Against the Law

by Jay Brandon

  Linda smiled, which changed her face, broadened her cheeks, made her lips fuller. ‘That’s pretty chickenshit, using your sister to try to get to me.’

  ‘I know, and her on trial for her life, too. I’m starting to sound desperate.’

  Linda turned and started walking again. ‘I’ll have to think about that.’

  Edward said, ‘Me too. We’re all such thinkers now.’

  ‘You always have been, babe. But I liked you in spite of it. Edward. Do you even know what you want?’

  That was an excellent question. They continued in silence, side by side. It was nice.

  TWENTY

  ‘Did both sides have time to look at my proposed charge over the weekend?’ Judge Cynthia asked from the bench. Her black robe was zipped so high and tight on her neck it was impossible to tell if she wore anything underneath it. Her face was as blank and expressionless as the robe.

  ‘Yes, Your Honor,’ Edward and David answered at the same time.

  ‘I’m giving a charge on the lesser offense of murder, since there was testimony that your client was there by invitation, Mr Hall. Do you have any objections?’

  ‘No, Your Honor.’

  ‘All right, then. We’ll bring the jury in and you can call your next witness, Mr Hall.’

  Edward said, ‘No, Your Honor. The defense will rest as soon as the jury returns.’ Then he turned and looked out into the filled spectator seats. For the first time he noticed someone near the back. ‘One moment, Your Honor,’ he said offhandedly over his shoulder and strode through the gate in the railing.

  ‘Hi,’ he said to Linda a moment later. ‘Thanks for coming.’

  She just nodded, looking up at him. She was dressed nicely, in a business suit he hadn’t seen before. He was struck again by the smoothness of her reddish pale skin, beginning to crinkle slightly beneath her eyes. They smiled at each other. ‘Anything?’ he asked.

  ‘I watched the jury before they went out. The two women on the front row really like Amy, but they also look like subservient types. The grumpy old white guy on the second row is your toughest sell. Don’t waste your time on him. He’s ready to vote for death, maybe for all women. If you can turn the younger man two over from him, he might carry the rest along. He’s studying everybody so hard, I don’t think he’s decided either way yet. The rest I don’t know. Could go either way. Your best bet is to let them look at Amy as much as possible.’

  ‘Thanks, Linda.’ He leaned down close. ‘Thanks for being here.’

  ‘One other thing,’ she said. ‘The judge hates you. I mean deep-seated hate. Is she afraid of you for some reason? What have you been doing to her since I’ve been gone?’

  ‘Nothing. She’s not my concern. Thanks again.’

  He squeezed her hand, then turned and walked quickly back up the aisle.

  ‘Ready, Your Honor,’ he said briskly, as if everyone else had been holding up the proceedings.

  The young woman led off jury argument for the prosecution, after Cynthia had read her instructions to the jury.

  ‘Margaret Posner for the State. Good morning.’

  She got no responses. It was not a good morning. He was glad jurors didn’t think so.

  ‘I want to talk to you briefly about one element of this prosecution. Murder you certainly understand. Intentionally causing the death of another human being. But this trial is over something bigger. Capital murder. As we talked about during jury selection, capital murder is murder plus something else. In this case we’ve alleged murder in the course of burglary. Now where do we get that? The defendant wasn’t breaking into her estranged husband’s house. She didn’t use a lock pick or wear a mask, carrying a bag over her shoulder labeled ‘Loot.’

  ‘Well, that’s not what a burglary has to be. It doesn’t have to be your classic cartoon burglar breaking into someone’s house in the dead of night. The judge’s instructions tell you that burglary just means entering a residence without the consent of the homeowner, while intending to commit another crime once she gets inside. What crime would that be? That’s easy. Amy Shilling entered that home without her husband’s consent with the intention of murdering him. That’s burglary. That’s capital murder.’

  Ms Posner paced up and down in front of the jurors, not using notes.

