True Intent

by Michael Stagg

  “Objection, Your Honor,” I said.

  “Sustained.”

  Victoria tried again. “Did your brother say anything about dancing with Ms. Vila to keep her happy?”

  “Objection, Your Honor.”

  “Sustained,” said Judge French. “That's enough, Ms. Lance.”

  “So let me ask you this another way, Mr. Phillips. Did you hear Ms. Vila talk to your brother about dancing at all on the night of the wedding reception?”

  “I did.”

  “What did she say?”

  “They had just finished eating when Ms. Vila said to Richard, ‘We’re going to drink this bottle of wine and then were going to dance until we drop.’”

  “And that’s exactly what happened, isn’t it?”

  “Objection, Your Honor.”

  “Sustained.”

  “No further questions, Your Honor.”

  I stood and walked over directly in front of the jury. “Mr. Phillips, there are seventeen hundred and thirty-two signatures on that petition, aren't there?”

  “I wouldn't know.”

  I handed the letter back to him. “Why don't you look. They're numbered. Go to the last page.”

  He flipped and took a quick glance. “Yes.”

  “You're not accusing the other seventeen hundred and thirty-one people who signed this letter of having a motive to kill your brother, are you?”

  “No. But they wouldn't have had the opportunity.”

  “What you mean by that?”

  “They don't look like her.” Stephen Phillips didn’t even blink when he said it.

  That wasn't the answer I was expecting but I knew enough to run with it. “What do you mean they don't look like her?”

  Stephen Phillips pointed and shrugged. “You know what I mean.”

  “No, Mr. Phillips, I'm afraid I don't. Why don't you tell the jury exactly what you mean?”

  Stephen Phillips didn’t show the slightest discomfort as he said, “She was able to get close to my brother because of the way she looks.”

  “And how does she look, Mr. Phillips?”

  Steve Phillips was too smooth to glare but the weight of his stare certainly became extra. “Like a supermodel. And you know that.”

  I shrugged. “You mentioned that your brother danced with Ms. Vila the night of the wedding, right?”

  “He did.”

  “He danced with your new daughter-in-law too, didn’t he?”

  Steve Phillips shrugged. “That was one dance.”

  “That wasn’t my question. My question was, he danced with your daughter-in-law, true?”

  “That's true.”

  “Your wife Paulette danced with Richard too, didn’t she?”

  “There was a dance for the family and the wedding party.”

  “Again that wasn't my question, Mr. Phillips. My question was, your wife danced with Richard Phillips the night he died too, didn't she?”

  “She did.”

  “Your wife and daughter-in-law weren’t trying to kill Richard, were they?”

  “That's a stupid question.”

  “Please give me the stupid answer.”

  Stephen Phillips scoffed. “They were not.”

  “Mr. Phillips, I'm not going to get into your family finances, but is it fair to say that your family is worth billions of dollars?”

  Stephen Phillips shrugged. “I can’t put an exact number on it because it fluctuates with our company's value but we are worth a fair amount.”

  “And your family funds charitable trusts, does it not?”

  “We do.”

  “The main trust is called just that, the Phillips Family Charitable trust, true?”

  “That's true.”

  “And that trust in turn donates to various charitable organizations?”

  “It does.”

  “You donate to a variety of afterschool programs, don’t you?”

  The side of the Stephen Phillips’ mouth twitched. “I don't.”

  “That's a good correction, Mr. Phillips. I should have said that the Phillips Family Charitable trust donates to a variety of afterschool programs, true?”

  “That's true. It's very important to educate our children not to use drugs.”

  “And this past winter, your family’s Charitable Trust donated to the Carrefour Police Recreation League, didn't it?”

  “It did.”

  “That was the first time your family’s trust donated to the Carrefour program, isn’t it?”

  “I wouldn't know.”

  “Your family also donates to certain political super pacs, true?”

  “You’d have to ask our accountant.”

  “Really? I thought you were the money guy?”

  “I recently had to take on more responsibility.”

  “Well, that's interesting because super pacs and political campaigns have to list who their donors are to comply with campaign finance laws. Do you think we can find your name as a donator to the Republican Party of Carrefour, Ohio?”

  Stephen Phillips flicked a hand. “A lot of people ask me for money, Mr. Shepherd. I can't remember them all.”

  “Okay. Here's a list from last year's disclosure. Is that your name with the maximum contributors?”

  He looked. “It is.”

  “And right below that, is that your wife’s name?”

  “Yes.”

  “And then your daughter’s?”

  “Yes.”

  “And then your son-in-law?”

  “Yes.”

  “And two separate donations for your niece and nephew?”

  “Yes.”

  “Now the Central Missouri PAC for America? Is that your super pac?”

  “It's not mine.”

  “Your family manages who it donates to, right?”

  “We do.”

  “And that super pac donated to the Carrefour Republican Party too, didn’t it?”

  “It appears so.”

  “All of these donations were made after your brother died, right?”

  Stephen Phillips shrugged his shoulders. “When we see a need, we address it.”

