written by Julia

"Will the defendant please rise, to hear the charges?" The judge motioned for the accused to stand, and squinted through his glasses. Judge McAllen surveyed the court coolly, and glanced at the formalities he knew by heart. "The defendant, James Paul McCartney, is charged by the state of New York for second degree murder." The judge glanced up at him. Paul’s shoulders sagged, as if a huge force were upon him. "Do you understand the charges?"

"Yessir," came a weak response. The victim’s mother-in-law snorted.

"And finally, do you understand your rights?" Paul nodded silently.

"Yes or no?"

"Yes." He breathed. A single tear escaped his eye, and rolled down his cheek. He brushed it off with his right sleeve.

"Then we shall proceed with the trial. Now, you may plead not guilty, guilty, or no contest. Which do you choose?" Paul’s lawyer whispered in his ear, and he nodded.

"Mr. McCartney pleads not guilty, your honor." The official-looking older lawyer answered.

"Very well, Counselor Anderson. I will now hear the state’s opening arguments." The city prosecutor, Michael Johnston rose from his seat with a stack of papers, and some other assorted items.

"Well, your honor, the state wishes to enter the murder weapon- a .42 colt hand gun as evidence." He set it on the judge’s desk. "Now, I shall explain how the murder was committed." Counselor Johnston paused dramatically. "The victim, Ms. Joanna Farrell, was in her room, when the defendant knocked at her hotel door. She answered it, and let him in without a struggle- this proves that she knew him, or else she wouldn’t have let him into her room."

"Objection- speculation without grounds." Paul’s attorney, Mr. Anderson announced loudly to the judge.

"Overruled. Continue, Mr. Johnston." The prosecutor smiled coyly at the aging defense counsel.

"As I was saying, he was let into her room. Witnesses say that they heard shouting at approximately 2 am. The victim and Mr. McCartney got into some sort of argument, and it lasted for several minutes, before a scream was heard- at exactly 2:07 am of Thursday the fifth of August, nineteen sixty-six. The coroner stated that this was the time of death. Immediately after fleeing the room, Mr. McCartney was observed by fellow boarder, Mrs. Beverly Green, who informed the police that he appeared quite agitated. The body was discovered at approximately 2:30am, when police checked the building as a result of a phone call to police. Now as for the gun- the only prints found on the trigger and butt were the defendants’. Also, he has no alibi for the time of the murder. And," he accentuated this word, "And Mr. McCartney has the perfect motive: blackmail. You see, the victim, Ms. Farrell and the defendant had an affair, and she threatened to tell his fiancée, Jane Asher. So to silence her, the defendant turned to murder. The state will now call the first witness, Officer Jones." Officer Jones testified as to what condition he found the body: lying face down, sprawled on the floor, with a fatal gunshot wound to the temple.

The judge pounded his hammer on the desk. "Court dismissed for today. Tomorrow we shall hear the defense’s case." The audience stood, and filed out. A jailer cuffed Paul, and led him back to the conference room. The Beatles entourage piled into the tiny room, and discussed battle options.

"I believe that you have three choices." Mr. Anderson stated officially.

"What are they?" Paul murmured sadly.

"One is that you could plea bargain, and change your plea to guilty."

"I didn’t do it! I won’t ever admit to it! That’s not going to even be an option. I told you what happened!" Paul shouted.

"The second choice, and the one that is, um, the only one left to save you from the electric chair is plead insanity." A stunned silence met his suggestion.

"I’m NOT insane." Paul countered determinedly. His lawyer sighed.

"Then we pursue our present course. But I warn you; we don’t have a leg to stand upon. The evidence is completely damning." John stared off blankly into space, as George and Ringo lit up some cigarettes. Paul was numb with fear, and the lawyer looked at the whole crew. Suddenly, the door flew open. It was Mr. Anderson’s assistant.

"Mr. Anderson, Mr. Anderson! I’ve got someone to tell you about . . ."

"I’m busy, kid. Whoever it is can wait." The redheaded young man’s jaw dropped.

"Bu-ut sir . . ."

"Take a message- this is top priority now." The young man shut his mouth, and hurried back outside.

That night, Counselor Anderson was shuffling through his messages for the day, when he came upon one that caught his attention. He re-read the note, and called his assistant. "What the hell is this? Why didn’t you alert me sooner?"

"I tried sir, but you said to take a message . . ."

"Never ever listen to what I say!"

"Um, alright sir . . ."

"Get this girl on the phone ASAP!"

