Lethal Defense

by Michael Stagg

  “The Court understands,” said Judge Gallon with a slight smile.

  “So Jared invites us all up to the suite to keep the party rolling.”

  “By ‘us all’ you mean Dillon Chase and Aaron Whitsel and you?”

  “Yep. So we fill a bucket with beers and head up to the suite.”

  “Was Hank Braggi with the group going upstairs?”

  Blake shook his head. “No. I didn't see him ‘til later.”

  “So what happened next?”

  “We went up to this suite—I got the impression it was Lizzy and Jared’s and that they were some kind of thing—and hung out.”

  “Hung out. What do you mean?”

  “I mean Aaron and I were talking and we were drinking and we couldn’t believe how lucky we were. I mean, we were partying with Lizzy Saint. It was nuts.”

  “Were you talking to Lizzy?”

  “We had been but not right then though. Her and Dillon were talking.”

  “Now this is important, Mr. Purcell. Was Ms. Saint unconscious?”

  “Not up until then.”

  “You said you had smoked?”

  He glanced at the judge and looked down with the right amount of concern and said, “ A little.”

  “Did you smoke then?”

  “No. I had had enough.”

  “Did you take anything else while you were in that room?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like heroin?”

  “No. No, sir.”

  “Did Aaron use any heroin?”

  Blake laughed. “Have you met Aaron?”

  “I have.”

  “Then you know the answer to that is no way.”

  “How about Lizzy Saint and Dillon Chase? While you were in that room that night after the concert, the night that Dillon Chase died, you see either of them use heroin?”

  “I did not.”

  “Not Lizzy Saint?”

  “No.”

  “And not Dillon Chase?”

  “No.”

  “So what happened next?”

  “So Lizzy was drifting a little bit, seemed as tired as she was drunk, and we asked Jared if we should go and he said, ‘Hell no, that’s what she looks like right before she rallies.’ Then he told us to go back downstairs and get another bucket of beers and a bottle of Jack and to bring it back and we’d keep things rolling. So we did.”

  “How long were you gone?”

  Blake shrugged. “A little while. It took us a little bit to find the bartender.”

  “What happened next?”

  “We went back upstairs to the suite and as we turn the corner, we see Braggi going into the room. Then we heard screaming and a crash and we ran down the hall.”

  “What happened next?”

  “Well, we get there just behind him and we see Braggi flying across the room at Dillon.”

  “How do you know he was running at Dillon?”

  “Because he knocked him clean off his feet; put his shoulder down and tackled him, just like an NFL linebacker. Only madder.”

  “Where was Ms. Saint when this happened?”

  “She was sitting in one of the chairs.”

  “Did she react in any way?”

  “I didn’t really notice. I was too worried about what was happening.”

  “And what was happening?”

  “Like I said, Braggi here knocks Dillon to the floor and goes down on one knee and just starts wailing on him, big swings with those huge hands of his right down on Dillon’s head. So Aaron gets there first and he runs over and tries to knock Braggi down like Braggi had done to Chase, but Braggi just takes it and catches his balance and comes to his feet and whirls around and pops Aaron.”

  “Mr. Braggi attacked Aaron?”

  “You bet your a—you bet he did. He'd sort of been on a knee and he stands up and launches one right at Aaron's head.”

  “What do you mean ‘launches one at his head?’”

  “I mean, he throws a punch at Aaron's head and fortunately Aaron ducks and the punch hits him in the shoulder, but then Braggi hits him again on the top of the head and then throws an elbow that opens up one of his eyes and then he drops.”

  “Aaron does?”

  “Right. So now I'm running over and Braggi doesn't even look at me. He turns back to Chase, who was on his feet punching at Braggi, and takes another swing at him.”

  “Did you see Dillon fight back at any time?”

  “I didn't, but I wasn't looking. I run over and I see Aaron on the ground and his eye’s bleeding and his head is sort of lolling around and I pull him to his feet thinking this crazy man is going to kill me.”

  “What did you do next?”

  “We got the hell out of there.”

  “You left Dillon?”

  Blake shrugged. “We had just met him. We didn't know what beef he had with Braggi. And my friend was bleeding all over the place and couldn't move his right arm. So yeah. I got him out of there.”

  “Where did you go?”

  “We went to my place first. We got the bleeding stopped over his eye, but then the more we sat there and the more the booze wore off, he realized he couldn't move his arm so eventually I took him to the hospital.”

  “You went with him?”

  “I did. He was in a lot of pain. No way he could drive.”

  “Did you call the police?”

  “We did not.”

  “Why not?”

  “We were busy going to the hospital.”

  “But you had seen an attack.”

  Blake shrugged. “Getting medical care from the attack seemed more important.”

  “But this was serious.”

  “So was Aaron’s pain. And, at the time, we didn't know how serious it was.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “We didn't know that Dillon was dead.”

  “Were you surprised when you learned that Dillon was dead?”

  “No. Braggi's attack was vicious. Aaron is lucky that he wasn't killed too.”

