Padgitt was not a bad witness, but then he was testifying for his life. Every answer was quick, there were too many fake smiles toward the jury box, his narrative was clean and neat and fit too nicely together. I listened to him and watched the jurors and I didn't see much sympathy. Fargarson, the crippled boy, appeared just as skeptical as he had with every other witness. Mr. John Deere still sat with his arms wrapped across his chest, frowning. Miss Callie had no use for Padgitt, but then she would probably send him to prison for the adultery as quickly as for the murder.
Lucien kept it brief. His client had plenty of rope with which to hang himself, no sense making it easier for the State. When Lucien sat down he glared at the elder Padgitts as if he truly hated them. Then he braced himself for what was about to come.
Cross-examining such a guilty criminal is a prosecutor's dream. Ernie deliberately walked to the exhibit table and lifted Danny's bloody shirt. "Exhibit number eight," he said to the court reporter, holding it up for the jury to see again.
"Where'd you buy this shirt, Mr. Padgitt?"
Danny froze, uncertain as to whether he should deny it was his, or admit ownership, or try and recall where he bought the damned thing.
"You didn't steal it, did you?" Ernie roared at him.
"I did not."
"Then answer my question, and please try to remember you're under oath. Where did you buy this shirt?" As Ernie talked he held the shirt in front of him with his fingertips, as if the blood was still wet and might spot his suit.
"Over in Tupelo, I think. I really don't remember. It's just a shirt."
"How long have you owned it?"
Another pause. How many men can remember when they bought a particular shirt?
"A year or so, maybe. I don't keep notes on clothes."
"Neither do I," Ernie said. "When you were in bed with Lydia that night, had you removed this shirt?"
A very cautious, "Yes."
"Where was it while the two of you were, uh, having relations?"
"On the floor, I guess."
Now that it was firmly established that the shirt was his, Ernie was free to slaughter the witness. He pulled out the report from the state crime lab, read it to Danny, and asked him how his own blood came to be stained on the shirt. This led to a discussion about his driving abilities, his tendency to speed, the type of vehicle, and the fact that he was legally drunk when he flipped his truck. With Ernie pounding away, I doubt if a case of driving under the influence had ever sounded so deadly. Not surprisingly, Danny had a thin skin and began to bristle at Ernie's pointed and sardonic questioning.
On to Rhoda's bloodstains. If he was in bed with Lydia, with the shirt on the floor, how in the world did Rhoda's blood find its way from her bedroom to Lydia's, a half mile away?
It was a conspiracy, Danny said, advancing a new theory and digging a hole he would never get out of. Too much time alone in a jail cell can be dangerous for a guilty criminal. Well, he tried to explain, someone either stained his shirt with Rhoda's blood, a theory that lightened up the crowd considerably, or, it was more likely that some mysterious person who examined the shirt was simply lying, all in an effort to convict him. Ernie had a field day with both scenarios, but he landed his heaviest blows with a series of brutal questions about why Danny, who certainly had the money to hire the best lawyers around, didn't hire his own expert to come to court and explain the tainted blood exams to the jury.
Perhaps no expert was found because no expert could reach the ridiculous conclusions Padgitt wanted.
Same for the semen. If Danny had been producing it over at Lydia's, how could it arrive at Rhoda's? No problem - it was part of a broad conspiracy to nail him for the crime. The lab reports were fabricated; the police work was faulty. Ernie hammered him until we were all exhausted.
At twelve-thirty, Lucien stood and suggested a break for lunch. "I'm not done!" Ernie yelled across the courtroom. He wanted to finish the annihilation before Lucien could get his hands on his client and try to rehabilitate him, a task that seemed impossible. Padgitt was on the ropes, battered and gasping for air, and Ernie was not going to a neutral corner.
"Continue," Judge Loopus said, and Ernie suddenly shouted at Padgitt, "What did you do with the knife?"
The question startled everyone, especially the witness, who jerked backward and quickly said, "I, uh, - " then went silent.
"You what! Come on, Mr. Padgitt; tell us what you did with the knife, the murder weapon."
Danny shook his head fiercely and looked too scared to speak. "What knife?" he managed to say. He could not have looked guiltier if the knife had dropped out of his pocket onto the floor.
"The knife you used on Rhoda Kassellaw."
"It wasn't me."
Like a slow and cruel executioner, Ernie took a long pause and huddled with Hank Hooten again. He then picked up the autopsy report and asked Danny if he remembered the testimony of the first pathologist. Was his report also a part of this conspiracy? Danny wasn't sure how to answer. All of the evidence was being used against him, so, yes, he figured it must be bogus as well.
And the piece of his skin found under her fingernail, that was part of the conspiracy? And his own semen? And on and on; Ernie hammered away. Occasionally, Lucien would glance over his shoulder at Danny's father with a look that said, "I told you so."
Danny's presence on the stand allowed Ernie to once more trot out all the evidence, and the impact was devastating. His weak protests that everything was tainted by a conspiracy sounded ridiculous, even laughable. Watching him get thoroughly decimated before the jury was quite gratifying. The good guys were winning. The jury seemed primed to pull out rifles and form a firing squad.
Ernie tossed his legal pad on his table and appeared ready for lunch, finally. He jammed both hands into his front pockets, glared at the witness, and said, "Under oath, you're telling this jury you didn't rape and murder Rhoda Kassellaw?"
"I didn't do it."
"You didn't follow her home from the state line that Saturday night?"
"No."
"You didn't sneak in her patio door?"
"No."
"And hide in her closet until she put her children to bed?"
"No."
"And you didn't attack her when she came in to put on her night clothes?"
"No."
Lucien stood and said angrily, "Objection, Your Honor, Mr. Gaddis is testifying here."
"Overruled!" Loopus snapped at the defense table. The Judge wanted a fair trial. To counteract all the lying done by the defense, the prosecution was being allowed considerable freedom in describing the murder scene.
"You didn't blindfold her with a scarf?"
Padgitt was continually shaking his head as the narrative approached its climax.
"And cut off her panties with your knife?"
"No."
"And you didn't rape her in her own bed, with her two little children asleep not far away?" "I did not."
"And you didn't wake them with your noise?"
"No."
Ernie walked as close to the witness chair as the Judge would allow, and he looked sadly at his jury. Then he turned to Danny and said, "Michael and Teresa ran to check on their mother, didn't they, Mr. Padgitt?"
"I don't know."
"And they found you on top of her, didn't they?"
"I wasn't there."
"Rhoda heard their voices, didn't she? Did they yell at you, beg you to get off?"