True Intent

by Michael Stagg

  “Yes, Your Honor,” we both said.

  Judge French nodded and looked at the ceiling. “And, not that this would happen mind you, but if you strike three men, Ms. Lance, or you strike three women, Mr. Shepherd, it would seem to me that you better have a pretty good gender neutral reason for doing so or you’re going to have a hard time overcoming a Batson challenge. Don’t you agree?”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” we both said.

  “Good. Now I'm going to get some lunch. Please be back in an hour.”

  We all stood and left. Victoria went straight over to her consultants, pulled out a chart of the jurors, and started whispering. Danny and I went over to Liselle, who still sat arrow straight at the table, her hands folded in front of her. She was wearing a conservative black suit that made her pale blonde hair seem almost white and she seemed nervous, which was to be expected given that we’d been sitting there for a day and a half picking the people who were going to decide whether she had committed murder.

  I gestured and she followed me out into the hall, as did Danny. Olivia Brickson had been sitting in the back of the courtroom, and after a nod from me, she joined us as well.

  “We're going to make the final jury selection right after lunch,” I said. “We're not going to ask them any more questions. We’re just going to knock out the three that we’re the most uncomfortable with.”

  “Only three?” said Liselle.

  I nodded. “And they can't all be women.”

  “Why not?” said Liselle.

  “If we do, then the judge is going to assume that were doing it because of their gender and that’s not allowed.” I handed Liselle the juror seating chart with their names and descriptions. “Think about it over lunch. Olivia, would you mind taking Liselle to grab something to eat?”

  “Sure,” said Olivia.

  “I can't eat,” said Liselle.

  “Then get some water and eat a snack. You’ll need it later in the afternoon.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Danny and I are going to make sure everything is ready for opening statements.”

  Liselle eyes were a little wide.

  “It's okay. Go with Olivia.”

  She nodded and the two of them went downstairs with Olivia saying something about the café on the first floor.

  “What do you need me to do?” said Danny.

  “Let's make sure everything's ready to go and then you can grab a quick bite too.”

  Danny nodded and the two of us went back into the courtroom.

  Victoria and her associate Carrie were still huddled with the jury consultants. The man was animated, as was Carrie, who looked up when I entered and stopped talking.

  In case you're wondering, this many people on the prosecution side of a case was not usual, not in Carrefour anyway. Having the chief prosecutor and an associate in court, another associate working back at the office, and two jury consultants was far beyond the usual budget for a case in a town like ours.

  It was almost as if a billionaire had died.

  Danny and I made sure our screen was up and our projector was working and that our trial presentation software was ready to go. Victoria and Carrie and the consultants seemed to reach an agreement on whatever they were debating and the four of them made to leave the courtroom. Victoria stopped that the gate and said, “Share the same screen, Nate?”

  “Of course,” I said. “I'll leave it up.”

  She nodded. “Thanks.”

  Once we were sure everything worked, we turned everything off and Danny went to get something to eat. I took my bag lunch, complete with the ever-exciting turkey sandwich and an orange, and went to a quiet spot on the fifth floor, where I ate my sandwich and went over my opening one more time.

  At the appointed time, we met back in Judge French's chambers. This time it was everyone—lawyers and clients and consultants. Danny, Liselle, and I stood on one side of the judge's office while Victoria, Carrie, and the two consultants stood on the other. We each had a chart of the twenty-four jurors remaining in the pool. The first eight would be our jury and the next two after that would be our alternates. Each time we struck somebody, the next one in line would move up.

  “Ms. Lance, the prosecution may exercise its first peremptory challenge.”

  “Your Honor, the prosecution would thank and excuse juror number six.”

  Man, executive, married to wife number two. That moved up juror number eleven, a married mother of two who had worked for fifteen years at a local bank.

  “Mr. Shepherd, it's your turn.”

  I leaned in and whispered to Danny and Liselle. “Do we still agree on juror number three?”

  Danny and Liselle both nodded.

