Mistaken Identity

“Officer McShea,” Hilliard continued, “is it your testimony, then, that the defendant confessed and attempted to bribe you not to take her into custody?”

“Yes.”

“And you refused?”

“Of course. When we didn’t accept, she demanded a lawyer.”

Hilliard paused to let it sink in. “Officer McShea, permit me to take you back a minute, in the events of that night. When you first saw the defendant ru

“Yes, she was holding a white bag. Plastic, like you get at the Acme. Or, I should say, my wife gets at the Acme. I can’t take the credit when she does the work.” McShea smiled, as did the women in the front row of the jury. Co

“Now Officer McShea, fast-forward to when you and Officer Reston were arresting her. Was she still carrying the white plastic bag?”

“No. The defendant had nothing in her hand when I cuffed her.”

“So the white plastic bag vanished when the defendant came out of the alley, is that correct?”

“Objection,” Be

“Overruled,” Judge Guthrie barked, and addressed the witness. “Officer McShea, would you answer the question, please?”

“The plastic bag was in her hand when the defendant ran into the alley and it wasn’t there when we arrested her.”

“When did you next see that bag, Officer McShea?” Hilliard asked.

“We took the defendant into custody, locked her in the squad car, and went looking for the plastic bag. We both saw her go into the alley with it and come out without it, so we knew pretty well where it had to be. I’m smarter than I look.”

Hilliard smiled and leaned on the witness box, so close to the cop he was practically in his seat. It wasn’t Hilliard’s handicap, it was his way of vouching for the cop, so common Be

“Officer Reston and I searched the alley in the middle of the block, toward the west end. In the alley was a Dumpster, from the construction across the street. We searched the Dumpster and in it we found a white plastic bag, like the one I saw in the defendant’s hand.”

“Did you find anything inside the bag?”

“Yes. A woman’s gray sweatshirt. It had blood all over it. It was still wet and warm.”

Hilliard picked up a tagged white bag from the evidence table and moved it into evidence. Be

The cop stretched out a hand for the clothes bag and examined it through the plastic, turning it over. “Yes.”

“Now, Officer McShea, you testified that you found the sweatshirt, C- 13, in the Dumpster in the alley. Was the Dumpster full or empty?”

“Pretty full, lots of construction trash. Boards, rubble, and whatnot.”

“Did you have to dig in the trash to find this sweatshirt?”

“No. It was right on top of the other trash.”

“Was it concealed there?”

“Not at all.”

Be

“Officer McShea,” Hilliard asked, “by the way, did you or your partner find the murder weapon in the alley?”

“No, we didn’t. To the best of my knowledge, the murder weapon was never recovered.”

“I see.” Hilliard paused. “Did there come a time when you and your partner took the defendant down to the Roundhouse, the police administration building, in the squad car?”

“Yes, sure.”

“When you took the defendant to the Roundhouse, was she visibly upset or crying over the death of her lover, Detective Della Porta?”

“Objection, Your Honor,” Be

“Rephrase the question,” Judge Guthrie said, leaning back again. He arranged his robe around him and patted the gathered stitching that ringed his robe like a yoke.

“Officer McShea,” Hilliard asked, “was the defendant crying when you took her to the Roundhouse?”

“No, but a couple of us were,” McShea said, bitterness tainting his tone, and Be

“I have no further questions. Your witness, Ms. Rosato,” Hilliard said, his tone grave. “Thank you.”

Hilliard gathered his papers at the podium as Be

58

Be

“Officer McShea,” Be

“The Twentieth.”

Be

“Yes.”

“Isn’t it true that Detective Della Porta’s apartment is located in a different district, the Eleventh?”

“Yes.”

“The Eleventh is on the other side of the city from the Twentieth, isn’t it?

“Yes.” McShea appeared unfazed, and Be

“You and your partner were the first patrol car to respond to the Della Porta murder, isn’t that right, Officer McShea?”

“Yes.”

“You were not responding to a radio call, were you?”

“No.”

“You couldn’t be, because the first call came into 911 after that, isn’t that right?”

“If you say so. Right.”

“And you were on duty that night, were you not?”

McShea cocked his head. “We were.”

“Now, you testified that you just happened to be in Detective Della Porta’s neighborhood at the time. If you were on duty, why were you out of your district?”

“We, uh, went down to get di

“You went out of your district to get di

“A cheesesteak, at Pat’s. A Cheese Whiz, to be specific.”

The jury nodded and smiled. Every Philadelphian got a “Cheese Whiz,” a steak sandwich with Cheese Whiz, at Pat’s Steaks. Not only would the story strike a hometown chord with the jurors, it was impossible to verify, and so human it sounded believable. Be

“So you went to Pat’s for a cheesesteak that night?”

“Yes.”

“How much time would you say it takes to drive from your district to Pat’s Steaks, on Tenth Street?”

“Probably half an hour, if you don’t take South Street. You know how the song goes. That’s where all the hippies meet,” McShea joked, and the jury laughed with him again. Be