  “Did it seem to you like Hank was trying to kill Aaron?”

  “Objection, Your Honor,” I said.

  “Sustained.”

  “Did Hank attack Aaron with the same fury that he attacked Dillon with?”

  “Objection, Your Honor,” I said again.

  Judge Gallon paused. “I'll allow it. Overruled.”

  “Enough fury to break his arm and cut his face. He's lucky I got him out of there.”

  “Eventually the police found you, is that right?”

  “They did.”

  “I'm going to hand you what's been marked as State’s Exhibit 53. Can you identify that for the jury, please?”

  Blake examined a piece of paper before saying, “That's a copy of the witness statement I gave the police.”

  “And did you give the police that statement the day after the killing?”

  “I did.”

  “And is it accurate?”

  “It is.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Purcell. That's all I have, Your Honor.”

  Judge Gallon looked at me. “Mr. Shepherd?”

  Jeff had made a lot of points there. I had to undo what I could. “Mr. Purcell, you did not see Hank Braggi kill Dillon Chase, did you?”

  Purcell cocked his head. “What?”

  “When you ran out of the room, Dillon Chase was still alive, wasn’t he?”

  “He was getting the crap beat out of him.”

  “But he was alive, true?”

  “He was.”

  “Because if you thought he was being killed, you would have called the police, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Unless you had some other reason not to call the police, right?”

  “Like getting my friend medical help, yes.”

  “You mentioned that you saw Mr. Braggi open the door and then walk into the room, true?”

  “I think I said run into the room. But yes.”

  “And you arrived just behind h
im?”

  “I did.”

  “And you saw Mr. Braggi tackle Dillon Chase, true?”

  “I did.”

  “That's because Dillon Chase was injecting Lizzy Saint with heroin, wasn't he?”

  “Objection, Your Honor,” said Jeff. “He can't say why Braggi did anything.”

  “I'll rephrase, Your Honor. When you saw Hank Braggi run across the room, Dillon Chase was injecting Lizzy Saint with heroin, wasn't he?”

  “No.”

  “He wasn't injecting Lizzy Saint with heroin or you didn't see him injecting Lizzy Saint with heroin?”

  Purcell shook his head. “I didn't see him inject her with anything. And I think that I would've because it wasn't that big a room.”

  I went to the exhibit table, picked up the plastic bag with the syringe, and held it up. “This syringe was found in the suite that night. You're saying you did not see this in Dillon Chase's hand?”

  “I did not.”

  “You’re claiming that you did not see anyone using in the suite that night?”

  “I'm not claiming it. I didn't.”

  “But somebody was, weren't they?”

  “I don't know that.”

  “And somebody brought the heroin into the suite that day, didn't they?”

  “I don't know that.”

  “Really? Do you see legs on this syringe, Mr. Purcell?”

  “Objection, Your Honor.”

  “Withdrawn. Did you say anything to Mr. Braggi when he entered the room?”

  “No. I was surprised by the suddenness of it. And then there was the scream and we got there before I knew it, he was on Dillon. I yelled at him then to stop.”

  “Did he respond to you?”

  Purcell shook his head. “No, he was yelling. Bellowing more like.”

  “You said Hank knocked Aaron down, right?”

  “He did.”

  “And that Dillon Chase was able to get to his feet while Mr. Braggi was hitting Aaron, true?”

  “True.”

  “And that Mr. Chase struck Mr. Braggi when Aaron was knocked down, right?”

  Blake paused a long moment before he said, “Yes.”

  “So the jury understands, you saw Mr. Chase strike Mr. Braggi.”

  “After Braggi attacked him, yes.”

  “You saw Chase strike Braggi three times, didn't you?”

  “I don't recall that,” said Purcell.

  “Mr. Purcell you still have your statement in front of you, do you see it?”

  “I do.”

  “And at the bottom, you certified that everything in your statement was true and accurate, didn’t you?”

  He looked at the statement. “I guess.”

  “Is that your signature the bottom?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mr. Purcell, if you go to the second paragraph of your statement on the third line it says that ‘Dillon Chase got to his feet and punched Braggi three or four times while I pulled Aaron away.’ Did I read that accurately?”

  A pause. “You did.”

  “So you saw Dillon Chase punch Mr. Braggi three or four times, didn't you?”

  “I guess so.”

  “That’s not a guess. That’s what you said in the statement you gave the next day, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mr. Purcell, Dillon Chase wasn't drinking that night, was he?”

  Blake cocked his head to the right and stared at me. “I thought he was. It seemed like he was having a good time.”

  “Did you actually see him take a drink at any point during the night?”

  “He had to have. Everyone was.”

  “Dr. Ray Gerchuk testified earlier this morning that Mr. Chase’s blood was free of alcohol. You don't disagree, do you?”

  Purcell shrugged. “I guess not.”

  “So Mr. Chase was in control of his decision-making that night, wasn’t he?”

  “I wouldn't know,” Purcell said before Jeff could object.

  “You didn't see anything that would indicate that Mr. Chase was incapacitated, did you?”

