True Intent

by Michael Stagg

  Pearson ground his teeth. “I don’t remember.”

  “Really? Let me find my notes.” I went back to the counsel table, picked up a random legal pad, and leafed through it. “Ah, here. Ms. Vila walked out of the room, you watched her go, and you said …” I looked up. “Well, why don’t you tell the jury what you said.”

  I felt the jury’s eyes swing to Pearson. So did he.

  Pearson straightened.

  I flipped the blank page in my hand. “Are you going to make me read it?”

  He shot a glance at Liselle and said, “Seems like the old man bit off more than he could chew.”

  “Close but not quite.” I shook my head and tapped the blank page. “Your exact words were ‘seems like the geezer bit off more than he could chew and his heart gave out.’ Do I have that right?”

  Pearson’s jaw muscle twitched. “I don’t recall exactly,” he said.

  But he didn’t deny it.

  “Thanks, Detective. That’s all.”

  Judge French said, “Thank you, Detective Pearson you may step down.”

  Pearson took a moment to regroup, buttoned his coat, and tucked his badge into it before he strutted out of the courtroom.

  He didn’t look at me as he left.

  39

  When Pearson was gone, Judge French said, “Are you prepared to call another witness before lunch, Ms. Lance?”

  “Yes, Your Honor. I have a witness that needs to be done by noon.”

  “You may call him or her then.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor. The state calls Dr. Newt Wrigley.”

  One of Victoria's associates went out to the hall and came back with a thin, small man in a dark blue suit, stylish thick black glasses, and light brown shoes. When he sat down and was sworn in, Victoria said, “Sir, could you introduce yourself to the jury?”

  “My name is Newton Wrigley. I am a toxicologist at the University.”

  Victoria spent about five minutes establishing his qualifications as a toxicologist and his experience for the past fifteen years in analyzing substances and their effect on the body and even managed to work in that the wiry doctor was a top marathoner in his age bracket. When they were done, Victoria said, “Doctor, did Detective Pearson requested that you analyze some packets of tea that were found in Richard Phillips’ hotel room?”

  “I don't know where they were found but I did analyze some packets of tea at his request.”

  “And what did you find, Doctor?”

  “I found that the tea consisted of components typical of many herbal teas that are commercially available.”

  “What about the ratio of those components?”

  “That was not typical.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “The level of St. John's wort in this tea exceeded that which is found in commercially available teas.”

  “By how much?”

  “These tea bags contained fifteen times the dose St. John’s wort typically found in commercial teas.”

  “Do you have an explanation for that?”

  “I do not. I assume you’d have to ask the person who made it.”

  “Doctor, we heard testimony earlier from Dr. Ray Gerchuk stating that St. John's wort can interfere with the body's absorption of certain beta blockers. Do you have an opinion as to whether that's true?”

  “I do.”

  “What is that opinion?”

  “It can. And it does.”

  “Does this tea contain enough St. John's wort to interfere with the body's absorption of Lopressor?”

  “It certainly does. It contains far more than what would be necessary to do that.”

  “That's all I have, Doctor. Thank you.”

  I stood. “Doctor, those teabags would have been diluted in water prior to their use, correct?”

  “That's true.”

  “The amount of St. John's wort that was actually ingested would depend on how long the tea was steeped, right?”

  “That's also true.”

  “In other words, if the person simply dipped the teabag into the water once and took it out, there would be very little St. John's wort in the water, true?”

  “That's right.”

  “On the other hand, if one left the teabag in the water for hours, more St. John's wort would be absorbed, correct?”

  “That's correct.”

  “Assuming Mr. Phillips drank the tea you examined, you have no idea how long Mr. Phillips allowed the tea to steep, do you?”

  “I don’t.”

  “That would been entirely up to Mr. Phillips, right?”

  “That's right.”

  “I understand you're only offering testimony about the composition of the tea, right?”

  “That's right.”

  “You did not study Mr. Phillips’ blood, true?”

  “I did not.”

  “You did not study his medical history or history of cardiac arrhythmia, correct?”

  “That's correct.”

  “You did not study the dose of Lopressor he was taking?”

  “That's correct.”

  “You did not measure his blood alcohol or verify that it was at more than twice the legal limit?”

  “I did not.”

  “And you are not offering any opinion here as to the effect which the alcohol and caffeine he ingested would've had on his heart, right?”

  “That's right.”

  “Your opinion is limited to how much St. John's wort was in the tea, correct?”

  “That's correct.”

  “But you have no opinion as to how much tea was actually ingested, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Thank you, Doctor.”

  Victoria stood. “Again, Doctor, you found that the tea you analyzed had fifteen times the amount of St. John's wort that is present in commercial teas?”

  “I did, yes.”

  “So let’s say, hypothetically, that a person always steeps their tea for three minutes.”

  “Okay.”

  “And that person drinks a commercial tea every morning and always steeps their tea for three minutes.”

