“Your Honor, may I swear?” I asked the presiding judge.
“You may,” he responded.
Holding a pen in my hand as if it were a pocket knife, “If I said, ‘bitch, I’ll cut you!’ Would you shoot me?!” I bellowed to the uniformed police officer on the witness stand. Slumping in her chair, “yes,” she mumbled. “I have no further questions.” Having shredded the State’s witness, I stode back to my client, seated at counsel’s table.
That cross-examination earned me my nicknames of “the train” and “the bull” in law school. Admittedly, the judge was only a former judge and practicing attorney, and the witness was a student and police officer. It was one of many mock trials I would work on in law school.
Of course, I spent years perfecting this craft, both as a cross-examiner and as a trial attorney. I subscribe to the practice that the best defense is still a great offense. Who was on trial? The investigating officers, who conducted a perfunctory investigation, the “victim,” who attempted to stab my client, everyone but the man sitting next to the defense attorney, my client. How does a young lawyer become skilled?