  ‘Your other question might be, how can you know that she entered the home with the intention of murdering him? Here’s how. The timing. The neighbors who saw her go in, before the gunshot, say that was no more than a minute before they heard the shot. Not time for an argument to develop, not time for her to get mad at her husband. She had to be mad when she went in. She had to be in a killing rage already. So she either pulled out his gun that she’d already taken on a previous occasion, or she grabbed it from the hiding place she knew, and she shot him, almost as soon as she went inside. She must have gone in with that intention.

  ‘And how do we know she entered without Paul’s consent? Again, that one’s easy. Because of where he was. In the bedroom. Just getting dressed. He didn’t walk to the front door in response to any knock. He didn’t even start in that direction, as anyone would when he hears a knock or a doorbell ring. He was standing several feet inside his bedroom door, still getting dressed, when his wife came in and shot him.

  ‘Why? Well, David will talk to you about that. Maybe Amy had found the other woman’s dress on an earlier occasion. Maybe she’d realized her soon-to-be-ex-husband had just been leading her on. Maybe she didn’t want him having a happy life and leaving her behind. Whatever. What I want to make clear to you is that when she entered that home without permission, with the intention of killing her husband, she was committing capital murder. If you believe it was murder, then you believe she intended to kill him, which means you believe she committed capital murder. Please have the courage of that conviction.’

  She nodded to the jurors and walked briskly back to her table.

  Edward sat impressed. It was good logic. As he rose himself he glanced at Amy. She looked back at him, her face a study in composure. She even smiled. Her smile struck him as almost smug, certain her big brother was going to get her off. That smile gave him pause. Were the prosecutors right about his sister?

  ‘That was a good argument,’ he began, standing close to the jurors. ‘If she committed murder then it was capital murder. That’s an excellent exercise in logic.

  ‘But it’s flawed and I think you all see how. Nothing has refuted Amy’s claim that she was at Paul’s house by invitation. He was expecting her, they were going out together. This didn’t look like a classic burglary because it wasn’t a burglary. No burglar walks into someone’s unlocked front door in broad daylight in view of any witnesses who happen to be watching. The fact that the front door was unlocked shows that Paul was expecting Amy. He remained in the bedroom because when he heard Amy’s knock or the doorbell rang he simply called out. ‘Come in!’ Who hasn’t done that when you’re expecting someone?

  ‘And the fact that he was expecting Amy demonstrates that she didn’t kill him. What motive did she have for doing that? The prosecutor suggested some scenarios, but there isn’t any evidence to back up any of them.’

  He ran his eyes slowly along the jurors, almost all their eyes looking back at him. He paused briefly as he looked at the two women on the front row Linda had mentioned. They did appear to be listening sympathetically but, like all jurors, they also tried to give no signals to their thoughts. Can I get a nod? No.

  ‘What the evidence has shown, which I told you during jury selection, is that my sister is not an idiot. She is a very smart, accomplished woman. If she was mad at her husband, she’d had six months to cool off while they’d been separated. If she was furious enough to kill him, she wouldn’t have gone about it in this ridiculous, obvious way. If nothing else, she would have parked with her car out of sight and gone in more subtly. Think how easy it would have been for her to get away with that. Park in the alley or the next block, go in through the back gate or over the back
fence. Paul’s neighbor Valerie Linnett’s back gate wasn’t locked. She said so. A smart killer would have gone in that way, crossed her backyard, gone out Ms Linnett’s side gate, through Paul’s side gate, which was unlocked and into his backyard that way. Everyone who heard the gunshot went to look out their front doors, so the murderer could easily have gone out the back door of Paul’s house and gotten away. Which is what happened.

  ‘Yes!’ Edward said, building. ‘I am going to tell you the real killer was already in the house and went out the back door while Amy was distracted. Someone who had planned this killing. Someone who knew what a big night this was for Dr Paul Shilling and wanted to deny him that. Someone who hated him.

  ‘Who might that have been? Well, pick your suspect. The research partner who hated him because he was stealing their joint research project from her and, on top of that, had rejected her sexually after a couple of dates? The next-door neighbor who ditto thought he was an asshole? Laura Martinelli – we’ll come back to her – who was supposed to be his original date for that big night?

