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Simple black dress suit, simple black pumps, her hair in a tight bun, and no jewelry other than some plain, pearl studs.
Ari had dressed the same, though she’d always opted for conservative. It didn’t serve her to be a distraction to the jury.
Clearing his throat, Mr. Dominguez leaned forward into the microphone. His guard had sprung back up. “Yes.”
“And what have you purchased there?”
He laughed. “I can’t recount every purchase, Madam Prosecutor.”
A couple of the jurors chuckled more than she liked. It was a bad sign for their likability.
Sloane smiled as if in on the joke. “Of course not. How about this. What kinds of items have you purchased there?”
Mr. Dominguez leaned back in an exaggerated e ort to remember. “Random things I needed inexpensively. A car
battery once. Paint for my brother’s fence. An HDMI cable.”
He paused before leaning forward again. “Is that a crime?”
Refusing to take the bait, Sloane circled in on her point.
“Sir, do you have any employees?”
“What?” He sco ed.
“In your place of employment, are you a supervisor or otherwise in charge of any employees?” She elaborated with enviable grace. “Employees that use computers.”
“Madam, perhaps you weren’t listening earlier. I drive a forklift. One of the few jobs that haven’t been replaced by computers. At least not yet,” he replied, glancing at the jury like a comedian feeding o a warm crowd.
Sloane nodded. “And,
Sir, have you ever purchased a phone at Bargain Depot?”
“A phone? No.”
Ari willed herself not to react. But it was hard enough to keep both her breath steady and her face expressionless.
“Have you ever purchased software designed to monitor a person’s activity while using a computer owned by someone else? Someone like a parent or employer, for example.”
“I don’t think I need to monitor whether the boxes and pallets are going on Facebook during work hours,” he joked.
Sloane moved like a ballerina about to make a death-defying leap across the stage. Stepping away from the podium, she picked up the TV remote. They’d decided to leave it on the table to give Mr. Dominguez a chance to squirm.
As Sloane started the video she’d cued up, Ari watched the man on the stand. He hadn’t lost his arrogance, but that was about to change. Or so she hoped.
After a little technical di culty Ari was almost positive was an act, Sloane opened the first video. Despite the defense attorney’s objections before trial, he hadn’t been able to keep it out. On the massive flat screen situated between the jury box and the witness stand, the video opened on a still. A man in a neon orange t-shirt was frozen mid-stride as he entered the big-box discount store.
“Mr. Dominguez, do you recognize this person?” Sloane asked, using a laser pointer to circle the man’s face. It was unnecessary given he was the only person on the screen in 4k definition.
“That’s me,” he replied, unfazed.
“And what’s this?” she asked, circling the large, prominent logo.
“That’s the name of the place I work,” he replied, his eyes dimming.
“How many people wear a shirt like this, sir?”
The muscle in his jaw twitched.
