“Did Mr. Woodson use that word? He called the victims ‘niggers’?”

“Yeah, he said that.”

I hesitated as I worked on the phrasing of the next question. I knew Vincent was waiting to object if I gave him the opening. I could not ask Torrance to interpret. I couldn’t use the word “why” when it came to Woodson’s meaning or motivation. That was objectionable.

“Mr. Torrance, in the black community the word ‘nigger’ could mean different things, could it not?”

“ ’Spose.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes.”

“The defendant is African-American, correct?”

Torrance laughed.

“Looks like it to me.”

“As are you, correct, sir?”

Torrance started to laugh again.

“Since I was born,” he said.

The judge tapped his gavel once and looked at me.

“Mr. Haller, is this really necessary?”

“I apologize, Your Honor.”

“Please move on.”

“Mr. Torrance, when Mr. Woodson used that word, as you say he did, did it shock you?”

Torrance rubbed his chin as he thought about the question. Then he shook his head.

“Not really.”

“Why weren’t you shocked, Mr. Torrance?”

“I guess it’s ’cause I hear it all a’ time, man.”

“From other black men?”

“That’s right. I heard it from white folks, too.”

“Well, when fellow black men use that word, like you say Mr. Woodson did, who are they talking about?”

Vincent objected, saying that Torrance could not speak for what other men were talking about. Companioni sustained the objection and I took a moment to rework the path to the answer I wanted.

“Okay, Mr. Torrance,” I finally said. “Let’s talk only about you, then, okay? Do you use that word on occasion?”

“I think I have.”

“All right, and when you have used it, who were you refer-ring to?”

Torrance shrugged.

“Other fellas.”

“Other black men?”

“That’s right.”

“Have you ever on occasion referred to white men as niggers?”

Torrance shook his head.

“No.”

“Okay, so then, what did you take the meaning to be when Barnett Woodson described the two men who were dumped in the reservoir as niggers?”

Vincent moved in his seat, going through the body language of making an objection but not verbally following through with it. He must have known it would be useless. I had led Torrance down the path and he was mine.

Torrance answered the question.

“I took it that they were black and he killed ’em both.”

Now Vincent’s body language changed again. He sank a little bit in his seat because he knew his gamble in putting a jailhouse snitch on the witness stand had just come up snake eyes.

I looked up at Judge Companioni. He knew what was coming as well.

“Your Honor, may I approach the witness?”

“You may,” the judge said.

I walked to the witness stand and put the file down in front of Torrance. It was legal size, well worn and faded orange — a color used by county jailers to denote private legal documents that an inmate is authorized to possess.