“—We may never know the reason for the defendant’s vicious attack, but one thing we do know, ladies and gentlemen—it wasn’t because the murdered man was a threat to Abraham Wilson.
“Self-defense?” He turned to Judge Waldman. “Your Honor, would you please direct the defendant to rise?”
Judge Waldman looked at Jennifer. “Does counsel for the defense have any objection?”
Jennifer had an idea what was coming, but she knew that any objection on her part could only be damaging. “No, Your Honor.”
Judge Waldman said, “Will the defendant rise, please?”
Abraham Wilson sat there a moment, his face defiant; then he slowly rose to his full height of six feet four inches.
Di Silva said, “There is a court clerk here, Mr. Galin, who is five feet nine inches tall, the exact height of the murdered man, Raymond Thorpe. Mr. Galin, would you please go over and stand next to the defendant?”
The court clerk walked over to Abraham Wilson and stood next to him. The contrast between the two men was ludicrous. Jennifer knew she had been outmaneuvered again, but there was nothing she could do about it. The visual impression could never be erased. The District Attorney stood there looking at the two men for a moment, and then said to the jury, his voice almost a whisper, “Self-defense?”
The trial was going worse than Jennifer had dreamed in her wildest nightmares. She could feel the jury’s eagerness to get the trial over with so they could deliver a verdict of guilty.
Ken Bailey was seated among the spectators and, during a recess, Jennifer had a chance to exchange a few words with him.
“It’s not an easy case,” Ken said sympathetically. “I wish you didn’t have King Kong for a client. Christ, just looking at him is enough to scare the hell out of anybody.”
“He can’t help that.”
“As the old joke goes, he could have stayed home. How are you and our esteemed District Attorney getting along?”
Jennifer gave him a mirthless smile. “Mr. Di Silva sent me a message this morning. He intends to remove me from the law business.”
When the parade of prosecution witnesses was over and Di Silva had rested his case, Jennifer rose and said, “I would like to call Howard Patterson to the stand.”
The assistant warden of Sing Sing Prison reluctantly rose and moved toward the witness box, all eyes fixed on him. Robert Di Silva watched intently as Patterson took the oath. Di Silva’s mind was racing, computing all the probabilities. He knew he had won the case. He had his victory speech all prepared.
Jennifer was addressing the witness. “Would you fill the jury in on your background, please, Mr. Patterson?”
District Attorney Di Silva was on his feet. “The State will waive the witness’s background in order to save time, and we will stipulate that Mr. Patterson is the assistant warden at Sing Sing Prison.”
“Thank you,” Jennifer said. “I think the jury should be informed that Mr. Patterson had to be subpoenaed to come here today. He is here as a hostile witness.” Jennifer turned to Patterson. “When I asked you to come here voluntarily and testify on behalf of my client, you refused. Is that true?”
“Yes.”
“Would you tell the jury why you had to be subpoenaed to get you here?”
“I’ll be glad to. I’ve been dealing with men like Abraham Wilson all my life. They’re born troublemakers.”
Robert Di Silva was leaning forward in his chair, grinning, his eyes locked on the faces of the jurors. He whispered to an assistant, “Watch her hang herself.”
Jennifer said, “Mr. Patterson, Abraham Wilson is not on trial here for being a troublemaker. He’s on trial for his life. Wouldn’t you be willing to help a fellow human being who was unjustly accused of a capital crime?”
“If he were unjustly accused, yes.” The emphasis on unjustly brought a knowing look to the faces of the jurors.
“There have been killings in prison before this case, have there not?”
“When you lock up hundreds of violent men together in an artificial environment, they’re bound to generate an enormous amount of hostility, and there’s—”
“Just yes or no, please, Mr. Patterson.”
“Yes.”
“Of those killings that have occurred in your experience, would you say that there have been a variety of motives?”
“Well, I suppose so. Sometimes—”
“Yes or no, please.”
“Yes.”
“Has self-defense ever been a motive in any of those prison killings?”
“Well, sometimes—” He saw the expression on Jennifer’s face. “Yes.”
“So, based on your vast experience, it is entirely possible, is it not, that Abraham Wilson was actually defending his own life when he killed Raymond Thorpe?”
“I don’t think it—”
“I asked if it is possible. Yes or no.”
“It is highly unlikely,” Patterson said stubbornly.
Jennifer turned to Judge Waldman. “Your Honor, would you please direct the witness to answer the question?”
Judge Waldman looked down at Howard Patterson. “The witness will answer the question.”
“Yes.”
But the fact that his whole attitude said no had registered on the jury.
Jennifer said, “If the court please, I have subpoenaed from the witness some material I would like to submit now in evidence.”
District Attorney Di Silva rose. “What kind of material?”
“Evidence that will prove our contention of self-defense.”