  “Your Honor, the defense would thank and excuse juror number three.”

  Divorced woman, fifties, husband remarried to a woman in her thirties.

  “Very well,” said Judge French, his face unreadable. “Juror number three is excused and juror number twelve moves up.” Juror number twelve was a single man in his thirties who worked at the Ford plant as a line engineer.

  “Ms. Lance?”

  The prosecution team huddled and whispered. There again seemed to be a difference of opinion between Carrie and the male consultant. I'm not sure who won, I only know that Victoria straightened and said, “Your Honor, we would thank and excuse juror number two.”

  Man, fifties, divorced.

  “Very well, juror number two is excused and juror number thirteen moves up.”

  Juror number thirteen was another woman. Thirties, two kids, homeschooling.

  “Mr. Shepherd?”

  We whispered and agreed to our predetermined second choice. “Your Honor, we will thank and excuse juror number five.”

  Juror number five was a happily married young nurse. However, she had repeatedly volunteered that her father had divorced their mother for a younger woman.

  “Very well, that will move juror number fourteen up to the alternate spot. Ms. Lance?”

  This would be interesting. She either needed to pass or dismiss a woman.

  The prosecution group whispered and this time it lasted longer. Judge French waited patiently.

  Finally, Victoria said, “Your Honor, we would excuse juror number eight.”

  “That would be the woman who was originally the alternate?”

  “Yes.”

  That was interesting. I would've thought that the woman they just dismissed would be in their camp, but then I saw that it moved a woman on who would, presumably, fit their apparent ideal-juror profile even more closely. And since they’d bounced a woman, I couldn't object that they were discriminating based on gender.

  “Very well, Mr. Shepherd?” Judge French said.

  I looked at the current alternate, a woman who’d given off such strong body language against our case that it had seemed like a beacon. If I struck anyone, she would move onto the jury.

  “I think we stand pat,” I said to Liselle and Danny.

  “Why?” said Liselle.

  I explained. “If we strike someone, this woman goes onto the jury.”

  Liselle nodded. “I don't see anyone worse either.”

  “Okay.” To the Judge, I said, “Your Honor, we’ll pass on our last peremptory.”

  “Very well. Ms. Lance, Mr. Shepherd, you have your jury. Opening statements in fifteen minutes.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor.”

  We walked out and Danny made a clean list of our jurors and then gave it to Olivia who would run a final check on all of them. We wound up with five women and three men and a fairly even distribution of single, married, and divorced. I still thought the prosecution’s case was thin and that Liselle’s relationship with Richard and their age difference shouldn’t matter but sometimes the smallest thing can turn a case.

  After eight months, we were about to find out.

  Once the jury was sworn in, there was some rustling over on the prosecution’s side of the courtroom. I saw the
jury consultants fall back into the gallery and two new people, who had the look of young attorneys, move forward into the first row, laptops in hand.

  I leaned closer to Liselle. “Doing okay?”

  She nodded.

  “Good. Remember, keep your cool and don't show any emotion. This next part is going to be hard. They’re going to portray you in the worst possible light.”

  Liselle nodded again.

  I looked at Danny. “You ready?”

  Danny tapped his laptop. “All set.”

  I nodded, crossed my legs, and faced the jury.

  “Ms. Lance,” said Judge French. “Is the State ready to proceed?”

  Victoria stood. “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “Very well. You may give your opening statement.”

  31

  Victoria Lance strode to the lectern without a note. She wore a finely tailored blue suit and moderate heels that attracted no notice. The only jewelry she wore were small gold earrings, a gold watch, and her wedding band. She walked right up to the jury as if she were meeting them at a cocktail party and said, “Liselle Vila killed Richard Phillips at his nephew’s wedding. And she did it intentionally. For that reason, we’re going to ask you to find her guilty of first-degree murder.”

