The Color of Law_ A Novel - Mark Gimenez [139]
Scott pointed back at the senator in the spectator section.
“When Senator McCall learned that Clark was coming to Dallas right before his big announcement, he sent you here to follow Clark, to keep him out of trouble.”
Scott held up another document from Carl’s envelope.
“Clark had booked a return flight to Washington on June sixth at three-twenty-one P.M. so he would be back for his father’s campaign kickoff. The senator knew that if Clark was flying to Dallas just for a Saturday night, that meant only one thing: his demons were calling again and he was answering. He was coming home to get drunk and stoned and pick up a girl. And the senator knew what usually happened when Clark’s dark side took over—exactly what he couldn’t let happen. He couldn’t wake up Sunday morning and read that his son had been arrested for beating and raping another girl in Dallas. So he sent you to Dallas to make sure that didn’t happen. Your job was to wet-nurse Clark, to be his guardian angel, to keep him out of trouble and out of the press. You came to Dallas to protect Senator McCall from his own son.”
Delroy’s eyes again looked past Scott to McCall. Scott turned to McCall as well, and what he saw surprised him. In the senator’s eyes and on the senator’s face Scott saw that he had it exactly wrong. He turned back to Delroy.
“The senator didn’t send you, did he? You freelanced this one. You ran this operation without his approval. Why? Why didn’t you tell the senator? Did you think it best to keep him out of the loop? Did you just not want to bother him right before his big day?” Scott shook his head. “Either way, you came here to make sure Clark didn’t screw things up for his father. That’s why you came to Dallas on Saturday, June the fifth, isn’t it, Mr. Lund?”
“No.”
“You flew to Dallas, you rented a car, you followed Clark that night, didn’t you?”
“No.”
“You followed him down to Harry Hines where the prostitutes hang out, didn’t you?”
“No.”
“And there you watched Clark pull his Mercedes over to two black girls, one wearing a red wig, the other a blonde wig, isn’t that right?”
“No.”
“The girl in the blonde wig got into Clark’s car, didn’t she?”
“I don’t know.”
“That girl was the defendant, wasn’t she?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then why did you just refer to the defendant as ‘Blondie’?”
“I…”
“Her hair isn’t blonde, Mr. Lund, it’s brown. She hasn’t worn her blonde wig since that night. She’s been in jail, Mr. Lund.”
Scott stepped to the prosecution table, removed the blonde wig from the evidence bag, and handed it to Shawanda.
“Your Honor, may the defendant put on the wig?”
“Yes.”
Shawanda pulled the wig on. Scott returned to the podium and pointed at Shawanda.
“Mr. Lund, you saw the defendant wearing that wig that night—that’s the only way you’d know to call her ‘Blondie.’ You saw her get into Clark’s car. You followed them to the McCall mansion in Highland Park. You parked out of sight on the estate. You figured Clark couldn’t get into too much trouble with a black hooker. Oh, he might slap her around, but what’s she gonna do, call the cops? She wasn’t an SMU coed, she was just a hooker. So you sat outside while Clark had his fun.
“But then you saw the defendant drive off in Clark’s Mercedes. You ran inside and upstairs to Clark’s bedroom and you found Clark lying naked on the floor and holding his balls. And you…you laughed at him. The little rich boy got kneed in the balls by a black hooker, that was pretty damn funny. So you laughed at Clark. You mocked him. Did you call him a little fuckup?”
“I wasn’t there.”
“Clark didn’t like that, did he, someone like you mocking him? You were just an employee, and employees don’t mock Clark McCall. So he cursed you. You outweighed him by, what, a hundred pounds? But the alcohol and cocaine made him brave and getting beat up by a hooker made him mad, so he cursed