Bear Bones

by Charles Cutter

  “He’s not,” Eve said. “This is what the judge said, and I quote, ‘Mr. Lafayette, I am sorry to learn of your unfortunate and untimely illness. I note that it is your firm, Lafayette and Wertheim, that is representing Mr. Lockwood. With such an able partner in Mr. Wertheim, I am confident that he can carry on the defense until such time as you have sufficiently recovered to resume your duties.’”

  “Burr, how could you? You’ll just have to tell her you’re completely recovered. Ahead of schedule.”

  Eve cleared her throat again. “Further, because of the contagious nature of your disease, you are forbidden to enter the courtroom for at least thirty days. Please direct Mr. Wertheim to be in my courtroom at nine a.m. on the morning of October 1st for jury selection.” Eve paused, then, “Wishing you a speedy recovery. Sincerely, Mary Fisher, Judge for the Circuit Court of Antrim, Grand Traverse and Leelanau Counties.”

  “Burr, how could you?” Jacob sank in his chair.

  Burr swiveled in his chair and looked out the window.

  A perfectly beautiful day. Not a cloud in the sky, but it’s stormy in here.

  He stood and paced in front of the window.

  This seemed like such a good idea at the time. I never thought she’d do this. She’s outsmarted me. Jacob is a disaster in a courtroom. An absolute nightmare.

  He turned to Jacob. “Jury selection is very easy. I’ll help you do that.”

  “From your hospital bed?” Eve said.

  Jacob lost all the color in his face and his hands started to shake.

  “Jacob, you’re very convincing,” Eve said. “Maybe you should be the one who is ill.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The next morning, Eve came into Burr’s office and took her side chair. She smiled at Burr. “Come sit beside me.” She patted Jacob’s chair.

  This can’t be good.

  Burr did as he was told.

  “Burr…”

  “Eve, I’m sorry that we don’t ever quite seem to have enough money.”

  “That’s not it.”

  Burr tried again. “I’m sorry I keep asking you out. I’m just teasing.”

  “You’re hopeful.”

  “Eve, you’re leaving. Quitting.”

  “Burr, Burr, Burr. You’re such a fool.”

  At least she’s not quitting.

  “It’s Maggie.”

  “Maggie?”

  “She loves you. You love her.” Eve paused. “You should marry her.”

  “We hardly know each other.”

  “How long has it been?”

  “And there’s Zeke-the-Boy. And Grace.”

  “You’re divorced.”

  If I had a pencil, I’d break it.

  He fidgeted in his chair.

  “You’re stuck, and you can’t live your life like this.”

  “Like what?”

  “You’re just marking time. Your life is a mess. And you know it.”

  Burr looked down at his feet. His tennis shoes didn’t need polishing.

  I’ll think about this later. Maybe after the trial.

  * * *

  Burr sat in his Jeep in the courthouse parking lot. A soft, patient rain fell, soft enough that it fell soundlessly on the Jeep. Burr had the windows part way down so the windows wouldn’t fog up. Zeke sat in the backseat, his head in the rain. Jacob sat in the passenger seat, his head buried in his hands.

  “It can’t be all that bad,” Burr had said, who was sure it was every bit as bad as Jacob said it was. Burr was afraid it was probably worse.

  It was 10 in the morning on Monday, October 1st, the first day of the trial. Jury selection had started at 9. Try as he might, the wily judge refused to allow Burr in the courtroom as long as he was contagious, which, of course, he wasn’t. He’d done his best to prep his shy partner.

  “Jacob,” he’d said, “jury selection is very simple,” although it wasn’t. Burr knew it wasn’t and so did Jacob. “You don’t have to fight or confound Brooks, unless of course you want to, which of course is what I’d do. What we’re looking for is a jury full of divorced men or unhappily married men. We don’t want anyone who’d be sympathetic to Helen, which would be women, especially divorced women or unhappily married women, which is probably most women. If you have to pick a woman, try to pick one who’s unhappily married. Or maybe single and doesn’t want to be married.”

  Jacob had looked over at Burr. “How am I ever going to do that?”

  At least he looks the part.

