by Adam Mitzner
The prosecutor got the last word, and Carolyn Vittorio used that opportunity to rebalance the scales a bit. She couldn’t mention the prior abuse, of course, thanks, in part to Gwen’s winning argument on that point. Still, she did her best to bring the jury back to the idea that Jennifer Toolan had been murdered by her husband’s hand.
The jurors left the courtroom to deliberate. Gwen truly had no idea which way they’d decide. She was far more certain, however, about the verdict she wanted to hear.
41.
As Will walked into the zoo, he could hear an amplified voice.
“These amazing creatures are California sea lions. Fully grown males weigh in at more than six hundred pounds. They can eat five to eight percent of their body weight in a single meal. Just imagine how many Big Macs that would be for a human.”
It was crowded, just as Qin had expected. Earlier in the day, the sky had looked threatening, but now the sun was out in full force.
The sea lion tank was the focal point of virtually everyone in the zoo—other than Will. His eyes zeroed in on the Chinese man sitting on the bench, wearing a San Francisco Giants baseball cap.
Despite the sun, there was an autumnal chill in the air. Qin was bundled in a heavy shearling coat and dark sunglasses to deal with the glare. His feet only barely reached the ground from the bench. Given the way Eve talked about him, Will had expected, if not someone the size of a sumo wrestler, at least an average-height individual. By the expression on Qin’s face, Will did not think that Qin was any more impressed with him.
Will sat down beside him on the bench, but he didn’t offer to shake hands. Instead, he made the quarter turn to look at Qin. Then he offered the subtlest of nods. “Mr. Qin. My name is Will Matthews. I was told that you wanted to discuss some matters.”
Although Will had never had much interest in the performing arts, he had come to realize that being the new Sam was akin to playing a part. He could summon a steely resolve and Clint Eastwood–like squint that told the other side he meant business. If only, he sometimes thought, he were more like this Will Matthews in his real life. Perhaps he wouldn’t have ever found himself playing this role at all.
“First things first,” Qin said. “Please confirm what I have been told: that Mr. Abaddon is no longer with us.”
“He’s dead,” Will said in a tone meant to convey that a similar fate might befall Qin if he didn’t get with the program. He was in full New Sam mode, completely in character. “I have taken control of the organization, which I know you’ve already been told. I also know that you’ve been similarly informed that you are to treat me as you would Sam. Which is why I was disappointed that you asked for this meeting before we could resume doing business together.”
The barking of one of the sea lions momentarily distracted Qin. Will followed his line of sight to the tank. They watched as the handler dangled a fish to get the animal to bark again before allowing him to receive his prize.
“You put up a good front, Mr. Matthews. Evelyn has taught you well.”
Qin’s mention of Eve meant that her suspicions had been confirmed. He must have been working with Sam, because no one else could have told him that Eve was actually in charge. Not to mention that, to Will’s knowledge, no one else ever called her Evelyn other than Sam.
And if Qin knew that Sam had been under Eve’s thumb, he had likely also surmised that Will was in a similar predicament.
Perhaps, Will thought, Qin could be my ally? As he was Sam’s?
As if he was reading Will’s mind, Qin said, “Sam came to me, asking for my assistance. He knew that, sooner or later, what ultimately happened to him was the only ending Eve could allow. If you’re half as smart as Sam, you know that too. Which means that I’m your only hope of salvation, Mr. Matthews.”
Will surveyed their surroundings. All he saw were happy families clapping at the display in the tank. One of the sea lions was barking, asking for even more fish. The trainer wagged a finger at him in mock anger.
“Everyone,” the seal handler said through her megaphone, “that’s our show for today. On behalf of our California sea lions, Flip, Whiskers, Cecil, and Phineas . . .”
Out of his peripheral vision, Will spied a man moving briskly through the crowd. He knew he recognized the full black beard, although it took him a moment to connect the face to a place. And then it was all there.
This was the man he’d seen in Eve’s apartment. The day that he’d read that Sam’s body had been discovered.
He turned back to Qin, who had slumped over. A knife was sticking out of his back.
Whatever coolness Will had managed to summon to play his part with Qin vanished. He launched into full-fledged panic mode.
He jumped up and began to walk away, moving briskly enough that anyone following would have to stand out in order to keep pace but not so quickly that he was jogging himself. Once he reached the zoo’s exit, Will finally turned around.
That’s when he heard a woman’s scream.
Eve was waiting in a black Suburban parked at the planned rendezvous point on Fifth Avenue.
“All in all, that went rather well, I think,” she said as Will joined her in the back seat. “I usually prefer something a bit subtler—a road-rage incident or a car accident, for example—but sometimes a message needs to be sent. A knife to the back tells everyone in no uncertain terms to toe the line, don’t you think?”
“So that was the plan from the beginning?” Will said. “You were never actually interested in hearing what he had to say.”
“One thing that you should know about me, Will . . . I’m not at all interested in doing business with anyone who thinks he’s smarter than me. There’s a lesson there for you, but I assume it’s one you’ve already grasped.”
