The Alibi Witness: A Courtroom Thriller

Grant

1

Do you swear or affirm to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?

I do.

Please be seated.

I nod to the bailiff and take my seat in the witness box. After crossing my legs and folding my hands across my lap, I lean back and swivel my chair slightly toward the jury. Positioning is important. Correctly done, it establishes an openness to the jury without being intrusive. From here, I can turn my head slightly to the right, toward the podium, when an attorney asks me a question. I can then naturally return my gaze toward the jury when I answer. I nod and give the jurors a slight smile. Three or four of the jurors nod back; a couple smile. I look toward the podium. Through the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of Darlene.

This is my first visit to Ada, California. The seat of Wexford County, Ada is an upscale community of 100,000 residents, mostly professionals who work in Los Angeles, a one-hour commute west.

Barry Nash, Darlene’s attorney, approaches the podium. A tall, slightly pudgy, white man with slicked back black hair, Nash is in his mid-twenties. A junior associate with Kent and Martin, a major Southern California law firm, he is on loan, without cost, to the public defender’s office in an arrangement of mutual convenience. Young associates from major law firms get valuable trial experience, and the overworked public defender’s office gets some much needed help. This is only Nash’s third trial, his first for murder, but he impresses me as a bright and conscientious attorney. More importantly, he impresses me as having the will to win.

Please state your name for the record.

Michael Crane.

And what is your occupation, sir?

I am a federal prosecutor, an Assistant United States Attorney.

How long have you been a federal prosecutor?

Trial strategy 101: always repeat a favorable answer by incorporating it into your next question. Good going, kid.

I have been a federal prosecutor for thirty-one years.

Nash then spends about ten minutes or so covering my background: the type of work I do, the awards and promotions I’ve received, my marriage, and my family. Nash is introducing me to the jury, trying to establish a relationship between the jurors and me. The theory is that, if the jurors know me, they will relate to me. And if they relate to me, they will accept my testimony as truthful. For the presenting attorney, the witness must never be just a witness. The witness must be a person.

Sir, are you acquainted with the defendant, Darlene Turner?

Yes, I am.

When did you and Ms. Turner meet?

We met during our junior year in college at Central Michigan University in the fall of 1975.

Where is Central Michigan University located?

Mount Pleasant, Michigan, in the center of lower Michigan.

What type of relationship did you and Ms. Turner have?

We had a romantic relationship; we were engaged to be married.

When did your relationship end?

Shortly before our graduation in June of 1977.

Did you have any contact with Ms. Turner subsequent to the end of your relationship in 1977?

No, sir. The last time I saw her before today was in Michigan, the day that she boarded a bus for Los Angeles.

When was that?

That was June of 1977.

What was your understanding of why Ms. Turner moved to Los Angeles?

She moved there to pursue an acting career.

Did you stay in Michigan?

No. Shortly after Darlene’s departure, I moved to South Bend, Indiana, the University of Notre Dame.

Were you a student at Notre Dame?

Yes, in its law school.

Did you, subsequent to June of 1977, make any attempts to contact Ms. Turner?

Yes, sir, I did. On maybe half a dozen or so occasions, I checked the various telephone directories for the Los Angeles area in the university library looking for a listing for Ms. Turner. I never found one.

Did she leave a forwarding address with you?

No, she did not.

Did she call you or write to you?

No, she did not.

Nash steps back from the podium and retrieves a file from counsel table. He pretends to skim its contents as he manufactures a pause. The tactic works. He now has the jury’s full attention. They want to hear the next question. I’m impressed.

Nash returns the file to the table and reassumes his position at the podium. He takes a breath, and then, in his deepest tone of voice, he asks the question: Sir, where were you on the Fourth of July of 1976?

I was in Mount Pleasant, Michigan.

Who, if anyone, spent that day with you?

Darlene Turner, the defendant seated at counsel table.

In unison, the jurors look at Darlene and then back at me.

Are you certain of that, sir?

I am one-hundred percent certain.

Now, sir, are we talking about the entire day of July 4, 1976, from midnight to midnight?

Yes. We were together from the evening of July 3, 1976, through the evening of July 5, 1976.

One of the jurors, a young African-American man, shoots a look of annoyance at the prosecutor.

Are you one-hundred percent certain of that?

Yes, I am one-hundred percent certain.

How can you be so certain?

There are two reasons. First, it was the Bicentennial weekend; that is memorable in and of itself. But more importantly, the Bicentennial is memorable because that was the day that I asked Darlene to marry me.

Did she accept?

Yes, she did.

What day of the week was the Fourth of July that year?

It was a Sunday.

So if I understood your previous response correctly, you and Ms. Turner were together from Saturday evening the third until Monday evening the fifth. Is that correct?

Good going, kid. Drive home that point. Yes, that’s correct.

What about Friday the second or Tuesday the sixth?

I do not have a clear recall of those two days.

Why not?

Those two days were not significant to me. The Bicentennial weekend is memorable because of our engagement and the national celebration, but the day before and the day after were not noteworthy.

Please describe for the jury what you and Darlene Turner did over that weekend from the third to the fifth.

On the third, Saturday night, we went to a fraternity party in the city of Mount Pleasant. I remember it being heavily attended. Darlene and I stayed there until the early morning hours of the Fourth.

And then, sir?

