Burr took two more steps toward the jury. “I’m going to show you that there are others who could have killed Mr. Lyons and who had a reason to do so.” He took two more steps, now right to the railing.
“And one more thing. Convicting someone of murder is a tall order. A very tall order.” Burr put his hands on the railing. “Do you know why?” They didn’t, but wanted to know about this, too. “You cannot convict anyone of a crime unless you believe beyond a reasonable doubt that a crime was committed. Beyond a reasonable doubt.” Burr stepped back. “That’s a tall order. It’s not just that a crime might have been committed or you think a crime was committed. You cannot convict even if you simply believe a crime was committed. You must believe beyond a reasonable doubt.” Burr leaned in toward the jury. “You must be convinced beyond a reasonable doubt.” He pointed at Karpinen. “And he can’t do that. He can’t. There are holes in his case. Holes everywhere. There are more holes in this case than there are in a slice of Swiss cheese.”
“That’s quite enough, Mr. Lafayette,” Lindstrom said. “Do you have anything further?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“We will reconvene in the morning.”
He must not have heard me.
Burr started to object, but Lindstrom slammed his gavel. “We are adjourned.”
* * *
The next morning, Karpinen called his first witness. “Miss Hennessey, you were the first one to find Jimmy Lyons, is that right?”
“Objection,” Burr said. “She doesn’t know if she was the first one to find the deceased.”
“Please, Mr. Lafayette, isn’t it a bit early in the day to split hairs?” the judge said.
“Your Honor, the witness can only testify to what she knows.”
“Reluctantly, I agree with you,” Lindstrom said.
Karpinen limped around in a circle. “Miss Hennessey, did you find the body of Jimmy Lyons?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Miss Hennessey, would you please tell us what happened on the morning of July 18th?”
“It was a Tuesday, and I open the bar on Tuesdays.”
“Would that be The Pink Pony? In the Chippewa Hotel?”
“Yes. Tuesday isn’t usually very busy, but the race had just finished so I knew the bar would be crowded for lunch. I got there about ten and unlocked the door to the bar, the one from the lobby.”
“What time do you open the bar?” Karpinen limped to the right of Lindstrom so the jury could have a clear view of Carole.
“At eleven.”
“What did you do after you unlocked the door?”
“It took a minute or so for my eyes to adjust to the dark. Then I saw the Christmas tree on the bar.”
The prosecutor kept going. “What did you do then?”
“That little Christmas tree,” she said. “It had…”
Karpinen cut her off. “Not the tree, what did you do next? Did you walk over to the bar?”
Burr popped up. “Objection, Your Honor. The prosecutor is interrupting the witness and then leading her.”
“Overruled,” Lindstrom said, softly.
“Your Honor, the prosecutor is telling his own tale.”
“I ruled on your objection,” Lindstrom said, not so softly this time. “Sit down and be quiet, Mr. Lafayette.” Lindstrom tapped his gavel.
“Your Honor,” Burr said, still standing.
“Sit down and be quiet.” Lindstrom banged his gavel.
Burr sat, satisfied he had accomplished what he set out to do, which was undermining Karpinen’s credibility.
“Now then, Miss Hennessey,” Karpinen said, “what did you find when you reached the bar?”
“You mean on the tree?”
“No, not on the tree.”
Good work, Carole.
She sat up straight and squeezed her knees together. “There was a man sitting in a chair behind the bar.”
“And?” Karpinen just couldn’t get her going.
“And he was dead.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“Did he have Christmas tree lights wrapped around his neck?”
“Objection,” Burr said, still sitting.
“Overruled.”
“What was the question?” Carole said.
Karpinen glared at Carole.
I did a pretty good job of coaching her.
“Please tell us in detail what the body looked like. The lights. The face. Everything.”
She squeezed her knees tighter. “Well, the man had blond hair. He was slouched over in the chair and his hair hung over his forehead. His eyes kind of bugged out and the tip of his tongue stuck out of the corner of his mouth.”
“Thank you, Miss Hennessey. Was there anything wrapped around his neck?” She started to say something. Karpinen held up his hand and shushed her. He limped a step closer to her. “Miss Hennessey, please tell us in detail.”
“There was a string of Christmas tree lights wrapped around his neck.”
“Like a necklace?”
“No, they were tight. Very tight. They were wrapped around Mr. Lyons’ neck, then wrapped once around the Labatt tap, and then plugged in. Tight. Like they had strangled him.”
“Objection,” Burr said. “The witness doesn’t know the cause of death.”
“I’ll give you that one,” Lindstrom said. “Sustained.”
“Miss Hennessey. Can you tell us what was on the dead man’s shirt?”
“There was a name tag. The paper kind, with the sticky back.”
“And what did it say?”
“It said Murdo.”
The jury gasped.
“Murdo,” Karpinen said. “Murdo. The name tag said Murdo.”
Burr whispered to Jacob. “He got all the mileage he could out of that.”
“Thank you, Miss Hennessey.” Karpinen limped back to the prosecutor’s table. He picked up a folder and walked back to the witness. He took an eight-by-eleven photograph from the folder and showed it to the witness. “Is this a picture of the dead man?”
