The Pink Pony

by Charles Cutter

  “Your Honor,” Burr said, “you’ve prejudiced the prospective jurors against me.”

  “Since this is the last time anyone in this courtroom is ever going to see you, I can’t see how that matters.” Lindstrom smiled at the thought of never seeing Burr again. “Besides, no one up here likes Detroiters anyway.”

  “East Lansing,” Burr said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Your Honor, I request a delay so that my client may obtain new counsel.”

  Maybe that’ll give me enough time to straighten out Jacob’s plants.

  “Who’s that sitting next to the defendant?” Lindstrom pointed at Jacob.

  “Jacob Wertheim, Your Honor. My co-counsel.”

  I shouldn’t have said co-counsel.

  “Wertheim can do it.” Lindstrom turned to the bailiff. “Henry, escort Mr. Lafayette out of my courtroom. You may use force if necessary.” Henry Crow walked up to Burr and wrapped his pitcher’s mitt of a hand around Burr’s forearm.

  Burr shook off Crow’s hand. “Just what I need. Another judge with a paint-by-numbers law degree.”

  “I heard that.” Lindstrom turned red. “I most certainly do have your number.”

  “Yes, you do, Your Honor. You most certainly do.” He walked up the aisle, trying to maintain what little dignity he had left.

  * * *

  The best that Burr could do was a ten-minute recess, and now he and Jacob stood outside the courtroom underneath the sugar maple. “Pick us a good jury.”

  “Who would that be?”

  “All men, if you can. We need a jury of men who sympathize with rich people, who drink too much, and whose wives take off their panties and decorate stolen Christmas trees.”

  I don’t know if I could pick a jury like that.

  “That’s your gift, not mine,” Jacob said.

  “Well-to-do men.”

  “Are there any within two hundred miles of here?”

  “If you can’t get prosperous men, then just get men.” Sweat beaded on Jacob’s forehead.

  If only Eve had a law license.

  “Jacob, you can do it,” Burr said, although he doubted it. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “What if I have to make the opening argument?”

  “Feign illness.”

  “I won’t have to feign.” He bent over and threw up on Burr’s shoes.

  * * *

  Burr took the ferry back to the island, rescued Zeke from the not too watchful eyes of Willard, then took the ferry to Mackinaw City and his Jeep. Three hours, a tank and a half of gas and two quarts of oil later, Burr sat across from Robert W. Stocker II, the East Lansing city attorney. Zeke and the Jeep waited curbside.

  Stocker’s skin hung in folds from his lower jaw, the remains of a once fat face. Apparently, his hair had gone with the fat and what was left of it was combed straight back. He swayed side to side when he spoke, and the reading glasses that hung from a silver chain around his neck swung back and forth.

  Like the pink pony.

  “Mr. Stocker, we both know that six potted marijuana plants on my roof do not make me a drug trafficker.”

  Stocker smiled at him.

  “This is a charge that won’t stick. And you know it.”

  Stocker kept smiling.

  “It’s going to be dismissed at the preliminary exam.”

  The smile turned into a grin.

  “Is there something in particular you want from me?” Burr said, not smiling.

  “We are seeking justice, Mr. Lafayette.”

  “That’s terrific, because the just thing to do is drop this.”

  “It’s out of our hands.”

  If he uses the royal ‘we’ one more time, I’m going to strangle him. At least then I’ll be charged with a real crime.

  “Mr. Stocker, I am a resident of East Lansing. I own a commercial real estate development. I’m a taxpayer.” He pointed at Stocker. “I am a law-abiding citizen, and I would like to be treated as such.”

  “Mr. Lafayette, there is something you could do.” Stocker reached for a brown accordion file on the corner of his desk and set it down in front of him.

  “I’m all ears.”

  “You could pay your parking tickets.”

  “Of course. And if I pay them, you’ll see to it that the charges are dismissed?”

  “I will.”

  Stocker put on his reading glasses and rummaged through the file. He gave up and dumped it on the desk.

  There must be two hundred tickets there.

  Stocker shook his head, and the loose skin below his chin swung back and forth like the wattles on a turkey. “There must be two hundred tickets here.”

  They can’t all be mine.

