Blue Belle - Andrew Vachss [20]
A: There was blood in the child's bed.
Q: I see. Please continue.
A: I asked him why he did what he did. He tells me Princess going to be a woman soon. Won't hurt her none. Get her ready for what life's all about, he said. He said she was walking around in her nightgown when I was out working. Said she asked for it.
Q: Did you see the expression on his face when he said this?
MR. HAYNES: Objection. Calls for a conclusion of the witness.
MR. DAVIDSON: An observation of demeanor is not a conclusion, Judge.
MR. HAYNES: Your Honor, counsel for the defense is trying to introduce blatant hearsay. This is an attempt to impugn the character of a dead man.
MR. DAVIDSON: This Court has already heard the testimony of the child Princess. The character of this rapist is already in evidence.
MR. HAYNES: Objection! Mr. Jackson is not on trial
MR. DAVIDSON: That's right. He's already been tried.
THE COURT: Gentlemen, that will be quite enough. The objection is overruled.
Q: I ask you again, Mrs. Blame. Did you see the expression on his face when he admitted to you that he raped Princess?
A: Yeah. He was smiling. Like it was nothing.
MR. HAYNES: Objection.
THE COURT: Overruled.
Q: Did he say anything else?
A: He said the little bitch got what she deserved.
Q: What happened then?
A: I picked up the kitchen knife and I stabbed him in his heart.
Q: Did you mean to kill him?
A: Yes.
Q: Why?
A: So he'd never hurt my baby no more.
MR. DAVIDSON: Your witness.
Defending a murder charge wasn't a job for a courthouse gonif. Too many of our people had spent time with Hortense when we were coming up. Like the Prof. Short for "Professor." Or "Prophet." A tiny black omen–master who'd been on the hustle since before I was born, he talked rhyme and he walked crime. The Prof only stood as high as my chest, but he always stood up.
"Cutting up slime ain't no crime," was all he said, dealing himself in on whatever we had to do to raise the cash.
Davidson was the man for the job. A husky guy with a full beard, he plays the game hard. I first heard about him when he defended one of the UGL gunmen years ago. Davidson told us the only way to roll on this one was to do what he called a "psychiatric autopsy" on the dead man.
And he pulled it off. When he was finished, the jury knew Jackson had been a piece of living scum before he died. They came back with a verdict of Manslaughter, Second Degree. You could feel the weight lift—murder carries a twenty–five–to–life top in this state. But Davidson slammed his fist down on the defense table hard enough to break it. He never raised his eyes.
One of the jurors walked over to him. A fat guy in a brown suit. Said Davidson did a great job, asked him for his card. Davidson raised his face to look at the juror. His eyes were wet. "I'm particular about who I defend," he said, turning his back on the juror's outstretched hand.
The judge hit Hortense with two–to–six upstate. Only child molesters get probation in New York. One of her foster sons stood next to her when she got the sentence. All grown up now, he works in a bank, lives in the suburbs. When he heard she was going down, he started to cry. Hortense put a big hand on his shoulder. She had to reach up to do it.
"Be a man," she told him. Not giving an inch.
She gave Davidson a kiss on the cheek and held out her hands for the cuffs.
Davidson's working on the appeal. Working hard, the way he always does. While he's working on the appeal, we're working on putting together some cash for when Hortense walks out. Once a month, the Prof visits her at the prison, bringing a batch of money orders for her to sign. There's a check–cashing joint in the Bronx that doesn't ask a lot of questions. Hortense gets half the money; Michelle and I split the rest. It was supposed to be a four–way split, but the Prof gives his piece to Hortense. "Not all payback's a bitch," he said when we asked him.
Michelle doesn't work the streets anymore. I thought it was AIDS,