A Case of Self Defense

"Have you ever seen anything in all of your experience with arterial punctures that indicated someone could just jump out of the way of arterial spray?"

"No, ma'am."

Rebecca nodded. "And this was the only bloody clothing you found in the Bradford residence? No bloody shoes? Or did she manage to float fifteen feet over the floor to make her escape?"

"No," he agreed, "this was it."

"What about the car? If she was leaving the scene of such a messy murder, surely you must have found blood stains in the car, right?"

"No, ma'am, no blood in the car, either."

Judge Feldman chose this point to adjourn until the following morning.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

"We've got some serious problems here," Robinson observed to Knight as they walked down the hallway toward Knight's office.

"You fucking think?" Knight said. "She's filed a notice of intent to use the affirmative defense of self defense to rape. Then, right from the starting gate, the grieving fucking widow takes the stand and all but makes their case for them. How the fuck could you let that happen?"

Robinson's lips tightened and he struggled to control his rising anger. "You knew from the get go that she has that defense. You saw the goddamned videos that sick bastard kept. You thought his wife knew nothing about him?"

Knight stopped and spun on Robinson. "Not a word," he hissed. "You hear me? Not a fucking word about any goddamned videos. Those come out and we're fucked."

"Well maybe we should be fucked," Robinson said. "I'm not the one who's withholding evidence here; you are. I turned it all over to you, and what you did with it is none of my fucking business. I mean, what if they ask me about them? You expect me to lie?"

"They don't know anything about any videos," Knight said. Seeing Robinson was clearly uncomfortable with this confirmation of withholding evidence, he continued. "I'll say it again, those videos come to light, we're–both of us–fucked."

"But what if there's something to it? Maybe that sick fucker did try to rape her. She wasn't on any of the videos, so we know if she was there it was for the first time. Maybe she stood up to him and he didn't like it. Jesus Christ, you saw the booking photos. Somebody nearly knocked her head off she was beaten up so bad. You think Lyons isn't going to come after me with that tomorrow?"

Knight nodded. "I know she's going to go after you about that. But still, how do we know it wasn't hubby. Notice he's not on their witness list. That's why he's sitting in the courtroom. He can't offer an alibi, so they didn't even bother listing him."

"Yeah," Robinson said, "but I don't think so. And I don't like how close hubby seems to be with Lyons, either."

Knight's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"You see her body language?"

Knight nodded. "She's got some kind of phobia about being touched."

"Yeah," Robinson said. "It's the first thing I noticed about her the morning of the arrest. But guess who she doesn't mind touching?"

Knight waited for the answer.

"That's right," Robinson continued. "She doesn't get all freaky around hubby."

"You think he's banging her?"

Robinson shook his head. "No. I looked it up. Seems they used to be an item back when she was in law school. Engaged to be married."

"What happened?"

"She was raped is what happened. Three black dudes from the projects pulled her into a warehouse and raped her repeatedly for a couple of hours. She freaked, was never the same. They called it quits a few months later."

A wave of anger swept over Knight's face. "And I'm just hearing about this for the first time? What the fuck's wrong with you?"

"And what would you have done about it? If you'd known, what the hell difference would it have made."

"Would've been nice, that's all."

"Well," Robinson said, "at least now you know why she's fighting her ass off for Jennifer Bradford. She empathizes with a fellow rape victim."

"But there's no evidence she was raped," Knight insisted.

Robinson laughed. "You know, you gotta show she killed him before they can even raise that defense. And at this point there's damned little evidence she was even in the fucking house."

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

They sat in Rebecca's office, sipping sodas while Rebecca went over the questions lined up for the next day.

"So how you going to play it?"

Rebecca looked up and saw that Ben was nervous. She smiled before answering.

"Well," she said, "we're doing pretty good so far. Your little session with Deborah Broussard paid off in spades. How'd you get her to play along?"

Ben grinned. "Wasn't hard. I just showed her a few of the videos and she spilled the beans on the whole story. Just like she did in court."

"So you think she was telling the truth? I mean, did she lie to us or to the cops?"

Ben shrugged. "Not a clue. But once she really saw dear sweet Alain for what he really was–and I don't think she was too surprised–she just grinned and told me not to worry, she wouldn't be a problem. Said she was tired of playing the grieving widow for poor Daddy, and this would finally get him off her back. Whatever all that means."