Burr stood. “Objection, Your Honor. If the prosecution wants to use physical evidence, it must be introduced.”
“You’re a bit fussy, Mr. Lafayette,” Lindstrom said.
“Your Honor, I didn’t write the rules of evidence.”
“Mr. Lafayette, at this rate, deer season will be over before we’re finished with this witness.” Lindstrom looked at Karpinen.
“Your Honor, the state would like to introduce this photograph as People’s Exhibit One.”
“Mr. Lafayette?”
“No objection, Your Honor.”
“Miss Hennessey, is this a photograph of the dead man?”
“Yes.”
Karpinen walked to the jury box and handed the photograph to the foreman, Mrs. Gunthorpe, the first woman Lindstrom called from the jury pool. It was the photograph of the strangled Jimmy Lyons, eyes bulging and tongue hanging out. She shuddered.
“Please pass it around,” Karpinen said.
She cringed, then passed Jimmy to the juror next to her.
Burr was afraid this would happen, but there was nothing he could do about it.
When all of the jurors had finished cringing, Karpinen handed the photograph to the clerk, then, “Ladies and gentlemen, Miss Hennessey has identified the dead man as the deceased Jimmy Lyons. And as you just heard, she has testified that she found him sitting on a chair with a name tag on his shirt that read Murdo, the accused.” Karpinen pointed at Murdo, then back to the jury. “There you have it. Jimmy was murdered, strangled, by a string of Christmas lights. Christmas lights wrapped around Mr. Lyons’ neck.”
Burr stood. “Objection, Your Honor. It hasn’t been shown that Mr. Lyons was strangled. Let alone murdered.”
<
br /> “Mr. Lafayette, will you please stop this nitpicking?”
“Respectfully, Your Honor, the defense jumps to conclusions without any basis in fact.”
“I suppose you think Jimmy Lyons drowned,” Karpinen said.
“I think you and your case are only upright because you’ve got training wheels on your bicycle.”
“That’s enough,” Lindstrom said. “Mr. Karpinen?”
“No further questions, Your Honor.” Karpinen limped back to his seat.
Burr walked up to Carole. He liked the way she’d pinned her hair back. Alluring in a modest way.
“Mr. Lafayette,” Judge Lindstrom said, “are you going to question Miss Hennessey or just ogle her?”
Burr wanted to give Lindstrom a withering look, thought better of it, then tried to address Carole without ogling. “Miss Hennessey, you said you entered The Pink Pony from the lobby of the hotel. Is that right?”
“Yes.”
“Was the door locked?”
“Yes.”
“After you entered, did you check the door to the street?”
“Yes.”
“Was that door locked?”
“Yes, and there’s a door from the kitchen that opens out the back. That was locked, too.”
“Thank you, Miss Hennessey. I was just getting to that.”
Carole nodded at him.
“And why did you check to make sure all the doors were locked?”
“For security. To make sure that the closer, the bartender from the night before, locked up.”
“I see.” Burr looked at the jury.
They were curious. Just where was he taking them?
“So, you found Mr. Lyons inside The Pink Pony. Locked inside. Is that right?”
“Yes.”
“How can that be?” Burr put his hands in his pockets. “Miss Hennessey, do you need a key to lock the doors?”
“You need a key to lock all the doors.”
“Do the doors lock behind you when you leave?”
“Yes, but when you’re outside, you need a key to open them.”
“Thank you. And who has the key?”
She wiggled in her chair. “The keys are kept behind the front desk of the hotel. In a drawer.”
“Who has access to the keys?”
“The desk clerk. You need to get the key from the desk clerk.”
“Is there another set?”
“The manager has a set.”
That was all he needed. “Thank you, Miss Hennessey.” Burr turned to the jury. “Ladies and gentlemen, the prosecutor would have you believe that Mr. Halverson killed Mr. Lyons, but he forgot to mention that Miss Hennessey, the first person to find Mr. Lyons, has testified that all the doors were locked.” Burr stopped. He looked down at his shoes. Then back at the jury. “So how exactly would Mr. Halverson get in the bar and out again? Without a key?”
“Objection,” Karpinen said. “There are many ways it could have happened.”
“It’s not your turn,” Burr said.
“Mr. Lafayette, while this may come as a surprise to you, I am in charge here,” Lindstrom said. Then to Karpinen, “Overruled.”
“Thank you, Your Honor,” Burr said. “Miss Hennessey, was there very much drinking going on in The Pink Pony that night?”
“Yes.”
“Were the patrons unruly?”
“Yes,” she said.
“In your opinion, was The Pink Pony pretty wild that night?” Burr said.
“Objection,” Karpinen said.
“Sustained,” Lindstrom said. “Mr. Lafayette, you already plowed that ground.”
“Your Honor, what happens at The Pink Pony when the Mackinac racers reach the island is not a secret.”
“I’m told that you have firsthand knowledge,” Lindstrom said.
Burr walked back to the defense table. “Nothing further, Your Honor.”
Karpinen called Winifred Burgdorfer, the aged medical examiner. “Dr. Burgdorfer, would you please tell us the cause of death?”
