Defense of an Other

by Grace Mead

  As the jury entered the room, Matt surveyed the twelve people culled from a larger, more representative and randomly selected group. Eight of the jurors were white and the jury questionnaires revealed that most were from what counted as the more urban areas of Louisiana in and around New Orleans—according to conventional wisdom urban was good, but white was not. And none of the jurors were gay. Matt—as a lawyer—would have been troubled about their predispositions; as a defendant, he was terrified.

  Farrar remained at the podium as the jury entered. He’d worn an expensive suit, as usual. As he flipped a page in the legal pad in front of him, his left cuff slipped up to reveal his sole concession to the sensibilities of the average citizen: a plain steel watch had replaced the one he ordinarily wore to the office, which was solid gold.

  “Thank you, Your Honor. Ladies and gentlemen, I’d also like to thank you for your service. As you well know, Mr Durant’s life is at stake in this trial, so I’d like to express my appreciation in advance not simply for the time it will take, but also for the conscientious way in which you’ll consider the evidence. The evidence will show Mr Durant did not go into that alley to purchase drugs.” He surveyed the jury before glaring at the prosecutor’s table.

  “The prosecutor’s claim that he did so is completely inconsistent with the character Mr Durant has demonstrated over the twenty-eight years of his life.” He looked back at Matt before turning again to address the jury. “Much of the evidence Mr Thibedeaux failed to mention will establish that Mr Durant was forced to kill Mr Cutler to save himself and Mr Buckner. Mr Durant is a fine young man who after the death of his father decided to attend law school in Louisiana rather than going to an out-of-state school because his mother and he couldn’t afford the pricier tuition. After law school, Mr Durant worked for an appellate judge who will testify that Mr Durant displayed the highest ethical standards. So how did Mr Durant wind up here?” Farrar asked with upraised palms, widened eyes and raised eyebrows.

  “The evidence will show Mr Durant had recently broken up with his girlfriend of many years. He was experiencing confusion about his sexual orientation. Mr Durant thought he might be gay. And so Mr Durant decided to go to a gay bar to explore those feelings a bit more. He was confused and embarrassed and afraid of how his friends would react. I think after hearing the testimony of Mr Durant’s mother and his former boss, you’ll realize he could have confided in them. But Mr Durant didn’t feel that way on the night of September 7, 2007. Now, Mr Durant had been drinking when he arrived at the bar on that Friday night in September. But the evidence will show Mr Durant had never met Mr Buckner before. And when Mr Buckner struck up a conversation with Mr Durant, he responded just as anyone would in a restaurant or bar. Mr Durant didn’t know Mr Buckner was a drug dealer, and he never had any intention of buying drugs. And you will see persuasive corroboration of Mr Durant’s testimony. An expert performed a drug test on a hair sample from Mr Durant and he’ll testify that test showed the odds that Mr Durant has used any illegal drug during last six years are less than one tenth of one percent. The notion that Mr Durant went into that alley to buy drugs from Mr Buckner is preposterous.” Farrar’s right hand bobbed up and down for emphasis, fingers relaxed to avoid distracting from his words with any finger pointing.

  “Mr Durant will testify that Mr Buckner suggested they go out into the alley to relieve themselves because of a long line for the restroom. And Mr Durant will further testify that’s when Brian Cutler, John Harlan and Don Rand accosted them in that alley. Mr Rand threatened, and I quote, to ‘beat the shit out of a couple of faggots.’” Farrar spat out the last word. “When Mr Rand takes the stand, take a look at the size of the man. He’s well over six foot tall and weighs over three-hundred pounds. And Mr Rand didn’t just threaten. Mr Rand hit Mr Buckner and you’ll see from medical records that Mr Rand pulverized his nose. Mr Buckner required reconstructive surgery to breathe properly.” Farrar took a deep breath himself.

  Matt hoped the jurors were reconsidering any assumption that he would be the most violent person in the courtroom.

