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“Sit down, Mr. Jacobson! Now.”
To me, Prentice says, “Please control your client, Ms. Smith.”
I think about asking for a recess. But when Ahearn resumes his questioning, Hennessy has to admit that even though he heard Jacobson threaten to kill Mitch Gates, he wasn’t able to hear what came next. So I don’t want to wait,can’twait—I want my shot at Hennessy as soon as Ahearn sits down.
And I don’t want the jury to get the idea that I somehow need to regroup. Not my style.Neverbeen my style.
As soon as Ahearn says he has no further questions at this time, I turn to Jimmy Cunniff in the front row, tell him what I need. He nods and walks out of the room.
I start walking toward Gus Hennessy.
When I get to him, I lean at the corner of the witness stand, almost awkwardly close to him, elbow near his microphone. I’m up on him, and in his space, and we both know it.
“That must have been some scene,” I say, “your best friend and Mitch Gates going at each other that way.”
“Well,” Hennessy says, “Rob’s not mybestfriend.”
I smile at him, then at the jury. “I can tell.”
“Objection!” Ahearn says.
“Withdrawn.”
Then I ask Hennessy how far he thinks it is from his back deck to the beach.
“I’m not sure I know, I mean, down to the exact yardage.”
I want to kiss him but am sure Ahearn would object to that, too.
“Of course you do, Mr. Hennessy,” I say. “You’re a big deal in the real estate business from here to the Memory Motel in Montauk. You didn’t build your house. I checked when I vetted you out. You bought it. So you know exactly how far it is to the dunes, and then the water after that. And if you were to turn around and sell it, you’d pace the distance off yourself just to refresh your memory. So let me repeat: how far is it from your deck, and that view that you and your wife love the way you do, to the beach?”
He shifts slightly away from me in his seat, as if to create as much space between us as possible. But I’m already moving away from him now, to the middle of the room, facing the jury.
“How far?” I say again.
“Maybe fifty yards, more or less.”
“More, actually.”
“You have no way of knowing that…”
Now I really do want to kiss him. On the lips.
“Sure, I do. I’m a local, Mr. Hennessy. I walk that beach, the one that goes past your house, all the time. And if we all went over there now, we’d surely discover that it’s closer to seventy-five yards.”
I’m making it up. I do walk that part of the beach a lot but have no idea which house belongs to Gus Hennessy. But he doesn’t know that and neither does the jury. And I sound so sincere it’s as if I’m trying to sell him some oceanfront property now, instead of a line of total BS.
“Seriously. I’d have to check.”
“No need. Was my client facing you as they were having this argument, or was Mitch Gates?”
“Mitch was facing me. Rob was facing the water.”
“Shouting at the ocean, so to speak,” I say.
“Objection.”
“Sustained,” Judge Prentice says. “Let’s confine ourselves to asking questions, Ms. Smith. Would that be all right with you?”
