Trial by Blood

by William Bernhardt

  “But I’m afraid there won’t be much swimming this week. We have a serious matter before us—the most serious kind there is—so I’m going to have to ask you all to be patient, to remain attentive, and to give this difficult matter the respect and consideration it deserves.”

  He bobbed a little from one foot to the other. “Here’s my promise. I will not waste your time. No showboating, no tricks, nothing that isn’t important. I’m not a slick high-flyer. I’m a worker bee. I get the job done, no theatrics, no messing around. I’m a straight shooter, so if I say something, you can darn well believe it’s true. My momma taught me to tell the truth, and that lesson has stuck with me ever since.”

  This was more than a little improper, but Judge Smulders didn’t say a word. If anything, he appeared to be mesmerized.

  “This case is quite simple, ladies and gentlemen. My opponent will try to complicate matters, but there’s nothing complicated about it. It all comes down to three facts, each of which we will prove beyond a reasonable doubt.”

  Of course it would be a list of three. That was the mathematical key to success in public speaking, and an old lawyer trick. People called it the ‘rule of threes,’ or ‘mathematical truth.’ Every story should have three parts. Every list should be a list of three. Lists of threes seemed to have an almost magical resonance. You saw them everywhere—poetry, literature, the Bible. Jokes often had three people going into a bar or something happening three times—the last time resulting in the punchline. Contract lawyers frequently used lists of threes—even though the three words were redundant synonyms. Goods, chattel, and personal effects. Right, title, and interest. Give, bequeath, and bestow. Somehow, in the human brain, a list of three equaled truth.

  “First, the young man who pretends to be Ossie Coleman committed this murder for the same reason he pretends to be Ossie Coleman. A billion dollars waiting to be claimed. That amount of money might be a sore temptation to the gentlest of people—but as the evidence will show, this defendant is not the gentlest of people.

  “Second, though the entire family opposed this young upstart’s claims, the victim, Harrison Coleman, posed a particular problem, because had known the real Ossie well. So he had to be eliminated. The evidence will show that the defendant met with the victim and, after an unsuccessful bargaining attempt, killed him.

  “Third.” Kilpatrick raised three fingers, just in case someone was having trouble keeping count. “We have a veritable avalanche of scientific and forensic evidence showing that the defendant was at the scene of the crime, met the victim, hid the murder weapon, and had the ability to perform a...frankly terrifying means of disposing of the body. We can argue all night about eyewitnesses and memory—but science doesn’t lie. And in this case, science points in one direction. If that weren’t enough, in his dying moments”—he whirled around and pointed at Ossie—“the victim wrote his name at the scene of the crime.”

  He took another step even closer to the jury. “I will show you the plain, unvarnished truth. It may disturb you. May even shock you. But these are shocking circumstances. I am confident that once you have seen this irrefutable evidence, seen the world for what it is and acknowledged that science does not lie—you will find the defendant guilty of murder in the first degree.”

  With that, Kilpatrick pivoted and took his seat.

  He exchanged a glance with Maria. They didn’t speak, but he knew what she was thinking. He liked to believe that he was the best courtroom orator in town.

  But Kilpatrick was better. Way better. Perhaps all these years of doing essentially the same thing had allowed him to hone his skills. But that opening was a masterpiece. Short, succinct, effective—even a little entertaining. Most importantly, it got the jury thinking the way he wanted them to think. Yes, it was stagey, calculated, manipulative—but it was also persuasive. The trial hadn’t even begun, and Kilpatrick already had the jurors leaning in his direction.

  Good thing he’d spent the night practicing. This needed to be the best opening he’d ever delivered.

  “Mr. Pike. Would you like to open at this time?”

  “Yes, you honor.” He walked to the right side of the jury rail—if only to create some contrast. “My compliments to Mr. Kilpatrick on that fine opening. He’s a pro. That’s why they brought him in from New York City, where he lives, to try this case in St. Petersburg.” Complete dirty pool, but what the hell. Kilpatrick started it. “I know you will take your job as jurors seriously, so you’re not going to be as interested in lawyering as you are in the facts.”

