Page 8 of The 1 Lawyer

Moving with athletic grace, he turned to face the jury and the bench. “I apologize for the interruption,” the DA said, sounding entirely poised. “Mr. Oates, directing your attention to the photo on the screen, State’s exhibit number one, do you recognize it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What does it depict, Mr. Oates?”

“It’s a picture of the body. The woman I found by the Popp’s Ferry Bridge and pulled into my boat.”

“Is State’s exhibit number one a fair and accurate depiction of the body of Aurora Gates when you discovered her that day?”

Harley Oates shivered, and I suspected the reaction was genuine, not the product of witness coaching. “Yes, sir. It sure is.”

“Your Honor, I request that State’s exhibit number one be admitted into evidence.”

Judge Walker glanced at me. “Objection?”

I stood. “May we approach the bench?”

He nodded, and I hurried up to the bench. The DA joined me. Speaking softly so the jury wouldn’t hear, I said, “Your Honor, I object to the exhibit on the grounds that it is inflammatory and prejudicial, outweighing its probative value.”

Gordon-James’s response was terse. “It’s essential evidence.”

The judge glanced at the screen, wincing. Shaking his head, he said, “It’s gruesome, no denying that. But the jury needs to see the condition of the body to understand the testimony of the witnesses, including the medical examiner. Overruled.”

The ruling wasn’t a surprise; we’d duked it out over the photo prior to trial. But I had to make a record of my objection to preserve the issue for appeal.

I had barely gotten back to my seat when the DA announced: “No further questions of this witness.”

Judge Walker said, “Mr. Penney, you may inquire.”

I rose from my chair. “No questions, Your Honor.”

Caro turned to me, lifting an eyebrow. I shook my head. There was no point in questioning Oates; we weren’t disputing the information he’d provided, that a dead woman had been found at Popp’s Ferry Bridge. The faster we could get through the evidence regarding the discovery of the corpse, the sooner that picture would be off the screen.

During the lunch break, the DA and I wrangled in chambers over the admissibility of other photographs Gordon-James intended to use. The judge listened patiently as he ate a sandwich at his desk and washed it down with a can of Coke. I lost the battle; Walker ruled against me. The photos would be admitted into evidence.

The next witness to testify was the patrolman who’d responded to the 911 call and overseen the transfer of the body to the coroner. I let him go without cross-examination too.

Judge Walker called a brief recess. After the jury left the courtroom, Caro said in an indignant whisper, “Are you going to try this case or not?”

I didn’t get ruffled or take offense. The choice to forgo unnecessary questioning was tactical on my part. Some defense attorneys believed they should go after every witness who took the stand. My father was a member of that particular school of thought, but it was not my way. I continued sorting through the autopsy report, surveying my notes. I said, “We’ve been over this, Daniel. We aren’t contesting anything those folks offered on the stand. There was no need to subject them to cross.”

“So cross-examination isn’t important to you.”

“Sure it is. When the circumstances call for it.”

The underlying friction at the defense table threatened to become a full-blown conflict. With a mighty effort, I ignored it—until he spoke again.

“I would think that a murder trial constitutes compelling circumstances.”

At that, I shut the autopsy folder and shoved it to the side of the glass-topped table. “We need to reach an understanding. You don’t tell me how to practice law, and I won’t tell you how to practice medicine.”

He looked like he intended to prolong the dispute, but the door to the jury box opened and the jurors filed back into court, so I no longer had to defend my tactics.

Gordon-James called his next witness: Miles Ellis, the Harrison County medical examiner. My adrenaline started flowing again. I knew what was coming.

The DA asked him to recite his qualifications. I kept a poker face. I knew Ellis; before he moved to Gulfport, we’d been neighbors for a while. But we were never friendly. The guy was a prig, the kind of neighbor who picked up the phone to complain if the music was loud on New Year’s Eve. More than once, I’d caught him peeking in our recycling bin at the curb. Looking for what, I don’t know. Maybe he was counting the beer cans.

“Dr. Ellis, during the autopsy you performed on Aurora Gates, did you do an external examination of the victim?”

---