Each time the District Attorney was finished with a witness, he turned to Jennifer and said, “Your witness.”
And each time Jennifer replied, “No cross-examination.”
She knew that there was no point in trying to discredit the character witnesses. By the time they were finished, one would have thought that Raymond Thorpe had been wrongfully deprived of sainthood. The guards, who had been carefully coached by Robert Di Silva, testified that Thorpe had been a model prisoner who went around Sing Sing doing good works, intent only on helping his fellow man. The fact that Raymond Thorpe was a convicted bank robber and rapist was a tiny flaw in an otherwise perfect character.
What badly damaged Jennifer’s already weak defense was the physical description of Raymond Thorpe. He had been a slightly built man, only five feet nine inches tall. Robert Di Silva dwelt on that, and he never let the jurors forget it. He painted a graphic picture of how Abraham Wilson had viciously attacked the smaller man and had smashed Thorpe’s head against a concrete building in the exercise yard, instantly killing him. As Di Silva spoke, the jurors’ eyes were fastened on the giant figure of the defendant sitting at the table, dwarfing everyone near him.
The District Attorney was saying, “We’ll probably never know what caused Abraham Wilson to attack this harmless, defenseless little man—”
And Jennifer’s heart suddenly leaped. One word that Di Silva had said had given her the chance she needed.
“—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?”