  “After Mr Rand bashed Joey Buckner in the face, well, Mr Durant had a choice. He could attempt to flee, or he could attempt to stop Mr Rand. You’ll see pictures of that alley. It might have been at least theoretically possible for Mr Durant to turn and run. But Mr Buckner couldn’t run. Mr Rand had injured him too severely. So instead of abandoning him, Mr Durant had to intervene to prevent further violence. And, faced with three men in a dark alley, Mr Durant did hold on to his beer bottle as he walked forward to confront them.” Farrar held his left hand up as if grasping a bottle, then raised the right and turned both upward. “I don’t know why anyone with any sense would let go of the bottle in that situation. Mr Durant will testify that, as he approached the three men, Mr Cutler broke off to confront them. And when Mr Cutler broke off, Mr Durant saw the blade of a knife. Again, you won’t have to rely solely on Mr Durant’s testimony. You’ll see a digitally enhanced photograph taken from an automated teller machine across the street. Now, Mr Cutler’s back is to that camera as he approaches Matt, but you’ll see the photographs show the bright flash of a knife in Mr Cutler’s hand. And only when Mr Cutler approached with that knife, after the three men in an alley had caused Mr Buckner severe injury, did Matt Durant swing that beer bottle. And we all now know that swinging that beer bottle had terrible consequences.” Farrar looked back at the prosecution, implying that among those consequences were Matt’s arrest and trial.

  “Mr Thibedeaux spent a good deal of time talking about the number of witnesses he has, but you should also consider the quality of their testimony. As Mr Thibedeaux admitted in his opening, Mr Buckner has a strong incentive to lie. His prison sentence of potentially five years will be reduced to only one year, depending on his testimony in this courtroom. Mr Thibedeaux emphasized Mr Buckner has never been convicted of a crime of violence.” Farrar shook his head and remained focused on the jurors..

  “Well, that’s not what you need to decide about Mr Buckner. You’ll need to consider whether he’s lying to save his hide. And you should consider the evidence of Mr Buckner’s criminal record when doing so.” Farrar looked back over at the prosecution table but kept the jurors within his line of vision. “Mr Thibedeaux also neglected to mention an important piece of evidence that shows Mr Buckner is lying. A couple of weeks ago, Mr Buckner ran into Mr Durant on the street. And you’ll hear a tape recording of that conversation. You’ll hear Mr Buckner thank Mr Durant for saving him in that alley, admit Mr Durant didn’t know he had cocaine and admit he’s planning to sell Mr Durant out. And Mr Durant asks only one thing of Mr Buckner. To tell the truth. I think you’ll be able to determine pretty easily that Mr Buckner ignored Mr Durant’s plea. As for the testimony of Mr Harlan and Mr Rand, the evidence will show that neither is, as Mr Thibedeaux put it, an angel.” With that, Farrar looked at Thibedeaux with disdain before re-engaging the jury.

  “And you’ll see the detective who arrived in the alley immediately after the incident did something unusual when interviewing them. Not only did he interview them at the same time, but he also suggested at the beginning of the interview that Mr Durant had been buying drugs from Mr Buckner. In other words, the detective offered two men potentially guilty of battery, and certainly angry about the death of their friend, an excuse for their criminal conduct and a way to punish Matt Durant. Don’t allow these two men to use the judicial system to punish Matt Durant further for defending himself and Mr Buckner. Thank you.”

  Matt struggled to suppress his smile while the jury remained in the room. As distasteful as it had been to suffer through Thibedeaux’s opening, Farrar’s gave him hope.

  “Thank you, Mr Farrar,” Judge Masterson said. “Let’s take an hour-long lunch recess before the state calls its first witness. I’d like to remind the jurors not to discuss the case during the break. I’ll see you all in an hour.”

  Farrar busied himself with editing his cross-examination for the pro
secution’s first witness. The rest of the defense team had lunch in the courthouse cafeteria and labored to follow the judge’s standing instruction to avoid discussing the case in public. They returned to the courtroom well before one.

  “All rise. Court is now back in session,” Judge Masterson’s clerk said.

  “Who do you call as your first witness?” Judge Masterson asked Thibedeaux.

  “The prosecution calls Detective Scott Jones to the stand.”

