“So what did Liselle Vila do after she had given Mr. Phillips the tea laced with St. John’s wort? She gave him red wine and prosciutto and caffeine, all things that would cause a healthy person's blood pressure to spike. All things that would cause a person with a pre-existing arrhythmia to barrel towards a sudden cardiac death.”
Victoria walked to the other side of the jury box. “And if that's not enough, if it’s not enough that she neutralized Richard Phillips’ medicine and she pushed food on him that he shouldn't eat and pushed wine on him that he shouldn't drink, on top of all of that, Liselle Vila pulled Richard Phillips out onto the dance floor and kept him there all night until he literally dropped dead.”
“Mr. Shepherd might say that this is ridiculous. He might say that this is a daisy-chain of a scheme that couldn’t possibly work. Well, guess what? It did. Mr. Phillips is dead.”
“We even have a good idea why.” Victoria clicked and the picture of Liselle screaming in protest, fist raised, flashed onto the screen. “Mr. Phillips ran a large successful company and we saw pictures and heard reports that Ms. Vila participated in violent protests against it. She was part of demonstrations against Doprava that ended with arrests and the destruction of property. That might seem extreme but the organizations that Ms. Vila is a part of engage in extreme protests. She would have us believe that just a short time after demonstrating against Mr. Phillips’ company, she randomly met him at a charity event and began dating him? What do you think is more likely? That they were suddenly attracted to each other at a charity event? Or that Ms. Vila was angling to get closer to him as part of her scheme?”
“This was a devious plan. And make no mistake it was a plan. Ms. Vila knew exactly what she was doing, knew exactly what she was preparing, and knew exactly what she was getting Mr. Phillips to do.” Victoria turned and looked directly at me. “And she knew exactly what would happen when she danced with him, if she danced with him long enough.” She turned back to the jury. “Mr. Phillips suffered a fatal arrhythmia and he died. Just like she knew he would.”
Victoria lowered her voice. “Liselle Vila was the murderer. She was also the murder weapon. She neutralized Mr. Phillips medicine and then did everything she could to make sure his heart gave out. It was murder, the same as if she drowned him or shot him or stabbed him. For those reasons, we ask that you find Liselle Vila guilty of murder in the first degree. Thank you.”
As Victoria sat, I took my place in front of the jury and said, “Liselle Vila is one of many people who danced with Richard Phillips the night he died. She’s one of many people who handed him a drink. She's one of many people who gave him an appetizer. And we’re supposed to believe that that's murder? It's not, members of the jury. It's just not.”
“Before he ever met Ms. Vila, Richard Phillips was a fifty-nine-year-old man with a history of high blood pressure and an irregular heartbeat. Those conditions were bad enough that he’d gone to the hospital before and was taking medication to control them. Then, Mr. Phillips came here for a family wedding where he ate and he drank and he stayed up late and he danced and unfortunately, he died.”
“This is a tragedy. Fifty-nine seems young. His family is devastated. Although she didn't know him for very long, Liselle Vila feels his loss too. It is a tragedy but it is also something that happens every day. Men Mr. Phillips’ age with high blood pressure and heart arrhythmias die. They die running, they die at their desks, they die in their sleep, and, unfortunately, they can die on the dance floor.”
I shook my head. “But that's not murder. If it were murder to drink red wine and eat aged prosciutto and drink coffee and drink tea and dance at weddings, our jails would be overflowing.”
“The prosecutor has the burden of proving to you that Liselle Vila intentionally killed Richard Phillips. They have fallen so short of that responsibility that I hate to even go over their case. But the fact is that they have not remotely satisfied their burden of proof.”
I paced a little. “The prosecution's case hinges on their claim that Liselle Vila knew that Richard Phillips was taking Lopressor, his blood pressure medication. There is not a single shred of evidence that Liselle Vila knew that. Not one. The prosecution relies on a picture of a medicine bottle sitting next to a bathroom sink with absolutely no evidence of when it was placed there. None.”