  ‘I don’t know.’ Edward paused, looking over the jurors individually, taking at least a full minute to do so. The women on the front row looked back at him, the grumpy old bastard on the back row – why did Edward always leave one of those on the jury? – glared at him with folded arms, everyone else sat looking attentive.

  ‘Maybe some woman we don’t even know about, as secretive as Paul was about his liaisons. I can’t tell you. It’s not my job to know,’ Edward said. This was material from his jury stump speech, his greatest hits medley. ‘It’s theirs.’ He pointed to the prosecutors. ‘It’s the cops.’

  ‘Remember the police testimony?’ He shrugged theatrically. ‘What investigation did the police do? They came into the murder scene, saw my sister desperately trying to save her husband’s life—’ He turned and pointed to Amy, as he should have been doing all along. Isn’t she great, folks? She’s too cute to be a murderess. Amy did her part, looking serious and concerned, her eyes going along the row of jurors. ‘And the cops’ job was done, as far as they were concerned: “Ah hah, we’ve got our crime solved!” What did they do after that to try to solve it?’

  One of those women on the front row almost raised her hand and he saw what she was thinking. His answer.

  ‘Nothing. They did nothing. Once they learned Amy was the estranged wife, the murder weapon was a few feet away and there was blood on her hands – never mind that it got there from her attempts to save her husband’s life – they thought: “Our work here is done.”’

  ‘So once the actual murderer stepped out the back door, she was golden. No one was going to follow her, no one was going to sweep the bedroom or the house for her fingerprints. No one was going to check for tire prints in the alley. She was gone like a ghost. She didn’t even have to have an alibi she’d faked.’

  He stopped, put his fists on his hips and looked them over again.

  ‘Even as unlikely as it seems that the murder could have happened with this close timing, doesn’t what I’ve said make more sense? Amy’s not this dumb, to kill the victim like this. The other women Paul was involved with, all smart, accomplished women themselves, maybe they were smart enough to pull this off without ever even getting questioned by police.

  ‘For example.’ He stopped again, looked them all over. It seemed he had their attention. ‘Laura Martinelli. Oh my God. I fell in love with her myself. I wanted to ask her out right here in the courtroom, right, guys? And she was supposed to be Paul’s date that night. Originally he was going to the awards banquet with her. They would have made a lovely couple, don’t you think?

  ‘And then he called her up and dumped her. Can you imagine, being Laura Martinelli and having someone break a date with you because he was reconciling with his wife?’ He turned and gestured at Amy. He didn’t want to say, She’s pretty but she ain’t no Laura Martinelli, so the gesture would have to suffice.

  ‘This was probably the first time this ever happened to Laura, who’d pictured herself becoming the new wife of a man going places. Laura knew how big a deal Paul was about to become – and remember her, wouldn’t she be fabulous as the wife of a very big deal? What a power couple. She testified she’s moved on, she has someone else now. Of course she does. But that doesn’t mean she wasn’t mad as hell when Paul broke up with her that abruptly, ending that big a dream for her.’

  It had been years since Edward had given a jury argument; he had been falling back on his tried and true material. But now he was into it, he was branching out, riffing from his prepared notes.

  ‘Now if I were in your position and had your huge responsibility, the next thing I would wonder is, well, was Laura Martinelli the kind of person who could do this? Did she have anything like a history of violence?’ He turned toward the prosecution table. ‘Well, did she?’

  After a few beats of silence, he turned back to the jury.

  ‘They don’t know. They didn’t investigate her or any other potential suspect. The police didn’t. The police are paid to do a job – some of them have years of experience at it – but none of them performed that job in this case. The detectives didn’t detect.

  ‘The one person you know they did investigate was Amy, because she was their only suspect. And did they uncover anything to suggest she was capable of committing this kind of crime? Specifically did they bring you any evidence that in the years of their relationship, even during their supposedly bitter break-up, Amy did anything violent toward him? Did they even have a screaming fight?