  He paused, smiled, then continued. “My name is Daniel Pike and I represent the defendant, Ossie Coleman. Yes, I live on a boat—it’s cheaper than property tax around here—and I love water sports, but that’s not relevant, so let’s talk about the case. This may surprise you but—I actually agree with much of what Mr. Kilpatrick said. In fact, I agree with most of it.” Seem reasonable, not antagonistic. Find common ground. Act as if you’re only helping them see the truth. “For instance, I agree that when this kind of money is in the mix, some people will be driven to extreme actions. I also agree that this crime was horrific. It was planned and calculated with a cold-blooded efficiency and maturity that only someone in complete control could master. And I also agree that science can provide reliable evidence—if it’s interpreted reliably.”

  He walked slowly toward the other end of the rail, trying to create visual interest to keep the jurors alert. “But that’s where Mr. Kilpatrick and I part company. Everything else he said is bogus and unsubstantiated, part of a concerted effort by powerful forces to frame my client for a crime he did not commit. There are a host of potential heirs to the Coleman family fortune—so why single out my client? Ossie is still tied up in lawsuits—filed by the family, not by him—intended to determine inheritance rights. Surely he would wait to see how that comes out before he started executing the other relatives. On the other hand.” He turned and cast an eye toward the many Coleman relatives in the gallery. “If you’re a relative concerned about how the civil trial might come out, framing Ossie for murder might seem like a smart move. Because if he’s found guilty of murder, even if he wins the civil trial, he won’t be permitted to collect the dough. As you view all the evidence in this case, keep asking yourself a single question: How can I know who is guilty when there are other people with the exact same motive, same opportunity, but more maturity, more resources, and a far greater ability to commit the murder?

  “The scientific evidence is important, but most of these technical matters—DNA and tox screens and such—require interpretation. The forensic experts Mr. Kilpatrick intends to call to the witness stand are all people who work for the police department, people who have repeatedly come to court to say what the DA needs them to say. I will point out the flaws in their testimony and the holes in their so-called science to demonstrate that the evidence is not only questionable—it isn’t even very good science. The prosecution even plans to call a homeless person, a Dumpster diver, to testify about what he allegedly found in the trash. Now ask yourself—if the prosecution had airtight scientific evidence, why would it resort to a witness like that?”

  He placed his hands on the rail. “I am concerned that some of you may be so repulsed by this crime that you want to vote to convict just to feel that someone has been punished. You must resist that instinct. Your verdict should be based upon evidence, not emotion. Don’t be manipulated. Be logical. Use your brains. Be critical thinkers. To convict you must find that this mastermind murder and chemically complex body disintegration was executed by one young boy, who so far as anyone knows, has never hurt anyone in his entire life. Does that make sense? Or is it more likely that someone older, wiser, with more wherewithal, is responsible?

  “Unlike Mr. Kilpatrick, I’m not going to make any promises. I’m just going to remember that you have already made a promise. You promised to faithfully execute your duties as jurors. That’s a heavy responsibility. And an important one. I trust you
to fulfill it.”

  He looked up and smiled. “At the end of the day, just remember one thing. To convict, you must find that Mr. Kilpatrick has proven his case against Ossie beyond a reasonable doubt. That’s a high standard. It’s meant to be. If you feel the prosecution’s case is anything less, regardless of what you privately or secretly think, you must find Ossie not guilty. That is your sworn duty. And I know I can count on you to execute it faithfully.”

  He turned and walked back to the defendant’s table, but as he passed, he gave Mr. Kilpatrick a raised eyebrow. Okay, Mr. Hired Gun.

  Game on.