I shook my head. “They want you to assume that Liselle Vila saw it. Ask yourself what's a more reasonable assumption—that a fifty-nine-year-old man tells his younger date that he’s taking blood pressure medication or that he hides it from her. The prosecution needs to present you with evidence that Ms. Vila knew about the medication and they’ve given you nothing, nothing but faulty assumptions. There’s no evidence that Ms. Vila knew anything about it.”
The jurors were listening but I wasn’t getting any nods to show they agreed as I continued. “The prosecution also makes a mountain out of the fact that Liselle Vila gave Mr. Phillips tea. That’s absolutely true. Liselle Vila made tea. For both of them. They drank the tea together just like they drank the red wine together. There's no evidence that Liselle would've had any idea that it was any more unsafe for him to drink it than it would be for her. And for all of the prosecution’s emphasis on the amount of St. John’s wort in the tea, there is no evidence that either of them showed any sign of ingesting too much of it. Nothing.”
“You heard the testimony of Dr. Wrigley, their toxicologist. The strength of the tea depends on how long you steep it and there’s no evidence that they steeped it so long that they took a high dose.”
“Further, you heard from a parade of witnesses. Not one of them related seeing Mr. Phillips exhibit signs of taking too much St. John’s wort—there was no evidence of nervousness or dizziness or agitation or nausea. No, what you heard was evidence of an uncle having a great time at his nephew’s wedding—eating and drinking and talking and playing golf and dancing.”
“And dancing.” I paused and shook my head. “If Liselle Vila is guilty of murder for dancing with Mr. Phillips then it seems to me that they should arrest the bride and the groom’s mother and dear old Mrs. Crandall because they all danced with him too. If it was a crime to give Mr. Phillips a glass of red wine, they need to arrest the bartenders who gave it to Mr. Phillips when he ordered it for himself. And if it was a crime to give him prosciutto and cheese, we’re going to need a prison bus because there were an awful lot of servers working over that weekend.”
I paused for a moment. “Money can buy a lot of things. It can solve a lot of problems, and I imagine the more money you have, the more things you can solve with it. But there are some things that happen to all us, to all of our families, no matter how much money we have. This is one of those unfortunate things.”
“There’s a natural tendency to want to blame someone when bad things happen.” I looked over into the crowd where Bre Phillips sat. “Especially when we lose a parent or a loved one. But that doesn't mean it's true. And the prosecution’s case isn’t true here.”
“Mr. Phillips had high blood pressure and a heart arrhythmia. He died when he joyfully overindulged over the course of a weekend with his family. He ate and drank and danced because he wanted to. Liselle Vila didn't make him do anything. And she didn't murder him. The prosecution didn't come anywhere close to proving their case beyond a reasonable doubt. For that reason, we ask that you return a verdict of not guilty of murder in the first-degree for Liselle Vila. Thank you.”
As I sat back down, Liselle sat rigidly straight, her hands folded in her lap, her eyes downcast. She glanced up and gave me a quick smile that never touched her eyes and went back to looking down. I sat next to her and listened to Victoria’s rebuttal but it was all just more of the same—the tea, the blood pressure medication, the wine, and the dancing. I listened, but it was all ground we had covered before.
Most importantly, there was nothing about an earlier incident, when a high school kid had almost been danced to death.
When Victoria was done, J
udge French instructed the jury. It's a long process in which the judge just reads the instructions exactly as they’re written with plenty of legalese to go around. It took about half an hour, and when he was done, the jury was dismissed to decide Liselle's fate. When the jury had left, Judge French stood and said, “Make sure you give Marty your cell phone numbers. We'll text you when the jury's back.”
“What do we do now?” Liselle said.
“We wait,” I said. “It's almost lunchtime. My guess is that they'll order lunch on the Court and then spend a little time eating before they make a decision. We probably have time to get something to eat but we won’t go far.”
I turned and looked in the first row of the gallery to see that Olivia was standing there. I didn't recognize her at first because she wasn't wearing workout gear; instead it was a black suit and white shirt that offset her spiky, bleached white hair. “Nice job, Shep,” she said.
