Mercy (A Neon Lawyer Novel Book 2)

by Victor Methos

  Kevin took a step to the right so he could meet the eyes of the jurors on the other side of the box. “Michael was sitting on the couch. Lee sat next to him. He talked to him for a few minutes, putting the boy at ease, and then began rubbing his leg. He moved up the thigh until he came to Michael’s genitals. And then he began rubbing them. It lasted a few minutes, but Michael will tell you it felt even longer. And then this man forced Michael down onto the couch, stripped off his shorts and his underwear, and raped him. No lubrication was used. The boy was sodomized so violently that he required twenty stitches in his rectum. But Michael didn’t fight… This was his uncle.” Kevin stepped closer to the jury and put his hands on the jury box. “His uncle. Who he loved and trusted and had known his entire life. And there he was on top of him, raping him.”

  Kevin looked to Lee and his lip curled in disgust.

  “This man, or whatever he is, ruined this boy’s life. He took away everything Michael was going to be and do. Michael’s life was going one way, and now it will be going another because he”—Kevin pointed to Lee again—“saw vulnerability and exploited it. He saw his chance and took it.” He turned back to the jury. “Michael didn’t do anything to deserve something like this. He is completely and utterly innocent—a true innocent: just a child. He was forced to endure the most painful, humiliating thing a person can endure, and the worst part of it was that he had been close to his Uncle Lee. They were buddies. They played sports together. Lee would bring him gifts if he traveled anywhere. Lee taught him about camping and fishing and how to throw a football with a spiral and a million other things. How is Michael ever supposed to trust anyone again? How is he supposed to find solace in life?”

  Kevin took a few paces back. “You let Lee Olsen know he doesn’t get to do that and get away with it. He doesn’t get to rape children and then turn himself in with a smile as though nothing had happened. Find him guilty, and show him that we live in a society of law—law that doesn’t allow you to rape the most innocent among us, and get away with it.

  Kevin sat back down and undid the top button of his suit coat again. Molly stood up, and as she walked past Lee to get to the jury, she set her hand on his shoulder as a signal to the jury that he wasn’t a monster, that he wasn’t dangerous. If a skinny blonde wasn’t afraid of him, maybe they had no reason to be, either.

  “It’s true that Lee was over at his sister’s house that day. It’s true that Michael was in the home. But it’s not true that Lee did anything to Michael. Lee loves his family and would do anything to protect them. He works a job he hates for twelve hours a day in order to provide for his wife and unborn child. He’s got a full-time job as a house painter and has picked up another part-time one for auto repair. He is a man who has a lot of compassion and intelligence. He’s a man who wouldn’t do this.”

  She walked back over to the defense table and leaned on it. She had to be careful about this portion. Utah had some of the strictest rape-shield laws in the country, so she was not allowed to mention anything about prior bad acts by the victim. But there was an exception to the rape shield: if a prior sexual encounter could explain something in the current case, it should be allowed in.

  “Semen was found on the victim, both on the front, near his genitals, and in his rectum. That semen was tested for genetic identity, and guess what? It is not a match to Lee Olsen. Lee was literally begging to have his DNA taken because he knew it wouldn’t come back a match. It wouldn’t come back a match because he did not sexually assault Michael Olsen. The semen belongs to someone else. The State has no physical evidence, so they’re going to tug on your heartstrings. What happened to Michael, whoever did it, was terrible, but it wasn’t Lee. His DNA was not a match. If it wasn’t a match, that is by definition reasonable doubt. And because of that, you must find him not guilty.”

  Molly sat back down. Normally an opening for this type of case might take twenty minutes to an hour. She didn’t want to do that, and apparently neither did Kevin. The jury had been hit with the most relevant fact: the DNA from the semen was not a match. She was hanging her entire defense on that. She didn’t need to hammer it home.

  The first witness was called, a detective from Sex Crimes investigating the case. His recollection of the facts in the case was detailed to the point of making the jury uncomfortable, which was good. The more uncomfortable they were, the less they were listening to what he was actually saying.

  The detective went through the first encounter with Michael and the interview with Lee later. Lee had refused to speak to him and asked for a lawyer. But the detective still had to throw in that Lee appeared nervous and that in his experience, that was usually an indication of someone hiding something.

  When the prosecutor was done, Molly stood up. “Detective, you just said my client appeared nervous, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Had you ever met him before that day?”

  “No.”

  “Did you ever talk to him on the phone?”

  “No.”

  “Did you ever hang out with him on Skype?”

  “No, Counselor. We had never met prior to the events in this case.”

  “So you don’t know my client’s general level of anxiety and nervousness, do you?”

  “No.”

  Molly leaned on the lectern with her palms. The detective wasn’t being evasive. He was open and honest, which was actually worse for the defense because it was tougher to trap him. “So you can’t say how he normally appears, right?”

  “As far as…?”

  “As far as how nervous he generally appears on any given day.”

  “No,” the detective said, “I can’t.”

  “Does my client have an anxiety disorder?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Does he suffer from chronic depression?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Does he have any mental disorder that you know about?”

