Vernon God Little

The prosecutor waits for it all to sink in. Then he asks, 'So where did you next see this person?'

'In Houston.'

'Did he reside in Houston, or in Harris County somewhere?'

'No. He was on his way to, like – Mexico.'

'From where?'

'Martirio.'

The prosecutor shoots a meaningful glare at the jury. 'Martirio to Mexico via Houston is quite a detour.'

'Yeah, like, I couldn't believe it, he just came to see me, and he confessed to all this stuff and whatever…'

'And then what happened?'

'My cousin turned up, and he ran away.'

Taylor drops her head now, and everybody holds their breath, in case she cries or something. She doesn't though. The prosecutor waits till he's sure she ain't, then he lets go the cannonball. 'Do you see that person in the courtroom?'

Taylor doesn't lift her head, she just points at my cage. I lower my face to try and snag her gaze, but it's glued to her shoes. The prosecutor tightens his lips, and launches himself, business-like, into nailing the rest of my cross.

'Let the record show that the witness has identified the defendant, Vernon Gregory Little. Ms Figueroa, you will have heard the defense claim that Vernon Little was in Mexico at the time of the most recent murders. They say you knew he was there. Did you know he was there?'

'Well, like – he was there when I arrived.'

'How long can you definitely say the defendant was in Mexico?'

'Three hours maybe, tops.'

'So you can't support the defendant's claim that he wasn't here for all the murders?'

'I guess not.'

The prosecutor moves to the witness box, rests one arm on the railing, and smiles caringly at Taylor. 'It's nearly over,' he says softly. 'Just tell us, in your own time – what transpired during those hours in Mexico?'

Taylor stiffens. She takes a breath. 'He tried to, like – make love to me.'

'Was this when he confessed to the murders?'

'Uh-huh.'

Breath is intaken across the room, across the world, probably, followed by a buzz of murmurs. My soul screams out with the sting of it, but my attorney nails me quiet with an eye. The green buzzer in my cage starts to look inviting as, ever so slowly, the room, the cameras, and the world, turn to study me in greater detail. The prosecutor just smiles, moves to his table, and presses a button on a machine there.

'Yeah,' my voice scratches through the court. 'I did it for you.' It plays over and over. 'I did it for you, for you, for you. I did it.'

Brian puts on a real hooshy face for the cross-examination. He puts his hands in his pockets, and stands in front of Taylor, like her dad or something. He just stares at her, as if what she's about to say is the dumbest excuse he ever heard. Her eyes flick down a little, then widen like, 'What?'

'You saw the defendant for three hours in Mexico?'

'Uh-huh.'

'So, as far as you're concerned, he could've been anywhere in the world, outside those three hours?'

'I guess so.'

'Why did Vernon Little come to meet you in Mexico?'

Taylor rolls her eyes – a girl's hoosh. 'Well, to have sex, or confess, or whatever.'

'You paid him to have sex with you?'

Taylor recoils. 'No way!'

'So no money changed hands between you that day?'

'No, well like…'

'Yes or no answer, please.'

'See, but…'

'Yes. Or no.'

'Yes.'

'So you gave Vernon Little some money – three hundred dollars, in fact.' Brian turns to the gallery, raises one eyebrow. 'Darned boy must be good.' A chuckle scurries through the back.

'Objection!' barks the prosecutor.

'Sustained,' says the judge.

Brian throws me a bitty wink, then turns back to Taylor with his most fatherly stare. 'Did Vernon Little know you would be in Mexico that day?'

'See – but, like…'

'You surprised him, didn't you? You used a cash offer to entice him – a confused, innocent, desperate teenager – to a place where you appeared, out of the blue. Is that the truth?'

Taylor 's mouth flaps emptily for a second. 'Yeah, but I was told…'

My attorney raises his hand to her, then folds his arms. 'I put it to you that you were employed to enact this stunt. You were employed to entrap the defendant, not by the police, and not necessarily with cash, but lured with promises of celebrity by the man behind this entire charade.'

She just stares at Brian.

'Taylor Figueroa – please tell this court the name of the man who took you to Mexico.'

'Eulalio Ledesma.'

'No further questions.'

Lally appears at the top of the stairs, dressed all in white. His face is waxy. Angry puckers squirm on each cheek as he grinds his teeth inside. The crowd turn to look at him as he steps down the aisle, into the light. I turn to look at the crowd. You can tell they love him. The prosecutor is first to examine.

'Eulalio Ledesma – you've been in a unique position to observe the defendant, first as a close family friend, and later, I'm sure, as a concerned citizen…'

'Tch, excuse me,' says Lally, 'I have a meeting with the Secretary of State – will this take long?'