  “Fine.”

  “And, one day, the person switches their commercial tea for the tea in front of you and steeps it for three minutes. Are you with me?”

  Dr. Wrigley smiled and nodded. “I am.”

  “Is it reasonable to assume that the tea in front of you would have fifteen times more St. John’s wort in it after being steeped for three minutes than a commercial tea that was also steeped for three minutes?”

  “I think that's a reasonable assumption.”

  “That's all. Thank you, Doctor.”

  I rose. “Doctor, you have no evidence of how Mr. Phillips prepared this tea, do you?”

  “I do not.”

  “And you have no evidence that he’d ever drank herbal tea before this tea, do you?”

  “No.”

  “In fact, his children have testified that they’d never seen their father drink any tea before this. Are you aware of that?”

  “No.”

  “Do you have any reason to doubt it?”

  “I don’t know why I would.”

  “Thank you, Doctor.”

  “You’re excused, Dr. Wrigley, thank you,” said Judge French. As Dr. Wrigley stepped down, Judge French said, “Members of the jury, let's break for lunch. Please be back in an hour.”

  Judge French wasn't a gavel-banger so instead we all rose and the jury left and we prepared for the afternoon. I looked at Victoria. “Who are you calling this afternoon, Vicki?”

  “Stephen Phillips,” she said. “I imagine that will take the rest of the day.”

  “Great. Thanks.”

  I sent Danny and Liselle off to get some lunch and went to a quiet floor in the courthouse to get ready to cross-examine Richard Phillips’ brother and the current head of the Doprava Corporation.

  40

  Stephen Phillips looked like exactly what he was—the CFO and now
CEO of a multibillion-dollar company. His concession to being in court was that he wore a finely tailored blue suit with a light blue shirt and a pocket square to match. He did not, however, put on a tie. His hair was turning white and it was tight on the sides and swept back on top and his resemblance to his brother was jarring. But where Richard had blunter features and exuded a sort of cheerful bonhomie, Stephen’s face was leaner and sharper and he radiated a penetrating stillness, like a hawk on a branch.

  He took a seat in the witness chair and was sworn in. After introducing himself to the jury and giving a little bit of his background—born and raised in St. Louis, away for an Ivy League education before he returned and worked his way up in the family business from the backlot warehouseman all the way to CFO before his brother’s untimely death—Victoria said, “Mr. Phillips, could you explain the roles you and your brother had in the Doprava Company before he died?”

  “Sure,” said Stephen. “My brother was the CEO. He was the idea guy. He would come up with new product ideas or new manufacturing processes or a restructuring plan to make us more efficient. He was always creating or troubleshooting. I was the money guy. When he decided to do something, it was my job to figure out how to pay for it or, after an idea had been working for a while, it was my job to see if it was making money for the company.”

  “And was that partnership successful?”

  Stephen nodded. “Once the two of us took on those roles, the value of the company tripled in less than ten years.”

  “You said Richard was an idea guy. Can you give the jury some examples of what you’re talking about?”

  Stephen appeared to think for a moment before he said, “Sure. I can think of two off the top of my head. One of our products had a component part that was only made by a couple of Chinese companies. When we weren't successful in getting the price we wanted, Richard orchestrated a purchase of one of those companies through a series of shells so that we could make the component ourselves and ship it here along with some of our other products. That’s more common now but nobody was doing it then. It took that product from being a dog to a cash cow.”

  “What else?”

  “Another example was we had a large number of real estate holdings from acquisitions our father had made back in the 1980s. When the shale boom started, Richard was smart enough to get ahead of the curve and sell drilling rights on some of the land to oil and gas companies. The financing is a little complex, but basically we turned the land into cash producing assets without having to give up ownership.”

  “And you played a role in that too?”

  Stephen shrugged. “Sure. I figured out how to make the money end of it work. But the ideas were all Richard.”

  “On the topic of drilling, did there come a time when the Doprava Company sought to lease lands for oil and gas exploration just south of the Mark Twain National Forest?”

  I stood. “Objection, Your Honor. This is collateral.”

  “Your Honor, we will demonstrate that it goes to motive,” said Victoria.

  “You have a very small window here, Ms. Lance,” said Judge French.

  Victoria nodded and said, “Do you need me to repeat the question?”

  Stephen shook his head and said, “We had five thousand acres in south-central Missouri that bordered the Mark Twain National Forest near a place called Ribbon Falls. We decided to lease the rights to that land, which we had purchased decades before.”

  “And did organizations protest this exploration?”

  “They did. Several times.”

  “Were they successful?”

  “I guess it depends on your definition of success. They certainly received publicity. They did not stop our company from leasing the mineral and gas rights.”

  “Did any of the demonstrations become violent?”

  I stood. “Objection, Your Honor.”

  “Sustained.”

  “That's fair,” said Victoria. “Let me ask you a different question. Did the Ribbon Falls demonstration where over five thousand people showed up become violent?”

