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“I’ve given you ample time, Mr. Alkins,” Judge Shaw said. He instructed the jury to disregard all of Kelly Moore’s testimony. The jury would not be able to draw on anything she said when she took the witness stand earlier in the trial. All of her testimony would be erased, as if she’d never said a word.
The courtroom was hushed as Quinn asked the judge if he could make one further request. He was one chess move away from winning the case. “Your Honor, in light of your decision to strike Miss Moore’s testimony from the record, I ask that this case be dismissed, with prejudice, due to insufficient evidence.”
“Mr. Alkins, I believe Mr. Quinn has a strong argument. Do you have anything to say?” Judge Shaw leaned forward into his microphone.
“Your Honor,” said Alkins, standing up. “I would like to recall a witness before you consider the defense’s request.”
“You have already rested your case,” snapped Judge Shaw. “You can’t go calling witnesses now.”
“The witness that I’d like to call was a witness for the defense. Mr. Quinn has not yet rested the defense’s case.”
“Who would you like to recall, Mr. Alkins?” huffed Judge Shaw.
“I would like to recall Mr. Vince Knox.”
A hum rippled across the courtroom. They all remembered Vince Knox as the surly character witness, his face and neck disfigured by tattoos and healed gashes from switchblade attacks. He’d testified to Scott Blair’s heroism for saving the life of a drowning boy.
“Mr. Alkins, why are you wasting the court’s time by bringing a character witness for the defense back to the stand?” the judge asked impatiently.
“I believe that Mr. Knox may have information that is of material value to this case, beyond his testimony as a character witness for the defendant.”
“I’ll allow it,” said Judge Shaw, looking anything but happy about the direction the trial was taking. “You’re on razor-thin ice, Mr. Alkins. I suggest you get to the point with this witness. In record time.”
Dale Quinn leaned toward Scott Blair and whispered in his ear. Scott shrugged. It was obvious to Rachel that Quinn had asked his client if he knew what Mitch Alkins might want to extract from Vince Knox, of all people.
Trying to buy time, Quinn asked Judge Shaw for a half-day adjournment to prepare for the witness. Judge Shaw ruled it out. He pointed out curtly that the witness was in fact a defense witness being recalled to the stand and Quinn had already had ample time to prepare. Quinn then tried for a brief recess to confer with his client.
“No,” intoned Judge Shaw, as if he were talking to a preschooler nagging for a restroom break. “You may not have a short recess. We have just started for the day. Bailiff, bring in the witness.”
The courtroom doors opened to let Vince Knox into the courtroom. He wasn’t in the borrowed suit he’d worn the last time he’d testified. This time he wore neatly pressed denim work pants and a worn work shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
The courtroom artist drew Vince Knox as the judge reminded him that he was still under oath. The good side of his face was weathered and ruddy from the outdoors. The other side had puckered knife scars, one of which made his eye droop. This time he made no effort to cover up his neck tattoos under his shirt collar.
“Your name is Vince Knox, is that correct?” Alkins asked.
“Yes, sir. It is.”
“You were also known by another name in the past. What was it?”
“I used to be called Bobby. Bobby Green,” said the witness. A frisson of surprise ran through the courtroom, but the witness seemed oblivious as he waited for Alkins’s next question.
“Why did you change your name, Mr. Knox?” Alkins asked.
“A friend of mine once told me that if you change your name, you change your luck. I decided I’d come back here with a new name. Start a new chapter. Neapolis is where I grew up. I’ve alwaysloved it here: the ocean, the birds. It’s where I want to live out the rest of my life.”
As the witness spoke, Quinn turned around and gave Greg Blair a withering look before whispering into the ear of an associate, who immediately rushed out of the courtroom. Rachel suspected the junior lawyer had gone to collect dirt on Vince Knox’s past, when he was known as Bobby Green, to give Quinn ammunition for his redirect.
Alkins asked Knox where he had been on the night when Kelly Moore was raped. He explained that he’d been living in one of the boat sheds. “It was more comfortable than sleeping in my car. Also there’s toilet and shower facilities on the beach, and a barbecue that takes quarters. It’s too cold to stay there over the winter,” Knox said. “But I was there when that girl was hurt.”
“What happened that night?” Alkins asked.
“I was in the boat shed trying to sleep. The wind howls when it blows into that rickety old shed and I’m a deep sleeper, so for a long while I didn’t know that anyone else was there. Later in the night, I came out to pee and I found a half-naked girl lying on the sand. At first I thought she was dead, because she didn’t move and her eyes were closed, but then she made a whining sound. Like an injured animal. I realized that she was awake, but she wasn’t responsive. It looked to me like she was drugged, or delirious. She was in obvious pain, but not so much physical. More emotional. It’s hard to explain.”
“Did the girl say anything to you?” Alkins asked.
“I don’t think she realized that I was there. She kept whimpering and saying things like, ‘Let me go. Let me go.’”
Alkins showed Knox a series of photos of teenage girls and asked him to identify the girl he’d seen on the beach that night. He immediately picked out the photograph of Kelly Moore.