  Detective Jones folded himself into the chair in the witness box. He testified on direct examination that he’d been a detective for fifteen years, had interviewed thousands of witnesses, and had followed his usual protocol in handling the crime scene and interviewing the witnesses. On cross-examination, Farrar scored several points: Jones admitted he’d interviewed Harlan and Rand together, he’d informed them at the outset of the interview that he’d found cocaine in Buckner’s possession, and that he’d done so despite the New Orleans Police Department Manual’s recommendation that officers obtain witnesses’ unaltered recollections before disclosing important facts.

  Judge Masterson addressed Mr Thibedeaux. “Please call your next witness.”

  “The state calls Donald Rand to the stand.”

  Whispers in the gallery faded to silence, as Rand lumbered toward the witness stand, sat and then swore to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. He filled the witness box as he moved his chair back and shoved the microphone stem forward to make room for his bulk.

  Thibedeaux rose to begin his examination. “Mr Rand, have you ever seen the defendant, Matthew Durant, before today?”

  “Yes, sir. I saw him on the night of September 7 in an alley in the French Quarter.” Rand’s voice boomed and he pawed to push the microphone farther from his mouth.

  “When you first saw Mr Durant, what was he doing?”

  “Well, I was cutting through a back alley with two friends, goin’ from bar to bar in the Quarter, and we saw Mr Durant and that other guy, Joey Buckner, in the back alley. The two huddled together and then they went and started taking a leak.”

  “What happened next?”

  “Brian Cutler, one of my buddies, said he’d bet they were doing a drug deal. So we went up to them and told them we wanted them to stop and we were gonna hold them until the police came.”

  “Why did you decide to intervene and report Mr Durant and Mr Buckner to the police?”

  “I grew up in a rough neighborhood. There were lots of drugs in my high school. I had friends end up in jail, and a couple even died from overdoses. I hate drugs and I hate the thought people can buy and sell drugs out in the open like that.”

  “What happened after you told Mr Durant and Mr Buckner you were going to get the police?”

  “Well, Brian and John grabbed Joey Buckner and he tried to squirm away. Their hands slipped and I hit Joey Buckner in the face to stop him from runnin’.”

  “What happened next?”

  “This Durant guy, he started toward us. Brian dropped one of Buckner’s arms and went out to meet him to make sure he couldn’t get away. When Brian walked up to Durant, the guy just went nuts. He threw a bunch of punches real fast. Then he stabbed Brian in the side of the head with a beer bottle.”

  “Did Mr Durant stab Mr Cutler in the side of the head with the beer bottle more than once?”

  “He stabbed him a couple of times.”

  “What happened after he stabbed him?”

  “Brian fell to the ground. I tried to see what I could do for him, but I could tell it was probably too late. There was blood everywhere and his head had a huge dent in the side. It looked like this Durant guy had broken part of his skull. I yelled for an ambulance, people came running and then the police showed up.” Rand’s expression remained serious but impassive. Matt imagined the jurors must be deciding whether Rand was an honest man hardened by a rough life or just lying, but their expressions too betrayed no emotion.

  “Have you since learned Mr Durant hadn’t actually purchased the drugs from Mr Buckner?”

  “Yeah, but I also read that he had a bunch of money, and this Buckner guy had cocaine on him.”

  “Objection. Move to strike. Hearsay and speculation,” Farrar said.

  “Sustained,” Judge Masterson ruled. “Jurors, you should disregard the last question and answer.”

  “Did you see Mr Cutler pull out a knife as he approached Mr Durant?”

  “No. Brian didn’t have no knife.”

  “Do you believe that Mr Durant was attempting to defend himself when he swung the beer bottle?”

  “No. He was just looking out for himself. He didn’t want to go to jail.”

  “No further questions, Your Honor.”

  Farrar stood to begin his cross-examination. “Mr Rand, have you ever pleaded guilty to a crime?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What crime did you plead guilty to?”

  “Beating up a guy in Houma a few years ago.”

  “And did you spend any time in prison as a result of that conviction?”

  “Yeah. I spent ninety days in jail.”

  “Was that your first offense?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Why’d you serve ninety days in prison if that was your first offense?”

