Eyewitness Testimony

 

The courtroom looked rich, dressed in polished mahogany and smelling of expensive aftershave.   The sound of high-priced shoes were too respectful to echo in such a large room.  In all her days, Mary had never seen such a place as this.  Her nervousness was apparent to every juror and even the judge leaned forward, his hand covering the mike, asked her if she was feeling alright.

Her voice raspy, her throat dry, she simply nodded.  The judge leaned back and told the lawyers to resume.  As the prosecuting attorney began to read from a manila folder, Mary wasn’t listening.  Her thoughts were picturing her having such a house as this place, fancy wood trim, slow churning ceiling fans that didn’t squeak or wobble.   She wondered just how much money it must take to live like this.

By the time she heard her name, it had been the second time the lawyer had tried to get her to answer the question.  Now she was embarrassed and self-conscious.  She wasn’t sure of anything anymore.  She looked up at the judge and said, “Can I just go home?”

The prosecutor could feel the wind leaving his sails, and as he glanced over towards the defense table he saw a slight smile and a quick little wink.  He looked back at the judge, hoping for a sign or anything to hang onto, but all he saw was the judge looking back at him and shrugging.  You win some - you lose some. 

 

 We'll take a recess here.

        What Mary didn't tell the judge was that she recognized the prosecutor's shoes from before, during the robbery.