“An oversight,” says Coop.

Nelson gives him a look, like Coop has just told him the Easter Bunny is under subpoena, coming on next. The prosecutor is shaking his head. As distasteful as this is, he cannot leave it unfinished. Having opened this Pandora’s box, he must now explore it fully, or he knows I will do it for him. Nelson retreats to the counsel table and Meeks for a little damage assessment.

“Can we go off the record, Your Honor?”

Acosta directs it.

Meeks and Nelson are whispering, but voices carry. Meeks is furious, embarrassed before his boss, that in his preparation of the case he has not ferreted out this surprise. There are a lot of single-syllable expletives here. It seems Meeks is of the opinion that Cooper’s testimony should be reported on little squares of tissue paper and stored on a cardboard roll in the men’s room. It is, in short, a lie, he says. In two minutes of consultation, this, it seems, is the only consensus they form. Nelson is back to the witness, back on the record.

“And what did you deduce from these strap marks that were not in your report?”

“That the victim was moved with the use of a small dolly, perhaps a light furniture dolly. The kind that uses straps with a ratcheted winch to tighten them.”

“A dolly?” Nelson’s nodding. There is an amused assent in his expression, the sort that parents normally reserve for a child’s tale of fantasy. He flashes this at the jury. An invitation for them to join him on this flight of fancy.

“Yes, a dolly such as this, laid on the ground or the floor, with the body rolled onto it, would provide leverage. It would allow a person to lift many times their own weight,” says Coop.

It’s a delicate matter for the state not to destroy their own witness. In pursuing too vigorously an accomplice the police have yet to identify, Nelson runs the risk of so discrediting Cooper that he loses this defendant, the proverbial bird in the hand.

“I see, and you think that the defendant might have moved the body on such a dolly?”

“It’s possible,” he says. “With a carpet or something tied around the frame of the dolly, to mask the body from view.”

“A carpet.” Nelson is nodding again. His disbelief grows with each embellishment of this fiction.

“You wouldn’t want to go out on the street with a body strapped to a dolly and nothing covering it,” says Coop, “now would you?”

“Not me,” says Nelson. There’s laughter from the audience, a few smiles in the jury box.

Nelson’s shaking his head, retreating to his counsel table. He’s laughing mildly, putting the face of good nature on this disaster. Taking the jury into his confidence. Treating this last bit by Cooper like an inside joke, a bit of comic relief, in a day filled with grisly details of murder. It is the only avenue of escape he has, and Nelson plays it like a master.

“Nothing more of this witness,” he says.

“Mr. Madriani?”

I consider the pros and cons, the benefits and detriments of taking on Coop when he is in one of these moods. It’s hard to say what the jury is thinking at this point, how badly Coop’s credibility may have been harmed. In trying to put a torpedo in the theory of conspiracy, he has, I believe, helped Talia’s case considerably, though this, I’m sure, was never his intent. I will be glad for little favors, glad to leave well enough alone.

“No questions, Your Honor.”

Cooper smiles at me from the stand as he gets down. He will not be smiling after the hiding he’s sure to get from Nelson. As he leaves the courtroom, Meeks follows him down the aisle at a safe distance, like he’s headed for a drink or the men’s room. I know there will be a lot of angry words in the corridor, verbal pushing and shoving between Meeks and Cooper. This was a noble act by a friend, but nonetheless reckless. His career, I think, may be harmed beyond measure.

They call Matt Hazeltine next.

This does not go well for us. It takes Nelson exactly five questions, and the prenuptial agreement signed by Ben and Talia is in evidence. It is clear that Nelson and Meeks have spent some time with this witness since the preliminary hearing.

The equivocation that marked Hazeltine’s earlier testimony is gone. They have wrung every ounce of gentlemanly conduct from his demeanor. I suspect that the Greek has had something to do with this.

Hazeltine is now certain of the reason for Ben’s insistence on this contract. He doesn’t flinch with the mention of the “gold-digger’s covenant,” but embraces it, looking at Talia as if this term fits her exactly. There are a few flourishes here, remembered conversations between the witness and Ben, that place this contract in a new light, testimony not offered during the prelim. There is nothing solid here, nothing that might be attacked directly on cross, just implications and innuendos that Ben did not entirely trust his wife.

Nelson lays heavily on the lawyer’s interpretation of this agreement.

“The fact,” says Hazeltine, “is that Talia stood to be stripped of everything from the marriage, disinherited, unless she was lawfully married to Ben Potter at the time of his death.”

It is one of those sobering moments in a trial, an evidentiary watershed recognized by the jury. The brighter lights among them, including Robert Rath, realize that they have just been handed a major piece of the puzzle, part of the motive for murder.

With this Nelson completes his questioning of the witness, and I am invited to partake.

“Mr. Hazeltine, in addition to the prenuptial agreement, did you prepare a will for Ben Potter?”

“I did,” he says.

“And under the terms of that will, in the event that Mrs. Potter were to be somehow disqualified from inheriting, was their another heir named?”

“I don’t think I understand your question.” Hazeltine is evading the issue, protecting Skarpellos.

“I’m going to object to this line of questioning. Your Honor, on grounds of relevance.” Nelson is up at his table.

“Your Honor, we’ve heard extensive testimony regarding the victim’s testamentary intentions,” I tell the court. “The state has produced evidence to the effect that if my client was not married to the victim at the time of his death, she stood to be disinherited, to lose everything from the marriage. The inference is clear. The state is trying to make a case that she killed her husband to secure her rights of inheritance. Under the circumstances, we have every right to explore the victim’s intentions in these regards, to determine if there were others who stood to gain from his death, who might profit if my client is convicted.”

“Sustained,” says Acosta.

I look at him, stunned. It is not a good move by a trial lawyer, before a jury. But I cannot control myself.

“Your Honor. This is evidence that was readily admitted in the preliminary hearing, over just this very objection. I have a transcript, here, Your Honor.”

“I can’t account for the errors of the municipal court,” he says. “That was there; this is here. The objection is sustained. Now move on to other matters, or sit down.”

Unless I can establish the link showing that the Greek stood to benefit from the death of his partner and the conviction of Talia, a vital element will be missing from my case. Acosta will have broken my back.

“Your Honor, this is critical evidence.”

All the more pleasure. He looks at me and smiles, a mean Mediterranean sneer.

“Move on, Mr. Madriani.”

“I want this part of the record certified for appeal,” I tell the court reporter.

“Mr. Madriani, move on or I will hold you in contempt.”

Nelson has a look of distaste about him, the appearance of a man who likes to win, but not like this. He’s not making eye contact, with the court or with me. Instead he’s casting about, playing with scraps of paper on the counsel table. But a good lawyer, he quietly takes what is given to him.