"I can’t sir. She didn’t leave a number. Said that maybe she’d be back, otherwise if some ‘fucking asshole lawyer won’t listen to a human person,’ that he could ‘screw himself and his momma’."

"DAMNMIT, FIND HER!" Anderson screamed into the phone. He slammed it down, and called the Beatles manager.

Mr. Anderson was beginning to wear a hole in the carpeting in his office by pacing across the floor repeatedly. He was waiting for the girl to show up. There had so far been several crackpots who claimed that Paul hadn’t done anything- and were willing to commit perjury by saying so. But they could never give the details that were needed to check their stories. The aging defense counsel doubted that this girl would be different, but two things hinted that she might know more than people would accredit her. One: that she didn’t leave anyway to reach her- people who were looking for money or fame would give a number or address. Second: that she came (according to his assistant) in very rugged street clothes. Not dressed up for her "idol" or some such rubbish. The grandfather clock struck midnight- she was over two hours late.

"Psst!" Ringo was sitting in the pool area of their hotel when he heard the sound. It came again, but louder. "PSST!" He turned to the source of the noise, and saw a person in the bushes.

"Come ‘ere." It whispered. He did so out of pure curiosity. " Are you Ringo or whatevah? Of the Beatles?"

"Yeah. Who are you."

"I’m Toni. Anyway, I have some info from the streets ’bout your friend-Paul." She had his full attention now.

"What is it?"

"I’ve got a witness to the murder- and your friend didn’t do it." His jaw fell agape.

"How- what . . where?"

"We need to go somewhere more private- oh and git your other friends." He led her back into the hotel, and took her to John’s room. George and him were smoking ciggies like chimneys, and looked startled to see her. Her appearance was rugged-obviously from the street. Her black leather pants were ripped at the knees, and she wore a dark blue bandana over her hair- in a gang style.

"This bird says that she has a witness to the murder!" Ringo was excited that he had found her.

"Where is this witness?" John asked suspiciously.

"Right in front of yer face, pal." She shot back, a bit peeved. "Fuck. I come here to help yer friend, and he’s all givin’ me shit. I already tried yer fuckin’ lawyers- they’re a bunch of fuckin’ tinsel town bitches. Won’t talk to anyone. To good for the likes of me. So if you want help, don’t even pull that shit." John looked surprised. "Doya wanna know what I have fer ya or not?"

"Go ahead, luv." George urged. She told them everything that she saw. By the end of her tale, they were in a state of excitement and hope. They could save Paul.

"All you have to do now is testify, and he’s off!" Ringo proclaimed. She backed off.

"No way. I ain’t goin’ near the cops. I’m a wanted girl, here. They find me and it’s strait to the Juvi home!"

"You have to!" John declared loudly.

"No! You have the info. You tell ‘em."

"What if we strike a deal with you?" George tried.

"Like what?" Her voice was thick with contempt and suspicion.

"How about 50 thousand dollars?" She snorted.

"I’m not gonna take yer pay off. Rich bastard." She turned to leave.

"Wait!" Ringo called. "How about fame? Celebrity? Getting seen with us? You’d like to tell your friends that you’ve met the Beatles, right?" She turned, and shook her head.

"You people are so sad. I don’t want fame. I don’t want money. And no, I don’t wanna tell my friends that I’ve met y’all. You are so pompous and conceited that I’m surprised yer head doesn’t weigh more than the rest of yer body put together." She opened the door, and was stopped by John who closed it again.

"Ok, you don’t want money or fame. I know what you want: protection. From the cops. We could make sure that you don’t go to a juvenile home. Hell, if worse comes to worse, you could come live with me." She met his gaze.

"It’s a damn good thing that you guys have John here- buddy, you’ve got yourself a deal." They shook hands.

After a long conference with the attorney the next morning, Toni was scheduled to testify the next day as a surprise witness. The prosecution had a witness of their own- a medical doctor, whom had examined the body.

"And you say that the wounds you concluded were from the defendant were: a black eye, one cracked rib, and the gunshot wound to the head, correct?" Mr. Johnston asked the doctor.

"That is correct."

"The state rests, your honor." The judge nodded to the defense to open them to a cross-examination.

"Your honor, the defense rests." Judge McAllen looked up, startled. Mr. Anderson continued, "But we wish to call a witness as a direct rebuttal to this witness’s allegations." The courtroom was a buzz with excitement and curiosity. Paul looked at his lawyer with curious eyes. The judge pounded on the desk, and called for quiet. Into the room entered a young woman- maybe 16 at the oldest. She was a city urchin, but looked rather nervous in her present settings. She was sworn in, and sat down in the witness’s chair. Mr. Anderson addressed the judge.