Rebecca smiled. "Well, she did one hell of a job planting the seeds. And the rest of them," she leaned back in her chair and folded her hands behind her head. "Well, let's just say that we've already got reasonable doubt about whether Jennifer was even there."

"And tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow, my dear, we're going to blow this case wide open," Jennifer assured him.

Ben nibbled on a fingernail. "You sure we're playing this right this time?"

Jennifer nodded. "Oh yeah, I think we've got 'em all where we want 'em."

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

After the previous day's fireworks, the courtroom was more packed to the maximum. Spectators were squeezed into the seats, and nearly two dozen more lined the walls.

"So Detective," Rebecca started, "you testified you were first on the scene?"

"Correct."

"Before the plainclothes officers?"

"Yes. I was only a few blocks away on a residential burglary when the call came in. I left a few officers there and headed right over. I was there within minutes of the call coming in."

"And Mr. Broussard was face down on the floor in a pool of blood?"

Robinson nodded. "That's correct."

"Did you subsequently roll him over?"

Robinson hesitated, knowing where this was going. "Yes."

"Did you notice anything unusual when you did?"

"Yes," Robinson said, trying to deflect. "There was a knife sticking out of his ribs and blood covered the front of his body."

Rebecca smiled. "Anything else unusual?"

Robinson took a breath. He knew that any more evasion would only hurt the State's case.

"Yes," he said. "Mr. Robinson's trousers were unzipped and his penis was exposed."

Rebecca nodded thoughtfully, waiting for the rising murmur in the courtroom to die down. "And you heard the coroner testify that, in addition to the knife wound, Mr. Broussard had a few other injuries as well, right?"

"Yes."

"And those injuries were a scratch on his neck and a scratch on his penis, right?"

"Yes."

"How many rape cases have you worked in your time as an officer?"

"Objection," Knight said. "Beyond the scope of direct."

"Overruled," Judge Feldman said without waiting for Rebecca's response.

"Couple of hundred."

"In how many of them did the witness fight back?"

"Fifty, maybe seventy-five," Robinson said.

"What type of wounds did the assailants typically have in those cases where the rape victim fought her attacker?"

Robinson shot a glance to Knight, who only lowered his head. "Scratch marks."

"Scratch marks where, Detective?"

"Face, neck, chest, back, genitals," Robinson answered. "Pretty much where there was exposed skin."

Rebecca's head spun, and her eyes locked with Robinson's. "And the only exposed skin on Mr. Broussard when you found him was his face, neck, and penis, right?"

Robinson, having violated the first rule of testifying by answering too much, mumbled his answer.

"What, Detective? The ladies and gentlemen of the jury didn't hear your answer."

"I said 'yes, those were the only exposed areas not covered by clothing,'" he said, looking back at her.

"And you heard Ms. Broussard's testimony, right?"

"Yes," he said.

"You hear that part about where he appeared to be forcing himself on a young woman?"

"Yes."

"Anything in the course of your investigation arise to lend credence to any history of such behavior by Mr. Broussard?"

Robinson hesitated, looking to Knight again for guidance. Knight only stared back at him, offering nothing.

"Take your time, Detective," Rebecca said. "We all know it was a long investigation."

He cringed at the contempt in her voice.

"Well, we heard some rumblings," he finally offered.

"Rumblings? That's all? You sure there wasn't more?" she said. "Proof of a more definitive kind?"

Robinson was sweating now, afraid to answer, but terrified of getting caught. Knight's face had tightened, and he was watching Rebecca's every move.

"What do you mean by definitive?" Robinson asked.

"Now Detective, I think you know what I mean by definitive." She turned and walked to counsel table, reached into her briefcase, and retrieved a stack of DVDs. Robinson saw Jennifer Bradford's body and face tighten at the sight of them, her eyes going wide. This was the first emotion other than sadness she'd shown since they'd started picking the jury.

As Rebecca turned and held the DVDs up for all to see, Robinson was sure his look of terror made Jennifer Bradford's apprehension seem like giddy joy.

"Objection, your Honor," Knight thundered, flying from his seat.

"Mr. Knight," Judge Feldman said, leaning forward and staring down the prosecutor, "there's no question pending or any offer of evidence."

"But there's going to be," Knight insisted, "and I want it cut off right now."