  Chapter 35

  Judge Smulders called for a short break before the prosecution launched its case. Just as well. The jury probably needed time to unpack and consolidate. They’d heard a lot of information in succinct packets from lawyers—and probably didn’t understand the significance of much of it. In opening, lawyers were technically not supposed to argue. They did, of course, but less overtly. Opening was a time for planting seeds, a theme, an idea, a skepticism, that would become important later.

  Although the judge gave them ten minutes, he noticed that Kilpatrick did not leave the courtroom. No bathroom or snack break. He also noticed that Kilpatrick did not chat much with his colleagues. Belasco had sent two assistant DAs to sit at the table with him. Probably more gofers than colleagues, or perhaps planted to give the table a local connection. But Kilpatrick was clearly an island unto himself, a man who kept his own counsel. And apparently didn’t need food or bathroom breaks.

  He spotted Bradley Ellison entering the courtroom and taking a seat on the back row of the gallery. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. Ellison had been investigating the Ossie Coleman case for years. It was only natural that he’d be interested in the trial.

  Kilpatrick’s first witness was the medical examiner, Dr. Zanzibar. Dan had crossed Zanzibar many times and knew him to be an essentially reliable medical witness. He might lean in a little to help the prosecutor, but he wasn’t going to flat out lie or make claims broader than the evidence allowed.

  Zanzibar was called to establish that a death had occurred. In most cases, this was a pro forma exercise in the obvious, but unless there was proof of death, no murder prosecution could succeed. This case, however, was more complicated than most. Given the virtual destruction of the body, someone could theoretically question whether Harrison Coleman was dead. So Dr. Zanzibar had to discuss trace calcium particles and lye residue. He did it with admirable aplomb, staying scientific while dumbing it down enough to communicate to the jurors. After he finished explaining about amino acid particulate in the drain, no one would be expecting to see Harrison walk through the courtroom doors unexpectedly.

  The next witness was Jake Kakazu, one of the first officers to arrive at the crime scene and easily the best courtroom witness on the force. Maybe it was the tony British accent, but Kakazu seemed so relaxed and convincing that sometimes he just wanted to lay down his cards and fold. Kakazu’s hand wasn’t that strong this time around, but he still made an excellent impression.

  Kakazu described how, long after Harrison disappeared, someone called the cops. He described Harrison’s office and of course, how he found OSSIE written in the foggy mirror. He established that he immediately taped off the room, including the bathroom, to prevent anyone from contaminating the crime scene. His testimony backed the coroner and would support the evidence later admitted by the forensic experts, but it did nothing to incriminate Ossie.

  That part of the prosecution case was yet to come.

  After Kilpatrick finished the direct examination, Dan rose to cross. “Was this name written in steam apparent when you first entered the bathroom?”

  “No.”

  “You had to make it appear.”

  “Sort of. I turned on the hot water in the shower. I didn’t write the name.”

  “But you could’ve.”

  “But I didn’t.”

  “How did you know there was a name written in the fog if it wasn’t visible?”

  “I didn’t. I just had a hunch.”

  “You had a hunch that there was a currently invisible name that would identify the killer? That’s one heck of a hunch.”

  “I could see there was something on the mirror. It looked dirty. Of course, it was the oil naturally secreted by human fingers.”

  “And you could see that by looking?”

  Kakazu was not ruffled in the slightest. “I’ve been working this job a long time.”

  “What a happy coincidence that the mysterious message you could see even though it was invisible also identified the killer for you.”

  Kilpatrick rose. “Your honor. Mr. Pike is being disrespectful.”

  And that’s unusual on cross? “I’m demonstrating how far-fetched this story is, your honor. That’s not disrespect. That’s doing my job.”

  Judge Smulders’ brow creased. His cheeks flushed. “Umm...is this an objection thing?”

  “Yes,” Kilpatrick said. “I made an objection.”

  “Actually,” Dan corrected, “you never said the magic word.”

  “Abracadabra?”

  “Objection.”

  “Oh.” Kilpatrick cleared his throat. “Objection.”

  “Grounds?”