  “No.”

  “Ms. Saint was pretty drunk that night though, wasn't she?”

  Purcell shifted in his seat. “Not at first.”

  “But by the end of the night she was, wasn't she?”

  “I suppose.”

  “Did you see her eyes fluttering shut?”

  “I might've.”

  “You saw her stagger, didn't you?”

  “I don't remember that.”

  “We can look at your statement again if you like.”

  “I guess maybe once or twice.”

  “She was drinking whiskey, wasn’t she?”

  “She was.”

  “And you had at least three shots with her, didn't you?”

  “You have to do a shot with Lizzy Saint if you have the chance.”

  “And you saw other people do shots with her that night too, didn’t you?”

  Purcell shrugged. “She's a rock star, man.”

  “There were security guards there that night, right?”

  “There were people checking IDs as we went to each level of the party.”

  “Did you see a guy named Rick?”

  “I don't know any of their names.”

  “Big guy. Black earrings. Tattoo of a crow’s head on his arm?”

  “Oh, yeah. I remember the tattoo.”

  “He was outside of the room that led to the suite, right?”

  “I believe so.”

  That was all of the basic information I knew for sure. There was one other area though, an area I needed to win. I didn't have the background information to confirm it, but I was pretty sure I was right, so the next question I asked was, “Mr. Purcell, you live in the College West apartment complex, don't you?”

  “I do.”

  “And you’ve lived there for five years?”

  “I have.”

  “That's predominantly college housing, isn't it?”

  “Mostly. There’re others like me that used to go to the University.”

  “You went to the University for three years, right?”

  “I did.”

  “Stopped going two years ago?”

  “That's right.”

  “My understanding is that you didn't fail out but that you stopped going, correct?”

  “That's true.”

  “Why did you stop?”

  Blake shrugged. “I wanted to pursue other opportunities.”

  “Oh? Where do you work?”

  Jeff stood. “Your Honor, this area of inquiry doesn't seem relevant to what Mr. Purcell witnessed on the night Dillon Chase was killed.”

  Judge Gallon looked at me in a way that said she agreed. “Mr. Shepherd?”

  “If you give me a little bit of leeway, Your Honor, I believe this ties into why Mr. Purcell was there on the night Dillon Chase died.”

  “A very little bit of leeway, Mr. Shepherd. Let's try and get to the point.”

  “Your apartment is a three-bedroom, isn't it, Mr. Purcell?”

  “It is.”

  “But you live there alone, right?”

  “I do.”

  “The rent runs about two thousand a month?”

  “More or less.”

  “You drove your Wrangler here today, right?”

  Blake gritted his teeth. “Does that matter?”

  “Pretty simple question, Mr. Purcell.”

  “I drove here.”

  “In the Wrangler?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you don’t have a job, do you?”

  “I’m more of an independent contractor.”

  “Doing what?”

  “This and that.”

  “Do you sell things?”

  “Your Honor,” said Jeff.

  “You’re out of leeway, Mr. Shepherd,” said Judge Gallon. “No more questions on this topic unless you have something directly relevant to ask the witness.”

  “Did you bring heroin with
you that night to the concert, Mr. Purcell?”

  Blake smirked. “No.”

  “Did you give it to someone else to bring?”

  “No.”

  “Did you sell heroin to anyone that night?”

  “I did not.”

  I held the syringe up. “And it’s your testimony to this jury that you never saw this syringe full of heroin in the suite.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And you’re telling us that you haven’t seen this syringe until today in this courtroom.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Or this rubber tubing.”

  “Correct.”

  “Or this baggie.”

  “None of it.”

  “No further questions, Your Honor.”

  “Mr. Hanson?”

  “Just a couple, Your Honor. Mr. Purcell, do you have a source of income?”

  Blake looked away and shrugged. “I get by.”

  “Now, Mr. Shepherd was just implying that there might be something suspicious about your income.”

  I stood. “Objection, Your Honor. I said no such thing.”

  “That's what implied means, Your Honor,” said Jeff.

  “Counsel will direct their arguments to me,” Judge Gallon snapped. “Overruled. This door was opened by Mr. Shepherd. Go ahead, Mr. Hanson. Briefly.”

  Jeff nodded. “I know you don't like to talk about it, Blake, but you are here in court under oath and it's important. Do you have a source of income that explains your car and your apartment and your lifestyle?”

  Purcell looked away and for the first time on the stand, he looked uncomfortable. He shrugged and said, “I guess.”

  “And what is that source of income?”

  “My grandpa was pretty well off. He left a trust that gives me a monthly payment.”

  “And when did your grandfather pass away, Blake?”

  “About two years ago.”

  “About the same time you quit college?”

  Purcell looked down and nodded his head.

  “I'm sorry, Blake, but you have to answer out loud.”

  “Yes.”

  “Is that what you’ve been living on?”

  “Yes.”

  I pretended to write a note on my pad but I was really just working to keep a straight face. I'd mistaken a trust fund baby for a drug dealer.

  Shit.