  Jacob had on a charcoal suit with a chalk stripe, a white shirt and a red tie with black diamonds. He certainly looked the part. But Jacob didn’t act the part. He was flat out terrified. Jacob was a brilliant researcher and writer of appellate briefs, but he was deathly afraid of public speaking, not to mention arguing in a courtroom. The two of them were a grand team as long as they each played their own parts, which they weren’t doing today.

  “How could you do this to me?” Jacob said. “I simply can’t do this. I can’t.”

  “Of course, you can.”

  Jacob wrung his hands. “No, I can’t.”

  “Jacob, all you have to do is object to whatever Brooks says.”

  “This will never work.”

  “Of course it will,” Burr said, who had grave doubts. “Object to whatever Brooks says. Use your challenges wisely. Find out about the jurors’ personalities. What they’re like. We’ll probably be better off with more educated, well-to-do jurors.” Burr patted Jacob on the shoulder. “Break a leg. It’s showtime.”

  Burr watched Jacob’s hands shake as he tried to open the door.

  I think I may have said the wrong thing.

  Burr got out of the Jeep and opened the passenger door. Jacob, standing in the rain, didn’t budge. Burr was starting to get wet.

  “Jacob, it’s time to go.”

  “It’s raining.”

  Burr got Jacob’s umbrella from the back seat. He opened it and pulled Jacob out of the Jeep like a boy might pull a stubborn nightcrawler out of its hole. With one hand on Jacob’s elbow, and the other on the umbrella, Burr led Jacob up the courthouse steps. Eve met them at the door.

  “This will never work,” she mouthed at Burr.

  “Of course it will.”

  But, of course, it didn’t. An hour later, Jacob sat next to Burr in the Jeep, his head still buried in his hands. Burr patted Jacob on his shoulder. His partner’s suit jacket was wet. He had fled without his umbrella.

  “Why aren’t you in court?” Burr said.

  “I had to have a recess,” Jacob said.

  “It can’t be as bad as all that.”

  “Worse.”

  “Who did you pick?”

  “No one.”

  “How about Brooks?”

  “Three. No, four. Four so far.”

  “Men?”

  “All women.”

  This is bad.

  Jacob buried his head in his hands again. Zeke stretched over the back seat and licked Jacob’s ear. Jacob didn’t say a word. Zeke licked his ear again. Jacob didn’t shoo him away.

  This is really bad.

  Jacob looked up at Burr. “How could you do this to me? How could you? You knew I’m deathly afraid of things like this.”

  “It can’t be all that bad,” Burr said.

  “You never should have insisted I come with you when you left Fisher and Allen. Never.”

  Burr had begged Jacob – and Eve – not to leave Fisher and Allen when he so unceremoniously beat the broom out the door, but this wasn’t the time to argue with Jacob about his revisionist history.

  This is bad, very bad.

  The right jury wasn’t everything, but it was critical, especially in a case like this where so much turned on circumstantial evidence. It was critica
l to have an empathetic and sympathetic jury. With Jacob at the helm, Burr was afraid he wasn’t going to get either.

  I’m doomed from the start. If only I hadn’t been too clever by half. Again.

  Just then, a rap on his window. It was Eve with the umbrella. Burr rolled his window down.

  “Time to go,” she said.

  Jacob shook his head no.

  “How’s it going?” Burr said.

  Eve shook her head.

  “Jacob did get a recess, though, to collect himself.”

  “I got the recess,” Eve said. “Jacob turned white and started choking. It was medical.”

  Burr cringed.

  “Judge Fisher is looking for you. If you don’t come back right now, she said she was going to let Brooks pick all the jurors.”

  “Let him,” Jacob said.

  * * *

  Burr sat in the Jeep, Zeke now in the front seat. The rain was falling harder now. Big drops splitting on the windshield. Burr started to count them. He got to eighty-seven when he heard the passenger door open.

  “Have we lost already?” he said to the windshield.

  Burr looked to his right, and there in her long, black robe was Judge Fisher. He shooed Zeke to the backseat. The judge sat next to him. This close to her, he could see that she had a touch of eye shadow, a hint of blush, and a pale lipstick.