  ‘They want you to believe she was so furious at this man she went over there planning to murder him. She must have had this in mind for a while, to have taken his gun and hidden it or mapped out this plan. Then she marched right into the house, this first-time murderer, and carried out her plan instantly, right there on the spot. She would have had to be enraged and stayed that way for days. Have they brought you any evidence to suggest that?’

  Edward turned and looked at his sister. ‘Amy, will you stand up, please?’

  ‘Objection, Your Honor,’ David Galindo was on his feet to say. That was good, because he towered over Amy. ‘The evidence is closed. He can’t re-enact some scene or ask her to testify again.’

  ‘The defendant is always on display throughout the whole trial,’ Edward responded. ‘She’s been used as essentially an exhibit during trial and either party can always call the jury’s attention to a particular piece of evidence during jury argument.’

  ‘That’s a novel argument,’ Judge Cynthia began. ‘I’ll allow it.’

  In the meantime, Amy had stood up anyway. She had been a very obedient client for her lawyer brother. She stood silent, looking at the jury with a level, liquid gaze. She was wearing flats today and looked rather slight. Edward went and stood close to her to emphasize that.

  ‘Do you think she could have done this? That’s the question for you today. You know she couldn’t. You know they haven’t proven she’s capable of murder.

  ‘Yes, someone was furious at Paul Shilling. The philanderer. The arrogant heartbreaker. The police investigated Amy thoroughly and didn’t find any evidence she had ever, in her whole life, done anything remotely like this. They didn’t investigate any of the other people, who had reason to be furious at the victim, at all.’

  He walked back to the jury and stood right in front of them, but at one end of the jury box so he didn’t block their view of Amy.

  ‘That’s the definition of reasonable doubt, folks. It’s all right to rely on your impressions. Your instincts. But to convict someone of murder, you have to have evidence. The prosecution has only brought you very slight evidence Amy was even inside the house when the gunshot was fired – one witness’s testimony – as opposed to others who said she was still outside. That’s not enough. Not for this serious a crime. Not to ruin this life. You can sort through the evidence all you like and you won’t find enough to convict. Take your time. Take your job very seriously. Thank you.�
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  He hated to stop talking. He hated to let them out of his hands. But he felt confident he’d found a convincing argument. Edward walked back to the defense table and sat, along with his sister, who took his hand and squeezed it gratefully.

  David Galindo stood slowly and stayed in his place beside the counsel table. ‘The defense has the same right as the prosecution to subpoena witnesses and records. They have the right and the ability to investigate—’

  ‘Objection,’ Edward said quickly, having anticipated this argument. ‘The prosecutor is attempting to shift the burden of proof to the defense. That burden is always on the State.’

  Cynthia said flatly, ‘Overruled. But be careful, Mr Galindo.’

  ‘The defense can investigate people too. Nobody obstructs them. They can search police records.’

  ‘Objection!’ Edward said, this time sincerely. ‘That is absolutely not true. We don’t have the power the State does to search criminal histories under the control of the police.’

  ‘That’s not—’

  ‘Sustained,’ the judge ruled this time. ‘Move on, Mr Galindo.’

  ‘They put on evidence,’ David said quietly. ‘They presented you with a defense. But nothing to suggest one of these other people committed this murder. No one saw them, no one heard any sign of anyone else out of place in this neighborhood. Only this one person, the one on trial today.’

  David spoke with little emotion. He was going to be the precise analytical lawyer.

  ‘The defendant’s lawyer, her brother, has said she’s too smart to have committed such an obvious crime. Two answers for that. The first is that someone mad enough to commit murder, in a murderous rage, isn’t thinking straight. It’s an irrational act, killing someone. Almost by definition, Dr Amy Shilling wasn’t thinking straight.

  ‘The other answer is sitting at that table. The defendant is the sister of someone who’s been one of the best criminal defense lawyers in this city for years.’

  ‘Objection,’ Edward said, this time on his feet. ‘First, there’s been absolutely no evidence of that. Thank you, but there hasn’t been. Second, may we approach the bench?’