That places the distance between Franklin Pearse and Lauren Wright’s murderer at farther than ten feet but closer than fifty. Next, I introduce into evidence a black hoodie sweatshirt and make a big show of telling the jury that the cops found it in Dana Goodwin’s closet. I have a sweatshirt just like it in mine too. I suspect there’s not a woman in New York City who doesn’t. Still, it’s evidence.

“The hoodie you saw, did it look like this?” I ask, holding it up in front of me like I’m the number-one draft pick of the NBA.

“Yeah. Black hoodie. Like that one.”

“Mr. Pearse, were you able to tell how tall this person was?”

“I think so.”

“Tell us, please.”

“Not too tall. Not real short either, though.”

Time for a little more court theatrics. “Your Honor, we request that Ms. Goodwin stand so that the witness can make an identification.”

Burrows stands with his client without any prompt from Judge Gold. Burrows is a tall man, which is helpful for me and probably not something that occurred to him. He rose most likely out of reflex, something he always does whenever his client stands as a subliminal message to the jury of solidarity. But by doing so this time, he’s going to allow Franklin Pearse to positively ID Dana as the same height as the murderer.

“Drawing your attention to the defendant’s table, was the height of the person you saw similar to the defendant’s, Dana Goodwin?”

“Yeah. Like the lady. Not the man.”

On cross, Burrows establishes that Pearse can’t say that the person he saw—“at a distance in the pitch blackness of night,” as Burrows repeatedly reminds the jury—wasn’t a few inches taller than the defendant.

“Have you met ever met a man named Richard Trofino?” Burrows asks.

“No. Don’t think so, anyways.”

“So the police never asked if you could identify the husband of the woman who was dead?”

“No.”

“Do you know how tall Mr. Trofino is?”

“No.”

“So, you don’t know if he’s approximately the same height as the person you saw—at a distance in the pitch blackness—in the park that night?”

“No.”

“Well, he is,” Burrows says.

My final witness is Richard Trofino.

I begin by expressing my condolences, and Richard nods and says thank you. The background portion takes fifteen minutes, long enough to establish with those jurors who don’t recognize him that he’s a man of power and influence in the city, but short enough to keep him from seeming like a borderline mobster.