Robinson sat mute, unable to move as he watched Knight panic. Rebecca, on the other hand, only smiled, continuing to hold the DVDs up high. The murmuring in the courtroom was rising, and the bailiff's attempts to quiet them proved futile.

Judge Feldman stood. "Court's in recess," he said. "Counsel, follow me."

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Feldman strode through the door to his chambers and was seated by the time the two attorneys walked in. He smiled at them.

"Okay, Bob, you wanna tell me what's got your undies in an uproar?"

"Your Honor," Rebecca interrupted, "I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to object to this. If we're going to discuss this, I really must ask that a court reporter be present."

Feldman looked at her. She was cool as a cucumber and had clearly played all of this out well in advance. He had to admit he was enjoying her show. For someone with no experience defending a murder case, she hadn't missed a step yet. Moreover, she was making a complete fool out of Bob Knight.

"Point taken, Ms. Lyons," Feldman said. "Jim," he called to the bailiff just outside the door, "you wanna ask Francine to come back here for this little show."

They waited for the court reporter, who appeared moments later with her steno machine.

"For the record," Feldman started, "we are in chambers on People v. Bradford. Both counsel are present, as well as myself."

Turning to Knight, he said, "When we left this off, Mr. Knight, you were objecting to what appeared to be a stack of DVDs. Would you please now explain the basis of your objection, however untimely it appears to be at this point?"

Knight fumbled for words before getting started. "The evidence I fear is about to be produced is highly prejudicial and will serve only to inflame the jury."

"And what do you think this evidence is, Mr. Knight?"

Knight squirmed at that one, and nothing came from his mouth.

Feldman turned to Rebecca. "Ms. Lyons," he said, "can you explain what is going on here?"

She smiled wide and placed her hands in her lap. "Of course, your Honor. You see, these are DVDs from Mr. Broussard's computer. They show his various sexual conquests over the three-year period before his death."

Feldman sat back and whistled low. He stared back and forth between Rebecca and Knight, and the look on Knight's face told him that he still wasn't getting the full story.

"This makes you uncomfortable, Mr. Knight?"

Knight shook his head.

Feldman turned back to Rebecca. "All right, Ms. Lyons, assuming what you say is true, what is the probative value of these videos?"

"Well, your Honor," she said, leaning forward and whispering conspiratorially, "the vast majority of the videos clearly depict sex that was highly coercive in nature."

Feldman raised his eyebrows at this and shot a look at Knight. Knight was still tight-lipped, though.

"You disagree with Ms. Lyons's characterization of these videos, Mr. Knight?"

"No, your Honor."

Feldman nodded. Turning back to Rebecca, he continued. "Is there more, or are you going to make me drag this out of you bit by bit?"

Rebecca shot a look of contempt at Knight before she spoke. "Just this, your Honor," she said, turning back to look at the judge with fire now dancing in her eyes. "Mr. Knight had these videos and never bothered to turn them over."

The tightening of Knight's entire body told Judge Feldman that this was true.

"You're kidding me, right Bob?" he said to Knight. "You're prosecuting a murder where we've got notice they're going to be raising self defense to rape as a justification, and you didn't bother turning over videos that show the victim–and I now use that term guardedly–has a long history of coercive sex?"

"But none of them, not a single one, shows the defendant, your Honor," Knight pleaded. "They're not relevant to this case because they don't show that she was the victim of any such coercion."

"Oh come off it, counsel," Feldman thundered. "You know better than that. They're clearly relevant to the matter at hand, and the defense had a constitutional right to have them. And you had a constitutional–and ethical–obligation to turn them over to her."

"But she's already got them, Judge," Knight pleaded. "There's no prejudice where she's already got them."

Feldman thought about this for a moment. "So, no harm, no foul. Is that your response?"

Knight nodded.

Feldman turned to Rebecca. "Ms. Lyons, he makes a good point. If you've already got them, where's the harm?"

"The harm, your Honor, is that is shows he's hidden the most central evidence of this case from us. And you don't know when we got them. If it was only yesterday–which is, by the way, the first time I was able to fully view all of these tapes–then how am I supposed to prepare a defense when they make sure to hide all evidence central to my defense? Oh no, your Honor, we're clearly prejudiced."

Feldman nodded. "I could give you a continuance, permit you to amend your witness list if you wish. Then we could still go forward."

