Faith and Justice

by Peter O'Mahoney

  As the lead detective in the arrest of Amos Anderson, Browne came to the stand as the prosecution’s star witness, a man willing to say what was needed to put another man away.

  At least he had put on clean clothes for the appearance.

  Tex Hunter and Daryl Browne had clashed many times before, and Hunter was certain he was on the take. When he was a young detective, still fresh on the force, Browne had been the man that put handcuffs on Hunter’s father. Age had long since wearied Browne, but somehow, he’d stayed alive and out of trouble long enough to be thinking about retirement.

  How he survived that long baffled Hunter. He was sure the truth would catch up to him one day, but then again, “truth” wasn’t a part of Browne’s vocabulary.

  Most people didn’t listen to the truth either, jurors included. They heard what they wanted to hear. They saw what they wanted to see. They searched out stories that proved what was already in their subconscious.

  That was where Hunter excelled in court. He planted a seed, a well-placed word, a perfect sentence, and let that moment be nurtured into a fully grown thought. He didn’t tell people where they needed to search for their truth; he merely gave them the tools to see his point of view.

  Detective Browne sat on the witness stand wearing a dark black suit, perhaps the same suit he wore to funerals—of which he attended many. His smile was smug, his arrogance strong, and his patience thin. He had no time for courtroom games or lawyer antics; he would much rather be twisting arms and taking money from people on the street.

  “Please state your name and vocation for the court.”

  “Detective Daryl Browne. I’ve been a proud member of the Chicago PD for thirty years.”

  Law’s personal dislike for Browne was well-known through the force—his old-school behavior, mostly bordering on sexual harassment, didn’t sit well with the feminist. “Were you the detective that arrived at the scene of the deceased Reverend Green?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Can you please explain what happened when you arrived at the scene?”

  “I arrived at the scene after 5 a.m. The body was found by Gavin Sutton, a hotel worker, at 4:45 a.m. when he was putting trash out into the alley. He called nine-one-one, and I was nearby with my partner, so we were given the job. We arrived, saw that the body had clearly been beaten, and then checked the deceased’s vital signs. Obviously, there weren’t any—his lips were blue, and he’d been deceased for many hours. We cordoned off the street to declare the alley a crime scene.”

  “Is this the scene that you found on that day?” Law presented the crime scene photos to the jury via the monitor at the side of the room.

  One of Green’s older supporters, sitting near the back of the courtroom, burst into tears as she saw what was on the monitor. A well-dressed male wrapped his arm around her shoulders and escorted her out of the courtroom while she continued to cry.

  At the door, the lady turned around. “Burn in hell, murderer!”

  “Order!” The gavel was quick to slam. “Remove her from the courtroom.”

  The well-dressed male whispered something to the elderly woman, and she walked out the doors calmly, under the shadow of two tall security guards.

  The judge spoke to the jury, informing them that they had to ignore all statements from the crowd, and instructed Law to continue. She allowed time for the accusation to sit in the minds of the jurors before she returned her focus back to the screen.

  “What did you find at the scene?”

  “Reverend Green was beaten by someone that night. His face was bruised, his jaw appeared broken, and there was blood on the ground next to his head, as you can see on the photo.” Browne pointed at the screen. “It was also clear that there was blood under his fingernails.”

  “Did the deceased have his possessions with him?”

  “It appeared so. His wallet was still in his jacket, his watch was still on his wrist, and his phone was still in his pocket. It didn’t appear to be a robbery.”

  Law read her notes, running her finger over the next lines. “At what point did you make the decision to arrest Mr. Anderson?”

  “After we identified the deceased as Reverend Dural Green, we canvassed the area for witnesses and spoke to the people who had interacted with Green the night before. Witnesses stated that Amos Anderson had fought with Green the previous night, and we asked Anderson to come to the station, and then we questioned him. We released him and conducted further interviews with more witnesses, who also identified Mr. Anderson seen nearby the alley. Within two days, we had a match to the DNA that was found under Reverend Green’s fingernails, and that match belonged to Mr. Anderson.”

  “Did you arrest Mr. Anderson?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Is this the arrest warrant?” Law presented the warrant to the court.

  “It is.”

  “Is there anything wrong with this warrant?”

  “No, there isn’t. It’s a valid and lawful arrest warrant.”

  “Thank you, detective. Can you please explain to the court what happened when you made the arrest?”

  “We arrived at Mr. Anderson’s residence at 7 a.m. on February 4th and knocked on the door.” Browne leaned back in the stand, straightened his shoulders, and flattened the tie down the middle of his shirt. “The door was promptly answered by Mr. Anderson, and at that point, we read his Miranda Rights to him and made the arrest. It was at this point that he asked for a lawyer and exercised his right to remain silent.”

  “Was there anyone else home at the time?”

  “No. Mr. Anderson had informed us earlier that he lived alone.”

  “Did you search his home at the time of the arrest?”