  “These are all yours.” Stocker shuffled through the tickets. “Here it is.” Stocker picked up one lonely piece of paper. “Two-thousand, eight-hundred, eighty-two dollars and thirteen cents.”

  “I’m surprised I didn’t get towed.”

  “I am, too. Mr. Lafayette. You’re a scofflaw. A scofflaw.” He wagged his finger at Burr. “Pay what you owe and we can all move on.”

  “I’m not paying all that.

  “Oh, but you are.”

  “There’s no place to park in East Lansing,” Burr said.

  Stocker took off his reading glasses. “I’d say you found plenty of places to park.”

  “I’m not going to pay that much.”

  “Mr. Lafayette, take a look out the window.” The driver of an H&H Mobil tow truck had just hoisted the front of his Jeep. Zeke, inside, didn’t look pleased. Burr got out his checkbook.

  * * *

  Two-thousand, eight-hundred, eighty-two dollars and thirteen cents, and one rubber check later, Burr snuck into Lindstrom’s courtroom.

  I hope my credit is still good with Eve.

  He sat in a pew near the back of the courtroom. He didn’t think Lindstrom had seen him come in, and he was certain the judge hadn’t heard him. Burr looked at the jury. Eight women and four men. He’d hoped for more men, but at least they looked reasonably prosperous.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a tragic situation. A man has been murdered. Strangled.” Karpinen paused to let this sink in.

  A nice touch.

  The jury squirmed in their collective chairs.

  “Strangled with a string of Christmas lights.” Another pause. More squirming. Burr felt the jury’s queasiness spread through the courtroom.

  Karpinen’s doing well.

  “In The Pink Pony, of all places,” Karpinen said. “In The Pink Pony. Strangled by the defendant, Murdoch Halverson.” The jury gasped. Murdo looked away, the opposite of what Burr had told him to do. He’d told Murdo to look at the jury. Look at them and give them your most convincing I am innocent look. Don’t glare at them. Don’t smile at them. Just give them a sincere look.

  Object. Jacob, object. Do something.

  It was all Burr could do keep from jumping to his feet and shouting. Not that he had any reason to object, but Karpinen was on a roll and Burr wanted to stop him. Jacob would never do it. He was far too shy, and he followed the rules, at least in court.

  Karpinen turned back to the jury. “The accused murdered Jimmy Lyons. He was called Jimmy, not James. Everyone liked him. He had many, many friends. He had a business with fifty employees, fifty good-paying jobs. Jimmy was a brilliant tool and die man.”

  Burr shook his head. In any other state you’d have to explain what tool and die meant, but not in Michigan.

  “What will happen to them? ”

  If anyone could understand the importance of a job, it was surely here, Burr thought.“And what about his widow, Jane Lyons?”

  Karpinen took a step to the side, partially facing the gallery. He frowned when he shifted his w
eight to his bad leg. Karpinen nodded but didn’t point to the widow Lyons. She had done as she was told, wearing a black suit, her hair in a bun and no makeup. The once-upon-a-time beautiful Jane Lyons looked down at her lap, hands clasped.

  She’s been well coached.

  Karpinen turned back to the jury. “What will become of her?” Another pause.

  Burr could barely stand the drama. He had to get back in, but Lindstrom would never allow him to interrupt Karpinen’s opening statement. That would be too much, even for Burr.

  Karpinen stood there, sorrowfully. He looked down at his feet, then a cold stare at Murdo. He turned to Jane and let out a deep sigh. Then back to the jury. The silence roared through the courtroom. Karpinen had center stage and showed no sign of doing anything but standing there.

  If Karpinen keeps this up, the jury’s going to convict Murdo on the spot.

  Burr sneezed so loud that it echoed through the courtroom. The blast from his lungs parted the hair of the matron in front of him.

  Lindstrom, also hypnotized by Karpinen’s theatrics, broke free from the prosecutor’s spell. Karpinen hopped on his good leg. The eyes of the courtroom searched for the sneezer. Burr shrunk in his seat, then looked around for the spell breaker.

