Chapter 92
I WATCHED AS Caine turned the witness over to assistant district attorney Dexter Lewis, who sneered for the jury’s benefit. Then he walked over to the witness stand, kept one hand on his hip, his body language saying, This witness is full of crap.
Sutter cradled his bad arm. Looked to me like he was bracing himself for a grilling.
Lewis said, “That’s an interesting story, Mr. Sutter. So, if I understand you, you lied when you testified last week saying you didn’t see Mr. Del Rio leave Vicky’s house. Is that right?”
“Yeah, obviously. I lied.”
“And so now the court is supposed to believe you when you say Mr. Del Rio didn’t assault Ms. Carmody, that you did it. How do we know Mr. Del Rio didn’t pay you to say this?”
“Why would I confess to assaulting Vicky if I didn’t do it? She could die and I could get nailed for murder. No, I’m trying to get out from under this. My life is in danger. My wife’s life is in danger. My six-year-old girl is in danger too.
“All I’ve got going for the Sutter family is that I know who paid for a hit on Vicky. That’s worth something.”
Lewis shook his head, skeptical. He was flustered, expressing his disbelief not like an attorney but like a man on the street. He said to Sutter, “And so you—what? Went to the cops and turned yourself in?”
“Yeah, as a matter of fact, that’s what I did.”
Caine stood, said, “Your Honor, Mr. Sutter is already under arrest for the assault on Ms. Carmody. The defense moves that the charges against Mr. Del Rio be dismissed and that he be released immediately.”
“Wait just a minute,” Lewis said. “The jury has heard the case. They get to decide if Mr. Del Rio committed the crime, despite Mr. Sutter’s highly suspicious, uncorroborated testimony.”
It was clear that Dexter Lewis was hanging on to whatever was still within his grasp. When he’d woken up this morning, he had a conviction in the bag. Lewis did not want Del Rio to walk, guilty or not.
Judge Johnson said, “As it happens, I’ve got some questions, Mr. Sutter. I want to be convinced you were really there. What was Ms. Carmody wearing when you came into her house?”
Sutter said, “Blue-striped shirt, short sleeves, khaki pants, flat shoes. She had a chicken in the oven, and a couple of empty beer bottles were on the kitchen table. All of that can be checked with the cops. Oh, and she was watching Dr. Phil.”
“And what did you say and do?”
“Okay. Like I said, I shoved her inside. She said, ‘Brad, what are you doing? What do you want?’ I punched her in the face. She staggered backward, got into the bedroom, tried to close the door. I pushed it in and I hit her again. I had no choice. It was either her or me and my family.”
No one stopped him, so Sutter went on.
“She kept calling out, ‘Don’t do this, Brad. Stop,’ and then she called, ‘Rick.’ Like she wanted him to save her. I picked a lamp up off the table, a blue one, about this big. And I hit her with it. She put up her arm, but I just kept beating her until she didn’t move anymore.”
Sutter was coughing and then crying. No one asked him if he needed a minute. No one offered him a tissue. In a while, he stopped sobbing and said, “You believe me now, Your Honor? I did it. And I want protection from the guy who put me up to it.”
The judge sighed, fixed her headband, clasped her hands in front of her. I thought she looked disgusted, like now, she’d heard everything.
She asked the jury’s indulgence and then had them return to their room. The courtroom buzzed, and the judge called for order, several times.
When she had as much silence as she could reasonably expect, she said, “Mr. Lewis? Based on Mr. Sutter’s testimony, you may have the wrong man on trial. What do you wish to do?”