  Speechless, for perhaps the first time in his life, Burr looked over at her but didn’t say a word.

  “Have you had enough of this silliness yet?” she said.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You know exactly what I mean.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t.”

  “You look quite healthy to me. And not a bit contagious.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “If your partner says one more thing, you’re going to lose before you start. Peter Brooks is eating him alive.”

  Words failed Burr.

  “Mr. Lafayette, I want a fair fight. The only way to have one is with you in the courtroom. I know full well you haven’t been ill. I’m disappointed that a lawyer of your caliber would stoop so low.” She licked her lips. “And more disappointed that you thought you might fool me.”

  “Your Honor, I would never…”

  “Be quiet. Mr. Wertheim became so nervous it looked like he was choking to death. I was afraid he was going to faint. I adjourned us for the day.” She opened the door and got out. “I expect you to be in my courtroom tomorrow at 9 a.m. sharp.” She slammed the door.

  * * *

  Two days later, Burr sat in the courtroom of Judge Mary Fisher. Tommy Lockwood to his left, in a sincere, not-too-expensive blue suit with a white shirt and striped tie, dressed just as Burr had told him. Jacob sat next to Tommy. Eve, Karen and Lauren sat in the gallery immediately behind them. The gallery overflowed.

  A juicy murder will do that.

  The ever-so-suave Peter Brooks sat across the aisle from Burr.

  Yesterday had gone better than Burr expected. They’d started the day with the four jurors picked on Jacob’s watch. Four women, two of whom were divorced. Jacob was 0 for 4 but by the end of the day, the jury had seven women, five men, and one alternate, a woman. Burr had pressed Brooks, over and over, with his preemptory challenges, voire dire and plain old cussedness. He did his best to obfuscate the kind of juror he was looking for. He wasn’t sure if Brooks ever figured it out, but he was damned if he’d underestimate the prosecutor, and Burr still owed him for the night he’d spent in jail.

  “All rise,” the bailiff said. “The court of the Honorable Mary Fisher is now in session.”

  In walked Judge Fisher, gliding in her black robe, her hair pulled back neatly, her ever-present pink lipstick and pearl earrings. She sat, then looked around the courtroom and all that were in her domain. She nodded at Brooks, then Burr. Did he see a sparkle in her eyes?

  “Be seated. The court of the Honorable Mary Fisher is now in session,” said the bailiff.

  Here they all were, in a courtroom, Burr’s favorite place in the entire world. He tap, tap, tapped his just-sharpened Number 2 yellow pencil. All was as it should be.

  Judge Fisher cleared her throat. “We are here today in the case of the People versus Thomas J. Lockwood. Mr. Lockwood is accused of murdering Helen Erickson Lockwood, his wife, on or about June 9th of last year.” She looked at the prosecutor. “Mr. Brooks, you may begin.”

  Brooks stood. He walked toward the jury.

  He cuts a dashing figure, Burr thought. Sophisticated in his tailored black suit and starched white shirt. He didn’t buy that on a government salary, but we all know there’s money in cherries. Maybe too much money.

  Brooks stopped in front of the jury. “Ladies and gentlemen, we’re here today because this man,” Brooks pointed a long, manicured finger at Tommy, “murdered his wife.” Burr noted that Brooks didn’t call Tommy Thomas Lockwood, just this man. A nice touch.

  “We’re here because he murdered his wife. He shot her between the eyes with his pistol. Then he buried her on South Manitou in a shallow grave.”

  Brooks paused for effect. “And he almost got away with it. With the help of this man.” Brooks pointed at Burr. “His lawyer.”

  Burr jumped to his feet. “Objection, Your Honor. The prosecutor is fabricating his own version of the truth. Not only is my client innocent, I have never been accused of such a thing and would never do such a thing.”

  Judge Fisher puckered her pink lips, then looked down her nose at the prosecutor.

  “I will show it in my proofs.” Brooks smoothed his shiny black hair in place.

  Judge Fisher looked back at Burr. “Mr. Lafayette, this is an opening statement. Some theatrics are allowed.”