42.
The jury had been out for five days.
On the morning of the second day, they had asked to hear back the testimony of Sharon Lerner, one of Jennifer Toolan’s friends. Lerner had tried mightily to tell the jury that Jennifer had confided in her about her husband’s abuse, but Ethan had been able to block that testimony at every turn. The passage the jury wanted read back to them had to do with one of those exchanges.
“I think it’s a good sign that they want to hear it again,” Kanner had said to no one in particular when the trial team discussed the development. “It suggests that they want to confirm there’s no evidence of abuse.”
Gwen knew the jury was more likely confirming their suspicions that Lerner knew of abuse but couldn’t mention it because of Ethan’s “lawyer tricks”—a term that Carolyn Vittorio used from time to time as something of a dog whistle for the jury. She was clearly trying to convey that there was more to the story that she couldn’t tell them. Or maybe that was just Gwen’s wishful thinking.
There had been quite the fight before Judge Pielmeier about what portion of the testimony should actually be read back to the jury. Ethan insisted that Judge Pielmeier read the testimony only, omitting any reference to the questions he had objected to and the judge’s ruling on those objections, nearly all of which had been sustained. Vittorio argued just as vehemently that the objection colloquies were helpful for the jury to understand the rhythm of the Q and A and therefore to effectively put them back in the position they were in when they first heard the testimony.
Judge Pielmeier sided with the defense, which meant that the entirety of what the jury was read back consisted of this:
On direct examination:
Vittorio: Did you ever observe Mrs. Toolan act in a way that suggested to you that she might be fearful of her husband?
Witness: Yes.
On cross-examination:
Ethan: You testified on direct that you observed Mrs. Toolan act in a way that suggested she was fearful of her husband. Please re-create the way you observed Mrs. Toolan act that gave you that impression.
Witness: I don’t know if I can. It was like this [witness makes a gesture].
Ethan: Thank you.
&n
bsp; On the afternoon of the third day of deliberations, the jury asked to see the crime-scene photos. Kanner once again had a positive spin: “This is good for us, because the pictures don’t suggest anger.”
Gwen kept to herself that it was not a plus for the defense for the jury to be focusing on the image of Toolan’s beautiful wife with a bullet hole in her head and blood pooling beneath her.
Yesterday, the jury had asked to see the murder weapon. Kanner thought that this was also good news. By now, Gwen had learned to tune out his analysis.
Finally, the court bailiff informed them that the jury had reached a unanimous verdict. Gwen was surprised to find herself so calm at the news. When the trial had begun, Gwen imagined that waiting for the verdict to be read would feel like being blindfolded and awaiting execution in the firing line. That sense of finality was about to come true, but with the added wrinkle that the guns might not fire, and the condemned would be set free.
But now Gwen was armed with the truth, and that changed everything. She no longer feared a guilty verdict. In fact, she’d welcome one.
With the close of evidence, the witnesses who had previously been prevented from being in the courtroom during testimony were free to return. The reporters still took up most of the seats, identifiable by the pads in their hands—electronic devices were not permitted in the courtroom. Jennifer Toolan’s family—her sisters and her mother—were in the front row, holding one another’s hands.
Hannah Templeton was not there, however.
Toolan must have known of her absence, because he never even turned around. He did, however, reach over to take Gwen’s hand. Into her ear, he whispered, “No matter the outcome, I can never thank you enough for the support and friendship you’ve shown me. I hope that, if we get the result we want, you’ll let me show my appreciation.”
His words sent a chill up her spine. She felt almost as low as when he first confided in her that he had murdered his wife. She didn’t want to be providing friendship or comfort to Jasper Toolan now, and she certainly didn’t want to be on the receiving end of his “appreciation” later.
Thankfully, she was spared having to respond by the bailiff’s cry: “All rise.”
Everyone stood, and Judge Pielmeier entered through the door to her chambers. As was her invariable practice, she waited until she was in her seat before saying, “Please be seated, everyone.” She managed to use an inflection each time that suggested she hadn’t meant to keep them standing so long and had merely forgotten that they would not sit until she so directed.
“My court clerk has alerted the parties that the jury has sent a note that they have reached a unanimous verdict. Before I bring the jury in, does either the prosecution or the defense have anything that they wish to say?”
Carolyn Vittorio stood. “Nothing for the prosecution.”
Gwen thought she sounded confident. She knew, however, that Ethan would too.
“The defense is ready as well,” he said a beat later, with every bit of the assurance Gwen had imagined.
“Very well, then,” Judge Pielmeier said. “Mr. Jackson, please bring in the jury.”
All eyes turned to the door from which the jury entered and exited the courtroom. Before they could begin to file in, the judge’s court officer had to walk the hundred or so feet from the bench to the back of the courtroom and summon them. A moment after he did so, the first of the jurors appeared. They promenaded in single file into the courtroom.