"And how do we know he's not hiding other evidence, your Honor?"

Feldman turned to Knight. "Bob, any more surprises for Ms. Lyons?"

Knight hesitated. "No."

Feldman leaned over his desk and glared at the prosecutor. "This is your last chance to come clean," he said. "If I find any more improperly withheld evidence, she's getting a mistrial."

Knight said nothing for a minute.

"We're waiting," Feldman said.

"No, there's nothing else."

Feldman stared at the prosecutor, knowing he was lying. Then he looked at Rebecca and saw the smile on her face. She knows he's lying, too, and she's going to prove it.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

"So, Detective, when last we spoke, you were about to tell me whether you had any more definitive evidence that Mr. Broussard had a history of coercing women into having sex. Want to share that with the jury now?"

Robinson looked at Knight, who was staring straight ahead.

"There were videos on the victim's computer," Robinson said. "They were very . . . uh . . . graphic. And they depicted some, well, uh, encounters that appeared to be less than mutually agreeable."

Rebecca flashed him a look of sarcasm. "Do you really want me to start showing these videos, or would you like a shot at describing 'encounters that appeared to be less than mutually agreeable?'"

Robinson flushed. "He seemed to be extorting sex from quite a few of the women."

"How many videos were there?"

"Couple of hundred."

The murmuring in the gallery rose, and Robinson heard an audible gasp from the jury box.

"How many different women?"

"Twenty-three."

"And how many of them appeared to depict such coerced sexual relations?"

"The majority of them."

Rebecca looked at the jurors, going from face to face, as she spoke next. "The majority? You want to try putting a percentage on it?"

Robinson looked at the jury, and all eyes were glued on him, waiting for the answer. He looked at Knight, who looked straight ahead. Oh well, he sure as hell wasn't risking his career for this farce. He'd never wanted the charges pressed in the first place, and now Knight was tossing him to the wolves.

Robinson turned from Knight to Rebecca. "I'll do better than put a percentage on it. Of the twenty-three women, only three appeared consensual. One of those wasn't initially consensual, but it was clearly consensual by the third meeting."

"And the others?"

Robinson turned to the jury. "If I'd had these videos, and if Mr. Broussard were still alive, I'd be pressing charges against him for well over a hundred and fifty counts of aggravated criminal sexual assault."

Most of the jurors stared back at him in shock, and the courtroom erupted in pandemonium.

"Quiet," the bailiff was yelling. Robinson saw that Judge Feldman was only shaking his head. The defendant still appeared nervous, though.

That's curious, Robinson thought. She wasn't on any of the videos. Maybe the night of the murder–if he could even call it that anymore–was her first encounter. And maybe she'd been the first, and only, one to ever resist Broussard's advances fully.

When the courtroom quieted back down, Rebecca smiled at Robinson. "Detective," she said, leaning back against the jury box and placing her arms on the rail behind her, "did you interview any of these twenty-three women?"

Robinson nodded. "All of them."

"Did they all have alibis for the evening of September twenty-third?"

"No."

"Did any of them, either the women or their spouses or someone else close to them, own dark BMW 325s?"

"Yes," Robinson said. Here it was, the biggest chink in the armor. And he had no clue how she knew this. Judging from the smile on her face, though, it was evident she knew everything.

"Did any of those with no alibi, or weak alibis, for that matter, own a dark BMW 325?"

Robinson looked at the defendant. Behind her, he watched Benjamin Bradford cross his arms and sit back. He knows the answer, Robinson realized. He's playing this, playing us, and has been all along.

Robinson looked back at Rebecca. "Of the two women who owned dark BMW 325s, neither had a solid alibi for the night of the murder."

As the noise in the courtroom again rose, Robinson saw most of the jury now openly smirking at him and at Knight. We're done, he thought.

On her way back to counsel table, Rebecca stopped, standing very still while waiting for the crowd to quiet down. Robinson watched as the courtroom went dead silent and every eye in the room locked on the dark, intense defense counsel.

She turned slowly and looked straight at Judge Feldman, her eyes never leaving his as she asked the next question.

"Detective," she said, her voice loud and clear, "you have been a police officer for twenty-one years, correct?"

"Yes," he conceded, hoping this was not going where he thought it was going. Still, he'd testified thousands of times, and he recognized impeachment when he heard it.