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.

“Okay, Mr. Torrance, I have placed before you a file in which Mr. Woodson keeps discovery documents provided to him in jail by his attorneys. I ask you once again if you recognize it.”

“I seen a lotta orange files in high-power. It don’t mean I seen that one.”

“You are saying you never saw Mr. Woodson with his file?”

“I don’t rightly remember.”

“Mr. Torrance, you were with Mr. Woodson in the same module for thirty-two days. You testified he confided in you and confessed to you. Are you saying you never saw him with that file?”

He didn’t answer at first. I had backed him into a no-win corner. I waited. If he continued to claim he had never seen the file, then his claim of a confession from Woodson would be suspect in the eyes of the jury. If he finally conceded that he was familiar with the file, then he opened a big door for me.

“What’m saying is that I seen him with his file but I never looked at what was in it.”

Bang. I had him.

“Then, I’ll ask you to open the file and inspect it.”