By Phillip M. Margolin
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Go ahead, Miss Harwood," Knapp said. " Harwood's head hung down, her shoulders hunched and she folded her hands in her lap. " "He broke my ribs once, and he closed... closed my eye. " Harwood's voice was barely above a whisper. " Knapp asked. "Yes, sir. " "They wouldn't let him take me home. " "Now, Mr. " "Protection. He was who I was stayin' with before I took up with Vince. He don't... " "Let's move to the day that you killed Mr. Phillips. " "Yes, sir. I'd been at John John's for about two weeks and I guess I was starting to feel safe, so I went out for a walk.
Wouldn't that be worth fifteen thousand dollars? " Packard's jaw trembled. "Charlie, you have to be reasonable," he begged. "I don't have fifteen thousand extra dollars. You paid that retainer over a year ago. It's gone now. How about something less? What about three? Three thousand? " Packard knew he could not afford to pay the money. His rent was due, there were car payments. Then he thought about the price he would pay if he could be assured that Charlie Deems would never slip into his room at night and spirit him away to a twisted world of torture and pain.
Any more witnesses, Mr. " Judge Dial asked Marie Harwood's lawyer. Carl Knapp uncoiled dramatically from his chair and cast a disdainful look at Griffen. " The slender waif seated beside Knapp at the defense table was barely over five feet tall. Her pale, freckled face and loose blond hair made her look childlike, and the ill-fitting dress made her look pathetic. She struck Tracy as being the type of person a jury would have a hard time convicting of murder. Harwood trembled when she took the witness stand, and Tracy could barely hear her name when Harwood stated it for the record.