The prosecutor continued, filling the silence.
“A few moments ago you said you turned around, saw your wallet in his hand, concluded it was a robbery, and acted accordingly. But apparently you had your finger so tightly on the trigger of that gun that you fired before you had even turned to face Mr. Velez. Now, I know it was not your intention to try to hurt the building you were walking past. So I can only figure you were quite fearful and all too ready to defend yourself.”
“Yes,” she said. Tentatively. As if it could be a trap. “I was.”
“Why?”
“Why?”
“Yes, why. Why were you so afraid? Why had you already concluded it was time to fire the gun in your own defense?”
“I told you. I thought it was a robbery.”
“But we’ve just concluded that you had no reason to think that yet.”
“Of course I did. He was coming closer to me. He was reaching out a hand. He was about to touch me.”
“How did you know?”
“That he was reaching out?”
“Yes.”
“I turned my head partway and saw it out of the corner of my eye. Anyway, what difference does it make what exactly I thought he was going to do in the way of a crime against me? I just knew I didn’t want it, whatever it was.”
She stopped as if out of breath. She had clearly put a great deal of energy and tension into those words. Raymond was aware of himself sitting half off the wooden bench. He could feel the edge of it pressing into his buttocks.
“I see,” the attorney said. “So let’s back up a little. Back when you first took the gun out of your purse . . . what was Mr. Velez doing wrong then?”
A freighted pause.
“Wrong?” she asked. “I don’t understand the question.”
“You said you fired the gun because he was reaching out.”
“Yes.”
“So when you took the gun out of your purse . . . what was he doing?”
“Just . . . walking.”
“So why did you take out your gun?”
“He was getting closer.”
“You mean he walked faster than you did.”
“Yes, but . . . something felt threatening about it.”
“What?”
“I don’t know if I can explain it.”
“Well, I hope you can, Ms. Hatfield. Because I don’t think we live in a society where you get to shoot a man dead without being able to explain what he did to make you feel threatened. At least, I hope we don’t.”
“Objection, Your Honor,” the defense attorney said, struggling to his feet. “Badgering the witness.”
“Overruled. It’s a fair question, and the witness needs to answer it.”
Silence in the court. For maybe the count of five.
“I’m a good judge of character. I can feel in my gut when something’s wrong.”
“If that’s true, Ms. Hatfield, then this incident is a terrible example. I mean, you couldn’t use this case to prove it. Mr. Velez was trying to return a dropped item. You just about couldn’t have been more wrong about him. Your judgment of his character couldn’t have fallen further from the truth. But let’s just go with this for a minute. Someone is behind you in the street. You judge their motive. Based on what?”
A stunned silence.
“The defendant will answer the question,” the judge said.
“I don’t know, really. It’s just a feeling.”
“Okay. A feeling. I want to go a little deeper into these feelings. If I was walking behind you on the street, would you judge me a threat?”
“I don’t know. No. Maybe.”
“That’s a lot of answers, Ms. Hatfield. You told the court you were good at this.”
“On the one hand, you’re a man. But you obviously have plenty of money.”
“Interesting. So a richer person is less of a threat?”
“Don’t twist my words.”
“I think I was paraphrasing you accurately.”
“I only meant . . . why would you need to rob me? You have money.”
“So poor people steal and rich people don’t?”
“I didn’t say that. I just said you’d have no need to steal.”
“So if people who have plenty of money aren’t interested in stealing any more money, then I’m curious as to what’s in all those offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands.”
“Objection, Your Honor.”
“Overruled,” the judge said. “The defendant opened this line of questioning herself when she claimed she could correctly assess a threat.”