  “Objection, Your Honor,” I said.

  “Your Honor, the evidence has already shown that Ms. Vila was at this demonstration,” said Victoria. “It's certainly relevant if there was violence directed at the decedent's company at a demonstration in which she participated.”

  Judge French thought. “Your small window has become a peephole, Ms. Lance.”

  Victoria nodded to Stephen Phillips, who said, “There was some of what I would think of as typical demonstration tactics. People laid in front of equipment or strapped themselves to trees. There was a fight at one point with some of the oil workers so that security forces had to use riot shields and mace to disperse the crowd. I think some surveying equipment and excavation equipment was damaged. That's about all that I remember.”

  “But that project went forward, didn't it?”

  “It did.”

  “And that project was your brother's brain-child?”

  “It was. He always tried to share the credit but Richard was the one who could figure out how to get these kinds of things done.”

  “Mr. Phillips, are you also on the Board of Directors of the Doprava Company?”

  “I am.”

  “Shortly after that demonstration did you receive this letter?”

  Victoria handed him a piece of paper. “For the record, this item has been marked as State’s Exhibit 62.”

  Stephen Phillips looked at it then nodded. “I did.”

  “Could you read it to the jury please?”

  Stephen Phillips held it a little farther away from his eyes and said, “It's addressed to all of the board members. It then says, ‘For the past nine months, we have protested your proposed lease of the Ribbon Falls site bordering on the Mark Twain National Forest for fracking. As you well know, this will have a disastrous effect on the surrounding forest, water supply, and wildlife. We believe that your short-sighted exploitation of this site will cause harm that will last for generations. We will lobby our state and federal governing bodies to curtail this project and will continue to protest and resist your reckless development of the land at every opportunity. We have attached what is just the first of our petitions to this letter. We hope that you will have the foresight and conscience to curtail this monstrous project which will cripple our land, deplete our natural resources, and lay waste to our state’s precious woodlands. Very truly yours, the Forest Initiative.’” Stephen Phillips looked up from the letter as if it tasted bad.

  “Thank you, Mr. Phillips. There is a list of signatures attached to that letter, isn’t there?”

  “There is.”

  “Can you please go to the fourth page, the third column, line number 962?”

  He flipped. “I’m there.”

  “Can you read he signature on that line, please?”

  There was no surprise on his face as he said, “Liselle Vila.”

  “Was this letter addressed to your brother Richard as well?”

  “It was. He was on the Board too.”

  Victoria nodded and looked at the jury as she slowly walked forward and took the letter back from Stephen Phillips. She waved it a couple of times before she said, “Mr. Phillips, had you ever met Liselle Vila before the weekend of your son's wedding?”

  “I had not,” said Stephen. “My brother had told me that he’d met someone at the Gateway Animal Rescue gala and that he was bringing her to the wedding but I didn’t know who.”

  “When you met her, did she ever mention that she’d protested against your company?”

  “She did not.”

  “Would it have surprised you if Liselle Vila had told you that she was a member of the Forest Initiative?”

  “It would have.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they were so aggressive in their opposition to our company. They didn't stop at just protesting fracking. They arranged a boycott of our products as well.”

  “Was it effective?”


  “We’re a little too big for a boycott at their level to be effective. But it was noticeable.”

  “And she never mentioned it to you? That she was adamantly opposed to your company? Not once?”

  “She did not.”

  “Mr. Phillips, did you see your brother dance with Ms. Vila at your son’s wedding reception?”

  “I did.”

  “When?”

  Stephen Phillips clenched his jaw before he said, “For just about the whole reception.”

  “And why do you remember that?”

  “Because as outgoing as my brother was, he hated to dance.”

  Victoria put a hand on her hip and gestured. “Hate is a pretty strong word, Mr. Phillips.”

  “Fine then, let's just say he never did it. My brother liked to have a good time and was always fun to be around but dancing just wasn't his thing.”

  “Why is that?”

  “For one thing, he wasn’t very good at it and he hated not being good at something in front of people. And for another…” he stopped.

  “And for another what?” Victoria said.

  “And for another his ex-wife didn't like to dance very much either so the two of them never did.”

  “Mr. Phillips, we've heard a lot of testimony during this hearing that your brother was an independent thinker who made decisions for his company all of the time. That's true, isn't it?”

  “It certainly is.”

  “And yet were there times when your brother would do things that he wouldn’t necessarily want to do?”

  “Objection, Your Honor,” I said.

  “Mr. Shepherd opened the door with his questions about decision-making, Your Honor,” Victoria said.

  “I’ll allow it,” said Judge French.

  “Yes, he would,” said Stephen.

  “When?”

  “You had to understand my brother,” said Stephen Phillips. “As powerful as he was, he always wanted people to be comfortable and he didn't like conflict in a social situation. He was always looking to diffuse things and was big on harmony, especially within the family.”

  “Did your brother say anything to you about dancing that night?”