Accused sf-2

by Mark Gimenez

  He had taken Pajamae to her mother's murder trial-he had to do everything he could for Shawanda-but he couldn't do that to Boo. And that trial had not been televised; this one would be. The girls didn't need to be seen on national TV. So they were at the beach house with Consuela and Maria and uniformed police officers out front and back-and under strict instructions not to watch the trial on cable.

  Judge Morgan wanted a meeting of counsel in chambers before she swore in the jury. She looked at Scott's face and recoiled.

  "My God. Are you okay, Scott?"

  "Yeah. Thanks for asking."

  "Because I don't want to delay the trial-we'll lose our broadcast slot. Renee said the cable channel's booked up the next two months. Next week they've got a serial murder trial up in Chicago." She turned to the D.A. "Rex, what's this about sex tapes?"

  "Not evidence, Shelby."

  "Renee said she asked you for copies and you refused. Why?"

  "Because it's none of her goddamned business, that's why."

  "You know what those tapes would do for our ratings?"

  "Shelby, I'm about to go out there and ask a jury to send a human being to prison for life, so frankly, I don't give a good goddamn about cable TV ratings."

  "She's filing a public information request with the AG's office in Austin."

  "She can file it where the sun don't shine, all I care." He stood. "I'm gonna try a goddamned murder case."

  "Jesus, Rex, every murder trial, you get really grouchy." She stood. "Does my hair look okay?"

  Judge Morgan didn't sit at the bench; she posed.

  When the jurors entered the courtroom and sat in the jury box, their eyes immediately turned to Rebecca Fenney. They would sit in judgment of her life-not just her actions that night, but her entire life. That wasn't the way it was supposed to work, but that's the way it did work. And they would be shocked by her life.

  The Assistant D.A. read the indictment into the record, and Rebecca Fenney pleaded not guilty in open court. Galveston County Criminal District Attorney Rex Truitt slowly stood from his chair. He wore a seersucker suit, a white shirt, a blue tie, and black reading glasses. He looked like Hemingway himself stepping forward to read from one of his books, and if Ernest didn't have the D.A.'s voice, he should have.

  He stepped over to the evidence table, picked up the murder weapon encased in plastic, walked to the jury box, and said, "The evidence will show that when the police arrived at the crime scene at three-fifty-seven on the morning of Friday, June the fifth, they found Trey Rawlins dead, lying on his back in his bed, with this eight-inch butcher knife stuck in his chest, right here."

  He put the blade against his chest.

  "The evidence will also show that the defendant's fingerprints-and only the defendant's fingerprints-were found on this knife. And that the defendant had not held the knife like this, as if to cut a steak, but like this, as if to stab."

  The D.A. held the knife with the blade pointing down.

  "The evidence will further show that police found the defendant in the bedroom covered in Trey Rawlins' blood… that the defendant's bloody footprints and handprints and fingerprints were found on the bedroom floor, wall, and phone… that no third-party's bloody footprints or handprints or fingerprints were found in that bedroom or anywhere in that house… that the only plausible explanation is that the defendant, Rebecca Fenney, took this knife from a drawer in their kitchen, went into their bedroom where Trey Rawlins lay sleeping on their bed, and stabbed this knife into his chest, killing him. Murder is the taking of a human life without justification. There was no justification for what the defendant did to Trey Rawlins."

  The D.A. stared at the knife a long moment then placed it on the evidence table.

  "Now, defense counsel will argue that the defendant had no motive to kill the victim, that she lost everything when he died. Which is true. So why did she kill Trey Rawlins? I don't know. I've been in this job for twenty-eight years now, trying criminal cases and trying to understand criminals: Why do they do what they do? Unfortunately, I am no closer to understanding my fellow human beings today than I was when I started this job. If you want to know why she killed her lover, she will have to tell you. I cannot. All I can do is prove that she did in fact kill him. And I will."