  “Other police officers conducted a search of the home at the time of arrest; however, they did not complete a thorough search.”

  “Did you conduct any further searches of Mr. Anderson’s property?”

  “Yes. We had an anonymous call on our tip line, and we conducted a second search of the property three weeks ago.” Browne looked at Hunter before he pulled on the lobe of his ear. “And that was when we found the necklace that belonged to Reverend Green in his possession. We found the necklace in the cabinet next to Anderson’s bed.”

  That was a lie.

  With his small grooming movements, Browne was dispersing the nervous energy of his falsehood. To a casual observer, that small error might be overlooked as a normal movement, but Tex Hunter wasn’t a casual observer.

  Anderson started to squirm in his chair, almost like he wanted to explode and yell, “Lies!” to the jury. He leaned forward, twitching his leg nervously under the table. Hunter tapped his pen on a handwritten note on his legal pad, catching Anderson’s eye.

  ‘Stay calm.’

  Law introduced the video recording of the second search, and for the next six minutes, the court watched the beginning of the search. Browne called out for any persons present, Anderson answered the door, and they put him in handcuffs. Browne then made his way through the house to ensure there were no other people in the apartment, but when he began to conduct the search, he took off his vest and left the small camera device resting on the kitchen counter.

  For the next ten minutes, Browne painstakingly detailed the search that was conducted, with constant questions from the prosecution. Together they presented a detailed diagram of the apartment, where the necklace was found, and anything else that was found in the apartment that might tarnish Anderson’s reputation. They detailed the books on the shelves including a copy of ‘God is Gone’ to emphasize the point, the paintings in the house including the anti-Bible painting in his kitchen, and the medicines in his cupboard including the many packets of prescribed codeine.

  Hunter objected where he could, but the prosecution was painting a clear picture of a man who didn’t follow the church.

  “Was Mr. Anderson at home when the second search was conducted?” Law asked.

  “He was. We had obtai
ned a search warrant, and we waited until he arrived home before we entered and conducted the lawful search. Mr. Anderson was out on bail at the time. He answered the door, and that’s when we presented the search warrant to him,” Browne replied.

  “Thank you, detective. No further questions.”

  A good solid start by the prosecution.

  Now it was Hunter’s chance to change that.

  CHAPTER 35

  Testing Browne’s patience, Hunter took time to review his notes. It was a deliberate ploy; he was asserting his authority in the courtroom. This was his place, and Browne had to play by his rules.

  “Thank you for your time, Detective Browne,” Hunter began after three long minutes of silence. “Did you take video evidence of the search?”

  “Yes, that’s what we’re required to do in the department now.”

  “Is every detective in the Chicago Police Department required to take video footage of a search?”

  Browne rolled his tongue around his mouth before he responded. “Certain detectives are asked to take video footage of a search. It can be for a variety of reasons, and those reasons are not disclosed to us or to anyone.”

  “And you’re one of the detectives that have been asked to take video footage of every search warrant?”

  “Yes.” Browne was trying his best not to say the wrong thing and fall into the defense’s trap.

  Hunter knew why they asked him to take footage of every search—his list of false accusations ran about as long as his arm.

  “Why did you remove the video recording device from your shoulder and leave it on the kitchen counter?” Hunter played the video for a few moments on the court monitor and then paused the search video.

  “When the premises had been secured, I left the device in a place that covered the greatest area for recording. In this case, it was the kitchen counter. You could see the hallway, part of the kitchen, and the living room.”

  “Is this common practice?”

  “No, but I thought it was appropriate for this particular search.”

  “Were you reprimanded by your superiors for taking off the camera?”

  “I was…” Browne squirmed in his chair. “And I was asked not to do it again.”

  “And is this you in the video?”

  The video was then paused on a quick moment of Browne walking down the hallway of the apartment.

  “It’s a bit blurry, but yes, it appears to be me.”

  “Are you carrying a brown paper bag as you walk down the hallway—before you enter the bedroom?”

  “Ah.” Browne didn’t expect that question. He thought he kept that bag out of view. “Yes.” He stumbled for a moment. “In that bag is the equipment that I needed to conduct the search.”

  “Such as?”

  “Things I needed to check the apartment. Fingerprint dusting tools, torch, screwdrivers… that sort of thing. You never know when you need it. It’s my ‘goody’ bag. Every raid has one, but sometimes they’re left in the car and collected once the premises have been secured. I decided to take it with me because I made an assessment about the raid.”

  “It seems rather a small bag for those supplies. Are you sure all those things fit into that bag?”

  “Yes, and I’m not sure what you’re implying?”

  “It seems strange that you would keep that equipment in a brown paper bag.” Hunter looked to the jury. “Would that bag be large enough to fit a necklace?”

  “Objection! Leading the witness!” Law called out. “What the defense is suggesting here has no evidence to back it up!”

  Hunter was quick to reply. “Withdrawn.”

  Law marked it down as a win for her, but the damage was done. The jurors were already questioning whether the bag was large enough to have held the evidence.

