The Voices Chapter 10
Disclaimer: I do not own Power Rangers, it's characters, places, etc., they are owned by Saban. Robert Montry is mine, my sole creation.
"I am just a simple scared little girl standing here. Sitting behind the defendant's table wearing what felt like nothing at all, feeling like a tool, used and thrown. You had no idea how terrible I felt waiting here. Rocking back and forth in a chair, helpless, unsure. My heart was in my throat. Was I going to go free or was I going to be caged?" Kimberly Ann Hart.
Uncuffed, tried to relax, wiping sweaty palms on already grimy jeans, trying to hold a smile, but it was no use. A lawyer walked in. Nice clean gray suit, leather brief case, he looked intelligent. He was mine, Mother and Father hired the lawyer to represent me. This man, mid height, glasses, very self determined, sat next to me behind our table:
We shook hands, "Mrs. Hart, I'm Clive Benson, your attorney."
"Hi. I don't know much about law so I guess I am at your mercy" I confessed, nervously laughed.
"No need to worry, Mrs. Hart. I graduated from Harvard and have a strong practice, and I'm more than qualified for the task at hand" he sat down, opened his brief case.
Hearing this made my spirit soar. I might just have a chance. If I could show it was self defense then I can avoid jail sentence. There was no way to overrule the escape. I had never met this attorney though. Before I could tell him my side of the story, to build up on, he leaned over and whispered, "Just stay quiet and let me do all of the talking. This caseis real simple. I weighed the evidence, you are not at fault. We need to prove that to the jury, then you will not be convicted of murder, but there is a chance of a wrongful death suite, but the evidence proves you are not at fault. Just put that in trama you have amnesia, got that?"
I simply nodded, swallowed hard, and prayed.
Several people came in soon after, these were the family of the hooded man, an old mother, grieving wildly. Turned in my seat, I watched them. The mother, handkerchief in hand, wailed then are eyes met. Red with anger, lunged at me, fists flailing, shouting, "Whore! Whore! You killed my son!" Terrified, I got up from my seat and ran around the other side of the table to act as a median. The mother never even made it half way. Restrained by her husband and planted in a seat far away, she glared from that point on, muttered incoherent slur words. Sitting next to them was a young blond girl, skinny, athletic type. If her hair was different, she would resemble me. That is where it clicked, that blond was the same girl from the gym, the one that eyed me!
Stunned, I sat in my seat, hands gripping my knees till the knuckles were white. We sat that way for a long while in total silence until Beson leaned over and softly spoke, "Your a lovely girl, Mrs. Hart"
"I'm not looking for a date" I thought.
"Just remember that when you go on the stand."
The judge entered, we rose and sat down. He read the papers and began opening statements. The family of the hooded man wanted to have me arrested and jailed for murder, claiming that I had murdered him, if that wasn't known already. The family also wanted to sue for wrongful death.
"Does the defendant have any opening statements?" the judge asked. Benson stood up, "Yes, we do your honor. My client is innocent of the crimes" and promptly sat back down.
"Is that it?" whispering to him.
"Shh, don't worry, we have them right where we want them" he replied. Frown. When the plaintiffs attorney began his statements, Benson leaned forward in his seat like a rookie, jittery.
"You honor," the plaintiff's attorney began, "evidence shows that on the night of Saturday in question, Mrs. Hart willingly led my client to an alley with the proposition of sex. When he refused, she killed him in cold blood with a single stab wound to the back, like a coward," angrily venting his finger at me.
That hurt.
Finished, it was my defense. Benson, "Nothing to add, your honor" sat back down. Needless to say I was shocked, "Aren't you going to do anything?" I asked him.
"Just be patient" calmly whispering back.
For an hour, there was deliberation, evidence was presented, including stuff like his jacket that bore the distinctive slice of where the knife penetrated. Statements were read from the only two witnesses, those two police officers:
Officer Steve: We noticed the defendant being escorted from the alley way by a mid-height man with a camouflaged jacket and jeans. When he saw us, he ran, leaving Mrs. Hart behind.
Attorney: "Do you, at any time believe that she was involved in the crime?
Officer Steve: "Not at first. She appeared stunned, confused. The other man appeared calm. Then, afterwards at the station, she could not give information, or refused to give any"
Attorney: "What exactly did she not give?"
Officer Steve: "When we asked about the man, the second man, she began to grow sarcastic."
Attorney: "What do you mean by "sarcastic"?
Officer Steve: "We asked her you don't know his name or don't want to tell us? And, she said, "Whatever you want"
Grumbled giggles and gasps
Attorney: "At the crime scene, did you notice anything unusual about the body?"
Officer Dukeman: "Yes, there was a knife lying next to his left hand."
Attorney: "A knife?"
Officer Dukeman: "Yes, a six inch switchblade" holding up his two index fingers giving it's length.
Attorney: "What is wrong with the switchblade?"
Officer Dukeman: "The way is was. By the looks of it, it appeared that he was holding it out and was not the same knife that stabbed him"
Gasps
My mind was running wild at this point. Here were two uniformed police officers stating that there was another man at the scene of the crime, yet the plaintiff's attorney countered them by showing my statements taken at the station that there was no other man, me and my big mouth. The police did not have any dash cams as evidence. It was all too confusing for me. As they talked, I cursed myself.
Regret. "Just give them Robert's name and you will go free" that dang voice was coming back somewhat different. Save yourself, save yourself from disgrace. "No" I thought, "No way am I going to give up that easily. No way was I going to turn in a friend" shutting it out, I came to grips that now was a time to mount a strong defense. Leaning over to Benson, I told him that I wanted to take the stand. At first he relented, but I persisted and he gave in.