  The district attorney returned to the prosecution table. Rex Truitt had done this before. He hadn't promised too much or too little, and he had left a lot to be revealed later. Things that would shock the jury, like cocaine and sex. And he set the jury up to expect Rebecca to testify.

  "Mr. Fenney," the judge said, looking not at him but at the cameras.

  Scott did not move because her words did not register in his mind. His thoughts were of "innocent until proven guilty." The state bears the burden to prove the defendant guilty. The defendant does not have to prove herself innocent. That's the law. But every defendant bears that burden. That's the reality of a murder trial.

  Americans don't believe that innocent people go to prison in America. That's something that happens in other countries, like Russia and China and Mexico. Maybe it's ignorance, maybe it's denial, or maybe it's fear-that it's better to imprison a few innocent people than risk guilty people going free and committing more crimes. But innocent people do go to prison in America. Unless they can prove their innocence.

  "Mr. Fenney."

  Scott stood and walked over to the jury box. The television cameras sat on either side of the courtroom. Behind the cameras in the spectator section were reporters, print journalists from the major Texas newspapers and the wire services scribbling on tablets, and locals there for a macabre form of entertainment. Terri Rawlins sat in the front row behind the prosecution table; Melvyn Burke sat next to her. When their eyes met, Melvyn averted his gaze. Scott turned to the jurors.

  "Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Scott Fenney. I represent the defendant, Rebecca Fenney. First, my face… I took a, uh, tumble on the beach. Second, Rebecca"-he would refer to her by her first name in order to distance her from "defendant" status-"and I share the same last name because, as I'm sure you've read in the papers or heard on the TV, she is my ex-wife.

  "I have great respect and personal affinity for Mr. Truitt, but he failed to mention a few other facts that the evidence will show, including that the murder weapon was part of a matched set of eight knives given to Trey Rawlins at a golf event more than a year before, that those eight knives had been in their kitchen ever since, and that Rebecca had used all of those knives, including the murder weapon, on numerous occasions for a variety of kitchen purposes.

  "That Rebecca was covered in Mr. Rawlins' blood that night because she had been sleeping next to him in their bed when she woke to find him dead-how could she have killed him then slept in his blood? Who could do that? Who would?

  "That Rebecca was at the crime scene when the police arrived because she called nine-one-one herself. Rebecca Fenney did not run from the scene of the crime. She summoned the police to the scene of the crime.

  "That Trey Rawlins loved Rebecca, that he provided for her, that he gave her gifts of cash and jewelry and a Corvette, that he asked her to marry him the very night he was killed.

  "That Rebecca had no motive to kill Trey Rawlins. She had a great life with Trey-first-class travel, five-star hotels and restaurants, spas and resorts, money, jewelry, clothes. Without Trey, she has nothing-no travel, no hotels and restaurants, no money, no home, no life insurance. Nothing except a red Corvette and jewelry.

  "Why would she kill the man who gave her everything?

  "She wouldn't. She didn't. Rebecca had no motive to kill Trey Rawlins. But the evidence will show that other people did have motives to kill Mr. Rawlins, that other people wanted him dead-and that some of those people had killed before.

  "So don't assume the district attorney has this case figured out. He doesn't. I don't. But you must. At the end of this trial, you must decide if the prosecution proved Rebecca Fenney guilty of murder beyond a reasonable doubt. That is your l
egal duty. But that's not the reality, is it? Because in your mind at this very moment is a single question: If she didn't kill Trey Rawlins, then who did?

  "We'll answer that question."

  Mark Gimenez

  Accused

  FORTY-TWO

  The Assistant D.A. stood and called the first witness for the prosecution as if he were an actor on a stage. Perhaps he was. Perhaps they all were. In America, there was no bigger stage than a courtroom during a televised murder trial of a famous pro athlete, whether the victim was Trey Rawlins or the defendant was O.J. Simpson. It was the ultimate in reality TV.