“Thanks.”
“Did you come to watch the closing?” said Liselle.
“I did. I also came to take that anklet off you once the jury comes back.”
Liselle's eyes lit up. “You’re that sure we’ll win?”
Olivia teased her bangs down around her glasses. “It'll need to come off one way or the other, Liselle. But I'm hopeful.”
Liselle's face fell. “What are our chances?”
I felt like this case was filled with reasonable doubt but I knew better than to tempt the legal gods and say so out loud. “I think the case went about how we expected, Liselle. We have a good chance to win. But you never know.”
“But the judge kept Nick from testifying!”
I nodded. “It's one of the reasons I feel good. But you still never know what a jury’s going to do.”
That didn't appear to be the answer that she was looking for but it was the only one I could give her right then. “Come on. Let's get something to eat.”
Liselle had kept her cool throughout the trial. Right now though, she looked very small, and very scared.
I touched her elbow. “Hey.”
She looked up.
“Let's get a sandwich. It shouldn't be long.”
The four of us walked two blocks from the courthouse to a deli. It was early June so it was sunny and it was warm in that way that made you feel the cool damp of spring had just been put away for good. It felt great.
Liselle appeared to feel the same way. She put her eyes up to the sun and closed them. It didn't take a mind reader to know what she was thinking.
As we walked to the deli, Olivia told us about the new cross training class she was developing and Danny talked about how he owed a whole bunch of nights to his wife and daughter and I prodded them both along with questions about each. Liselle was quiet, as you would expect, and it fell to Olivia and Danny to fill in the silence. We got in line at the deli, which had about four people in front of us, and we had just come to the order station when my phone buzzed. I looked down.
“Well,” I said.
“What is it?” said Liselle.
“The jury's back.”
“Already?” said Liselle. “You said it would take longer.”
“I thought it would.”
“Is that good news or bad?”
I stared at the phone. “I don’t know. But it means that the jury is certain.” I looked at Liselle. “Ready?”
She took a deep breath and nodded.
“Let's go.”
The jury returned a verdict of not guilty. It had taken them thirty-seven minutes.
Victoria didn’t flinch. She came over, shook my hand, and congratulated me on putting on a great case. I told her she did a great job and that there's no telling what a jury will do sometimes. She gave a half-smile and said she looked forward to the next time we tried one against each other. I was certain that was true.
I heard a rising commotion from the gallery and saw, or rather heard, Bre Phillips making a scene, yelling something about justice and vengeance and pale-haired sluts. A flicker of annoyance crossed Victoria’s face and she asked if I would excuse her, which of course I did. Victoria made a motion to the sheriff's deputy who came over and gently took Bre by the elbow while Victoria put her arm around the young woman’s shoulders and led her out of the courtroom. When they got to the door, Bre pulled free of them both, turned around, and screamed, “We both know this is the second time you've done this, bitch!”
Victoria and the sheriff hustled the disappointed billionaire out.
I turned and saw Judge French standing at the bench. He looked at me through his black glasses, straightened them and, without changing expression, went into his office and shut the door.
I turned back to Liselle. “You need to go with Olivia and fill out some paperwork so that she can discharge the bond and get that anklet off of you. Danny and I will gather our things and then we'll meet back—”
I was engulfed in a hug. Liselle Vila grabbed me and squeezed, and her shoulders shook, and I realized she was crying.
Her hair smelled like lilacs.
“Hey, hey,” I said. I patted her back and let her hang on a moment more before I gently pulled away. “It's okay, Liselle. It's all over.”
I handed her a tissue and she wiped her eyes. “It’s really done?” she said.
“It’s really done. Go with Olivia and then we'll meet up.”
She wiped her eyes again and Olivia led her out of the courtroom. When she'd gone, I shook hands with Danny and said, “Nice work.”
“You too.”
I looked at the litter of notepads and pens and papers and tablets. “Let's clean this shit up and get out of here.”
