Call your next witness" came the directive from the judge presiding over the trial in which I was the prosecutor. On the previous day, a young mother had testified that she had been raped at knifepoint in her home by the defendant. I didn't know the name of my next witness or if the witness even existed, but I did know that, in order to prosecute the case successfully, I had to present the one witness who could testify that when he encountered the defendant moments after the crime, he took a knife from him. The knife was important to proving a necessary element of the crime, and the rules of evidence required that I produce the witness who could prove that the knife had been taken from the defendant. The best information I had regarding this witness was that he may have been a motorcycle policeman and that, at one time, he may have lived in the area where the crime occurred.
I had to find the one key witness.
The first day of trial had been a disaster, full of witness and evidentiary problems. Nothing seemed to be going according to plan. Because of the tremendous caseload I carried as an assistant district attorney, I never had time to prepare my cases as fully as I would have liked to. This case was no exception. Now, as we recessed at the end of the first day, I felt that the case was in trouble and that I was responsible for what seemed bound to become a travesty of justice.
