“Deputy Brooks, you are trained to arrest dangerous people.”
“Yes.”
“Trained in firearms.”
“Yes.”
“Defensive tactics.”
“Yes.”
“Surveillance.”
“Yes.”
“So you were significantly more capable of controlling the confrontation than an average homeowner.”
“Perhaps.”
“Yet you deliberately allowed Mr. Mercer to believe you were an ordinary resident.”
I looked at him.
“I was an ordinary resident.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I know what you're trying to mean.”
The judge looked over her glasses.
Counsel changed wording.
“You did not immediately disclose federal employment.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“He did not ask.”
“He identified himself as an officer.”
“Incorrectly.”
“But you suspected something was wrong.”
“Yes.”
“So instead of saying, ‘I am a deputy U.S. marshal,’ you questioned him.”
“Yes.”
“Would you agree you escalated the encounter?”
“No.”
“You challenged his authority.”
“I asked what authority he had.”
“Repeatedly.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because he repeatedly failed to answer.”
Some jurors shifted.
Defense counsel continued.
“When he grabbed you, you pulled away.”
“I rotated my arm out of his grip.”
“Resistance.”
“No.”
“Physical resistance.”
“To an unlawful detention by a private citizen pretending to be police.”
Counsel frowned.
“You didn't know all of that at the time.”
“I knew he had no identifiable agency.”
“No certification he would provide.”
“No marked unit.”
“No lawful basis.”
“And Gloria Whitcomb giving him direct commands.”
I leaned slightly toward the microphone.
“I knew enough.”
Defense tried another direction.
“When he produced a firearm, why didn't you disarm him?”
The courtroom changed.
The prosecutor objected.
Judge allowed limited answer.
I looked toward the attorney.
“My daughter was six feet away.”
“Yet you believe you could have disarmed him?”
“I believe attempting it could have caused the weapon to discharge.”
“So you were afraid.”
“Yes.”
That answer surprised him.
“Despite your training.”
“Yes.”
“You were afraid of Mr. Mercer?”
“I was afraid my eleven-year-old daughter would watch somebody get shot.”
The attorney paused.
No useful follow-up existed.
Then:
“When you displayed your federal credentials, Mr. Mercer lowered the weapon.”
“Yes.”
“So your badge resolved the threat.”
“No.”
He frowned.
“No?”
“It influenced his behavior.”
“The threat became safer.”
“But my badge did not retroactively make his earlier conduct wrong.”
“It was already wrong.”
The prosecutor looked down.
Gloria looked at me.
For the first time since the driveway, our eyes met.
No pearls that day.
No white pantsuit.
Dark navy.
Smaller somehow.
I felt no satisfaction.
Only distance.
Evan testified for almost seven hours.
He cried twice.
Once when describing his mother.
Once when prosecutors displayed his forged signature beside the real one.
Defense attacked him as a coward seeking immunity.
Evan agreed he had been cowardly.
That honesty left little to attack.
Then Evelyn Price testified.
She described losing her home.