Joel Goldman - Stone Cold

Your Honor, you cant let the jury see these photographs, not if my client is going to get a fair trial, Alex Stone said, thrusting an eight-by-ten glossy toward the judge. The victims severed penis is sticking out of his mouth! But thats not even the worst one. She threw the photograph onto her counsel table and picked up another. This one with the rats is beyond the pale even for a prosecutor running for reelection like Mr. Bradshaw. And the other ten are no better.

Tommy Bradshaw answered, his calm demeanor a parents rebuke. Then the defendant shouldnt have cut off Wilfred Donaires penis and stuffed it down his throat. And he shouldnt have gutted Mr. Donaire and left him in his backyard so the rats could turn him into an all-you-can-eat buffet.

Theyd battled each other since law school, staying up all night drinking and arguing the law or giving each other advice about their love lives. They were on law review together and graduated in the top ten of their class.

They remained close after law school, duking it out in court, soothing their wounds afterward over drinks and dinner, sharing holidays and regular days, good or bad. Alex couldnt think of another person shed shared so much of herself with except for her partner, Bonnie. But none of that entitled Bradshaw to an inch of slack in the courtroom.

Alex wheeled around, glaring at him. That is exactly what Im talking about, Your Honor. Mr. Bradshaw wants to inflame the jury with these disgusting photographs and hopes theyll forget that theres no physical evidence to tie my client, Dwayne Reed, to this crime. He has to prove more before he should be allowed to poison the jury.

Bradshaw stroked his chin, shook his head, and offered the gap-toothed smile that helped get him reelected as Jackson County prosecuting attorney the year before, the first African American to occupy the office.

Weve done plenty. For starters, we know from the witnesses that have already testified that the defendant and the victim, Wilfred Donaire, were rival drug dealers. We know that Dwayne Reed threatened not only to kill Mr. Donaire but that he would, and I quote, cut the motherfuckers dick off and shove it down his throat if he dont stay off my fucking corners.

Alex jumped on Bradshaws argument. And every one of those witnesses made a deal with the prosecutor in exchange for their testimony. Theyre back on the street selling drugs, and my client is on trial.

Judge, Bradshaw said, we argued this issue at the preliminary hearing and again during pretrial motions. You made the same ruling both times and said that youd allow this evidence to come in. Nothing has changed.

Judge William West, heavyset, with hooded eyes, rocked back in his chair, looking down on the attorneys from his perch behind the bench. Known by the criminal defense bar as Wild West, he was a prosecutors best friend, giving the prosecution the close calls and handing down the stiffest sentences. His courtroom was the last place Alex wanted to be with a client like Dwayne Reed.

And, the judge said, I told Ms. Stone I would allow her to raise the issue again at trial before I let the jury see the pictures. Ive excused them from the courtroom so that both of you could put everything on the record that you want before I make a final ruling. Now, Ms. Stone, do you have anything else to say on this matter?

Alex ran her fingers through her short brown hair, twisting the ends, an unconscious habit from childhood that cropped up whenever she was stressed. Theyd been arguing over the photos for half an hour. It was a lost cause. Shed known that from the start, but she was a public defender who specialized in lost causes, defending the Constitution as much as her clients.

The dismal odds only encouraged her. Long, lean, and ropy from years of early-morning workouts, she knew only one way to live and one way to try a case: bear down and go all out.

Judge West hadnt let her drag out the argument because he might change his mind. Hed done it so that the appellate court would realize that hed bent over backward to be fair to Dwayne Reed, and would uphold his conviction. She was spinning her wheels and everyone in the courtroom knew it. She slipped on the black suit jacket shed draped over her chair after the jury left.

No, Your Honor. I dont.

Very well. The state is seeking the death penalty based on the aggravating circumstances surrounding the murder. These photographs establish the manner of death and go to the states claim of aggravating circumstances. Therefore, I will allow them into evidence. Mr. Bradshaw, after the bailiff brings the jury back in, you may pass the photographs to them.

The courtroom was still, as, one by one, the jurors examined the pictures. A few covered their mouths, while others winced as if theyd been punched. The men winced and squirmed, and several of the women narrowed their eyes and ground their teeth as they stared at Dwayne Reed.

He was twenty-three, six feet tall, with a broad, muscled torso and a tattoo of fingers curled into a fist creeping above his shirt collar against his ebony skin. Head down and slumped forward in his chair, picking at his fingernails, he radiated boredom and resentment.

Alex had pounded away from the beginning of the trial at the absence of physical evidence that implicated her client, building a firewall against this exact moment, telling Dwayne she knew the judge would admit the photographs into evidence. She expected the jurors reactions, hoping theyd get past the photographs once they began deliberations, but Reed wasnt making it any easier.

Sit up and act like you give a shit, she whispered to him.

Reed straightened, barely moving his lips. Im fucked and we both know it.

Alex kept her voice low. We knew the pictures were coming in. Theyre bad, but theyre not the money.

Shed explained the money to Reed when she was appointed to represent him. Sitting in a room reserved for prisoners and their lawyers at the Jackson County jail, hed told her the same thing all her clients told her the first time she met them even though she hadnt asked. She never asked.

I didnt do it.

Of course not. But youre probably not going to take the stand, so I need to know about the money.

Whadda you mean, the money? I aint charged with no robbery.

The money is whatever the prosecutor will bank on to convince the jury to give you the needle, and I need to know what it is if Im going to save your life.

Dwayne had rolled his eyes to the ceiling and looked everywhere but at her, his dark face a defiant mask.

Damn, girl, I dont know nuthin about no money.

Of course not.

Reed hadnt changed his story, leaving it to Alex to find the money and figure out what to do about it.

Judge West tapped his gavel. Call your next witness, Mr. Bradshaw.

Bradshaw turned to the jury, swelling his chest. Wearing his navy blue convict-the-killer suit, he let a conspiratorial smile leak from the corners of his mouth, telling them that this was the moment theyd all been waiting for.

The state calls Jameer Henderson, Your Honor.

Kalena Greene, the assistant prosecutor so new all Bradshaw would let her do was take notes and escort witnesses, opened the heavy oak door at the back of the courtroom, leaning her slight shoulder into it.

Jameer Henderson stepped inside and stopped, sniffing the air, his eyes darting from side to side. He wiped his round, smooth face with a handkerchief, then stuffed the square in his pocket and shook one leg, then the other, his pants riding up and putting a sharp crease in his crotch, his belly hanging over his belt.

Reed looked at Henderson, and Alex watched her clients eyes pop, his pupils dilating, the involuntary reactions reminding her of a lesson shed learned too many times. They all lied to their lawyer about something, and the more important it was, the bigger the lie they told.