“You’re not a police investigator?”
“No.”
“You could have misunderstood situations.”
“Of course.”
“Then why should the jury trust your notes?”
Marjorie looked toward them. “They shouldn’t trust them because I wrote them.”
She paused. “They should compare them with whatever else exists.”
Isaiah almost smiled.
That was exactly right.
Malik Pearson testified about his encounter. He did not remember every word from three years earlier.
He said so.
When he did remember, he was precise.
“I asked why he was stopping me.”
“What happened next?”
“He said I had attitude.”
“Did you step toward him?”
“No.”
“Did you clench your fists?”
“No.”
The prosecutor played bakery footage.
Malik watched himself standing beside the wall. For several seconds he looked younger than Isaiah remembered from the interview file.
“What do you feel watching that?” the prosecutor asked.
The defense objected. Sustained.
The emotional question was irrelevant to guilt.
Isaiah appreciated the ruling.
His own testimony lasted nearly five hours. He described the stop without using his professional expertise unless asked.
The prosecutor asked what he believed when Voss ordered him out of the vehicle. “That I needed to comply safely.”
“When he searched the car?”
“That I needed to state nonconsent clearly.”
“When he slapped you?”
Isaiah paused. “I thought about not moving.”
The prosecutor asked why.
“Because the officer had already interpreted questions as hostility.”
“I did not want my physical reaction to become his explanation.”
On cross-examination, Voss’s attorney emphasized Isaiah’s extensive policing background. “You knew exactly how to create a record, correct?”
“Yes.”
“You deliberately pulled over where cameras existed.”
“Yes.”
“You narrated the officer’s conduct for witnesses.”
“Yes.”
“You knew body-camera policy.”
“Yes.”
“You knew your identity would eventually be discovered.”
“Yes.”
The attorney turned toward the jury. “So this was hardly an ordinary motorist.”
Isaiah looked at him. “My rights were ordinary.”
The courtroom became silent.