Page 88 of Dead Mountain

Next up came an emergency room doctor, showing photographs of the sheriff’s injuries—a few nickel-sized bruises and a tiny cut—testifying that while the injuries were not life-threatening, it could have been much more severe, given the rocky ground. In fact, the doctor testified, Hawley could have suffered a fatal concussion from the force of the fall, had his head made contact with a rock.

Lightfeather cross-examined the doctor and managed to get him to admit that the bruising and cut were superficial, were not medically significant, and required little more than an application of antibiotic ointment and a Band-Aid.

A government bureaucrat from the Forest Service testified to the fact that the sets of bones were federal property, even under the NAGPRA law; that the Isleta Tribal Council could not unilaterally declare that the remains were theirs without some sort of due process. On cross-examination, Lightfeather got the bureaucrat to admit that, yes, since the remains had been returned to the tribe and buried at an unknown location, the Forest Service considered the matter closed and would not pursue theft charges against anyone involved.

“Your Honor,” Scowsen said, “members of the jury, it is our opinion that the number of witnesses necessary to conclude this matter is rather minimal. However, to give you a superfluity of information on which to base your conclusion, and to give the defendant the benefit of the doubt—especially given the seriousness of the charges—we will call on one or two more witnesses than we feel necessary. We beg your indulgence in this matter. The first such person we wish to call is a character witness. He was a patron at a tavern called—” here he glanced at his notes— “Gallina’s Peek last Saturday, and can give a firsthand account of the violent and short-tempered nature of the defendant.”

Lightfeather cursed under his breath, then stood up. “Objection. Your Honor, we were not informed of this witness during the discovery process.”

“He is a lay witness,” Scowsen rebutted, “and the information he presents is not directly relevant to the case—it refers more to the character of the accused.”

“Your Honor,” Lightfeather said, “I would like to request a sidebar.”

The judge motioned both Lightfeather and the DA up to the bench. A whispered conversation ensued, which grew animated at times. Lightfeather spoke in an increasingly angry whisper. Finally, the judge ended the contentious back-and-forth with a rap of his gavel, and the two lawyers stepped away from the bench.

“In light of this new witness being called by the prosecution,” the judge said, “the defense has asked for a continuance. The court will stand in recess and will reconvene at ten o’clock Monday morning.” He gave another sharp rap.

As the courtroom adjourned, Nora looked up at the clock: 4 PM.

They took Skip away. Nora walked from the courtroom with Lightfeather and his assistant. They said nothing until they were out of the building, pausing by their parked cars in the cracked parking lot in front of the ugly concrete courthouse.

“It doesn’t feel like it’s going well,” Nora said.

Lightfeather shook his head. “It isn’t. I’m sorry. And this witness they’re suddenly introducing worries me. They’ve got a strong case—why add a character witness?”

“But it gives you more time—over the weekend, at least—to work on the case. Right?”

Lightfeather did not reply directly, and Nora got the impression no amount of extra time would be of much help. “I have to tell you, Nora: the hardest job a defense attorney faces is to convince a jury a cop is lying. And in this case, we have two cops. I tried my best to persuade Skip to plead, but here we are. I’m going to do my best and fight this thing to the end.”

Nora could feel the tears come. “But he’s innocent. They’re lying. Why should he confess to something he didn’t do?”

“People do it every day. But that’s academic—unfortunately, it’s too late for that now.”

“So when will I testify?”

“This new witness throws a bit of a wringer into things, but unless there are more surprises, you’ll definitely testify sometime on Monday. Baca will be their final witness. Then it’ll be our turn. You’ll testify first. Then, if necessary, Mr. Tenorio.”

“That’s it?”

“We don’t have any other good witnesses. We’ve already established that the sheriff’s injuries are bullshit and the so-called theft of government property was so trivial that the government won’t pursue it. When you take the stand, you’re going to establish that Skip was working for you in an official capacity. Then you’re going to tell your story and accuse two law enforcement officers of lying. They might cross-examine you, but probably not, since they’ll already have high confidence the jury will find for them. We’ll do a dry run on Sunday, but I won’t kid you, Nora—that’s what we’re up against.”

“So Skip won’t testify?”

He sighed. “It’s almost never a good idea to have the accused testify—and in any case I doubt Skip will make a good witness.”

“There isn’t any way to recover that video?”

“Trust me, we’ve had computer experts go over that phone with a fine-toothed comb. They’ve also examined the cloud account—there’s no video. It’s gone.”

She broke down, hiccuping and sobbing. She hated to cry, but right now she didn’t care.

Lightfeather hesitated and then put his arm around her. “Do you mind?”

She shook her head.

He held her while she sobbed and tried to get herself under control. Finally, she asked, “There’s . . . nothing . . . you can do?”

“I’ll do my best to break Baca. That sort of thing works on Perry Mason, rarely in real life. But as Yogi Berra said, it ain’t over till it’s over.”

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