Media Justice

by Dennis Carstens

  Marc’s cross examination of both witnesses was short and to the point. He simply made them both admit they found no evidence connecting Becky’s death to anyone, especially Brittany Riley. And, could add nothing as far as cause of death or time of death or even where the death occurred.

  For her part, while this testimony and photo display was taking place, Brittany had all she could do to keep control of herself. Marc had known what was coming and of course warned her ahead of time about it. Not once could she bring herself to look at the TV screen. She sat as impassively as she possibly could, her hands folded tightly together on the table, doing her best to keep herself together. Marc had expressly gone over this with her. The less emotion she showed, the less it could be misconstrued, except, no matter what she did, someone would take it wrong.

  “Please state your name and occupation,” Hart asked the mostly bald, elderly man seated on the witness stand.

  “Sebastian Carnes. I am the Dakota County Medical examiner,” the man replied. Carnes was in his late forties but looked like he was in his mid-sixties. He was, in appearance, exactly what you would think of as a pathologist. He sported a short, mostly grey beard, a bow-tie and reading glasses perched on his forehead with the rapidly receding hairline.

  Danica Hart, being more efficient and less inclined to play for the court’s TV camera than her colleague, moved the doctor through his credentials much more expeditiously but, not less thoroughly than Vanderbeck would have. Even so, being the professional witness and inveterate showman that Carnes was, he was not going to be rushed. Someone should have warned Hart that when the good doctor testified at a trial, any trial, he savored the spotlight and made the most of his time on stage.

  Despite Hart’s attempt to move him along, the doctor took up the entire afternoon. He gave the jury a lengthy dissertation of his curriculum vitae, which included details of several highly publicized trials. Obviously, he wanted the jury to know they had a true expert, maybe even a minor celebrity before them.

  Throughout most of the man’s testimony, Marc paid scant attention to what he was saying. Almost all of it was a corroboration of the autopsy report which Marc had been over until he practically had it memorized. Watching the juror’s eyes glaze over and a couple of them even nod off, he thought about a stunt he had always wanted to try. Marc wondered just how much trouble he would get into if he folded his arms on the table top and put his head down. Then to really set it off, make soft snoring noises. The image amused him and he almost started laughing.

  By the time Carnes finished going over every detail of everything he had done, it was after 4:30.

  “In your opinion doctor, was this child’s death an accident?” Hart asked.

  “Obviously not. It was clearly a homicide.”

  “In your opinion, doctor, if you have one, what was the cause of death?”

  This was a question that made Marc’s antennae go off.

  “This child was deliberately drowned,” he said.

  “Thank you doctor,” Hart said, hoping against hope she had just slipped a fastball past Marc, or, at least, because of the preparation she had done with Carnes it would get the doctor through what was coming. “I have no further questions.”

  Marc barely waited for the judge to give him permission to begin his questioning.

  “I noticed, doctor that she just asked you for your opinion about the cause of death and not your medical opinion. Isn’t that unusual?”

  “Not necessarily, no.”

  “Oh, really? So, if I ask you your opinion about, for example, the composition of these cinderblocks on the table in front of you, could you give me an opinion?”

  “Well, um, no…”

  “Because you’re a doctor, not a bricklayer, correct?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “So, I’ll ask it. In your medical opinion, what is the cause of death of Becky Ann Riley, doctor?” Marc politely asked knowing what he would say.

  “In my medical opinion, I stand by my previous statement that she was deliberately drowned,” Carnes answered feeling quite smug about himself.

  “Really? And explain to the court and this jury exactly what medical evidence you have uncovered to reach that conclusion, please doctor.”

  “Well, clearly everything associated with the body is consistent with…”

  “Ah, there it is, the phrase I knew was coming…” Marc cut him off.

  “Objection!” Hart was on her feet. “He needs to let the witness finish his answer.”

  “Sustained. The witness will be allowed to finish his answer,” Connors ruled.

  “Consistent with what, doctor?” Marc asked anyway.

  “Consistent with drowning,” Carnes said slumping down in the chair a bit.

  Marc clasped his hands together, placed them on the table in front of him, leaned forward across the table and glared at the M.E. for a full ten seconds.

  “Is the term ‘consistent with’ the same as a ‘medical certainty’ doctor?” Marc very quietly asked.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you,” Carnes said.

  “Isn’t it true, doctor,” Marc said more loudly without changing his position, staring at Carnes, “that ‘consistent with’ and ‘medical certainty’ are not the same thing?”

  “Well, no but…”

  “In fact, doctor, isn’t it true that you, as an expert, should be telling this jury how this child died to a medical certainty, yes or no?”

  “Yes,” he quietly answered.

  “Doctor, isn’t it time for you to admit to this jury that you have no idea how Becky actually died?”

  “Look,” Carnes began trying to reacquire control. “Obviously everything points to…”

  “Points to? Now you want to go with ‘points to’?”

  “Objection, argumentative,” Hart said.

  “Overruled,” Connors said surprising even Marc.

