Part 21 (1/2)
”Your Honor, if I may. We have a stipulation outstanding.” He turns toward me for an answer.
”Do I have a copy?” says the judge.
Tannery has forgotten to give him one. The detective forages at the counsel table and finally gives up his own copy so that the bailiff can hand it up to the judge.
”What is this?” Coats looks at it as he asks the question.
”It deals with the witness's background, Your Honor. I think we can shorten her testimony if we agree to certain facts.”
”Your Honor, given the limited information we have concerning this witness, I don't think we can accept this portion of the stipulation.” Harry and I are conferring at the table as I address the issue.
”I don't see why not, Your Honor. The information is probably irrelevant,” says Tannery. ”These activities involving the witness took place over two decades ago.”
”If the defense isn't comfortable with the stipulation, you know the drill, Mr. Tannery. You can object, and we'll deal with it then.”
”Your Honor, this was part of a package. Two stipulations.” Tannery isn't happy. ”If we're not going to agree as to the one, then the previous stipulation offered by the people must be withdrawn.”
Tannery looks over at me, dangling this. He knows that the family history, the relations.h.i.+p between mother and daughter, is a measure of damages he can draw out in front of the jury for emotional impact. That he is willing to offer this up makes me wonder why he is so anxious to avoid the witness's history as an undergraduate at Michigan. Harry has the same thought. He is making a note to himself on a legal pad.
”We're willing to accept the one,” I tell the court.
”We're not,” says Tannery.
”Very well,” says the judge. ”There are no stipulations. Proceed.”
”Would you state your name for the record?” Tannery finally turns to the witness.
”Tanya Elizabeth Jordan.” She spells her first and last names for the court reporter. There is no nervous hesitation. She is cool-almost businesslike.
”I know this is difficult for you,” says Tannery. Though you wouldn't know it from her demeanor. ”We will take it slow. If you need time to collect your thoughts, just tell us. You are the mother of the victim in this case, Kalista Jordan?”
She nods. ”I am.”
”When was the last time you spoke with your daughter?”
She doesn't have to think long. She remembers the precise date. ”It was March thirtieth, last year.”
”Can you tell the court, did you have a close relations.h.i.+p with your daughter?”
”Very close. I was a single parent. Kalista and I were the only family either of us had. She was my only child.”
”Is her father alive?”
”No. He died when she was an infant. Kalista never knew her father.”
”So you raised her alone?”
”Pretty much. My mother was with us for a time, when I was in college. She would watch my daughter when I attended cla.s.ses, or had to go to work.”
”But you would characterize your relations.h.i.+p with your daughter as close?”
”Very.”
”And it remained close even as she became an adult? Your daughter, I mean.”
”Yes.”
”How often did you see her?”
”Objection, lack of specificity as to time.”
Tannery looks over at me, and before the judge can rule he reframes the question.
”Within the last year before her death, how often on average would you see your daughter?”
”At least four times a year, perhaps five. We would spend vacation time together, Christmas and Thanksgiving. Given the distance sometimes I would travel out, sometimes she would come home.”
”And on the phone, how often would you talk? During this same time frame?”
”At least twice a week. Sometimes more.”
”Did she confide in you?”
”We didn't have any secrets, if that's what you mean.”
”Did she come to you for advice?”
”Usually. Children don't always ask, but Kalista is . . .” For the first time Tanya Jordan breaks her concentration, looks up at the ceiling and amends her answer. ”She was a good child.” Her voice catches a little as she places her daughter in the past tense.
”Yes.” Tannery glances over at Harry and me as if to say there will be much more of this if we don't take the stipulation.
”When she was young, I take it she would talk with you about boys, her friends, what she was doing at school?”
”Oh, yes. We discussed almost everything. She never kept any secrets from me.”
”And I a.s.sume you shared things with her?”
”I did.”
Tannery shuffles a page to the top of the stack from the papers in front of him on the lectern.
”Did you ever discuss with her your experiences in college, at the University of Michigan?”
”I did. We talked about the fact that I'd done some things, made some mistakes, but that she was not one of them.”
”What do you mean she was not one of them?”
”I mean having my daughter was not something I had planned. But I would never have changed it for the world.”
”You weren't married to Kalista's father?”