  Ronda Jensen, mid-fifties, a career county employee, was the 911 operator who took Rebecca's emergency call that night. She authenticated the call then the Assistant D.A. played the tape for the jury. Bobby would cross-examine the prosecution's witnesses. He stood and asked only one question of this witness.

  "Ms. Jensen, who made that call to nine-one-one?"

  "Rebecca Fenney."

  The first police officer on the scene that night testified next. Patrol Officer Art Crandall was only thirty and had never come closer to military service than his stint in his high school ROTC, but he wore his Galveston Island Police Department uniform with the same bearing as if he were the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff testifying before Congress.

  "Officer Crandall," the Assistant D.A. said, "please tell the jury what you were doing at three-forty-eight on the morning of Friday, June fifth?"

  "Three-forty-eight? Must've been eating a donut."

  The Assistant D.A. rolled his eyes. "After that."

  "Oh. Dispatch put out an emergency call to the West End, on Treasure Isle Lane in Lafitte's Beach."

  "And did you answer that call?"

  "Yes, sir, I did."

  "Please tell the jury what you did when you arrived at the address."

  "I pulled up out front of the residence-"

  "At what time?"

  "Three-fifty-seven."

  "Did you see any other cars or people out front?"

  "No, but Officer Guerrero arrived right after me. We then proceeded along the east side of the residence down to the beach."

  "And why didn't you go to the front door?"

  "Dispatch said to go around back, which sits right on the beach. We climbed the rear stairs to the back deck. The doors right there were open. I yelled 'Police!' and we entered the residence."

  "Officer Crandall, would you please look at the monitor next to the witness stand?"

  The Assistant D.A. nodded to a staffer manning a laptop at the prosecution table. A color photo showing the front of the Rawlins residence appeared on the big screen above the witness stand.

  "Officer Crandall, is this the residence you arrived at that night?"

  "Yes, sir, it is."

  "Does this next photo show the east side of the residence?"

  "Yes, sir, it does."

  "And these are the stairs to the back deck?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "And the French doors?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "All right. You entered through those doors. What did you find inside?"

  "We made entry into a large, white bedroom. The lights were on. I observed the room and saw a woman holding a phone."

  "And was that woman Rebecca Fenney, the defendant?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Did you see anyone else?"

  "No, sir, I did not-not anyone alive, anyway. Directly in front of me was the bed on which the victim was lying. He had a knife in his chest. Blood was everywhere."

  "What did you do then?"

  "I remained in the bedroom with the woman while Officer Guerrero cleared the house."

  "Did Officer Guerrero find anyone else in the house?"

  "No, sir. The house was clear."

  "Was the front door locked?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Then what did you do?"

  "I told dispatch to send out the homicide detective, M.E., crime scene."

  "Did you touch anything in the bedroom?"

  "No, sir. I waited with the woman for the detective to arrive."

  "How long was it before the detective arrived?"

  "Maybe thirty minutes."

  "And what was the defendant's appearance?"

  "She was wearing a short white nightgown. It was bloody."

  "Did the defendant change her clothes or clean up prior to the detective's arrival at the scene?"

  "No, sir. I was with her the entire time."

  "No further questions, Your Honor."

  Bobby stood and cross-examined the police officer.

  "Officer Crandall, when you entered the residence, did you have your weapon drawn?"

  "Yes, sir, I did."

  "Why?"

  "Dispatch said the perpetrator might still be in the house."

  "But you and Officer Guerrero determined that the perpetrator was not still in the house?"

  The Assistant D.A. stood. "Objection. Defense is mischaracterizing his testimony. The dispatcher had no knowledge of any perpetrator. The officers determined that no one else was in the house. That does not mean there was in fact a third-party perpetrator."

  Bobby turned his palms up, as if confused. "The witness said perpetrator."

  But the judge wasn't buying what he was selling.

  "Sustained. Rephrase, Mr. Herrin."

  "You found no one else in the house?"

