by Dan Decker
“Give me a wrist, I will put the first one on myself,” I said.
He extended his hand and I clapped the cuff on him and tightened it to make sure it was secure. I then left it dangling, and motioned for him to put the other one on, but he was already taking a swing at me.
Unfortunately, I did not see it coming.
Verbal sparring, I can take all day. Physical violence is something else altogether. He got me right in the eye.
I lunged, pushing him to the floor, and wrapped the other cuff around his wrist. I then picked him up and pushed him against the wall. “I’m not gonna report this to the cops either but you are trying my patience.”
The man growled. “You don’t want to tell him about how you assaulted me?”
I didn’t answer as I took a step back from him, brought out my phone, and held it up. It stopped ringing.
“It’s unfortunate that you were not able to talk with your sister. Now, I am a man of my word and I guarantee you will talk to her before the police officer arrests you. Let’s go.”
12
I opened the door with my client in front of me, his hands extended, showing that he was cuffed. The police officer went to draw his gun, but then saw the situation and stopped.
“The sister tried to call, but we didn’t get to it in time.” I looked at the cop. “Can you have her call again?”
“Yeah, just a sec.” The officer pulled out his phone and walked off.
I waited, looking at the man while also monitoring my phone while trying to not look at my watch. It rang a moment later. I answered and put it on speakerphone.
“Justine?” The man asked. “Is that you?”
“Eric?”
“Yeah.”
“They have him custody.” She paused. “I heard what you did for me. I really appreciate it. I’m sorry that they’re going to arrest you.”
“Anything to take care of my little sis.”
“I’ll come visit.”
I disconnected. I didn’t want to give her a chance to tell him she had been arrested. I had the bare minimum required to get Eric to go with the police officer. I held a hand up to the cop as he approached.
“One final communication with my client,” I said.
The officer stepped back.
“As I’ve already explained, I’ve gone to a lot of work to craft a way for you out of this situation with the least amount of time in jail possible. Don’t squander it. You go with the police officer. You only say polite things. You only do nice things. You don’t give him any information about anything and you let me handle everything.”
He said nothing.
I motioned for the officer to come forward, who took Eric by the arm and escorted him to the police car.
Eric looked back at me and said something that shocked me.
“Thank you.”
I just nodded. It was surprising to have anybody express gratitude in my line of work.
I returned to my desk, checked the clock, and then went to work on the memo, hoping to finish before my deadline.
The Prosecution’s Witness
1
“So, in your estimation,” prosecutor Frank Ward said to Doctor Sandra Johnson, an expert witness for the prosecution, “is it your opinion that the defendant was of sound mind on the evening of March 27, excepting, of course, for the fact that he later got high?”
You could’ve heard a pin drop in the courtroom as all eyes focused on Sandra.
I refrained from glancing over at my client, Mason Smith. I had told him the likely outcome of today’s trial and had urged him to take a plea deal, but he had not been willing to consider it.
Despite all evidence the contrary, he continued to insist that he was innocent of the second-degree murder charge.
“Yes,” Sandra Johnson said, “that is my official opinion.”
Frank’s eyes met mine.
“Your witness, Mr. Turner.”
2
I studied Sandra Johnson before I stood and addressed the court. “I have no questions for this witness.”
A murmur ran through the crowded courtroom as I sat down. I could feel Mason cringing beside me, furious that I had not tried to impeach this witness.
In his opinion, if I didn’t take every potential opportunity to protest his innocence, I wasn’t doing my job.
He did not understand that it was better to be selective in what you did, especially in front of a jury. The wrong word at the wrong time could sink a case.
Doctor Sandra Johnson’s credentials were impeccable. Her presentation was well done, and she came off as smart and informed. I also could not disagree with her assessment of my client’s state of mind at the time because our own expert agreed with her.
My client had been of sound mind at the time of the murder.
He had just been higher than a kite.
When I glanced over at Mason, he was visibly frustrated.
Timing is everything, I wanted to say to him, but instead, after a glance at the victim’s parents, I faced forward and kept my emotion from leaking through.
Both mother and stepfather had sat right beside each other during the two-day trial. My heart always went out to the victims and their loved ones, even when I was called upon to represent a guilty client. I could not help but wonder what they thought of this whole thing.
Other defense attorneys might criticize me for my empathy, but it was essential to remain in touch with one’s humanity.
“You have to do more—” Mason started to say.
“Quiet,” I said to him without looking over, wishing Mason would maintain some sense of composure.
I did not like the way the courtroom had responded to my refusal to ask a question, but it had been a gamble either way.
This might, unfortunately, have an indirect effect on the jury but the truth was Mason had been in his right mind that night. There had been no evidence that he was crazy. I wasn’t going to waste time and effort on a losing proposition.