  Victoria paused and looked at each one of the jurors before she continued. “This case is different, though, because I’m not going to be presenting you with a traditional murder weapon.” She pointed to the evidence table where pre-marked items were arrayed. “I won't be showing you a gun or a knife or a baseball bat. I won't be presenting you with a car that a drunk driver got behind the wheel of or a swimming pool that someone left the door open to or the broken leash of a vicious dog that got loose.”

  “No, the evidence will show that a very different sort of murder weapon was used in this case.”

  Victoria strode to the evidence table and brought a cup and the teabag back with her. She put the cup on the edge of the jury box and dropped the teabag into it. Victoria let it sit there and moved back a couple of steps to give the jury room. “There are two murder weapons in this case. That bag of tea, which contains an herb called St. John's wort is one.” She paused. Then she pointed at Liselle. “And the defendant, Liselle Vila, is the other.”

  She had the jury's attention.

  “The evidence will show that the victim, Richard Phillips, had high blood pressure and an irregular heartbeat. In order to treat those conditions, he was given a common medication, a beta blocker called Lopressor. This medicine kept his heart rate low, kept his blood pressure low, and kept his heart beating in a normal rhythm.”

  Victoria stepped forward and tapped the edge of the teacup with her pen. “The evidence will show that the tea in this bag contains something called St. John's wort. Now, St. John's wort is a common herbal supplement that's used to treat anxiety and depression. But it has a side effect, a well-known side effect.”

  She paused.

  “It eliminates the effect of beta blockers.”

  She let that hang out there for a moment. “You’re going to hear from our experts exactly how that happens but for now, I’ll just say that the evidence will show, conclusively, that St. John's wort prevents beta blockers from working.”

  Victoria lifted the teabag out of the cup. “This isn’t a teabag you can buy in a store, by the way. It’s homemade. The evidence will show that Liselle Vila made it. And the evidence will show that it contains fifteen times the amount of St. John’s wort found in commercial teas. Let me say that again. The tea in this bag that Liselle Vila made contains fifteen times the normal amount of St. John’s wort.” The teabag spun on the string like a hypnotist’s watch. Eventually, Victoria dropped it in the cup.

  “The evidence is going to show that Liselle Vila and Richard Phillips came here to Carrefour for his nephew’s wedding and, throughout that whole weekend, Liselle Vila made sure that Richard Phillips drank plenty of this tea which was cancelling out the effectiveness of his blood pressure medication.”

  “That's not all that she did though. You're going to see that Liselle Vila left nothing to chance. You’re going to hear that she also made sure that Richard ate and drank things that would stress his heart, spike his blood pressure. And then,” she shook her head, “and then with his system incredibly stressed, Liselle Vila danced with him.”

  Victoria raised her hands, “Now, at first glance you may think that that there's nothing wrong with that, but you’re going to hear evidence that Richard Phillips asked to stop dancing, several times, but that Liselle continued to encourage him to stay out on the dance floor, just like she encouraged him to drink and she encouraged him to eat. And he did all of those things until he died.”

  Victoria stepped back a little bit. “Now, you may think those things are all coincidental. But we will show that, when you put it all together—that she made the tea that blocks the effectiveness of his heart medication, that she gave him tea and food and drink that encourages an irregular heartbeat, and then that she danced with him until he literally died of an irregular heartbeat—we think that you'll be convinced that it was not a coincidence at all. But just in case there's any doubt, we will present you with evidence that she had a motive to do so, that she regularly opposed the policies of the Richard Phillips’ company, a company which he no longer runs now that he’s passed away.”

  Victoria stepped forward and tinked the cup one more time with her pen. “This murder is unusual. The evidence that you will hear is unusual. But in the end, the result is not. Richard Phillips is dead. Liselle Vila killed him with malice and just as she intended. For that reason, at the end of this case we will ask you to find Liselle Vila guilty of murdering Richard Phillips. Thank you.”

