The Last Juror

As insult was added to injury, Ginger lowered her head and covered her ears. It was not missed by the jury.

He didn't believe Lydia's husband's garbage about her homosexual tendencies; the woman enjoyed the intimacy of men. Malcolm was lying so he could win custody of their child.

Padgitt was not a bad witness, but then he was testifying for his life. Every answer was quick, there were too many fake smiles toward the jury box, his narrative was clean and neat and fit too nicely together. I listened to him and watched the jurors and I didn't see much sympathy. Fargarson, the crippled boy, appeared just as skeptical as he had with every other witness. Mr. John Deere still sat with his arms wrapped across his chest, frowning. Miss Callie had no use for Padgitt, but then she would probably send him to prison for the adultery as quickly as for the murder.

Lucien kept it brief. His client had plenty of rope with which to hang himself, no sense making it easier for the State. When Lucien sat down he glared at the elder Padgitts as if he truly hated them. Then he braced himself for what was about to come.

Cross-examining such a guilty criminal is a prosecutor's dream. Ernie deliberately walked to the exhibit table and lifted Da

"Where'd you buy this shirt, Mr. Padgitt?"

Da

"You didn't steal it, did you?" Ernie roared at him.

"I did not."

"Then answer my question, and please try to remember you're under oath. Where did you buy this shirt?" As Ernie talked he held the shirt in front of him with his fingertips, as if the blood was still wet and might spot his suit.

"Over in Tupelo, I think. I really don't remember. It's just a shirt."

"How long have you owned it?"

Another pause. How many men can remember when they bought a particular shirt?

"A year or so, maybe. I don't keep notes on clothes."

"Neither do I," Ernie said. "When you were in bed with Lydia that night, had you removed this shirt?"

A very cautious, "Yes."

"Where was it while the two of you were, uh, having relations?"

"On the floor, I guess."

Now that it was firmly established that the shirt was his, Ernie was free to slaughter the witness. He pulled out the report from the state crime lab, read it to Da

On to Rhoda's bloodstains. If he was in bed with Lydia, with the shirt on the floor, how in the world did Rhoda's blood find its way from her bedroom to Lydia's, a half mile away?

It was a conspiracy, Da

Perhaps no expert was found because no expert could reach the ridiculous conclusions Padgitt wanted.

Same for the semen. If Da

At twelve-thirty, Lucien stood and suggested a break for lunch. "I'm not done!" Ernie yelled across the courtroom. He wanted to finish the a

"Continue," Judge Loopus said, and Ernie suddenly shouted at Padgitt, "What did you do with the knife?"

The question startled everyone, especially the witness, who jerked backward and quickly said, "I, uh,—" then went silent.

"You what! Come on, Mr. Padgitt; tell us what you did with the knife, the murder weapon."

Da

"The knife you used on Rhoda Kassellaw."

"It wasn't me."

Like a slow and cruel executioner, Ernie took a long pause and huddled with Hank Hooten again. He then picked up the autopsy report and asked Da

And the piece of his skin found under her fingernail, that was part of the conspiracy? And his own semen? And on and on; Ernie hammered away. Occasionally, Lucien would glance over his shoulder at Da

Da

Ernie tossed his legal pad on his table and appeared ready for lunch, finally. He jammed both hands into his front pockets, glared at the witness, and said, "Under oath, you're telling this jury you didn't rape and murder Rhoda Kassellaw?"

"I didn't do it."

"You didn't follow her home from the state line that Saturday night?"

"No."

"You didn't sneak in her patio door?"

"No."

"And hide in her closet until she put her children to bed?"

"No."

"And you didn't attack her when she came in to put on her night clothes?"

"No."

Lucien stood and said angrily, "Objection, Your Honor, Mr. Gaddis is testifying here."

"Overruled!" Loopus snapped at the defense table. The Judge wanted a fair trial. To counteract all the lying done by the defense, the prosecution was being allowed considerable freedom in describing the murder scene.

"You didn't blindfold her with a scarf?"

Padgitt was continually shaking his head as the narrative approached its climax.

"And cut off her panties with your knife?"

"No."

"And you didn't rape her in her own bed, with her two little children asleep not far away?" "I did not."

"And you didn't wake them with your noise?"

"No."

Ernie walked as close to the witness chair as the Judge would allow, and he looked sadly at his jury. Then he turned to Da

"I don't know."

"And they found you on top of her, didn't they?"

"I wasn't there."

"Rhoda heard their voices, didn't she? Did they yell at you, beg you to get off?"

"I wasn't there."

"And Rhoda did what any mother would do—she yelled for them to run, didn't she, Mr. Padgitt?"