  Karpinen started again, the trance broken. “Ladies and gentlemen, I am aware that my saying things does not make them so. Just because I say that Lake State has a great power play does not mean they do.” Karpinen smiled at the jury. They smiled back at him. Lake State did, indeed, have a great power play. “And just because I say that Murdoch Halverson murdered Jimmy Lyons doesn’t mean that he did. What I must do is prove that Murdoch Halverson murdered Jimmy Lyons.” Karpinen looked at Murdo, then back at the jury. “And this I will do. When I’m done, the red light will flash and there will be no doubt that the puck is in the net.”

  “Please, I love hockey, but please make him stop,” Burr said under his breath. The woman whose hair he had parted shushed him.

  “I will prove that Murdoch Halverson killed Jimmy Lyons with malice aforethought. That is the legal definition of first-degree murder, but all that it means is that Murdoch Halverson had a plan to kill Jimmy, and he did kill him.

  “I’m going to show you how he did it, how I know he did it, and who saw him do it.”

  Jacob, you’ve got to object. No one saw Murdo kill Jimmy. You can’t let Karpinen put that idea in their head. It’s not true, and we’ll have a devil of a time getting it out of their heads.

  “And,” Karpinen said, “I’ll tell you why Murdoch Halverson killed Jimmy. In fact, I’ll tell you right now.”

  Karpinen limped toward Murdo. Jacob cringed. “What you may hear is that Jimmy had some financial problems. That he owed the defendant money. I have no idea if that’s true. Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. It doesn’t matter.” Karpinen looked back at the jury. “Rich people like the defendant don’t kill because someone owes them money. That’s what lawyers are for.” He smiled at the jury again. “That’s what guys like him are for.” Karpinen pointed at Jacob, who cringed. “Let me tell you why the defendant murdered Jimmy. Let me tell you why.”

  I know what’s coming next.

  “It wasn’t for money,” Karpinen said. “It wasn’t for the money. Not at all.” The prosecutor walked to the jury box. He leaned on the railing and spoke softly, as if to old friends who needed to hear something privately. Something that would not be welcome news. “None of us are perfect,” he said. “Not me, not you. Certainly not Jimmy. Jimmy wasn’t perfect. He made mistakes. We all do. But Jimmy’s mistake cost him his life.” Karpinen took a step back from the jury. “He certainly didn’t deserve to die for it.”

  Karpinen took another step back from the jury box. “This is why the defendant, Murdoch Halverson, murdered Jimmy. The defendant murdered Jimmy Lyons because of her.” Karpinen wheeled around and pointed at Anne.

  “That woman, the defendant’s wife, seduced Jimmy. She seduced Jimmy, and her husband, the defendant Murdoch Halverson, was jealous. He was so jealous that he murdered Jimmy. He bided his time. He waited until just the right time, a time when he thought no one would ever find out.” Karpinen turned back to the jury. He stepped back to the jury box and leaned over the rail. “And when the time was right, the defendant Murdoch Halverson strangled Jimmy with a string of Christmas tree lights. Why? Because Anne Halverson seduced Jimmy Lyons.” He pointed at Anne again. “Murdoch Halverson waited until just the right time. Then he killed Jimmy Lyons because he was jealous.” He pointed at Murdo.

  Burr shrank against the pew. He almost slid to the floor.

  Karpinen limped back to his chair. Jacob struggled to his feet. He started mumbling to his shoes. Burr couldn’t hear a word he said. Neither could the jury, and neither could Lindstrom.

  “Speak up,” Lindstrom said. “Speak up.”

  “I am,” Jacob said, just above a whisper.

  “It’s your turn,” Lindstrom said.

  “Your Honor,” Jacob said.

  Burr jumped to his feet and raced up the aisle. “Burr Lafayette, Your Honor. Counsel for the defendant.”

  “I know full well who you are, and you are not to practice in my courtroom. Out.” Lindstrom pointed toward the door with his gavel.

  Burr reached inside his jacket and took out the dismissal and a receipt for two-thousand, eight-hundred, eighty-two dollars and thirteen cents. “Your Honor, the false charges have been dismissed with prejudice.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Lindstrom said.

