble notes as you hear it played. Don’t say anything or show anything. I know this is going to be hard for you.”

“I’ll somehow do it,” Hart said, wondering if he really could.

Sean spoke up. “Listening to this audio recording and thinking about what Babbage said yesterday during his direct testimony, I get so enraged. Obviously, Reynolds had rehearsed and coached that phony bastard to appear to the jury as a sincere police officer trying to do his job. What a crock. But it looks like it’s working for Reynolds. Did you see the jury? They were eating it up.”

“Maybe,” Amanda said.

Sean continued. “And I thought about that night I visited Judge Hart, and we talked about what happened.” He turned to Hart. “You were filled with guilt and recrimination, could barely speak of my mom’s death without breaking down. That was honesty—what Babbage is selling at the trial and on his immunity statement is total bullshit. And what galls and irks me is that the jury is swallowing it.”

“Actually, that’s a good thing,” Amanda said. “Because the more they believe now, the more they like him and trust him, the more they will despise him when we reveal what a liar and mendacious bastard he is.”

Tall order
, thought Hart. But then, if anyone could do that, it would be Amanda—he’d seen her do it countless times before.

Amanda continued. “Sean, tell Erin to be here tomorrow. But have her wait downstairs in the cafeteria—I don’t want to tip off Doris.”

“Okay,” Sean replied. “She keeps asking when she’ll be able to come to court and show support for us. As you instructed me, I told her she was going to be a surprise witness, and as a potential witness, she would not be allowed in the courtroom until it was her turn to testify, but nothing more.”

“Good,” Amanda said. “I don’t want to chance Doris seeing her. You realize, of course, that you mustn’t talk about the case with Erin?”

“I do now,” Sean said. “But that night after I saw Judge Hart, I did talk to her. If we call her as a witness, what if she’s asked what was said that night, after I’d interviewed Judge Hart? She’d have to testify to what I told her, wouldn’t she? Have I blown everything?”

“It’s okay,” Amanda said. “If Doris tries that, I’ll object—whatever you told Erin is hearsay and can’t come in as evidence.”

“I hope you’re right,” Sean said.

“I agree with Amanda,” Hart said. “If I were the judge, I’d sustain the hearsay objection and not allow Erin to answer.”
But then
, Hart thought,
Judge Fields may not see things the way I do.

A
t 8
:30 a.m., they were back in court, with the jury seated. As Judge Fields took the bench, Sean noticed he looked tired. No doubt Reynolds was getting to him. But the jurors, once seated, were alert, leaning forward in their chairs. Scanning their faces, he couldn’t discern anything about what they might be thinking. As for Reynolds, she had an infuriatingly smug look that Sean wished he could slap from her face.

Judge Fields looked at Jordan and said, “You may begin your cross-examination.” And then, “Mr. Babbage, you are still under oath.”

Jordan stood. There was absolute silence in the courtroom, and Sean could feel the tension, an electricity in the air. Jordan walked to the podium, took a document from her case folder, examined it, and spoke. “In exchange for your testimony in this trial, you were given a grant of immunity, weren’t you?”

“Yes, I was,” Babbage answered without hesitation.

“And except for that grant of immunity, you would not be here testifying against my client, would you?”

Babbage sat straight in his chair, his face indignant. He looked toward Reynolds, then back to Jordan. “It was my lawyer’s decision to require immunity. As far as I’m concerned,
I don’t need it
. I did nothing wrong.”

“Really?” Jordan said, tilting her head back, eyes wide with mock surprise. “According to what you told the jury, you contacted the prosecution, asking for immunity on October twenty-seven. You were in jail on that day, were you not?”

Babbage stiffened. “I had been released.”

“Objection, non-responsive, Your Honor. I ask the court to strike the response and instruct the witness to answer,” Jordan said. “It’s a yes or no answer.”

“Sustained,” Fields said. “Mr. Babbage, were you or were you not in jail that day?”

“I had been in jail on that day,” Babbage said.

“And charges were pending against you, when you asked for immunity, were they not?” Jordan asked.

Babbage shifted in his chair, and his face hardened, but he didn’t reply.

Jordan turned to Judge Fields. “I ask the court to order the witness to answer.”

“The witness is ordered to answer,” Fields said.

“Yes. Charges were pending,” Babbage said.

Jordan continued. “Let’s see if I understand you. You waited for nineteen years to come forward with your …”—Jordan paused as if searching for the right word—“… story? Correct?”

Babbage glared at Jordan. “With my testimony,” he said. “Yes, that’s right.”

“And during this time, you never bothered to contact the authorities and tell them what you knew?”

“No, because I was afraid,” Babbage said, putting his massive hands on the edge of the witness box.

“In fact, Mr. Babbage, you didn’t tell anyone until you were jailed by Judge Hart, who had you charged with trying to extort a bench officer, correct?”

“After my confrontation with the defendant,” Babbage said, his voice edged with contempt, “I decided that I couldn’t go on any longer with this thing hanging over my head. I wanted to put an end to it.”

“A conclusion you reached while you were facing charges and still in jail, right?”

