Page 13

13

SIOBHAN

I t's a hot one today. Liam's light blue dress shirt has sweat rings under the armpits, not bad ones, but enough to draw the sympathy of jurors who all sit fanning themselves. The windows are open, air conditioning already shut off for the summer, but even Judge Callahan has beads of sweat on his forehead as I pace in front of the witness box.

"Detective Kearney, can you please explain what you found in the home on Portsmouth Road?" Liam's testimony is hitting hard already. The Garda uncovered so many clues, namely very important evidence to show a murder had taken place, but it was Liam who brought me the damning footprint and the gun. Most recently, he offered a single droplet of DNA from a square of carpet cut up next to the victim, missed in the original search and brushed off as the victim's blood.

"Well," he starts, loosening his tie as he wipes a tissue across his forehead, "I went to the home on the evening of August fourth as I wrote in my sworn statement. I had a hunch that we missed something big, so I went back. It's when I found the footprint logged in evidence, made by the boot of the defendant. We checked the dirt sample from the footprint that matches the defendant's boots taken from him at booking, and it is a one hundred percent match to the mud collected from the O’Connor farm."

The jury is entranced today, eating out of my hand, and I know they're itching for more juicy tidbits. After the failures I've had with witnesses, today is my chance to shine. I know Solicitor Quinn's scheme, to try to discount my proof, but how can he stand against a detective Garda in uniform?

"So the boots you took from the defendant have mud on them that match the mud at his home, and the mud on the carpet at the scene of the crime?" I ask, and Liam nods.

"Yes, that's right."

"And the square of carpet you cut from the home, which has the defendant’s blood on it?" I say as in a question, but there's no need to follow that up, really. Still, Liam gives more of an explanation.

"Yes, well, I had a feeling about it. It was farther away from the other blood pattern, didn’t seem to come from the same angle of trajectory. I cut it out to have the lab test it, and we struck gold." Liam reaches for a glass of ice water resting on the bench in front of him and sips from it while I walk back to my spot behind my table to sit down.

"No further questions, Your Honor." I nod at him as I sit, and he turns to Mr. Quinn, who's already on his feet.

"Detective Garda Kearney, do you mind telling me who ordered you to return to the house on the day of August fourth to look through the house again?" Quinn buttons his coat and slicks his tie down. His balding head shines with perspiration as he waddles toward Liam. It's comical, but no one laughs, one of those unwritten rules of Callahan's courtroom everyone's afraid to break.

"Well, sir, no one told me. I knew Ms. Gallagher needed to really seal this case up and with the trial coming so quickly, I figured another look wouldn’t hurt." Liam sets the glass back on the bench and folds his hands in his lap as he relaxes back into his seat. He looks practiced.

"And this is how many murder trials you've been a part of?" Quinn asks, narrowing his eyes. The jurors look from the solicitor to Liam, who is casual and cool as a cucumber.

"Fourteen murder cases in my career, sir." Liam is smug now, too confident, but for good reason. He's good at his job.

"And in those fourteen cases, how many times have you entered a murder scene after the court has reached deposition phase?" Quinn is a dog with a bone. I don't know what he's getting at, but I don't like it. I'm uneasy, and I see Judge Callahan appearing annoyed with the line of questioning.

"Only once other than this time, sir, at the direction of my chief." The courtroom just got a thousand degrees hotter as Liam glances at me. He also wonders what Quinn is up to, which only makes my anxious belly feel tighter.

"And who was with you in that home on the day of August fourth when you re-entered the scene of the crime?" Quinn stands staring at the jurors, not Liam, waiting for the response.

"I was alone, Mr. Quinn." Liam's tone is cold now, and I'm starting to get the picture.

"So is it conceivable that a detective Garda like yourself could enter a murder scene, mysteriously find evidence overlooked by dozens of Garda and crime scene scientists, days after the scene has been processed?" Quinn's question is rhetorical. He's making a point, accusing Liam of planting the evidence.

"What is your insinuation?" Liam asks, and the judge clears his throat. Witnesses aren't supposed to ask questions. Only representation and prosecution can do that.

"Is it conceivable that you could find evidence after everyone else has combed the scene, Detective Garda Kearney?" Quinn turns to look him in the eye, and Liam narrows his eyes at the solicitor.

"Apparently it is, since it happened."

"And is it possible that the evidence wasn't found by investigators because it wasn't there at the time to be found? That perhaps you planted it?" Quinn is pushing, and the courtroom erupts. Jurors talk in hushed tones. Viewers rustle around, and Judge Callahan slams his gavel down just as I rise to object. But Quinn beats me to it. "No further questions, Your Honor."

I'm frustrated, but I'm not going to let that get me down today. I'm on a roll and I know my secret weapon is here to take the stand. I look over my shoulder at her pale face, soft sandy blonde hair pulled back. She's nervous and well should be. We've had a security detail on her for weeks now making sure Mick's men don't go after her.

"Your Honor, I would like to call Sarah Duncan to the stand, please." I hold her gaze as she stands, handing her purse to the man seated next to her. She swallows hard as she weaves past the row of people into the aisle and up toward the swinging half door that separates us. I nod at her and open it, and she walks to the stand and lets the official swear her in.

When she's seated, I approach her, not really sure what to expect. We tried to prep her for testimony but she threw up several times out of nerves, sort of the way I'm feeling right now too. Exhaustion and stress is my excuse, but she still looks green too.

"Ms. Duncan, thank you for taking time to come in today. We appreciate your sacrifice." I smile at her and she offers a stiff nod, but her eyes keep flicking over to look at Mick.

The way she sits is even awkward, like her back is too straight, a metal rod jammed in her shirt or something. And now she won’t make eye contact. I don’t know what's going on except fear. I can feel it ooze off her in buckets.

"Ms. Duncan, can you please tell me what you saw on the night of April twentieth of this year?" I figure I'll cut to the chase and skip the trivial questions. The jurors just need to hear what she has to say before she snaps and can't talk. I once heard of a witness going catatonic on the stand and having to be dragged out in a wheelchair.

"Well," she says, wringing her hands, "that night, I…" Her eyes flick up again, but there's no one home there. Her expression is dark, and her eyes are shifty. "I saw…" She stumbles for words and tears well up in her eyes.

"It's okay. Go on," I coach, careful not to feed her any of the sworn testimony she promised to communicate today. I can't. It'd be a breach of ethics.

"I can't do this," she breathes out before bursting into tears. Her cheeks stream with salty moisture, her shoulders racked with sobs as she covers her face. "They made me say it. They had a gun and they told me if I didn't say it, they'd kill me." Sarah is reduced to a blubbering mess.

I look up at Judge Callahan, who is rubbing his forehead, and then I look at Mick and Mr. Quinn, who both look shocked to see what's happening. It's obvious I'm not getting my sworn testimony out of her anymore, but I don't understand what this is about someone and a gun and forcing her to say things.

"Ms. Duncan, can you tell me who had a gun and what they made you say?" I'm prying a little, though I shouldn't be. It feels like badgering a witness and I feel horribly guilty for pushing her.

"Some man in a dark suit with dark glasses." She sucks in a breath and looks around the courtroom, but her eyes land on mine. "He made me say that I saw that man killing the other one. I didn't see it. I heard a gunshot, but I didn't see anything. Please, don't let them kill my family." Sarah stands up, seeming desperate, and the courtroom bursts into loud chatter and the sound of movement.

Callahan bangs on his gavel repeatedly, but no one hushes down. I'm as confused and overwhelmed as anyone else, and as I turn to look at the crowd gathered to watch what's going on, I see Liam walking out the door. What the hell just happened?