It's a difficult choice. If I delay, the jury sits with this in-controverted bombshell all night. If I go now, I do so without any background information on Sacich and his story. I will be breaking the cardinal sin-asking questions I do not know the answers to.
I consult briefly with Kevin, and he agrees with my assessment. We've got to go ahead now.
“Mr. Sacich, how did you come to live in the same neighborhood as Mr. Miller?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I'm not asking who your real estate agent was, or how big a mortgage you took out on the cell.”
“Objection.”
“Sustained. Mr. Carpenter, less sarcasm and clearer questions would be appreciated.”
“Yes, Your Honor. Mr. Sacich, why are you in jail? What crime were you convicted of?”
Wallace objects as to relevance, and I tell Hatchet that since I had no time to depose this witness, I really need a little leeway. Besides, the offense he has been convicted of might well go to credibility.
Hatchet overrules the objection and instructs Sacich to answer.
“Rape.”
I nod. “Rape. I see. Who did you rape?”
Sacich's eyes dart around the room; he thought he was here to talk about Willie, and now he's being asked to confess to rape under oath.
“I didn't say I did it.”
“Did you do it?” There's no downside to this question. If he says no, he looks like a liar. Yes, and he's a rapist. It's like the old “Do you think I'm fit to live with pigs?”
“No,” is his answer.
I walk over to the jury box. “Did a jury, sitting in a jury box like these people, vote to convict you?”
“Yeah.”
“You wouldn't lie about whether you actually committed the rape, would you? Because if you did, then how could this jury believe anything you say about this case?”
“I'm not lying.”
“So the jury was wrong?”
“Objection. Asked and answered.”
“Overruled. You may answer.”
“Yeah. The jury was wrong.”
“Now, as to what Willie Miller may or may not have told you-”
He interrupts. “He told me he did it.”
“Did anyone else hear him make the confession?”
“I don't know. You'd have to ask them.” He's getting more and more belligerent.
“But when you heard it, when he said it to you, were the two of you alone, or was there anyone else around?”
“We were alone.”
“How long have you been friends with Willie Miller?”
“We just met … we sit there all day and we talk some.”
“Do most people consider you a good listener? Do they have a tendency to confide in you?”
He nods; this is something he can agree with. “I guess so. Sure. I'm a pretty good listener.”
“Do you have any experience in the ministry?” This draws a laugh from the gallery and jury, and an objection from Wallace.
“Your Honor, this is ludicrous.”
“Sustained.”
“Did anyone promise you anything at all in return for your testimony today?”
“No.”
“No talk of a lighter sentence, or of the authorities treating you more favorably in the future?”
Sacich looks toward Wallace, worried about what he is supposed to say. I jump on this. “Do you want to consult with Mr. Wallace? We can take a few moments, and you can get further coaching if that will help you.”
“Objection! This witness has not been coached, and I resent the implication that he has.”
“Sustained.”
“Mr. Sacich,” I continue, “what did the authorities say would result from your testimony today?”
“They told me it would look good on my record.”
“Who reviews that record?”
“The parole board,” he says grudgingly.
It's time to wrap this up. “Okay, Mr. Sacich,” I say, “let's forget about logic and your lack of credibility for a moment, and let's assume this happened the way you said, that Willie Miller told you he had done this crime. Do you believe everything you hear in prison?”
“Depends,” he allows.