  "No, sir."

  "But you found the French doors open?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "So if someone else had been in the house before you arrived, he could have left through the open French doors?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "And the beach there is dark, correct?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "So he could have come down the back stairs just seconds before you arrived and hidden just down the beach and you wouldn't have been able to see him, correct?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Officer Crandall, you testified that Ms. Fenney was on the phone when you arrived. To whom was she talking?"

  "The nine-one-one operator."

  "How did Ms. Fenney seem when she first saw you entering the bedroom?"

  "Relieved."

  "Thank you, Officer Crandall."

  The judge recessed for lunch. Scott walked outside the courtroom and saw Renee Ramirez interviewing Officer Crandall in her booth.

  "Gosh," the cop said, "I was so nervous. You think I did okay? That donut remark sounded stupid, didn't it?"

  Like a contestant awaiting the judges' scores on Dancing with the Stars.

  After lunch, Galveston County Medical Examiner Sanjay Sanjeev took the stand. Dr. Sanjeev appeared unaffected by the cameras; he wore a rumpled cotton suit, a blue shirt, and a black tie loosened at his neck. He was a board-certified pathologist, and he testified from his notes like an old med school professor teaching a class.

  He had arrived at the crime scene at just after 5:00 A.M. on Friday, June 5th. The deceased was "found dead." He pronounced Trey Rawlins dead at 5:15 A.M. He observed the body on the bed and the knife in the body. His death investigator took photos of the body in situ. The body was then removed from the scene under his supervision at approximately 8:00 A.M. without removal of the knife. The body was transported to the medical examiner's office where he conducted a complete autopsy later that morning. It was his medical opinion that Trey Rawlins had died from a sharp force injury to the chest, that is, a stab wound that severed his descending aorta resulting in a sudden and massive blood loss; that he was alive at the time he was stabbed; that time of death was between midnight and 3:00 A.M. on Friday, June 5th; that manner of death was homicide. The Assistant D.A. did not show the autopsy photos to the jury.

  Karen handed the autopsy report to Bobby. He stood.

  "Dr. Sanjeev, you conducted a complete autopsy of Trey Rawlins' body, correct?"

  "Yes. I performed an external examination, an internal examination, toxicology, and microscopics."

  "What did yo
u find on your external examination?"

  "The deceased was a well-nourished white male, well-developed musculature, seventy-two inches tall, one hundred eighty pounds, age-appropriate, blond hair, no scars, no tattoos. The body was unclothed."

  "Did you find any evidence that Mr. Rawlins had recently engaged in a physical confrontation? A fight?"

  "Yes. There was bruising on his upper body indicating that he had been grabbed forcefully, there were scratch marks on his upper arms and shoulders, and his upper lip was swollen and blood vessels inside had been broken."

  "As if someone had recently hit him in the mouth?"

  "Yes."

  "Dr. Sanjeev, was sand recovered from the body of Trey Rawlins?"

  "Yes, it was."

  "From what part of the body?"

  "The backside. In his hair, on his back, in his buttocks."

  "Indicating that Mr. Rawlins had lain in the sand recently and prior to his death?"

  "Yes."

  "What did you do with the sand?"

  "Bagged it, gave it to the criminologist. It's in the inventory."

  "Other than the bruises and abrasions on the body-and the knife embedded in the body, of course-were than any other remarkable findings?"

  "Yes."

  "And what was that?"

  "I found cocaine particles in the nostrils."

  "Indicating recent use?"

  "Yes."

  "You then removed the knife from the body?"

  "No. I first X-rayed the body in its entirety then clipped each fingernail and toenail."

  "Did you find anything?"

  "No. I then examined the body with a forensic light, but that was of no value as the skin surface was saturated with his own blood. I took samples of the external blood and oral and rectal swabs and hair samples, head and pubic. I then took fingerprints and DNA samples."

  "Did you find anyone else's blood on the body?"