  “You started off with ‘consistent with’ and now you want to switch to ‘points to’ a drowning. Shouldn’t you be testifying only to a medical certainty, doctor?”

  “Yes,” Carnes meekly agreed.

  “Then doctor, time for you to be honest with this jury. Isn’t it true, doctor, you have no idea, not to a medical certainty, how this child died, do you doctor?”

  “No, I don’t,” Carnes finally conceded. Marc stood up, looked at Connors and said, “Your Honor, I move that this witness’s entire testimony be stricken from the record as being totally unreliable.”

  Danica Hart, knowing her case would disappear if Connors granted Marc’s request, practically jumped out of her chair. If the medical examiner’s testimony was struck from the official record, there would be no expert medical testimony of a murder. There would be no way to know legally, if this was an accident or a homicide. If that happened, the defense would move for the case to be dismissed and Brittany Riley goes home today for good.

  “Denied,” Connors ruled before a relieved Hart had a chance to speak. “The jury can infer what it wants from his testimony and give it whatever weight they desire. Continue, Mr. Kadella.”

  “I have no further questions your Honor,” Marc said having gotten the admission he wanted, no cause of death.

  Melinda opened her show with several minutes of film and discussion about how and where the body had been found and removed. The three of them, Melinda and the two lawyers, conversed quietly, almost reverently, while the screen behind them flashed the photos taken of Becky Riley’s remains lying among the cattails.

  The pictures had been a subject of a very heated debate between Melinda and her producer, Robbie Nelson. Robbie tried to make her believe that showing the audience the photos of Becky in the water was taking the show to a new low. Melinda, never one to take her eyes off the ball of TV ratings, fell back on the old cliché, “the people have the right to know.” That, combined with the fact that it was her show, ended the argument.

  The real purpose of this macabre slide show was to allow Melinda anothe
r opportunity to slash and burn Brittany.

  “It disgusts me, that she could sit there and not even bother to look at what she did to her baby,” Melinda said looking at Steve Farben. With that comment, the picture on the screen behind them switched from Becky’s skeleton in the river to the shot of Becky holding her teddy bear, smiling at the camera.

  “It’s likely,” Andrea Briscomb interjected, “that her lawyer prepared her for this and told her not to look. He told her to keep her composure and not give anyone anything to misconstrue.”

  A brief exchange took place among the three of them about this but Melinda had the last word just before the commercial break. “She didn’t look because she knows what she did.”

  The second half of the show was taken up by a discussion of the medical examiner’s testimony. Farben was the one that explained to the audience that it was necessary for the doctor to go over all of the details of the autopsy. To be sure that the defense could not trip him up by making him admit he missed something.

  “True enough,” Briscomb agreed, “but, at the end of it, he still had to admit he had no cause of death. Kadella scored some points with that.”

  “Not really,” Farben countered almost disdainfully. “She was tied to a cinderblock and thrown in the Mississippi. The jury will figure it out.”

  The print media and national networks ran the same basic theme the next day. It was almost as if they were taking their cue from Melinda’s show. In a way they were. She was becoming a significant source for their stories so they could start with the lame disclaimer, “It has been reported that…” Of course this is totally unprofessional and unreliable but it did provide cover for them. They could point to someone else and truthfully say whatever they reported had been reported elsewhere first.

  Thirty minutes after the show, Cordelia Davis, an associate producer for Melinda, knocked on Melinda’s door. Without waiting for a reply, she entered carrying several pages of note paper.

  “What’s the Twitter world saying?” Melinda asked.

  “You’re a god,” Cordelia answered. “Here’s one,” she continued as she read a note from one of the pages. “God bless you Melinda. Thank the Lord we have people like you to report the truth. Hash tag Brittany rot in hell.

  “That’s one of the calmer ones. Most of them are positive. I brought a sampling for you to read,” Cordelia handed her the pages of notes. “I’m going to take off. See you tomorrow.”

  SIXTY

  “The state calls Nolan Leffler,” Danica Hart announced.

  It was Thursday morning and the prosecution was in the home stretch of its case. The previous two days had been taken up by witnesses that did not add much, if anything at all to the issue of guilt or innocence. The first four of them had been argued about strenuously but eventually allowed.

  The cops had rounded up four people who they talked to while conducting the search for Bob Olson. Three of them were people who managed apartment complexes where the cops had stopped. The fourth was a woman married to a man named Bob Olson who lived in one of the buildings. Each of them testified that Brittany seemed uninterested, aloof and unconcerned. Being lay people and not professional psychologists, their opinions should not have been allowed at all. Marc believed that for Connors to allow this testimony might be reversible error except the judge gave very explicit instructions to the jury about the fact that these were not professional opinions and should not be given that level of weight.

  Marc’s cross examination was short and to the point. He made each of them admit they did not know Brittany Riley, had no idea what she was really thinking and what they told the jury was mostly a guess. Each of the four left the witness stand quite annoyed with Brittany’s lawyer for ruining their moment in the spotlight, on TV and likely their dreams of a book deal.