It was almost like watching a parade. Each juror deliberately made his or her way down the center aisle of the courtroom, then turned to enter the jury box. They marched in the reverse order of their seating assignment, with juror number twelve entering first and then taking her seat in the second row, closest to the bench.
Kanner had previously shared his views about reading a jury just before it issued the verdict. They made as much sense as any of his other pronouncements. This time it was the cliché that if they make eye contact it’s because they’re going to acquit—the idea being that they won’t look a man they’ve just condemned in the eye.
Gwen knew that was crazy talk. After all, the jurors might be looking at Toolan out of disgust, or maybe just because they were being polite, or because they thought his tie was an interesting color. Her theory was obviously close to the mark, because the jurors showed no pattern of consistent behavior upon their entry, despite the fact that their verdict had been unanimous. Juror twelve assiduously avoided eye contact, and juror eleven looked as if he was trying to memorize Toolan’s face because he would be called on to describe it later. Gwen’s tally had it at four to four. Three others were too difficult to ascertain, and one she thought was checking her out more than looking at Toolan.
It took less than two minutes for them all to enter the courtroom and be seated, but the process felt interminable. Finally, the silence was broken by Judge Pielmeier.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I understand that a unanimous verdict has been reached. Mr. Foreperson, is that correct?”
The juror in the first row seated closest to Judge Pielmeier rose. He was one of two African American men on the jury. During voir dire, each prospective juror had filled out a questionnaire. Among other tidbits of information, the questionnaires had included what each person did for a living and the highest education level they had achieved. Thinking back, Gwen couldn’t remember if the man now standing was the middle school science teacher or the retired pharmacist, but he looked to be over seventy, which made it more likely he was the retired pharmacist. Not that it mattered, of course. She recognized that she was distracting herself so she would think about anything other than what was about to happen.
“It is, Your Honor,” the jury foreperson said.
Gwen was pleased that the foreperson spoke clearly and with decent amplification. She had heard that was sometimes a problem, especially when an older person was selected to read the verdict.
“Mr. Jackson, please retrieve the verdict form from the foreperson.”
The bailiff left his perch beside Judge Pielmeier to make the six-foot trek to the jury box. Juror number one handed him a slip of paper, and Jackson made the return trip back to the judge.
The paper wasn’t folded, but try as she might, Gwen couldn’t see what was written on it. Judge Pielmeier took a moment to look at it. Without saying a word, she returned the slip to Jackson, who then retreated the ten or so steps to the railing enclosing the jury box. Juror number one took the paper out of his hand and waited for Judge Pielmeier’s next prompt.
“The defendant shall please rise,” Judge Pielmeier said.
Gwen got to her feet a beat after the men to her right stood, although it took Toolan a second more to rise. At the prosecution table, Carolyn Vittorio and her number two remained seated. A not-so-subtle reminder that only Jasper Toolan was truly on trial.
“This is a one-count indictment, with the only charge being premeditated murder not involving a peace officer, which in New York State is charged as murder in the second degree,” Judge Pielmeier said. “Will the jury foreperson please read the verdict?”
A second elapsed, almost as if the foreperson had forgotten that this was his job. Finally, in a steady voice, he delivered his line.
It took another beat for it to register with Gwen.
Have I heard that correctly? Does the jury actually believe that Jasper Toolan is innocent?
Her internal monologue was interrupted by the man himself. He threw his arms around her and pulled her into him.
“This is because of you, Gwen,” he said. “I couldn’t have made it through all of this if it weren’t for you.”
Gwen was dying inside. This was what her life had become. She had devoted all of her efforts to helping a wife murderer go free.
43.
After watching Qin die beside him, Will spent the rest of the day alone in his apartment, getting drunk. He ended up passing out sometime around midnight.
When he woke, his head ached and hi
s throat was dry. He tried to remember if he’d vomited the night before, but couldn’t.
It was when he checked the time on his phone that he realized he had a voice mail waiting. He hadn’t heard his phone ring, even though it had been right beside him.
Even in his sorry state, his heart lifted when he saw the caller: Gwen.
He took a deep breath, then hit “Play.” He could hear the raucousness of a party in the background, or perhaps Gwen had made the call at a bar. He’d read the news online the previous day concerning Jasper Toolan’s acquittal, and so he already knew the cause of the celebration. The irony was not lost on him that at the exact moment that Will had sunk to his lowest, as a knife plunged into Jian-Ying Qin’s back, Gwen had realized her greatest career achievement.
“I’m so sorry for . . . everything, Will. I love you. Is there any way you can forgive me? Any way we can be together again?”
“Off the phone, Gwen-o-veer,” a man said in the background. “Come do a shot with me.”
Will knew the man wasn’t Benjamin Ethan. This guy sounded younger, and he recalled Gwen’s stories about the junior partner on the case. Canned something-or-other—that was the guy’s name. Will remembered because whenever Gwen referenced him, Will thought of canned vegetables, usually a variety he didn’t like.