I had floated the idea to Frank early on in negotiations that we might use the insanity defense, but I had decided in my final preparations to not bring it into the courtroom because it was a losing argument.
“I don’t like how you’re handling things,” Mason said to me in more of a whisper this time. “I think I might have to fire you.”
I shook my head slightly. “The court would never let me out at this point. Not unless you can find compelling evidence that I’m not doing my job. Trust me, the last thing you want me to do right now is try to impeach that psychologist in front of a jury that just hung on her every word. It won’t work.”
“You better think of something.”
3
“The state calls Tony Guerrera to the stand,” Frank said after shuffling through his papers back at the prosecution’s table and returning to the podium. I could not resist another glance back at the parents of the victim. Tony was their son and stepson. Both Tony and Mason had been present at the time of the victim’s murder.
It had been my intention from day one to paint Tony as the alternate suspect, but I had never found convincing evidence that I could present in court, despite having my private investigator spend thousands of dollars looking into it. This was why I had eventually just recommended my client take a plea deal, but he had insisted that he was innocent and refused.
At least I get an opportunity to question Tony Guerrera, I thought.
After Tony was sworn in, Frank started his questioning.
“Can you tell us your whereabouts on the night of March 27 at approximately 6:00 PM in the evening?”
Tony glanced at Mason as he answered. “I was with Mason Smith at dinner. We ate at Denny’s that night.”
“Just to be sure, can you please point out the person you’re talking about?”
Tony pointed at my client. Frank waited a moment to let that sink in with the jury.
“How long did you guys stay at the diner?”
“For approximately
an hour and a half.”
“Where did you guys go after that?”
“We went to a friend’s apartment.”
“And who exactly was this friend?” Frank asked.
I was surprised at the emphasis Frank put on the word friend. The truth was they had not gone to a friend’s apartment.
They had gone to a drug dealer.
“Dwayne Clinton.”
“And for what purpose did you go to Mister Clinton’s apartment?”
Once again, Tony glanced over at Mason, licked his lips, and then shook his head. He continued with a sigh of resignation. “We went to get drugs.”
“What kind of drugs?”
“We were looking for anything he had on hand. We just wanted a little something for fun.”
“What did you procure?”
“Some meth.”
“Where did you go after that?”
“We went back to my place.”
Frank cleared his throat. “When you say your place, do you mean your apartment or someplace else?”
“I mean my parents’ home. I don’t have an apartment.”
“What happened after that?”
“We did the drugs.”
Frank paused, looking through his notes, but I knew that he was just giving the judge and jury time to weigh Tony’s testimony. Frank had a tricky road to walk because he didn’t want to impugn Tony’s reputation too much, but at the same time, he wanted to make sure he got the message of my own client’s weaknesses to the jury.
I had not been told precisely what Tony’s plea bargain was, but I knew that he was going to spend a lot less time in jail than my client.
“Can you tell us what happened next?”
Tony gave an embarrassed shake of his head. “I cannot. I lost consciousness after we got high.”
“What is the next thing that you remember?”
I leaned forward, intent on Tony’s answer. I didn’t believe he was telling the truth about blacking out. Unfortunately, Mason had lost consciousness and was not able to contradict him.
“I remember waking up.”
There was something in Tony’s eyes that I just did not trust.
I knew that he was lying.
“And what did you find upon waking?”
“The body,” Tony said matter-of-factly. “That of my sister.”
Was that really how you would think of your beloved stepsister?
“Your sister was dead?”
“Yes.”
4
As Frank continued his questioning, I focused on Tony, letting my mind tune out Frank’s words as I watched Tony’s facial expressions.
I had read Tony’s report to the police and had interviewed my own client about Tony extensively. At the end of all that, I had a hard time believing that he had blacked out.
According to Mason, the last several times they had got high, Mason had been the one to blackout, and on at least one occasion, Tony had put Mason in a compromising position.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out an alternate theory of the case. The problem was coming up with a believable motive for Tony and evidence to back it up.
All of the physical evidence pointed towards my client.
The victim’s parents had, of course, refused to meet with my investigator. We also did not have access to the crime scene as it was the parents’ home. Everything about this case made me want to negotiate a plea bargain, which was why I hated that we were now at trial.
Tony could’ve been charged with much worse if he had not agreed to play ball with the prosecution, but as it was, he was their star witness, and the primary reason my client was going to jail.
I broke from my reverie when Frank looked at me.
“Your witness, counselor.”
5
“How are you doing today, Tony?” I asked him as a preliminary question once I had arranged my stuff at the lectern.
