Part 25 (1/2)

As Dom stands, Devon feels the nervous pregame jitters spiking in her stomach. Not from dread for once, but excitement. She wonders what Dom is going to do.

Dom moves slowly around to the front of the defense table, leans against it. Crosses her arms. She faces Detective Woods, already seated back on the witness stand. ”Detective Woods, during the previous examination, you stated that Ms. Davenport, the respondent's mother, had granted permission for you to enter her apartment and question her daughter, Devon Davenport, the respondent. Is this true?”

He makes a small sneer to the question. ”Yes, it is. I swore an oath to tell the complete truth.”

”Well, that's admirable,” Dom says. ”So then, Detective, Ms. Davenport gave you verbal permission to enter?”

”Ms. Barcellona,” Judge Saynisch says. ”Watch the sarcasm. And move things along.”

Dom nods. ”Yes, Your Honor.”

”You may answer the question, Detective,” the judge says.

Detective Woods s.h.i.+fts in his seat, crosses his legs. ”I wouldn't have entered otherwise.”

”I see. So, how did this go down, exactly?”

Detective Woods frowns. ”Excuse me?”

”What I'm asking, Detective Woods, is do you recall what Ms. Davenport said that led you to believe that you had permission to enter her apartment?”

”As I've already stated, Ms. Davenport had mentioned to me that her daughter had been home alone all morning from school because she was sick. So, I asked her something like, 'Do you mind if I talk to her?' By 'her' I meant Ms. Davenport's daughter, the respondent.”

”Yes, but again, did Ms. Davenport say that you could enter into her apartment and speak to her daughter?”

”Objection!” The prosecutor is on his feet. ”Relevance, Your Honor. This is not a suppression hearing, but a declination hearing.”

”Good point, Counsel,” the judge says. ”But I'm going to let Ms. Barcellona spread her wings a little on this one.” He looks over at Dom then. ”I'm giving you some lat.i.tude, Ms. Barcellona. Don't abuse it.”

”Yes, Your Honor.”

”You may answer the question, Detective Woods.”

Detective Woods clears his throat. ”Ms. Davenport allowed me to enter the apartment, yes.”

”Allowed you to enter the apartment. But you don't recall her exact words.” Dom walks from one end of the table to the other, her finger trailing along its edge. Then, ”Detective, you mentioned earlier”-Dom leans across the defense table, pulls her notebook toward herself. She flips through it, then looks up at the detective. ”You said that Ms. Davenport was very cooperative with you and Police Sergeant Fowler. You said, and I quote, 'she seemed very eager to help us out. Very friendly and open.'” She pauses. ”Would you also say that she was flirtatious?”

Detective Woods s.h.i.+fts around again. ”I guess that could be accurate, but that's a matter of interpretation, whether someone regards another as being flirtatious or not.”

”So, Detective Woods, would you say that she was. .h.i.tting on you?”

He clears his throat. ”Some might say that.”

”But would you say it?”

”I suppose . . . yes.”

”And you used that interpretation of her behavior toward you, her hitting on you, to your advantage. Didn't you, Detective? You didn't wait-did you?-for her to formally invite you inside the-”

”She stepped aside to let me pa.s.s.”

”Also a matter of interpretation, Detective? Because didn't you make a statement to a Tacoma News Tribune reporter, a statement that was quoted in an article dated a day after the incident occurred?” Dom reaches behind her, s.n.a.t.c.hes up a newspaper clipping lying on the defense table, an article that Devon recognizes as one that Dom had given her that first day they'd met together. ”A statement referencing that once you and Police Sergeant Fowler learned-”

”Objection! Hearsay.”

”I'll allow it,” the judge says wearily. ”Carry on, Ms. Barcellona. But quickly.”

”Detective, once you had learned from Ms. Davenport that her daughter had stayed home from school, didn't you say, and I quote from the article”-Dom peers down at the article in her hands-”'That set off huge bells in my head,' Woods said. 'So, Fowler and I, we just went with it.'”

Dom looks up at the detective, waits for his reply.

Though she can't see Dom's face from her seat, Devon can imagine that eyebrow of hers, arched over her wire-framed gla.s.ses.

”Look!” The detective leans forward in his chair, his tanned face turning darker, the muscles in his neck strained. ”She didn't bar my way. She didn't ask for a warrant. In fact, she followed me inside. Okay? Still talking, apologizing that . . . that her house was such a mess. I didn't construe any objection on her part to my entry. Not at all. She consented with her behavior. Is that clear?”

Dom smiles. ”Just like when a rape victim hadn't screamed No!, then she must have actually consented. And therefore wasn't really raped. Hmm, Detective?”

”Objection! Argumentative, hara.s.sing the witness!”

”Ms. Barcellona,” the judge says, ”you've now crossed the line. Don't do it again. This is a warning.”

Devon leans forward. Yes! Dom's first yellow card!

Dom walks toward the defense table, then turns back around. ”And when was it, Detective Woods, that you actually got around to reading Devon Davenport, the respondent, her rights?”

The detective leans back in his seat, the hostility sliding from his face. Crosses his arms confidently. ”Shortly after her mother removed the blanket, the one that the respondent had wrapped around herself.”

”And, refresh my memory, was that before or after the respondent pa.s.sed out?”

The detective licks his lips. ”Before . . . I think . . . I'm sure . . .”

Dom smiles, glances up at the judge. ”I have no further questions.”

The rest of the morning progresses slowly. Other witnesses come and go, answering the prosecutor's questions. A police officer, Police Sergeant Keith Cruz, the first to arrive at the scene. He spoke about securing the crime scene, and Dom didn't ask him any questions. Then the prosecutor called Police Officer Bruce Fowler, who had accompanied Detective Woods in his door-to-door search. His testimony was similar to the detective's, but not as long and involved. Dom questioned him about his role in entering the apartment, but he insisted that he had stayed outside and entered only after Devon's mother had started las.h.i.+ng out at Detective Woods.

The prosecutor then called the pediatrician, Dr. Jyoti More, who had received the baby at the hospital; she explained that the baby's core temperature was eighty-nine degrees, that the baby arrived with the umbilical cord still attached, that the cut was ragged, not clean-an indication that the instrument used to sever the cord was blunt. That she observed the baby had sustained a small bruise on the left side of her head behind the ear, probably also the site of a mild concussion. All this testimony, she recited carefully and concisely, like she was a talking encyclopedia of medical terms. Her heavy Indian accent and funny turns of phrase were kind of cute and reminded Devon of a female version of Apu, the Kwik-E-Mart owner of The Simpsons.

When the prosecutor had returned to his seat, Judge Saynisch looks over at Dom. ”Defense, do you have any questions for the witness?”

”Yes, Your Honor.” Dom steps out from behind her chair, walks within arm's reach of the witness stand, smiles at the doctor sitting there. ”Dr. More, I'd first like to concentrate on the portion of your testimony concerning the baby's bruising and concussion.”

”Yes.” Dr. More returns Dom's smile, her eyes bright and eager.

She seems so nice, Devon thinks. I hope Dom isn't too mean to her.

”Dr. More, you've stated here today that the baby had sustained an approximate three-centimeter-by-one-centimeter bruise on the left side of her head, behind the ear. Is this correct?”

”Yes, that is correct.”

”And, according to your testimony today, you stated that the site of this bruise is also where the concussion was sustained. Correct?”