"That's not my responsibility."
Marcus walked to his briefcase and removed the final packet. Officer Williams gripped the arms of the witness chair as soon as he saw it.
"Officer Williams, I would like to enter bank records showing monthly payments of five hundred dollars from Jimmy Davis to your personal checking account over the past three years. The payments total eighteen thousand dollars and are labeled 'security consulting.' What services did you provide for that money?"
The courtroom erupted in shocked voices. Judge Morrison struck his gavel repeatedly while reporters wrote furiously and spectators turned toward one another in disbelief. Richardson rose and objected, but the records had already been displayed and the damage was done.
Officer Williams sat frozen. His mouth opened, then closed. "I—I can't. Those payments were legitimate."
"For what services?" Marcus asked.
"Security advice."
"What advice specifically?"
The silence stretched for nearly half a minute. Finally, Officer Williams lowered his eyes and said, "I want to speak to my attorney."
The courtroom buzzed with tension as Judge Morrison called for order. Officer Williams slumped in the witness chair, his twenty-year career dissolving in front of the jury. At the prosecution table, Richardson shuffled papers as if an answer might be hidden among them.