Free Double Jeopardy by William Bernhardt Page A

in the trunk of the car, right?”
    “Yes.”
    “You were then assaulted by six men, one after the other, correct?”
    Cavanaugh jumped to her feet. “Objection, your honor. Asked and answered. I see no reason to drag the witness through these horrible events a second time.”
    Hagedorn pursued his lips unpleasantly. “I assume Mr. Byrne is building toward something new.”
    “That’s correct, your honor.”
    “Then you’d better get there quickly. But the objection is overruled.”
    Travis continued. “Mary Ann, you were assaulted by two black men first, correct?”
    “That’s right.”
    “And the third man beat you, then rolled you over facedown, right?”
    Her head slowly lifted. “Yes. But—”
    “And you remained facedown for the remainder of the assaults, right?”
    “Yes, but—”
    “And after the last man finished, you were tied to the back of the car. Still facedown, right?”
    “Y-Yes.”
    “And you remained in that position when you were placed in the trunk again, barely conscious, then deposited on the roadside hours later, where you remained until you were discovered by the police the next morning, correct?”
    “That’s … correct.”
    “Did Mr. Moroconi put you in the trunk?”
    “N-No.”
    “Did he take you out and leave you on the side of the road?”
    “No, that was someone else. The first one.”
    The jury was watching him now—Travis could see it out of the corner of his eye. They were beginning to follow his line of reasoning. “Miss McKenzie, you said you didn’t see Al Moroconi in the parking lot. You obviously didn’t see him when you were locked in the trunk. When you arrived, it was a dark, moonless night, and you were immediately accosted by your assailants. The third man, to use your own words, pressed your face into the mud. You remained facedown in the mud until you were put back in the trunk—by another man—and subsequently tossed out on the roadside—by another man.”
    A few of the jurors were nodding. Nonetheless, Travis decided to ram the point home. “Ma’am, you didn’t see Al Moroconi in the parking lot, you didn’t see him in the car, and you didn’t see him at the crime scene. When did you see him?”
    Tears were once more streaming down her cheeks. “I—I don’t know exactly.” She released a heart-wrenching cry. “But it was him. I know it was.”
    “Isn’t that because you want it to be him? Because you want someone to be punished for the horrible crime visited on you?”
    “Objection!” Cavanaugh shouted.
    “Sustained.”
    Travis proceeded undeterred. “Miss McKenzie, can you tell me with absolute certainty that the man sitting at defendant’s table is the man who assaulted you?”
    She raised her chin defiantly. “Yes. Absolutely.”
    “Take a good look, ma’am. I want you to be certain.”
    “I’m certain. He’s the one. I’ll never forget that face as long as I live.”
    “I see.” Travis approached defendant’s table. “Sir, would you please produce your driver’s license?”
    He did so.
    “Permission to publish this to the jury?”
    Hagedorn nodded.
    Travis handed the license to the bailiff and waited as it was slowly passed down the two rows of jurors. “As you can see, ladies and gentleman, the man now sitting at defendant’s table is Charlie Slovic, a nice gentleman who runs the courthouse coffee shop. He switched places with the defendant during the break. Mr. Moroconi is waiting out in the hall.” He turned toward the back of the room. “Sergeant.”
    The sergeant at arms stepped outside and returned with Moroconi. Together they walked to the front of the courtroom.
    “As you can see, there is a resemblance between Charlie and my client. Both have dark hair, a medium build, medium height. But they are far from identical twins. Any clear-thinking person should be able to tell them apart.” He turned toward the witness. “Mary Ann, isn’t it true that you identified Al Moroconi simply because he was the