  “I wouldn’t know about that, no.”

  Molly stepped around the lectern and folded her arms, staring the detective in the eyes. “Did you ask him if he had any anxiety or mental disorders?”

  “No.”

  “So you have no idea how Lee appears or acts on any day or time except for that thirty-minute interview you had with him, correct?”

  The detective hesitated, his eyes going up to the ceiling as he thought. “No, I don’t know what he acts like at any other time.”

  “So what you saw could just be his normal level of nervousness?”

  “I suppose so.”

  Molly went back to the lectern and leaned on it again. “Did he confess anything to you?”

  “No, he did not.”

  “Are you aware that the semen found on Michael was tested for genetic similarity to that of my client?”

  The detective was silent for a moment. “Yes.”

  “Was it a match?”

  “As far as I’m aware, no, it was not.”

  “So you don’t have a confession, and the semen found belonged to someone else. But you think he’s guilty because he looked nervous? What kind of police work is that?”

  “Objection,” Kevin said, standing up.

  Molly didn’t want to lose momentum so she said, “Withdrawn. Detective, do you have any real evidence against my client other than the say-so of a ten-year-old boy?”

  The detective was now physically uncomfortable and couldn’t hide it. His face had flushed a plum color, and he was fidgeting. He wanted so badly to have her client convicted that he was upset that he was failing, and Molly knew the jury could see it.

  “Cat got your tongue, Detective? I asked you if you have any evidence other than the say-so of a ten-year-old boy?”

  “Those tests are wrong sometimes,” he blurted out. “Your client just got lucky that it came back not a match.”

  Molly grinned. The officer had gone off script. “Really? How many times when a person is facing a crime have you testified that the DNA test is wrong s
ometimes, Detective? If I were to go back and pull your testimony from every case you’ve ever done—which I can do—how many times have you said it? And I remind you, you’re under oath.”

  Kevin was on his feet again. “Your Honor, this has nothing to do with—”

  “He opened the door,” Molly said. “I get to go through.”

  The judge thought a second and said, “She’s right, Mr. Renteria.”

  “But Your Honor, what this detective has and hasn’t said in any other case—”

  “If you don’t want your witnesses’ pasts examined, don’t let them blurt things out. Go ahead, Ms. Becker.”

  Molly stepped close to the detective. Uncomfortably close, enough that she could smell his aftershave and wouldn’t look anywhere but right into his pupils. “I asked you how many times you have testified that the DNA genetic fingerprinting test conducted by the Utah State Crime Lab is wrong.”

  He shook his head, looking away from the jury. “Never.”

  “Oh,” she said, taking a few steps back and standing near the jury, “so you just happen to come out with that little tidbit now when it helps you?” Molly was on a roll. The detective looked as though he wanted to either hit her or run out of the courtroom. She decided it was worth an objection to push him. “The truth is you know these tests are accurate, but you can’t stand the thought that you’re wrong, can you? That you arrested an innocent man and are willing to get up there and lie to put him away so that you don’t have to admit that there might be other innocent people you’ve put away, too.”

  “Up yours, Counselor.”

  “Enough,” the judge bellowed. “Ms. Becker, you know that’s crossing the line. Detective, this is my courtroom, and you will respect it while you are in that chair and not attack any officer of this court. Or I promise, I have a much more uncomfortable place for you to sit should I find you in contempt. Is that understood?”

  He nodded, but didn’t speak, his eyes never moving from Molly’s.

  Molly took a step back. She had a lot more to come at him with, but letting the jury see how badly he wanted this conviction, so badly that he was willing to lose it on the stand under routine questioning, was probably the best place to end. Besides, he wasn’t the primary witness against her client. The boy was.

  “No further questions,” she said.

  Kevin rose and asked a few questions to try to salvage his witness’s testimony, but the detective had been damaged. He was stuttering now, unable to recall answers he’d already given. Kevin recognized this and hurriedly got him off the stand.

  “Next witness,” the judge said.

  “The State calls Michael Olsen, Your Honor.”

  The boy shuffled through the courtroom without looking up at anyone. He was just wearing jeans and a T-shirt—what he normally would wear, Molly guessed. He took the stand, his hand shaking during the oath. His eyes were filled with fear, and for a moment, Molly wished he wasn’t so young.

  The fact that he was even on the stand was a victory. The State had wanted to film his testimony, as the law allowed child victims of sex crimes to record their testimony. The video would then be played for the jury. The problem was that this violated the defendant’s right to cross-examine his accuser. In order for video testimony to be introduced, the judge had to view the video in camera, alone in his or her chambers, and determine whether cross-examination was necessary. It was, Molly thought, a joke. Cross-examination was always necessary.

  At first, judges tried to protect children from testifying, but they began getting overturned on appeal. There wasn’t much someone could do to hurt a judge, but having the state’s Court of Appeals or the Supreme Court publicly say the judge didn’t understand the law and then overturn the decision was a powerful way to get a judge to change.