"Your honor, before the witness gives her name, I ask that she be granted immunity from the police."

"What was her charge?" Judge McAllen asked.

"I’m a runaway." She responded to the question. "The cops’ll throw me in a juvi home ’fore I could even git out my name."

"You are granted immunity." The judge responded. All truths told, he was anxious to hear what she had to say. The jury sat forward eagerly in their uncomfortable seats.

"Please state your full name for the court." Mr. Anderson commanded.

"Tonicia Miller."

"And Miss Miller, how do you know the victim?"

"She’s a good friend. In Brooklyn, ya gotta have someone to rely on."

"Right. How many times did you see the victim on the night of the murder- August 5, 1966?"

"Twice."

"Could you tell the court what trespassed on the first meeting?"

"Sure. I saw Joey-"

"By ‘Joey’ you are referring to Joanna Farrel?"

"Yea. Anyways, I saw her coming home about eleven pm. I was goin’ to a party. She had a helluva shiner, courtesy of Eddie, her ex boyfriend who happened to be back in town."

"By ‘shiner’, I assume that means a black eye?"

"Yea."

"Why would this Eddie hit her?"

"Ah, whenever he would come over, it usually led to violence- they were officially broken up, but he always showed up at her apartment anyway."

"Now, because she had a black eye when Miss Miller met her, that means that she had that before the murder- and my client couldn’t have done that. We’ll question about the second siting that night later- on to the boyfriend. How many times did you meet Eddie that night?"

"Twice."

"Tell us what occurred on the first meeting."

"Ok, well, I was on my back from the party- and a friend’s house at about 2 am, and I ran into Eddie on my way to my current place. I saw him and said ‘hey’, the usual. He was doped up again, and he told me that he was headed to Joey’s house. After that, he took off."

"What was he ‘doped up’ on?"

"He’s a crank addict."

"What is crank, for the jury?"

"Methamphetemine."

"What did you do after this encounter?"

"I went and climbed the fire escape behind Joey’s apartment."

"Why?"

"Cuz I was worried about her. She’s my friend. I wanted to see if I could help her."

"Could you see into the window?"

"Heck yea. I was right next to it."

"Could you tell us about what happened next?"

"Yea. I saw Eddie inside, yellin’ at her as usual- no big deal. Then the door opened, and Paul came in, and Eddie smacked Joey hard. Paul tried to intervene, but Eddie grabbed him, shoved his face into a pillow, and he passed out."

"Is Paul in the courtroom today?"

"Yes, he’s the one at yer table."

"Let the record reflect that the witness has identified my client as the victim in her description."

"The record will so reflect." Judge McAllen murmured.

"What happened after Mr. McCartney was unconscious?"

"Eddie threw Joey against the wall, and then kinda dragged her back into the center of the room. Then he pulled a gun out of his coat, and shot her in the temple."

"Did Eddie do anything with the gun?"

"Yea. He whipped on his shirt, and pressed it into Paul’s hand on the floor."

"What happened next?"

"Eddie looked around, and saw me in the window. He came at me, and I jumped off the fire escape, and ran down some alleys, and lost him. There ain’t nobody who knows this city like me."

"Did you place any calls?"

"Yes- I found a pay phone and called the cops. I said ‘You guys had better send some coppers and an ambulance to 1629 62^nd street, apartment 8B.’"

"I’d like to enter the 911 call record in as evidence, and if it pleases the court, play it." The prosecutor held his head, and massaged his temples. His case had just officially gone down the drain.

The next day, the jury was sent out on a verdict- it took a total of 23 minutes before they filed back into the court.

"We have a reached a unanimous verdict, your honor." Said the short foreman.

"Give it to the bailiff." It was passed from the bailiff’s hands to the judges’. He read the verdict, and handed it back to the juror. "Read the verdict aloud, please." The juror paused for a minute, and looked down at the paper.

"Not guilty." The audience cheered, Paul jumped up and hugged his lawyer, and his band mates. After everyone was dismissed from the court, Counselor Anderson led Toni into a private conference room. Paul smiled when she came in.

"I’d like to thank you personally, for testifying." He shook her hand.

"It weren’t nothin’." She looked to John, and shook her head.

"Do you think that they’ll pursue Eddie Smith?" he asked.

"Probably. Can’t have a murderer runnin’ about!"

"Pack your things, kid. We’re headed to England!"

"Jesus, it’s about time." Toni and the guys left the New York City courthouse and didn’t look back to see the stone gargoyles staring at their backs.