“Strangulation.” Her voice boomed. Whatever infirmities old age had visited upon the good doctor, a weak voice surely wasn’t one of them.
“Are you saying that Jimmy Lyons was strangled?”
“Of course that’s what I’m saying.”
“And what was the instrument of death?” Karpinen said.
“He was strangled by a string of Christmas tree lights.”
“And how do you know that?”
“I examined the body,” she said.
“Your witness,” Karpinen said.
Burr tapped his pencil. He’d have to be careful with Dr. Burgdorfer. He needed to make his point, but he didn’t want to antagonize the jury. Half of them were probably her patients.
“Counselor,” Lindstrom said, “do you have any questions for Dr. Burgdorfer or are you just going to entertain us with your pencil tapping?”
Burr walked up to the witness. “Dr. Burgdorfer…” he said, then stopped short.
She looked at him. He looked back. She twisted in her chair. Finally, “What is it that you want?” she said.
“Are you the medical examiner – the coroner – for Mackinac County?”
“Yes.”
“Are you a doctor?” he said as kindly as could.
“Of course, I’m a doctor,” she said, irritated.
“Are you a medical doctor?” he said, even more kindly.
“No,” she said, this time defiantly.
“I thought you said you were a doctor.”
“I am a doctor.”
“But you’re not a medical doctor?”
“No.”
Karpinen struggled to his feet. “I object, Your Honor. Counsel is badgering the witness. Dr. Burgdorfer’s credentials are impeccable.”
“Sustained,” Lindstrom said.
“Your Honor, the qualifications of an expert witness are always subject to scrutiny.”
Lindstrom thought this over. Finally, “Continue, Mr. Lafayette, but please remember that Dr. Burgdorfer is a longtime and well-respected member of our community.”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Burr said. “Dr. Burgdorfer, exactly what kind of doctor are you?”
“I am an osteopath,” she boomed.
“An osteopath,” Burr said. “I see. And that is a kind of doctor?”
“Yes.” She growled at him.
“Like a chiropractor?”
“No.” Burr watched the color rise to her makeup-free face.
“But both chiropractors and osteopaths crack backs.”
“In Michigan, an osteopath can do anything a medical doctor can do.”
Burr ignored her. He’d taken this as far as he could, and all he’d wanted to do was put a little doubt in the jurors’ minds about the good doctor’s capability. “Dr. Burgdorfer, did you examine Mr. Lyons at The Pink Pony?”
“No.”
“Where, may I ask, did you examine him?”
“At the morgue.”
“So, you didn’t actually see Mr. Lyons where he died.”
“No.”
“I see.”
Maybe the jury will think all this this was amateur hour.
“Miss Burgdorfer . . .”
“Doctor,” she said.
“Of course,” Burr said, “did you check the alcohol content of Mr. Lyons’ blood?”
“Yes.”
“And what was the alcohol content in Mr. Lyons’ blood?”
“.21.”
“.21,” Burr said. “That’s high, isn’t it?”
“That’s not for me to say.”
“Miss...” Burr stopped, “…Doctor Burgdorfer, what is the blood alcohol content in Michigan for drunk driving?”
; “.08,” she said, without hesitation.
“.08,” Burr said. “Mr. Lyons’ blood alcohol content was .21. That is high. In fact, it’s almost three times as high as the definition of legally drunk,” Burr said, not asking. “Would you say Mr. Lyons was drunk at the time of his death?”
“Yes.”
“Was he dead drunk?”
“Objection.”
“Sustained.”
“Dr. Burgdorfer, is it possible that Mr. Lyons could have been alone in The Pink Pony, wrapped the lights around his own neck, passed out, and strangled himself?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because he would have woken up.”
“Not if he was that drunk,” Burr said to the jury.
“Objection,” Karpinen said. “Counsel has no idea what happened.”
“Sustained.”
Burr turned to the jury. “Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Lyons was drunk. Very drunk. He was found dead inside The Pink Pony. Locked in. From the inside. I submit to you that Mr. Lyons did this to himself. That Mr. Lyons killed himself.”
Karpinen started to stand. Burr waved him down. “All done, Mr. Karpinen.”
Lindstrom adjourned them for lunch.
The Halversons left together. Aunt Kitty stopped Burr on the courthouse steps. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”
“Doing?”
“Getting yourself thrown out like that. You’ve just about lost before you started.”
“Aunt Kitty…”
“Don’t Aunt Kitty me. Martha is mad as hops. I’m sure she’s going to call the family lawyers.”
I doubt that one of them was growing pot on top of their building.
“And then what will you do?”
* * *
After lunch, the bailiff called them back to order. Martha’s lawyers hadn’t shown up yet, but St. Ignace was at least a five-hour drive from Detroit.
Karpinen called Emil Conti. The rodent-like detective took the witness stand and faced the courtroom.
Karpinen got through the perfunctory questions quickly. “Detective Conti, were you in charge of the examination at the crime scene?”
“Objection,” Burr said, popping to his feet. “It has not yet been determined that a crime was committed.”
“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” Lindstrom wagged his finger at Burr. “I’ve had just about enough of your niff naws.”
The Pink Pony Page 19
