The Wrong Man Read Free Page B

didn’t answer so quickly. “My car—”
    “If I told you that your neighbors will testify that your Grand Prix was parked outside your house at the time of the shooting—”
    “Objection, Judge! Objection.”
    The judge raised a hand. “The objection is sustained. Mr. Kolarich, you know better. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, please disregard Mr. Kolarich’s last question. He just stated ‘facts’ to you that haven’t been established as facts.”
    “Not yet,” said Kolarich.
    The judge turned on Kolarich. “Counsel, you will not interrupt this court, and you are not doing yourself any favors here. This is not the first time I’ve given you this warning. But it will be the last. Are we clear?”
    “Yes, Judge.”
    “Ladies and gentleman, you are not to believe so-called ‘facts’ just because a lawyer says he has these facts. You will only consider the evidence presented. Now, Mr. Kolarich, see if you can behave yourself.”
    “I was driving Bobby’s car,” the witness blurted out.
    Kolarich turned to her. “I’m sorry?”
    “I just forgot which car, is all. I was driving Bobby’s car. Bobby’s got him a Mercedes he bought. A used one. He’s real proud of it.”
    Kolarich paused for a long moment. He raised a hand, as if trying to work it all out. “You drove Bobby’s car.”
    “Right. It’s also kinda small like the Grand Prix. I just got mixed up on the car. But it don’t change what I saw.”
    “I see. I think I have that record somewhere.” Kolarich trudged back to his table and opened a folder. On the other side, the prosecutors were flipping through some papers themselves. “Okay, here it is. Bobby Skinner drives a 2006 Mercedes C280 4matic. License plate KL-543-301. Does that all sound right?”
    “Yeah, I think so. That’s the license plate, and it’s a Mercedes. He parks it in the garage, so that’s why the neighbors wouldn’t a known if it was parked there or not.”
    The witness sat back in her seat and seemed pleased with herself, as if she were winning a debate. It sure seemed like she was, from Deidre’s viewpoint.
    Kolarich threw the slip of paper on his table, looking exasperated and disappointed, and turned around to face the witness. “But you’re
sure
you were in the driver’s seat, having just pumped gas, when the shooting occurred. Isn’t it possible you remember that wrong?”
    “No, I’m sure about it,” said the witness, with renewed animation.
    “And you were staring straight forward, looking south at the street where the shooting occurred. You’re sure you weren’t facing north?”
    “I’m sure, Jason,” she said, smiling. She really was a cute young lady.
    “And you’re still
sure
you were positioned at the farthest-west end of the gas station, the last row of gas pumps, and on the west side of that last row?”
    “Yeah.” She was feeling better now, having recovered nicely from a brief slipup.
    “So from your position in the driver’s seat of the car, if you looked toyour left, there was the gas pump you were using. Forward was the street where the shooting occurred. And to the right were no gas pumps, just open space and the restaurant next door?”
    “Yeah, that’s right. See, I never thought about it from, like, which car ’cause I drove away as soon as I seen the shooting and that part about which car, it didn’t matter. Grand Prix or Mercedes, I wasn’t thinking, y’know.”
    “Well, I guess that makes sense,” said Kolarich. “Because the shooting would have stuck out in your mind more than the car you were driving.”
    “Yeah, right.”
    “Mercedes, Grand Prix, they’re roughly the same size—you just slipped up in your memory.”
    “Right, yeah.”
    “Okay.” The lawyer sighed. “But just for the record, you’re
sure
now that it was your boyfriend’s car, the 2006 Mercedes C280 4matic, that you were driving. Not the Pontiac Grand Prix.”
    “Yeah, I mean, now that you say it and all. Yeah, I’m sure.”
    The