Babbage narrowed his eyes. They flashed with hostility. “I came to that conclusion when I confronted the defendant.”

“But for nineteen years it didn’t bother you, did it?” Jordan demanded.

“It bothered me. But as I said, I was afraid to go to the police.”

“Afraid they’d find out you raped and murdered Sarah Collins, correct?”

Babbage shifted in his seat, then sat ramrod straight. “I’m not the one on trial here. Your client is the murderer.”

“Objection, non-responsive,” Jordan said. “I ask the court to strike the answer.”

Reynolds stood. “Judge, it’s a perfectly good answer.”

“Sustained,” Judge Fields said. “The answer is struck. The jury is to disregard it. Mr. Babbage, listen to the question and answer it.”

Reynolds face reddened. “May I be heard, Judge?”

“No,” Fields said.

Babbage turned to look at the jury. “Of course I was afraid. I was young, in a bad situation beyond my control.”

“So afraid that you burned and destroyed the evidence that could place you at the scene of the murder and aid the police in finding out who committed the murder, and then you ran away?”

Reynolds stood. “Objection. Assumes facts not in evidence. And argumentative.”

“Overruled.”

“As I said, I used poor judgment.”

“You admit that your knife was the murder weapon, do you not?” Jordan asked, her voice edged with contempt.

Babbage stared at Jordan for a moment, then said, “That’s the knife I saw in the defendant’s hands.”

He’s choosing his words carefully
, Sean thought.
The bastard is wary
.

“So you say,” Jordan said. Reynolds started to object, but Jordan added, “Can you describe it?”

Babbage said it was an ordinary Bowie hunting knife. Jordan pushed for details. Did the weapon have a hand guard? It wasn’t a weapon, Babbage said, but yes, it had a hand guard. How long was the blade? Babbage replied he wasn’t sure, then admitted it was longer than seven inches but less than ten. How did he carry it? In a leather sheath on his belt. Did he wear it every day? Not every day, but most days, he admitted.

Asked where he got it, Babbage said he wasn’t sure, but probably it was mail order, most likely from an army surplus catalogue.

“Army surplus? So this was a … combat fighting knife?” Jordan asked.

Babbage reddened. “As I’ve already said, it was an ordinary hunting knife. Got that?”

“Why would you carry a combat fighting knife on your date with Sarah Collins?”

The long cords on Babbage’s neck pulsed, and he said in a loud voice, “I always had it with me. It was a tool I used.”

“Did you ever stab anyone else with this ‘tool’?”

“Objection!” Reynolds shouted.

“Withdrawn,” Jordan said, before Judge Fields could rule, “Did you ever use this ‘tool’ for protection?”

For a moment Sean thought Babbage was going to leap up from the witness box and attack Jordan. But then Babbage must have realized he was looking bad, so he sat back, gave a thin smile, and said, “It was strictly a utility knife. Period.”

Jordan made a disgusted sound.

And then asked, “You say that you had a date with Sarah Collins that night?”

Babbage, adopting once more what Sean regarded as the phony calm and thoughtful look, replied, “Yes.”

“You were nearly twenty-one and she was twenty-two at the time?”

“That’s correct.”

“And you’re telling this jury that you took my client, barely fifteen years old, along on your date?”

“Yes,” Babbage answered.

Jordan frowned. “Sarah had two children, a five-year-old and a two-year-old. Who was going to babysit those kids?”

“No one. They’d be asleep. I thought it would be okay to leave them alone for a couple of hours.”

Fury. Sean remembered the night. The last time he saw his mother. July the fourth. Sparklers. Making circles of light in the air. Mom laughing. Erin dozing. In her high chair. Then, despite all the excitement—Sean in bed. Being tucked in. Kissed. Smelling Mom’s flowery scent as he drifted off to sleep.

Sean had an urge to attack Babbage, to shake him, to make him suffer, but steeled himself. He noticed that Fitz was looking at him, concern in his eyes. Good old Fitz.

Jordan continued. “You’re telling this jury that Sarah went along with all this?”

“Right.” Babbage’s cold eyes met Sean’s for an instant, then he looked straight ahead.

Jordan glanced toward Sean, paused, and then stared at Babbage. “You’re saying,” she said, her voice thick with sarcasm, “that your twenty-two-year-old girlfriend did not mind her fifteen-year-old babysitter accompanying you on your date and leaving her little children all by themselves?”

Unruffled, Babbage replied, “Like I said, they were asleep. And I thought Sarah might enjoy having Hart along.”

Sean heard a groan from one of the female jurors.

“What about after the murder? Weren’t you concerned that they’d wake up alone, terrified?”

“I guess I didn’t think about it.”

Sean fumed. He remembered how terrified he’d been when he woke the next morning.
At the time Babbage stabbed Mom to death, he knew I was home alone with Erin.

Jordan, as if echoing Sean’s own thoughts remarked, “You were more concerned with your own skin, weren’t you?”

Babbage tensed. He leaned forward, glaring, radiating hostility toward Jordan. Reynolds looked up from her notes. “Objection! Argumentative,” she shouted.

“Sustained,” said the judge. “We’ll recess for lunch.”