  “Disrespect to a fifteen-year veteran of the St. Pete police force.”

  “Your honor, I cannot effectively cross anyone if he’s going to start complaining about my manners. Cross is meant to be confrontational.”

  “It doesn’t have to be rude,” Kilpatrick shot back.

  “I hope you remember that when it’s your turn to cross.”

  The judge swatted the air. “I don’t think I can go along with this objection. The defense is supposed to cross. Just...you know. Be nicer about it.”

  And how exactly did that work? “Thank you, you honor.” He turned back to Kakazu. “I will submit that it is an amazing coincidence that you saw the invisible, made it reappear, and it was exactly what you needed.”

  Kakazu smiled. “And I would submit that this is the natural result of experience, training, and a thorough investigation.” He paused. “Just to be clear, I did not write the name on the mirror. I had a sergeant with me at all times. He saw it appear just as I did, when I did.”

  “Why would anyone write a name on a mirror like this?”

  “I assume the victim did it before he was killed.”

  “When did he have time?”

  Kakazu shrugged. “After he saw your client enter his office. But before he was murdered.”

  “You’re still not telling me why he would do this.”

  “To identify his killer.”

  “But the killer hadn’t killed him yet.”

  “Presumably he could see that the defendant was about to kill him. Or perhaps the defendant said he was about to kill him.”

  “So they’d already seen one another. The killer laid eyes on him—then stood there quietly while Harrison wrote his name on the mirror?”

  “I don’t know exactly how it happened.”

  “Or why. Or when. Detective, isn’t it far more likely that someone else wrote that name on the mirror to incriminate Ossie? Like, the true murderer.”

  “I see no reason to assume—”

  “The medical examiner testified that the process of decomposing the body with lye required lots of hot water.”

  “Yes.”

  “Which would create steam. Making it possible to write a name on the mirror.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why would there be steam before that?”

  “I don’t know, but there are many—”

  “The one time we know there was steam was when the body was being destroyed. The true killer wouldn’t write his own name.” Pause. “But he might write someone else’s. Don’t you think?”

  “Objection,” Kilpatrick said. “Calls for speculation.”

  “I agree with that,” the judge said. “So, you know...sustained.”


  Dan smiled. “It’s okay. I think the jury got the point.”

  Chapter 36

  Kilpatrick’s next witness was Margaret Tully, the theater board member who allegedly clashed with Harrison on many occasions and urged him to forego Shakespeare in favor of more crowd-pleasing productions. Kilpatrick wasted little time establishing who she was, her credentials, or the fact that Harrison worked under her direction.

  What surprised him was how little talk there was about the conflicts between the two. Perhaps Kilpatrick thought that might make her testimony seem suspect. But as far as you could tell from her direct testimony, she and Harrison got on like bandits, and she was grief-stricken by his death.

  “I noticed that Harrison hadn’t come backstage during or after the performance, as was his custom,” she said. Late fifties. Thick black glasses. Hair in a bun. “I assumed he had a reason. He had seemed stressed lately. If I had only taken the time to knock on his door...” She shook her head. “Maybe this would have turned out differently. Maybe I could have saved him.”

  More likely, she would’ve ended up dead herself. “Did you notice anything of interest that night?” Kilpatrick asked.

  “Yes. I saw the defendant at the theater. Earlier. Backstage.”

  That caused some of the jurors to lean forward with interest. “Did you mention it to anyone?”

  “No. I had no reason to think anything was wrong.”

  “But you recognized the defendant.”

  “Yes. I’d seen his picture in the paper. I knew he was the imposter claim—”

  “Objection,” Dan said.

  The judge shrugged haplessly. “Maybe you could use a different word...”

  “I knew he was the boy claiming to be Ossie Coleman,” Tully continued. “And I knew Harrison didn’t believe it.”

  “Did you talk to the defendant?”

  “No. Wish I had.”

  “Did he do anything suspicious? Say anything?”