Tony gave me a dark, indignant look. “I’m at the trial of my sister’s murderer, how do you think I’m doing?”
That was more emotion than when you described finding her dead, pal.
“Fair enough,” I said without looking over at the jury. It had been a risk, and I wasn’t sure that it had paid off. In my closing argument I might make a connection between this answer and the other. I would have to give it careful thought.
Okay, Tony, I thought, tell me what you know.
It was strange that Tony would walk free after a slap on the wrist while my client was looking at long years in a cold jail cell, particularly since both of them had “blacked out.”
I glanced at the stepfather. I suppose that’s the benefit of being connected to the mayor. My investigator had looked into that as well but found nothing.
“When you woke up, what was your first thought upon seeing the body of your stepsister?”
Tony stared me. “My first thought was exactly as I had explained to Frank Ward just a moment ago.”
“Humor me.”
“Mason went too far this time.”
“And what makes you say that?”
Tony rolled his eyes. “Mason was always asking her out, but she never agreed to go out with him, did she?”
“So, you figure he killed her while you guys were both high?”
“It looked like that to me.”
“I see.” I waited expectantly, hoping that Tony would elaborate.
He did.
“He had blood all over him. All over his fingers, underneath his fingernails. He killed her in a fit of rage.” Tony hesitated for a moment, and when I saw that he wanted to say something more, I waited still. “In a way, I almost blame myself. If I hadn’t come home with the drugs, he would have never killed my sister.”
Were those tears in Tony’s eyes?
My eyes narrowed. This last part about blaming himself seemed a little too calculated.
I was confident now that Tony murdered his stepsister, but I didn’t have any other reason other than my instincts.
Some of the facts as reported by Tony in the police report, had seemed a little convenient and manufactured, but Tony had refused to talk with my investigator or me.
“Let’s rewind here a moment,” I said, “when was the last time Mason asked out your stepsister?”
Tony hesitated and I could see that he was concerned about answering this question.
“I dunno, maybe a month or two before?”
“So, according to you, he waited for a couple of months after being spurned before he finally killed her?”
“I’m not sure how you want me to respond to that.”
The prosecutor was on his feet. “Your Honor, is there a real question in there that the witness is expected to answer?”
“Withdrawn,” I said without looking over at the judge.
“Have the two of you ever done drugs before that night?”
“Of course, countless times.” Tony looked more confident now as if we had veered back into territory with which he was familiar. He had been prepared to emphasize the drug abuse that both he and Mason had engaged in.
A tricky road to travel, Frank.
“And how many of those times did you get high in your parents’ home?”
“I dunno, five or six.”
“Were you always in the basement?”
“Yes.”
“And when was the most recent time prior to your stepsister’s murder that you guys snuck into the basement?”
“A week or two before, I think.”
“Did you pass out that time?”
“No.”
“Did Mason?”
Tony didn’t respond right away. He could see where I was going. He had a bit of a deer in the headlights look, which was surprising because he should’ve anticipated that I would ask about this.
Unless this was something he kept back from the prosecution.
“Yes.”
A hushed murmur ran through the crowd, and I hid a pleased smile.
“So, you
did not pass out, but Mason did, correct?”
“Yes.” His voice was faint now, his confidence crumbling.
“Did you play a practical joke on Mason while he was out?”
“What you mean?”
“Did you put them in some sort of compromising position?”
Tony hesitated and glanced at Mason, having the audacity to look betrayed. I could see Tony trying to decide if it was best for him just to come clean or hide it.
“I did,” Tony said at last with great reluctance. “It was a simple joke.”
“What did you do?”
“I propped him over the toilet with his head dangling into the bowl.” He licked his lips.
“So, before the death of your sister, you actively put Mason into an embarrassing situation, is this correct?”
I expected Frank to find an objection in there somewhere, but he remained silent.
“Yes, that is correct.”
“And did you take a picture?”
“Yes.”
“Did you share it with anybody?”
“I put it on Facebook.”
I nodded and looked at the clock, wishing that it was almost time for a break. I needed a moment to collect my thoughts. I was onto something here and had managed to lay the foundation for what I wanted, but the next steps depended solely on how Tony answered my questions.
My instincts told me I was close, but everything I thought of doing next seemed just like a dead end. I decided to take a step back and focus on the stepsister again.
“Have you ever seen my client exhibit violent tendencies toward your stepsister?”
“No.”
There was something there behind his eyes.
Was it because Mason did the opposite?
“How would he treat your stepsister?”
“I dunno, he could not stop thinking about her, I can tell you that for sure.”
“Would he open the door for her?”
Tony didn’t answer for a long moment. “Yeah, I suppose.”
“When she came into the room, would he stand up?”