  Judge Veasman had been overturned twice on the issue. He now allowed defense counsel to cross-examine child victims more than six years old in person in every case.

  Kevin took the lectern and waited a moment, smiling at the child. “Don’t be scared, Michael. You have nothing to be scared of anymore. Okay?”

  “Okay,” he said softly.

  “Do you remember September fifth of last year? The day we’ve been talking about?”

  He nodded.

  “You have to speak into the microphone because it’s being recorded, Michael.”

  “Oh. Yes, I remember.”

  “Tell us what you remember about that day.”

  Michael glanced at his uncle. Kevin should have moved away from the lectern and blocked the boy’s view of Lee but he hadn’t, and Molly wondered if he just wasn’t thinking straight or hadn’t thought of it at all.

  “I was at home playing Call of Duty and my uncle came over.”

  “Which uncle?”

  “Uncle Lee.”

  “Do you see Uncle Lee here in the courtroom today?”

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  “Where is he? Please point him out.”

  He lifted his hand and pointed to Lee Olsen. “That’s him.”

  “So what did Uncle Lee do when he came over?”

  The boy grew so uncomfortable that he couldn’t look up, and he tried to speak but no words came out. Kevin didn’t say anything. He just waited until Michael was ready and said, “Michael, please tell us what happened.”

  Michael looked up at his uncle and then back down at the floor. “Nothing happened.”

  The silence in the courtroom was so heavy that Molly heard a car passing on the road outside. She leaned back in her seat, and the chair creaked. It was like thunder rolling across the sky, and several jurors looked over at her.

  “Michael,” Kevin said, stepping around the lectern and approaching the boy, “please tell us what happened, and be honest.”

  “Nothing happened. I made it up. It was someone else.”

  A few murmurs went up from the audience, mostly family members. Michael wasn’t looking up. His gaze was glued to the floor as though he couldn’t lift it. Lee Olsen wasn’t looking at him either. He had his eyes on the table and the yellow legal pad Molly had given him to write notes on.

  “Michael,” Kevin said softly, “do you remember coming to my office several times, including yesterday? And the conversations we had?”

  He nodded.

  “Please speak into the microphone,” the judge said.

  “Yes, I remember.”

  “And do you remember telling me the story of how your uncle raped you?”

  “Objection,” Molly said, standing. “Leading.”

  “I need some rope, Judge,” Kevin said.

  “If he wants rope, there are other ways than leading the witness.”

  Kevin looked at her, his face contorted in anger. “Your Honor,” he said sternly, “permission to treat the witness as hostile.”

  Surprised, Molly slowly sat down. To treat a witness as hostile meant that he thought his own witness was lying. It made it look as though he couldn’t be trusted.

  “Permission granted,” the judge said.

  “You came into my office on September ninth of last year for the first time, isn’t that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’d come in then because you had just gotten out of the hospital, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you were in the hospital because your rectum—your backside, Michael—had been torn, right?”

  The boy didn’t answer right away. His eyes glossed over in tears. “Yes,” he said softly.

  “And you told me it was your Uncle Lee that did it, didn’t you?”

  The boy closed his eyes and tears rolled down his cheeks. Molly rose, “Your Honor, he’s badgering the witness. The witness is only ten.”

  Kevin spun around, his eyes blazing with anger and confusion. The defense had just defended his own witness from him in front of the jury. His eyes locked onto Molly’s, and they both knew what had happened: the case was over.

  Kevin went back to the prosecution table and
sat down. He had lost the jury, and everyone knew it. There was no point in him further attacking Michael.

  “Any cross, Ms. Becker?” Judge Veasman asked.

  “Just a few questions, Your Honor.” She waited a moment, making sure the jury was paying attention to her. “Michael, did Lee Olsen inappropriately touch you in any way?”

  “No.”

  “Was it someone else?”

  He hesitated. “Yes.”

  “Did you lie to the police and the prosecutor?”

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  “No further questions, Your Honor.”

  “Mr. Renteria, may this witness be excused?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  The judge looked between the two lawyers. “Any further witnesses, Mr. Renteria?”

  Kevin stood. A forensic nurse and a child psychologist who had interviewed Michael were up next. Molly knew he could go one of two ways: he could put them on the stand and hope he could discuss why children change their testimony on the stand or not call them and rest. If he tried the former, Molly would object, stating she hadn’t been given proper notice of the experts’ testimony as that hadn’t been what they were going to testify to. She would also argue the psychologist was not qualified to give such an assessment. She might win the objection, or she might lose; it didn’t matter at this point. The prosecution’s case was irreparably damaged. Nothing could save it at this point.

  They did have one more option, and that was simply the jury wildcard. There was a possibility that the jury might just hate her client enough to convict, on the off chance that he had actually done it. She’d seen it happen before.

  But the law was prepared for that. A directed verdict motion could be made before the jury got a chance to deliberate. The defense could say that the prosecution hadn’t presented enough evidence to even go to the jury. Judge Veasman was as objective as a judge could be, and Molly knew Kevin understood that there was no way he could get past a directed verdict now.