  The seed had been planted.

  “You entered the apartment with this bag. Is it usual procedure to enter a perpetrator’s premises with such a bag at the time of a raid?”

  “Not quite.” Browne paused for a few moments, rubbing his thumbs together. “It’s not usual procedure, but it’s what I needed for that day. I decided to bring the bag with me on this raid after I made an assessment of the situation.” He was fumbling for an excuse. “The bag I normally had the equipment in ripped earlier, and that was the only bag I had in the car. It was the only way I could carry those things.”

  “Hmm…” Hunter ran his fingers over his jawline, pausing again; not because he needed the time to think, but because he wanted to provide the jury a moment to process the evidence. “Was anyone else in the bedroom when you found the necklace?”

  “Not when I found the necklace.”

  “Just you and this paper bag?”

  Browne hesitated before answering, “Yes.”

  “Is it usual police procedure to search a room by yourself?”

  “Sometimes we do it, and it’s not against the law.” He was becoming agitated. “The facts of this case are that we had a tip-off that the necklace was in the apartment, and we had a warrant to search the place. When I searched the main bedroom, I found a suspicious case, and when I opened the case, I found the necklace that was later proven to be Reverend Green’s. Those are the facts.”

  “And, of course, you left the video camera in the kitchen, so there’s no video of you in the bedroom before you opened the case?”

  “In the old days, it was normal to search a room without recording everything.” Browne’s annoyance was clear. “We’re police officers. We uphold the law.”

  “You found the necklace when you were in the room by yourself, with the bag?”

  “Objection. Asked and answered,” Law called out.

  “Withdrawn.”

  Browne glared hard at the prosecution’s table. He wasn’t prepared for this.

  “Did anybody else see the necklace before you found it?”

  “No.”

  “Just you and the bag?”

  “Objection!” Law called out again. “Asked and answered! Inflammatory! The witness has clearly answered this question already. This is repetitive!”

  “Withdrawn.” Hunter looked back down at his notes, and then pressed play on the video again. “Is this you exiting the room, back into the view of the video recorder?”

  Hunter pointed back to the screen.

  “It is.”

  “And in your left hand, what is that?”

  Browne squinted, as did the judge and the jury. Law refused to even look at the screen. She already knew what was coming.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Let me help you.” Hunter zoomed in on the still image, focusing on the bag.

  Browne shook his head. “I don’t know what that is.”

  “You don’t know what was in your hand at that time?”

  “I’m a busy man.” He continued shaking his head. “I don’t know what’s in my hands at all times.”

  Hunter scoffed as Browne was reacting exactly as he expected. “Does it at all, even in the slightest, appear to a crushed brown paper bag, only big enough to fit in the palm of your hand, and with nothing inside it?”

  Browne’s mouth sat slightly open.

  “Detective Browne?” Hunter pressed.

  “It could be.”

  “It could be?” Hunter’s voice rose. “If it isn’t the same brown paper bag, then can you tell us what else it could be?”

  “I guess it must be the paper bag.”

  “And can you tell us where the contents of the paper bag ended up?”

  “I guess I left them in the room.”

  “Really?” Hunter remarked. “Let’s play the rest of the video footage.”

  The footage ran. The jurors leaned forward to watch.

  “And can you tell us when you removed the contents of the paper bag?”

  Browne shrugged. “I’m not sure.”

  “That’s extremely careless of you, Detective Browne. For such an experienced police detective, I’m very surprised if that’s the case
! Did you make that mistake?”

  “No one’s perfect.” He shrugged. “We all make mistakes.”

  Juror eleven, the older man with the flannel shirt, was particularly intrigued. His body was leaning forward, his eyes squinting, and his mouth partially open.

  Juror five, sitting behind him, followed his lead. Juror five was a young man, well studied and well dressed, but small and without a hint of overt masculinity. He protested with feminist rallies, wrote blogs about his feelings online, and didn’t like getting dirt under his fingernails, but there was a part of him, a tiny part, that wanted to be the man in front of him—grumpy, stoic, and with forearms as thick as a tree trunk.

  Hunter finished playing the video and then brought a picture up on the screen of a different location.

  “Detective Browne, can you please tell the court who this is in the picture with you?”

  The shock was clearly written on Browne’s face. Hunter walked to the bailiff, and handed him a still copy of the photo, and it was passed to the judge and introduced as evidence.

  “Detective Browne?” Hunter pressed further. “Can you please tell the court who that is?”

  “That appears to be me.”

  “And?”

  “It appears to be Lucas Bauer.”

  “And how is Mr. Bauer connected to this case?”

  “Objection.” Law called out. “Immaterial. There’s nothing in the picture that can be connected to the case!”

  “Overruled. I’m interested to see where this is going. Answer the question, detective,” Judge Lockett stated.

  “Mr. Bauer is the manager of Mr. Anderson’s business. Together, they operate the Faith Healing Project.”