  The jurors’ eyes followed Victoria back to her seat. I checked Liselle quickly. Her face was composed and she’d met Victoria’s accusations with a raised chin. I smiled and stood and walked over to the jury and said, “I think it’s really important that we review what Ms. Lance said the evidence is going to be in this case.” I counted off on my fingers. “Liselle Vila and Richard Phillips drank tea with an over the counter herbal supplement in it. They ate at a wedding reception. They drank at a wedding reception. And then, my goodness, they danced at a wedding reception.”

  I wiggled the four fingers. “That’s it. That’s how she says my client killed Mr. Phillips. And not accidentally. On purpose, because that’s what’s first degree murder is, the purposeful killing of another. Ms. Lance is saying that Ms. Vila concocted this elaborate plan in which she ate and drank and danced with Mr. Phillips knowing that it was going to cause his death.”

  I paused.

  “That’s absurd. We ask that you listen closely to the prosecution’s presentation for evidence that Liselle Vila put all this together as a scheme to kill Richard Phillips. We don’t think you will.”

  I shrugged. “You know what evidence you will hear though? The evidence will show that Ms. Vila and Mr. Phillips met about six weeks before the wedding at a gala to help abandoned dogs. You’ll hear that they enjoyed each other’s company enough that Richard Phillips invited Liselle to his nephew’s wedding here in Carrefour. The evidence will show that they went to the wedding events together—the rehearsal dinner, the morning brunch, the wedding, and the reception where Mr. Phillips tragically died.”

  I nodded. “You’ll hear testimony that Mr. Phillips was fifty-nine years old with a history of an irregular heartbeat and you’ll hear from an expert doctor,” I pointed at Victoria, “their expert doctor, that he died of an abnormal heart rhythm.”

  I looked at the jury. “A man in his late fifties died of a heart arrhythmia at the end of a long weekend celebration. It’s tragic for the Phillips family but we can’t even say that’s an uncommon occurrence. And we certainly can’t say that it’s murder. That’s why, at the end of the case, we’ll ask you to find that Liselle Vila is not guilty of the murder of Richard Phillips. Thank you.”

  As I walked back to my seat, I notic
ed Bre and Andrew Phillips glaring at me from the front row.

  “Thank you, Mr. Shepherd,” said Judge French. “Ms. Lance, the state may call its first witness.”

  Victoria stood. “Your Honor, the prosecution calls Dr. Ray Gerchuk.”

  I glanced back at the gallery again and remained standing. “Your Honor, may we approach?”

  Judge French motioned us forward. Victoria Lance stared at me for a moment then followed me to the bench.

  “Yes, Mr. Shepherd?” Judge French said.

  “Your Honor, the prosecution has disclosed Bre Phillips and Andrew Phillips on their witness list and they are currently sitting in the courtroom. If the prosecution still intends to call them, I move for separation witnesses.”

  Judge French nodded and looked at Victoria. “Ms. Lance?”

  “Your Honor, these are Mr. Phillips’ son and daughter. They’re entitled to watch these proceedings.”

  “I appreciate that Miss Lance,” said the judge. “Do you intend to call them as witnesses?”

  “I do.”

  “Then I'm going to order them to leave the courtroom.”

  “But Your Honor, they have a right to hear the coroner’s testimony about their father.”

  “So if that’s what you're worried about, switch them around and have the Phillips children testify first.”

  “But Dr. Gerchuk is only available today.”

  “Then it seems that you have a choice to make, Ms. Lance. What is it?”

  Victoria only paused for a moment. “I'll be calling Dr. Gerchuk first.”

  “Very well. Please return to your seats.”

  As we made our way back to our respective tables, Judge French said, “Members of the jury, we had a housekeeping matter to address before testimony begins. There has been a motion to separate witnesses, which I have granted. Would anyone who is sitting in the courtroom right now who is going to be testifying at any time during the trial, please leave the courtroom and wait outside until you are called. Once you have testified, you're free to remain in the courtroom.”

  I watched Bre and Andrew as they sat there, seemingly deciding that what the judge said didn't apply to them. Victoria approached the rail, leaned over, and whispered to them.