Page 84 of The Accomplice
My phone buzzed in my jacket.
An email from Denise, with attachments.
I clicked to open it and read the text.
‘Mrs. Broder, I notice you’re not wearing glasses. How good is your eyesight ?’ asked White.
‘I’m longsighted. I need my reading glasses, but I have no problem watching TV, or reading signs that are far away.’
‘One final question, Mrs. Broder. How sure are you that the couple you saw watching the Nielsen house the night of the murders was the defendant, Carrie Miller, and her husband, Daniel Miller ?’
At first Mrs. Broder didn’t answer. She looked around, seemingly surprised by the question.
‘I have never been surer of anything in my life. It was them. I got a real good look at them that night, and there’s no chance it could be anyone else.’
‘Thank you, Mrs. Broder. I know that you have been under close protection at a secure location for the last day or so. That can’t have been easy for anyone. I want to thank you for providing the jury with your testimony here today. Please remain in your seat, Mr. Flynn may have some questions for you.’
White sat down, pleased with himself.
I looked at the jury.
Sometimes it can be hard to read people. Most folks can’t even read one person, never mind twelve. But I didn’t need twelve people on my side. I only needed one for an acquittal. Looking over the faces of the jurors in that room, I couldn’t see an open expression. Not one who looked even mildly skeptical. Mrs. Broder had delivered the gospel.
A trial can be like a rollercoaster – one minute you’re riding high and the next you’re plummeting toward the earth in what feels like a death spiral. A couple of jurors looked back at me. Their faces were either sayinggo ahead, pal – take your best shot – Mrs. Broder is telling it like it is; or they seemed genuinely curious as to whether I could shake the formidable Mrs. Broder.
I was curious myself.
Nothing to do except try.
Harry placed a hand on my forearm, said, ‘Just do what you can. Keep it tight. Keep it short. We do not want to get into a battle with Mrs. Broder. She’s got another ninety years in her.’
I nodded, got up, buttoned my jacket.
Eyewitness testimony is like an old Detroit muscle car : it looks and sounds amazing but run it for a while and you’ll probably find it to be about as reliable as a twenty-dollar Rolex. The only thing a defense attorney can do is to try and stop the jury being dazzled by the body shape and the sound of the V8. I have to make sure they don’t just kick the tires and jump in, they have to look under the hood at the faulty wiring, get underneath it and feel the rust, really listen to it so that they can hear that hole in the exhaust pipe. Some will look beyond the beauty of the thing, some won’t. All I can do is pop the hood and fire up a flashlight.
I knew this witness had hurt us. The jury didn’t just believe Mrs. Broder, they wanted to believe her.
‘Good afternoon, Mrs. Broder. My name is Eddie Flynn. I’m very sorry to hear that you have had some troubles because of this case. It must’ve been very frightening.’
‘It reminded me of a time long gone. But it wasn’t as bad. I’m an old woman now, Mr. Flynn, and I am not afraid of this Sandman.’
I nodded, took a step forward.
‘I admire your bravery, Mrs. Broder. Let’s talk about what you saw that night …’
In cross examination there are three areas of attack when it comes to eyewitness testimony – distance, light and time. There are other vulnerable points, and I would need at least one more. For now, I went back to basics. Distance.
‘How far away is your apartment window from the Nielsen house across the street ?’
‘Oh, I don’t know exactly.’
‘Let me help you. What floor is your apartment on ?’
‘The third floor.’
‘So you’re, what ? Thirty, maybe forty feet up ?’
‘About thirty I’d say.’