  “I see. For example, your family saw a need for an internship program for prosecutors around the state of Ohio, true?”

  “We believe in creating opportunities for young professionals.”

  “So your family’s charitable trust funded that prosecutor internship program, right?”

  “One of many.”

  “I see. And one of the many places these paid interns ended up was in Carrefour, Ohio, wasn’t it?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “The two interns your family paid to put in Carrefour are working on this case, aren’t they?”

  Stephen Phillips shrugged again. “We don’t control how people use our resources.”

  I shook my head and walked a little ways away. “Now you mentioned that there were protests surrounding the opening of some of Doprava’s land to fracking, true?”

  “That’s true.”

  “Out of the five thousand people who protested at Ribbon Falls, there were only eight arrests, weren’t there?”

  “If you say so.”

  “Ms. Vila was not arrested there, was she?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “Mr. Phillips, you're not aware of Ms. Vila threatening your brother in any way, are you?”

  “She didn’t threaten him. She poisoned him and pushed him until he died.”

  “That's what you think? That she poisoned him and pushed him until he died?”

  “Yes.”

  I motioned to Danny and a picture popped up on the screen. It was of Liselle and Richard leaning in close to together for a picture at the dinner table during the wedding. “Was this picture taken the night your brother died?”

  “It was.”

  Another picture popped up. This one was of Liselle, Richard, Stephen, and Paulette all standing in a row, smiling. “How about this one?”

  “Yes.”
/>
  A picture of Richard leading Liselle onto the dance floor by a hand. “And this one?”

  “Yes.”

  A picture of the two of them dancing and Richard smiling, pressing his lips against Liselle's cheek while she screwed up her face in mock disgust. “And this one?”

  “Yes.”

  A picture of Richard smiling and dipping Liselle. “And this one?”

  “Yes.”

  A picture of Richard and Liselle and the bridal party all with their hands in the air, yelling and smiling. “And this one?”

  “Yes.”

  Finally, a picture of Liselle's head resting on Richard's shoulder and him smiling as they were obviously slow dancing and his cheek was resting on top of her pale blonde hair. “And this one?”

  “Yes.”

  “That's a death struggle, huh?”

  “It turned out to be.”

  “Not like I've ever seen,” I said.

  “Objection, Your Honor.”

  “Withdrawn. No further questions, Your Honor.”

  Victoria flipped her hand at an associate and a picture of Richard popped onto the screen. He had his black tux jacket on but his white shirt was ripped open, revealing a pale chest. He was laying on wrinkled paper sheets and there were leads from the cardioverter machine trialing away out of the picture. Richard’s face was pale and his blue lips were frozen in a grimace. “Is this picture from the night of the wedding too, Mr. Phillips?”

  “It is. That's my brother at the end of the night in the hospital. They couldn't revive him.”

  Victoria nodded. “After he collapsed on the dance floor?”

  “That's right.”

  “No further questions. I'm sorry for the loss of your brother, Mr. Phillips.”

  “Me too,” Steve Phillips said and left the stand.

  I heard a small noise and I turned. Liselle had her head down and I saw a tear roll down her cheek. I looked up and saw that the picture of Richard Phillips was still up on the screen.

  “Your Honor,” I said and pointed.

  Judge French looked at me, looked at Liselle, and then looked at the screen. “Ms. Lance, are you done with your examination?”

  “I am, Your Honor.”

  “Then perhaps you could turn off your exhibit.”

  “Certainly, Your Honor,” she said and did.

  Several jurors were watching Liselle as the picture went off the screen. It was hard to tell what they thought about it but it seemed like a few faces were sympathetic.

  “Members of the jury, that concludes our testimony for today,” said Judge French. “The prosecution will be wrapping up their case tomorrow. It looks like we will go into next week so please make arrangements with your employers and childcare folks for at least the first part of next week. I'll see you at eight o'clock tomorrow morning. Thank you.”

  When I looked back down at Liselle, her eyes were dry. She appeared to have gotten herself back under control.

  “Eat with us again tonight?” I said.

  She nodded.

  “Good. Let's head back.”

  41

  That night I drove Liselle back to the office and, since the Black Boar was on the way, we could stop there and pick up our order of Cuban sandwiches and Spanish rice without violating the terms to her release. Liselle was quiet as I parked the car.

  “You need to come in with me,” I said. “Olivia would have my ass if I left you out here alone.”

  Liselle looked up. “Isn't it safe here?”

  “It's perfectly safe,” I said.

  She glanced at her ankle. “Oh. Right.” And we got out of the car.

  It was Thursday so it was crowded. We walked up to the young man at the takeout station behind the bar and I said, “Order for Shepherd.”

  He looked up, stopped, and stared at Liselle.

  I smiled, cleared my throat, and said, “Order for Shepherd, please.”

  “Uhm, what?” said the young man.

  Liselle smiled, then said, “Order for Shepherd, please.”

  “You bet. Coming right up.” He turned, ran into the ice machine, and went back to the kitchen.