  The more damaging testimony inadvertently came from Brittany’s three best friends. It was Vanderbeck who conducted their exams and with each one he went through the “Brittany as a party girl” slide show again. Since each friend had been there with her and had even taken most of the photos, this was clearly fair game. It was obvious that the three young women were uncomfortable and did not want to testify against their friend. Marc and Maddy had both extensively interviewed all three and assured them to tell the truth, answer honestly and things would work out.

  When he finished with each of them, Vanderbeck made sure the picture of Brittany and the wet T-shirt trophy was left on the screen. Marc would walk over to the TV and shut it off before beginning his cross exam. The third and final time he did so, he said, “I think we’ve all seen this one enough.” He looked at Vanderbeck and added, “Although it does seem to be the one Mr. Vanderbeck likes the most.” This comment elicited a roar of laughter from the gallery, the jury and even the judge who had to gavel for order while a red faced Vanderbeck stared holes through Marc.

  Marc’s cross of Brittany’s friends was limited to a few well prepared questions. Each of the girls very willingly admitted that during the time Brittany said she was dating Bob Olson, her friends believed he was real. Mostly this was so because Brittany was too busy with him to socialize with them. Whenever any of the girls had a steady boyfriend, it wasn’t unusual to spend more time with the boyfriend and not much with each other.

  “I have just one more question,” Marc would conclude with each of them. “Did the police, sheriff’s deputies or prosecutors ask you about Brittany as a mother? Ask you what kind of a mother she was?”

  Each of her friends answered the same basic way. “Yes, all of them did many times. In fact they wouldn’t leave it alone. I kept telling them Brittany was a great mother. Becky was always clean and fed. She had nice clothes and was the happiest little girl you could find. But, that was never good enough. It was never what they wanted to hear. They kept at it asking, ‘are you sure’? What was she like at home? Didn’t she say she wished she didn’t have the child? Stuff like that. They wouldn’t leave it alone. No matter what I said they obviously wanted me to say Brittany was a bad mom.”

  “Was she a bad mom?” Marc would ask.

  “No, she loved that little girl with all her heart. Becky was the world to her.”

  Nolan Leffler was sworn in and took the stand. He told the jury his name, occupation and current place of employment. Leffler was a forensics expert with the Bureau of Criminal Apprehension for the state of Minnesota.

  Hart took a better part of an hour slowly and carefully allowing the witness to spell out his education, training and qualifications. Leffler was going to testify that the hair found in Brittany’s trunk was Becky’s and the cinderblock and rope to which Becky was tied, matched what was taken from the Rileys’ garage during the search.

  Leffler was a pro at testifying and was very good at explaining his testing methods in understandable language that did not come across as condescending. With the use of photos put up on the TV screen, Hart and Leffler almost casually explained the testing methods of the hair found in the trunk of Brittany’s car and the comparison to the hair that remained on the skull of Becky Riley.

  The two of them did the same thing with the cinderblock pulled from the river. The forensics expert thoroughly explained the testing methods used and the positive match with the cinderblocks found in the Rileys’ garage. Leffler was also able to positively match the cinderblock with particles found in Brittany’s trunk. What could have been a very boring scientific demonstration was actually quite interesting. When they finished with his direct exam, every member of the jury was completely captivated. And, they all got the message. Leffler believed Becky Riley and the cinderblock, to which she was tethered, had been in Brittany’s trunk.

  “Isn’t it true, Mr. Leffler,” Marc began his cross examination after the break, “your tests cannot determine when the hair was left in the car’s trunk?”

  “That’s true, but…”

  “Nonresponsive, your Honor,” Marc said.

  “Just answer the question,” Connors admonished Leffler.r />
  “Yes or no please,” Marc told him.

  “Yes, that’s true.”

  “There were cinderblock particles spread throughout the trunk, wasn’t there?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean,” Leffler replied.

  “If you put a forty pound cinderblock in the trunk of your car, it wouldn’t slide around while the car was moving, would it?”

  “Well, no, I suppose not,” Leffler agreed.

  “It would sit in the spot where it was placed?”

  “Yes, it would be too heavy to slide around.”

  “And, isn’t it true that you would expect to find residue particles of that cinderblock in the spot where it was placed?”

  “Yes,” the witness agreed.

  “Isn’t it also true that there were particles spread throughout the trunk of the car?”

  “Yes, there were.”

  Marc was tempted to ask him to explain why, but he avoided temptation. Not knowing what the man could come up with, he decided to move on and later Marc would bring his own witness to explain it.

  “Mr. Leffler, would you explain for the jury, the concept of fiber transference?”

  “When two articles consisting of fibers rub against each other, fibers from each will be transferred to the other article,” Leffler said looking at the jury.

  “For example,” Marc continued, “if a blanket rubs up against carpeting, you would expect to find fibers from the blanket on the carpet and carpet fibers on the blanket?”

  “Yes, exactly so.”

  Marc asked Connors for permission to approach the witness and it was granted. He took an exhibit off of the exhibit table and handed it to Leffler. It was a multicolored cloth object in a clear plastic bag.

  “Mr. Leffler, I handed you state’s exhibit number one. Do you recognize it?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what is it?”