The Brass Verdict

counsel.
    This told me I had just saved Barnett Woodson’s life.
    “The defense has no objection,” I told the judge.

Three
    After the jury filed out of the box, I returned to the defense table as the courtroom deputy was moving in to cuff my client and take him back to the courtroom holding cell.
    “That guy’s a lying sack of shit,” Woodson whispered to me. “I didn’t kill two black guys. They were white.”
    My hope was that the deputy hadn’t heard that.
    “Why don’t you shut the fuck up?” I whispered right back. “And next time you see that lying sack of shit in lockup, you ought to shake his hand. Because of his lies the prosecutor’s about to come off of the death penalty and float a deal. I’ll be back there to tell you about it as soon as I get it.”
    Woodson shook his head dramatically.
    “Yeah, well, maybe I don’t want no deal now. They put a goddamn liar on the stand, man. This whole case should go down the toilet. We can win this motherfucker, Haller. Don’t take no deal.”
    I stared at Woodson for a moment. I had just saved his life but he wanted more. He felt entitled because the state hadn’t played fair – never mind responsibility for the two kids he had just admitted to killing.
    “Don’t get greedy, Barnett,” I told him. “I’ll be back with the news as soon as I get it.”
    The deputy took him through the steel door that led to the holding cells attached to the courtroom. I watched him go. I had no false conceptions about Barnett Woodson. I had never directly asked him but I knew he had killed those two Westside boys. That wasn’t my concern. My job was to test the state’s case against him with the best of my skills – that’s how the system worked. I had done that and had been given the blade. I would now use it to improve his situation significantly, but Woodson’s dream of walking away from those two bodies that had turned black in the water was not in the cards. He might not have understood this but his underpaid and underappreciated public defender certainly did.
    After the courtroom cleared, Vincent and I were left looking at each other from our respective tables.
    “So,” I said.
    Vincent shook his head.
    “First of all,” he said. “I want to make it clear that obviously I didn’t know Torrance was lying.”
    “Sure.”
    “Why would I sabotage my own case like this?”
    I waved off the mea culpa.
    “Look, Jerry, don’t bother. I told you in pretrial that the guy had copped the discovery my client had in his cell. It’s common sense. My guy wouldn’t have said shit to your guy, a perfect stranger, and everybody knew it except you.”
    Vincent emphatically shook his head.
    “I did not know it, Haller. He came forward, was vetted by one of our best investigators, and there was no indication of a lie, no matter how improbable it would seem that your client talked to him.”
    I laughed that off in an unfriendly way.
    “Not ‘talked’ to him, Jerry.
Confessed
to him. A little difference there. So you better check with this prized investigator of yours because he isn’t worth the county paycheck.”
    “Look, he told me the guy couldn’t read, so there was no way he could have gotten what he knew out of the discovery. He didn’t mention the photos.”
    “Exactly, and that’s why you should find yourself a new investigator. And I’ll tell you what, Jerry. I’m usually pretty reasonable about this sort of stuff. I try to go along to get along with the DA’s office. But I gave you fair warning about this guy. So after the break, I’m going to gut him right there on the stand and all you’re going to be able to do is sit there and watch.”
    I was in full outrage now, and a lot of it was real.
    “It’s called ‘rope a dope.’ But when I’m done with Torrance, he’s not the only one who’s going to look like a dope. That jury’s going to know that you either knew this guy was a liar or you were too dumb to realize it. Either way, you’re not coming off too good.”
    Vincent looked down blankly at the prosecution table and calmly straightened the case files stacked in front of him. He spoke in a quiet voice.
    “I don’t want you going forward with the cross,” he said.
    “Fine. Then, cut the denials and the bullshit and give me a dispo I can-”
    “I’ll drop the death penalty. Twenty-five to life without.”
    I shook my head without hesitation.
    “That’s not going to do it. The last thing Woodson said before they took