  The young man came back, and somehow, without ever looking down, took my credit card, processed it, and handed me a pen and a receipt in a tiny plastic tray. I signed it and handed it back. He ignored it and handed Liselle two white plastic bags. “Here you go, Mr. Shepherd,” he said.

  Liselle smiled. “Thank you, Chris.”

  Chris began to stutter. “How?”

  She tapped the name tag on his chest with a long finger, picked up the bags, and left.

  “Bye, Chris,” I said.

  Chris didn't answer as I followed Liselle out.

  We climbed back into the car and continued on to the office. After we had driven a couple miles, I said, “Do you always have stuttering servers?”

  She smiled faintly. “Occasionally.”

  Then Liselle began to cry.

  I didn’t realize it at first. I thought she was just tired, with her hand pressed against her forehead shielding her eyes, but then I saw that her shoulders were shaking and a drop of water splashed onto her leg.

  “Hey! Hey, Liselle. I'm sorry.”

  She shook her head and her shoulders shook harder. I grabbed a packet of tissues out of the center console of the Jeep and handed them to her. She nodded and opened it and pulled one out and pressed it to her eyes. We came to my office building and I pulled into the lot and we stopped.

  “I mean it, Liselle. I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by it.”

  “It's not that, Nate.” She smiled as she wiped her eyes but the tears were still coming down. “It was those pictures, there at the end? We were having such a good time. We were dancing and we were laughing and…” She stopped and dabbed at the corners. “And then the light just went right out of his eyes, and he was the husk you saw on the screen today.”

  I listened.

  “It was just like one of the trees—he was living a perfectly contented life, everything seemed fine, but under the surface something was boring in that was going to kill him and we didn’t even know it. It was awful.”

  I was so busy focusing on the effect the pictures would have on the jurors that I hadn’t really thought about the effect they might have on Liselle. I felt stupid.

  “I should've realized,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

  “Why? You're doing your job, which is to keep me from...” Then she couldn’t say any more and broke down completely.

  I wasn't surprised. Any trial creates pressure. A murder trial creates far more. That pressure can seep out at the most unexpected times.

  “You're doing fine,” I said, which she actually was. So the two of us just sat there and I let her cry.

  At some point, she leaned closer to me and our shoulders touched. The shaking lessened and she leaned a little closer still.

  I turned off the Jeep, grabbed the food bags, and said, “Danny is probably starving.”

  I got out and waited. A couple of minutes later, Liselle got out the other side. She was perfectly composed, with no sign she’d been wracked just minutes before.

  We went up to the third floor where Danny was waiting and was indeed hungry. We ate and then got to work preparing for the next day.

  The next day was the last scheduled day of the prosecution's case. I don't know what I was expecting but I knew they were planning on this being their big finish, their big push, so I was a little surprised when the first witness they called was the server who handled Liselle and Richard’s table at the wedding. Victoria’s questioning seemed fairly innocuous but, of course, it wasn't.

  “And did you take Mr. Richards’ drink order?” Victoria said.

  “I did.”

  “And what was it?”

  “Which time?”

  “Throughout the night.”

  “He ordered a Malbec. It started as one bottle and I wound up getting him four.”

  “Now, why do you remember that
?”

  “Well, because it was Richard Phillips.”

  “And why else?”

  “Because it was a special kind and we only had four bottles in the cellar.”

  “Now is Mr. Phillips the one who ordered it?”

  “No.”

  “Who did?”

  “That woman.”

  “Let the record reflect that the witness is pointing at Liselle Vila. Why do you remember that she ordered it?”

  “Because each time she ordered, she said it would be the last one. So each time I went down to the cellar, for a special trip, I thought it would be the last trip.”

  “And you did that four times?”

  “I did.”

  “No further questions.”

  The steady drip of facts continued with more witnesses, none of whom took more than a few minutes.

  “And you sat at the same table as Mr. Phillips and Ms. Vila?”

  “I did.”

  “So you ate with them?”

  “Not for long.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean as soon as dinner was finished, the band started to play and Ms. Vila stood up, took Mr. Phillips by the hand, and said ‘Come on, this is my favorite song.’”

  “Why do you remember that?”

  “Because we stayed at the table most of the night and I don't think they ever sat back down.”

  “You worked at the bar that evening?”

  “I did.”

  “Did you see Richard Phillips that night?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did you know it was him?”

  “Because he ordered two drinks and gave me a one-hundred-dollar tip. It leaves an impression.”

  “Did you see Ms. Vila too?’

  He nodded. “I did. Right after I handed Mr. Phillips the drinks, Ms. Vila came up, took them out of his hands and placed them on the bar, and said, ‘Come on. You promised me this dance.’”

  “How do you know it was her?”

  The bartender shot Liselle a look before lowering his eyes apologetically. “She makes an impression too.”

  “How did you know Richard Phillips?”

  “He's my cousin.”

  “Did you see him at the wedding reception?”

  “For a moment or two. He was sweating and breathing a little hard, but he was in good spirits. I hadn’t had a chance to talk to him in a couple of years so I was trying to catch up.”