  Burr sat.

  It’s a nice touch when he doesn’t use Tommy’s name. It’s not a nice touch when he doesn’t use mine.

  “Thank you, Your Honor,” Brooks said. He turned back to the jury and put his hands in his pockets.

  How folksy. Brooks is a man of the people.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Brooks said. “The defendant is accused of first-degree murder. First-degree murder means that the defendant killed his wife intentionally. He did it on purpose, and he planned to do it. It wasn’t an accident and it wasn’t done on the spur of the moment, in a fit of rage or passion. The defendant didn’t lose his temper and kill his wife. He planned to kill her and that’s exactly what he did. That is what first-degree murder is.”

  Brooks took his hands out of his pockets and put them on the railing of the jury box. “The legal term is ‘malice aforethought’ but for our purposes, it just means planning to kill someone and actually killing them. It’s a crime so hateful that conviction requires life imprisonment without parole. That’s how bad it is, and that’s exactly what he did.” Brooks pointed at Tommy again.

  It’s time for another objection.

  Burr stood. He didn’t jump to his feet this time. He pushed his chair out and stood.

  “Your Honor, I object. It isn’t the prosecutor’s job to sentence Mr. Lockwood before this proceeding has even begun. Further, it is the sole responsibility of the court, not the prosecutor, to determine the sentence, if any.”

  Judge Fisher puckered her lips again. She looked at the jury. “Ladies and gentlemen, disregard Mr. Brooks’ comment about sentencing.” Then, to Brooks, “You may continue.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor.”

  Burr thought she could have been a little sterner with Mr. Smooth.

  The prosecutor smiled knowingly at the jury. “The defendant’s crime was a long time in the making. Let me tell you how it all began. You may well know or have heard parts of this before, but I’ll tie it all together for you.

  Please do.

  “Helen Lockwood and her two sisters, Karen Hansen and Lauren Littlefield, owned
Port Oneida Orchards, a cherry orchard on Port Oneida Road.” Brooks pointed at them. Burr had them sit right behind Tommy as a show of support. Brooks, of course, made a point of not bringing that up. “The Park Service needs that land for the Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore. The family, led by Helen, has fought the Park Service for years. They didn’t want to sell their land at a more than fair price so the people of Leelanau County can benefit from the tourists that would bring much-needed commerce to our county.

  “And they hired this man to stop the government.” Brooks pointed at Burr again. “The defendant did the farming. He worked and worked until he was tired of working. Then he wanted to sell the orchards to the Park Service so he could enjoy the money and not have to work anymore. But his wife, the murdered Helen Lockwood, refused to sell. So, the defendant…”

  I wonder if the defendant has a name.

  “So, the defendant made a plan. He would kill his wife, then he could sell the orchards and get his share of the money.”

  Brooks stopped. He paced in front of the jury, letting all this sink in. He stopped, looked over at Burr and Tommy, then back at the jury, hands on the railing once more. “And this is what he did. When Helen took her boat to South Manitou, the defendant followed her there on the ferry. He got on board her boat and shot her in the face with his with his own pistol. He buried her in a shallow grave on South Manitou. Then he set her boat adrift on Lake Michigan to make it look like she had fallen overboard and drowned.” Brooks walked back to his table and shuffled his papers.

  He’s letting this sink in. Another nice touch.

  Brooks turned back to the jury.

  “And do you know what he did then?” They didn’t but they wanted to.

  “This is what he did. Nothing. He did nothing. He played the grief-stricken husband. He waited. Then, after she’d been missing for a year…” Brooks pointed at Burr again, “he had this man go to court to have Helen Lockwood declared legally dead. Had he been successful, the farm would have been sold and the defendant would have had his share of the money.”

  Brooks paced in front of the jury, back and forth, back and forth.

  “And it would have worked, except the sheriff found Helen Lockwood’s body in a shallow grave on South Manitou Island. She had been shot between the eyes with Mr. Lockwood’s pistol.” Brooks clapped his hands. All of the jurors and everyone else in the courtroom jumped in their seats, including Burr.