It took us a little bit. As we were finishing up, Judge French walked out of his office, overcoat on, presumably to get some lunch.
He stuck out his hand. “Congratulations, Mr. Shepherd.”
“Thanks, Judge.”
“You tried a good case.”
“Thank you. You manage a good case.”
“I like to let the lawyers do their jobs. When they’re like you and Ms. Lance, it’s easy.”
He smiled, took a couple of steps, and then turned back. “I'm not surprised by how this one turned out.”
“No?”
“No. Way too much doubt.” He looked at me. “Based on the evidence that came in.”
I nodded.
“Barring the other potential evidence wasn’t a close call. Legally.”
“I didn't think so either.”
“But practically,” he straightened his glasses. “It certainly could change one’s view of the situation.”
“I understand why you might think that, Judge.”
“Have a good weekend, Mr. Shepherd. You too, Mr. Reddy.”
Danny started. “Thank you, Your Honor.”
“And make him give you a raise.” Judge French smiled and left.
We were right behind him.
47
After Olivia and Liselle had taken care of their paperwork and Danny and I had packed up all our trial gear, we met at the cars and decided to go to a late lunch to celebrate. Danny had to be convinced because his wife had done double-duty working and watching their daughter for a couple of weeks but we convinced him that since it was still work hours, he could come out for one drink. We let Liselle pick the place because, well just because, and she picked the Railcar because she wanted to eat outside, because she loved barbecue, and because she'd been unable to go there for months since it was over the state line in Michigan.
We decided not to go to the office and went straight to the restaurant instead. Liselle rode with Olivia, and Danny and I each drove ourselves. I wasn't tired at all, that would come later, but for now I was still wired with adrenaline and awash in relief at having won.
We arrived together at the common parking lot that the Railcar shared with the Brickhouse. Olivia pulled in next to the gym and I parked next to her. As I got out of the Jeep, I heard the continuation of a conversation as Liselle said, “No, you have t
o show me. And I want to say goodbye to Cade.” Olivia relented and showed Liselle into her gym.
I followed them. It was a sunny Tuesday afternoon so there were only five or six faithful but those five or six stared as Liselle and Olivia walked through the rows of equipment to the squat rack on the back wall where Cade was holding a bar with four hundred and five pounds on it, shrugging it up and down as easy as if he were holding a book bag. He glanced back at them, shrugged the weight six more times, then let it drop onto the spot bars. He turned around, held out his hand to Liselle, and said, “Congratulations.”
Liselle slapped his hand aside and gave him a hug. “Thanks for your help!”
Cade stayed rigid for a moment before he put one arm around her, straightened so that her feet were off the ground, then set her back down. Liselle laughed.
“Join us for lunch?” I said.
Cade shook his head and pointed at the weights. “I'm going to be a while yet.”
“I imagine we’ll still be there if you change your mind.”
“I’ll think about it,” he said, which clearly meant he’d already said he wouldn’t be coming.
“So show me the rest of the place,” said Liselle and Olivia showed her around. When they were done, we walked across the parking lot to the little brick building facing the river and the woods. The pungent hickory smoke made my mouth water.
Liselle practically cackled as she gave a clap. “We have to sit on the patio.”
We did. After we asked, the hostess led us out onto the deck and, although it was a little cool in the shade, the breeze and the sound of the river more than made up for it. We ordered beers and brisket.
True to his word, Danny had one beer and then excused himself to go home. When Liselle gave him a big hug and kissed him on the cheek, Danny just about crumbled with embarrassment before he made his nodding, blushing way out. I kid you not, he blushed.
Liselle and Olivia and I got another round of beers when the brisket came and polished it all off—the brisket, the burnt ends, and the sides. Liselle got Olivia talking about her plans for the gym and tried to talk her into setting up a fitness trail with workout stations in the woods. Then she shifted to asking me about my plans which, at the moment, didn't include more than catching up on sleep and on work. Which led us back around to her.
True Intent Page 30