  “They said it was a hate crime.”

  “Did you beat up an African-American man?” Farrar gripped the podium and leaned forward.

  “He happened to be black, yeah.”

  “Did you beat him up because you saw him with a white woman?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Mr Rand, could you please turn to tab one in the binder in front of you.” Farrar opened his own binder and asked the judge’s clerk to show the document to the judge, opposing counsel and witness on their screens, without showing it to the jury. He zapped a barcode at the bottom of his document so that he could magnify and highlight portions of the document to call Rand’s attention to them.

  “Do you recognize this document?” Farrar’s frown signaled disappointment and frustration with the exercise Rand was forcing him to perform. Matt knew Farrar was actually thrilled; presented with the choice between admitting the truth the easy way or the hard way, Rand had chosen the hard way.

  “Yeah, this looks like a transcript of the hearing where I entered my guilty plea.”

  “And were you under oath at this federal hearing in Houma, Louisiana?”

  “Yes, sir.” Rand nodded.

  “At that hearing, did you say that you’d beaten up the victim, a black man, because he was dating a white friend of yours?”

  “Yes, sir. I said that.”

  “So tell me now, Mr Rand, did you beat up a black man because you saw him with a white woman?”

  Rand paused. “Yes, sir. I suppose I did.”

  “And your earlier testimony about why you beat up that black man was false?”

  Rand’s eyes darted toward the judge, then Thibedeaux, before landing on Farrar’s again. “It wasn’t false. I just didn’t remember.”

  “Did you use any insults or racial slurs when you beat up the black man in Houma, Louisiana?”

  “Yeah. I think I may have called him a name.”

  “What name did you call the man you beat up in Houma, Louisiana?”

  “I think I may have called him a nigger.”

  “And did you serve ninety days in federal prison because your battery qualified as a hate crime?”

  “That’s what the judge said, yeah.”

  Farrar flipped a page in the binder in front of him on the podium. “How tall are you, Mr Rand?”

  “About six-six.”

  “And how much do you weigh?”

  “About three hundred and twenty-five pounds.”

  “How did you batter this man in Houma, Louisiana?”

  “I hit him with my fists.”

  “Was that man hospitalized?”

  “Yes.”

  “How long was he hospitalized for?”

&nb
sp; “A couple of days.”

  “Have you ever tackled a man?”

  “Yeah. I played some football in high school.”

  “Given that you were aware you’d put a man into the hospital the last time you hit him a few times, why didn’t you tackle Mr Buckner?” Farrar cocked his head to the side.

  “I was just standing there, so I didn’t have a running start.” Rand appeared to realize the lameness of his excuse, so added: “And it all happened real fast.”

  “Would you agree that Mr Buckner is much smaller than you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you think that you needed a running start to tackle Mr Buckner?”

  “No, but it just wasn’t natural for me to tackle him when we were both standing there.”

  “So you hit Mr Buckner rather than tackling him just because it wasn’t natural?” Farrar turned toward the jury while waiting for the answer.

  “I told you. It happened real fast.” Stubbornness settled into Rand’s voice.

  Farrar would have to rip it out. “Mr Rand, can you turn to tab two in your binder?” Farrar zapped the page in his binder, putting it on the screen in front of Rand. “Do you recognize this as a picture of the alley where you struck Mr Buckner?”

  “Yeah. It’s a picture of the alley. I don’t know when it was taken.”

  Farrar moved for its admission into evidence without objection, and it was admitted. He displayed it on the large screen. “This is a photograph of the alley on the night of September 7. Can you identify the man walking toward Matthew Durant?”

  “That’s Brian Cutler.”

  “And does Brian Cutler have anything in his hand?”

  “I don’t know. It looks like something shiny, but it’s hard to tell.” Rand almost whined the last, a surprising pitch from such a large man.

  “Could this picture show that Brian Cutler had a knife in his hand?”

  His whine deepened to almost a shout. “He didn’t have no knife!”

  “Answer the question, please. Could the object in this picture be a knife?”

  “I did answer the question. He didn’t have no knife.” Rand’s face flushed and beads of sweat stood out on his forehead.