The plaintiff's attorney was simply relentless on grinding me and my name into the ground, calling out all of my flaws in statements to the jury. His object was to damage my character so when it was my turn to take the stand, they would not believe me. Horrible, but that was the way courts worked. What got my blood into a boil is when he called me a simple liar and murderer.
It was all lies! God how I wanted to stand on my table and protest.
"That is all I have your honor" he finally finished.
Geez.
Benson called forward for me to take the stand. A position I was not ready for. I had seen court room cases before. Beson would ask me questions. Though nervous, sweaty palms and forehead, I walked from my table to the witness stand where the bailiff swore me in.
I sat down, and my lawyer asked only one question, "Mrs. Hart, did you kill the man" pointing towards the family of the hooded man.
"No" I said flat out.
"Your honor I object. That question is irrelevant. We are here to give proof that she did commit the murder. A simple question like that cannot clear her of this crime," the plaintiff's lawyer said.
"Objection sustained," the judge announced.
"No further questions" and sat back down. Now it was time to cross examine. My eyes widened, brows unbuckled. Here we go, Kim, brace yourself, calm down, speak clearly, don't hesitate in thinking hard.
In seconds, I drew up the entire scene in my head, thought hard, every second, the picture of the man, the knife, his words. The attorney stood up from his seat, I could see him.
"Come on! Say do I recall the murder! Come on!" were my thoughts, beckoning that man to say those words. "Come on say it and I'll show you what kind of a liar I am."
"Mrs. Hart, is it true that you are a prostitute?" he asked. Everything went blank.
"No!" looking at Benson to see if he would object. He didn't.
"I like to point out to the jury that a prostitute usually has pale skin, dirty, do not take care of themselves," pointing at my skin, my face, my hair. "Have trouble speaking clearly from diseases..."
How I wanted to kick his butt all over the place, shuffling my posture in my seat.
As he ranted on, I felt the skin on my hands, it was sticky, pale, boney, then tugged on my long hair, it was oily. What did you expect for not showering in two days? Not even my teeth were brushed. A bitter taste hung in the back of my throat.
"On the night in question, why were you on the streets?" he asked pacing in front of me, waiting for a response.
"I was trying to get home" I answered.
"Going the wrong way, is that correct?"
"Yes, " nodding my head slightly, ashamed.
"Why were you going the wrong way?" he asked, trying to make it sound funny.
"I did not know the area. I was going down to the gas station to get those directions when this hooded man..."
"You didn't know the area?" he interjected. "You've lived in the city for several months and did not know the area?"
"Yes"
"I find that hard to believe."
"Believe it, buddy"
Laughter
Rattle of the gavel. "Order"
"Mrs. Hart, is it true that you, that night, escaped from a hospital?"
Pause
Sigh, nodded, "Yes I did"
"Why were you in the hospital?"
"Because I tried to commit suicide" I muttered, defeated.
Gasps.
The attorney smiled, feeling that he had victory in his grasp. "I would like to point out that Mrs. Hart was, and still is, mentally unstable. So unstable in fact that she went into a wild rage at the first man she saw, focusing on a man because of her failed love life."
"That's it!" I stood up in the stand, how I wanted to just kill him, but bailiffs grabbed hold of my arm. I sat back down.
Satisfied that he had found my weak point, the attorney finished, and I stepped down.
"Now what?" I wondered this as I stepped down and sat next to Benson whom whispered, "That went well"
"Oh shut up" I hissed.
An autopsy was performed on the hooded man after being taken to the hospital. A medical officer presented his testimony to the jury. It showed that he had swallowed a great deal of prescription drugs called Celexa, an antidepressant, then died of a stab wound that had sliced his stomach and kidneys.
Hearing this, I dropped my head on the table, that was the end I thought, but the officer went on to show that the angle of which the knife entered showed that it was made by a second individual.
It was the best shot I had to show my innocence.
Jittery in my seat, I hung on every word the doctor said as he showed the court that someone else had planted the knife in the hooded man's back.
"Yes, I told you" I bellowed out of the blue.
"Order! Restrain yourself, Mrs. Hart or I'll have the bailiff do it for you" the judge said.
Sure I would, with a wide smile.
Now with his case in jeopardy, the plaintiff threw another one at me. That I acted with another man, that the murder was planned, but the judge threw it out. Good luck I guess.
On came Benson again, this time pointing out that the hooded man had a history of mental instability himself, had cases of rape, and assault on his history record.
"Go! Go!" I muttered, ebbing him on. He had them by the nose now.
"We have evidence to believe that the man attempted to rape Mrs. Hart and that a passerby acted in her defense"
"What evidence is that?" the attorney asked.
Going into his brief case, Benson pulled out several photos that showed my face with a red mark across my throat made when the man pressed me against the wall. It matched his fore arm exactly. He also stated that the angle in which the knife entered was impossible for me to make.
My stand of having amnesia also helped as well
" I rest my case" Benson announced, sitting back down confident. I hugged the man.
After two hours of utter nonsense, the judge retired to his chambers as did the jury to discuss the verdict. I was left there, trembling in my seat, though evidence was put in my defense, just the thought of being guilty made me break out in a cold sweat. Looking into the small audience, I could see Mother and Father, holding onto each other. Glancing about, there was Tommy and Trini together, both upset. I waved at them lightly, they just stared back.
An hour passed, the judge returned, the jury as well.
Seated, he asked for us to rise, "How does the defendant plead?"
"Not guilty, your honor" Benson said proudly.
"Let the court know that the defendant has pleaded not guilty" the judge directed at the typist.
"Has the jury reached a verdict?" he asked turning to them.
The lead juror rose, "Yes we have, your honor" pulled out a small piece of white paper, "We the jury find the defendant, Kimberly Ann Hart...