  Burr handed the papers to the court reporter, who passed them up to Lindstrom. He studied the dismissal. “That’s a lot of parking tickets.” He folded the dismissal and passed it back to the court reporter, who passed it back to Burr.

  “Get out of my courtroom,” Lindstrom said.

  “Your Honor, I’ve done everything you asked. I have every right to defend my client.”

  “Mr. Lafayette, you are, at best, a scofflaw, and I won’t have a scofflaw practicing in my court.”

  “Respectfully, Your Honor, your actions are ultra vires,” Burr said, gritting his teeth.

  “What?”

  “Highly illegal.”

  “I know what it means. Now, get out.”

  Burr hated himself for what he was about to do, but sometimes begging was the only way. “Your Honor, if it please the court, I apologize for my previous behavior and humbly ask the court to allow me to defend my client.”

  Lindstrom chewed on his lower lip. “Approach the bench, Mr. Lafayette.” Burr took another step.

  If I get much closer, I’ll be sitting in his lap.

  Lindstrom motioned for him to come even closer. Burr took a baby step, the toes of his shoes touching the podium. Lindstrom leaned down to Burr. “As I’m sure you know, the pink pony is still missing. Under the circumstances, I would advise you to behave yourself. Now that the jury knows you’re a miscreant, welcome back.”

  Lindstrom leaned back in his chair. “While it grieves the court, you are hereby reinstated. You may proceed with your opening statement.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Burr turned on his heel and walked straight to the jury.

  I’m already in the hole.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Burr Lafayette. I am Murdoch Halverson’s lawyer.” Burr smiled at the jury, not a hearty smile, but a smile that said you can believe me. He pulled down his cuffs, straightened his tie, then looked down at his shoes. They still needed polishing, especially after the episode with Jacob.

  Burr thought it a bad idea to mention a single word about what just happened with Lindstrom. He had found it best to follow the lead of The Deuce – Henry Ford II – whose motto was, Never complain. Never explain. As angry as he was at the confederacy of idiots who had gotten him into this mess, this was, after all, not about him.

  Burr looked up at the jury. �
�Ladies and gentlemen,” he said again, “it’s one thing to accuse someone of murder. It’s quite another to prove it. The easiest thing in the world to do is make a false accusation. There must be proof. Proof that someone murdered James Lyons,” he said, careful not to mention Murdo’s name in the same sentence as Jimmy’s. “In fact, it’s not clear that Mr. Lyons was murdered. Did you know that?”

  The jury didn’t know, but they wanted to. Was this even the same case? They leaned toward him as if they were one.

  “That’s right. It’s possible that Mr. Lyons was so drunk that he strangled himself.” Burr paused. “Did you know that?”

  They didn’t, but they wanted to know about that, too.

  Karpinen stood. “I object, Your Honor. There’s not a shred of evidence that this was anything but a murder.”

  “Sustained,” Lindstrom said.

  Sustained?

  Burr turned to Lindstrom. “Your Honor, this is an opening argument. We’re not submitting proofs yet.”

  “Your comments are inflammatory,” Lindstrom said.

  “Your Honor, the prosecutor was allowed to make accusations without any basis in fact.”

  “I will prove that the defendant killed Jimmy Lyons because his wife was having an affair,” Karpinen said.

  “And I will prove that Mr. Lyons was so drunk he strangled himself.”

  “Stop it, both of you,” Lindstrom said. “Mr. Lafayette you may proceed, but watch what you say. You’re one step away from another parking ticket.”

  Karpinen had stopped Burr’s momentum, just like Burr had done with his sneeze.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Lyons was very drunk that night. A blood test showed that. That will be part of the testimony. But enough of that for now.”

  Burr stepped toward the jury. “That isn’t the half of it. There’s more. Much more. Saying something doesn’t make it so.” Burr pointed at Karpinen. “He still has to prove it. So far, all he’s done is wave his arms.” The jury looked at Karpinen. Burr wanted them to see Karpinen as the evil one. “This man has to prove that Mr. Halverson killed Mr. Lyons. And you know what? There isn’t a single person who saw Mr. Halverson so much as touch Mr. Lyons. So, it’s going to be very difficult to prove that Mr. Halverson murdered Mr. Lyons. Very difficult indeed.”