And then we went back to my apartment and spent the night there.

And Sunday the Fourth?

On the Fourth of July 1976, we got up—I’m not certain exactly when—but it was late morning; we had breakfast and went to the parade.

Where was the parade?

It was in downtown Mount Pleasant.

And after the parade?

After the parade, we went back to my apartment for a bit, and then we went to a party out in the country, a couple of miles outside of Mount Pleasant. We got there sometime in the afternoon. Toward evening, we took our sleeping bag and went off by ourselves away from the party. We found a spot on a nearby hill to watch the fireworks. After the fireworks were over, I proposed, and Darlene accepted. At the end of the night, we went back to my apartment and went to bed.

And Monday the fifth, what happened that day, sir?

There were no classes that day. Darlene and I spent most of the day at my apartment. Darlene was a drama major; I helped her rehearse for a play she was slated to perform in.

Do you remember what play that was?

"Yes, A Streetcar Named Desire."

To your knowledge, sir, did Darlene Turner make any trips to California during the summer of 1976?

No, she did not.

Would it have been possible that she could have made such a trip without your knowledge?

No, I don’t see how that could have been possible.

Why is that?

Darlene and I saw each other every day. We more or less lived together. She would stay at my apartment over the weekends, usually arriving on Friday and leaving on Monday. The rest of the week she stayed in her dorm room.

Was there a reason for that arrangement, sir?

Yes. The drama majors all lived in the same dorm. Darlene and the other students rehearsed together a great deal during their off-time. It was easier for her to do that by staying in the dorm during the week.

Sir, did you say that you saw Darlene every day? Nice going, kid. Asking a question that has already been answered is objectionable unless you’re seeking clarification because you do not clearly remember what the witness said.

Yes, that’s correct. I saw her every day. If she had left the state for even a day, I would have noticed.

I have no further questions, your honor.

Very well. Cross-examination?

I glance at Darlene. She’s staring at me with a look of bewilderment. Suffering from pugilistic dementia, she is a mere shell of the woman I once knew.

2

Darlene and I were stretched out on top of our sleeping bag. Nude and satisfied, we welcomed the feel of the warm July breeze on our skin. A couple hundred yards from the party on the slope of a small grassy hill, we were far enough away to enjoy our privacy but close enough to hear the music.

Darlene?

Hmm?

Are you happy?

Darlene rolled on her side and rested her hand on my stomach. I’ve never been happier.

I smiled and pulled her closer. Darlene rested her face on my chest. Lying on my back, I stared at the beautiful, clear night’s sky. It was full of stars; it was as if their number had double or even tripled just for us.

You know, honey, we don’t have go to South Bend. I could apply to some of the law schools in California. I mean, really, how much difference will it make where I get my law degree from—UCLA or Notre Dame?

It matters.

Why?

Because it’s your dream to go to Notre Dame.

What about your dream?

I’ll have my dream when we move to California.

You don’t mind waiting the three years?

No. I’m sure there will be some acting playhouses in South Bend that I can join and hone my skills a bit. And I’d like to take some advanced singing lessons. By the time we move to California, I’ll be ready for anything.

That was our plan. We would spend three years in South Bend and then move to L.A. where Darlene would pursue her acting career. She would support me while I was in law school, and I would support her while she concentrated on acting.

Darlene rolled over on her back. We silently stared at the sky, enjoying our intimacy. The party was growing louder. More people were arriving. I asked Darlene if she was ready to rejoin our friends. She hesitated before responding.

Mickey.

Hmm.

Can I tell you something?

You can tell me anything, honey.

It’s … it’s something you should know; if … if we’re going to be married, you should know.

Okay.

Darlene’s life was a compilation of dark secrets. She revealed them to me one by one as our relationship progressed. Little by little, I came to understand her. Or, at least, I thought I did.

Do you remember my … uh … my telling you about my uncle, about, you know, what happened with Randy?

Yeah, of course.

It … uh, well …

What is it, honey?

It wasn’t everything. It wasn’t …

I rolled over on my side to face Darlene. I stroked her hair away from her eyes. I couldn’t imagine what else she could possibly tell me.

Darlene was born in Escanaba, a small city in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. Her parents were killed in a car accident when she was twelve. She and her little brother Randy were then sent to live with their Uncle Marvis. Marvis was a crude, profane, bear of a man. He lived in a small house far into the woods, miles from the nearest neighbor. Semi-literate, he made a less than modest living at a sawmill. A year before Darlene and Randy moved in, Uncle Marvis awoke from a drunken stupor one morning to find his wife gone. The day the social worker dropped Darlene and Randy off at his house, Uncle Marvis picked Darlene up and hugged her with his hand planted firmly on her ass. It was a harbinger of perversions to come. Within months, Marvis’ touching had progressed to rape. By the time she was thirteen, Darlene had come to think of herself as nothing more than her uncle’s fuck-hole.

One winter night, when she was fourteen, Darlene heard her brother screaming. Racing to his room, she found her uncle, his pants and underwear resting at his ankles, kneeling on the floor. He was bent over Randy who was on his hands and knees with his pajamas bottoms down. Darlene jumped on her uncle’s back and slapped his head and shoulders, trying in vain to make him stop. Uncle Marvis laughed as Darlene struck him. He laughed harder when Darlene got off of her uncle and pounded the big man’s ribs with her fists.