Milkowski tosses his pen in the air, exhaling loudly, exhibiting a show of irritation over William’s absurd defense.
William immediately turns and levels a firm finger at the prosecution desk and begins an ardent tirade. “Do not give in to this childish role play! I’ll bet he throws his pen at every trial. And don’t be fooled by any of his innuendos, his exaggerated truths, conjectures, and inventiveness. For I tell you all, he is a crafty and seasoned professional in his form of occupation. He will not deny that he holds to his credit a solid 98.2 percent conviction rate. But do you believe that 98.2 percent of everyone accused of a crime committed that very crime? If you do, you would have to believe that police officers do their job with 98.2 percent accuracy. Let’s put that another way. Do you assume that all state and county employees work with 98.2 percent efficiency? Ask yourself: have you ever known a police officer to be wrong or mistaken? Or what about your mailman? Have you ever found mail that doesn’t belong to you in your mailbox? What about our politicians, our governors, our congressman, even our president—do they work with this level of effectiveness? I think that you would answer no. I think that you’re reasonable people who realize that none of our officials fly at this high of an altitude. Rather, I would contend that they perform at a rate closer to that of a weatherman.” The jurors share a few brief smiles, even a chuckle or two. “Yet, prosecutor Milkowski does. And the way he achieves this success is by playing on your sentiment, twisting the truth, and flat out misleading you! He tells you he’s a passionate man, and I believe him, but his passion is not for the facts, it is for the winning and advancing his career! You will see this as we go along. You will hear, from this man, many circumstantial possibilities, but from us, all you will hear is straight talk. And here it is…” William goes to his prepared chalk board and rotates it so that it’s facing the jurors as well as the cameras. On it is a short numbered list written in large chalk marks. He points to each one.
“First, my client suffers from paranoia and schizophrenia, which he is currently taking medications for. Secondly, this Kimberly is nothing more than a figment of his imagination. He tells people of her, myself included, because he believes her to be existent. Thirdly, there is not one single shred of evidence that a crime has even been committed here, much less that my client is somehow responsible for it.” William moves back to the jury box, whispering to individual jurors, “She was never a real person in my client’s life. I’ve never met this woman. She is imaginary, make-believe. She never was.”
Then, after an intimate moment, he walks back to his table and stands behind Joshua, placing a caring hand on his shoulder. “Think about this…Have you ever been in a circumstance where it looked as if you’d done something wrong, but you didn’t? Have you ever heard humorous anecdotes where someone else was caught in a situation where it appeared they’d done something wrong? Maybe you we’re accused of gawking at another from your wife or husband…or maybe the smell in the room did not come from you. Maybe someone has accused you of saying something that you didn’t say. Maybe you’ve experienced an incident where you were misinterpreted, taken out of context, or perhaps someone else simply got the wrong impression of who you are or what you’re about.”
William lets his examples of reasonable doubt roam free. Then, looking even deeper into their souls, he concludes, “My client is an innocent man, simple and true! And it will all come to pass when this is all said and done. But first you will hear embellished realities and unjustifiable speculations. And my money says at first you will be drawn in; remember, prosecutor Andrew Milkowski is legendary at persuasion. On the other hand, when he is done, I will prove to this court their disreputable nature and then, and only then, will you begin to comprehend why my client has chosen to tell his story to a jury instead of telling it to them. And when we are done here, you will know without a doubt, that you have made the right decision, by bringing back a verdict—the only reasonable verdict—of not guilty. So for now, I will essentially remain silent, awarding them an empty playground, so we can see how they play with others. Just keep one thought close to your hearts, and that is the fact that Joshua Siconolfi is not guilty of any crime—not because he is perfect, but because there is no crime! I would like to thank you for your time.”
“Okay then,” Judge Cooper says to an astounded, speechless courtroom, “I think this would be a good time to take lunch. Court is in recess until one thirty.”
Bang. Bang.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Ten minutes before court is to resume, from the fifth-floor windows, Milkowski surveys the mob outside while stuffing his face with pastrami on rye. Even as a boy he was heavyset, earning him the nickname Fat-Cow-Ski. Presently, as then, he overindulges to curb his anxieties, finding comfort through his taste buds. With a Diet Coke he washes down the coveted flavors, musing over the attributes of his newfound nemesis. That fucking incessant prick!
While losing himself in another bite of thousand-island-smothered brisket, Captain Jackson sneaks up on him, catching him off guard. “How we doing, Andrew?” he asks in a tone demanding of an answer.
“Well, uh, fine…We’re doing fine. However I did receive a bit of a wakeup call in there earlier. You know it’s a whole different ballgame with a man like him.” Captain Jackson shakes his head, listening. “All the same I do have a big production designed for this afternoon; it’ll be ‘shock and awe.’ He wants to play dirty; well I can play dirty too.”
“Uh-huh,” Captain Jackson mumbles, moving closer toward the window to share the view below. “Would you look at this mess,” he says, referring to the scattered multitude of journalists, picketers, and vendors selling screen-printed T-shirts featuring Kimberly’s picture under the tagline “Avenge Me!” The captain shakes his head again. “Whatever happened to the good ole days, Andrew?”
“They are a distant past,” he replies. Then there’s a quiet minute as they watch the crowd. Milkowski takes one of his antianxiety pills, given that he always feels a tad jittery when in Jackson’s presence. And he doesn’t know which is worse, conversing with him or simply sharing the silence. He ponders on it for a moment before deciding he better say something. “Are we getting any closer in finding her body?”
“Maybe,” Captain Jackson replies, dispirited. “We’re starting to get the idea the crab trap was a decoy. Now we’re looking into other areas.” Then he raises the issue he came to inquire of. “All right, you’re gonna carry this out in the way I asked you, right?”
Milkowski glances around, double-checking no one is within earshot, and says, “Some matters need not be raised.”
“All right. Well, you should get back in there. Last thing you wanna do is have Judge Cooper waiting for you.”
“Yeah, no kidding,” he agrees, then waddles away leaving Captain Jackson assured that everything related to the car club is well and fine.
Inside the court room, Milkowski is primed to live up to the credentials accredited to him by his rival. Judge Cooper gives him the green light, setting him in motion. “Good afternoon, people of the jury. I hope you had a nice lunch.” His subtle consideration earns him warm smiles; they take to him right away, the way they always do. There’s just something about a thickset man with olive skin and black wavy hair people fall for. Or possibly it’s the fact that he’s the variety of fat man who wears his pants buckled over his belly, which depicts him as friendly and unassuming. Still, his likability and discernible social skills are somewhat of a contradiction, being that he is an unconditional loner.
He begins gently, humanly. “I am dreadfully sorry to inform you that we are daring to start this afternoon off with a horrendous and heart-wrenching audio recording. I will be playing a clip from a radio show call the defendant made from his home the morning of December 29. Ladies and gentlemen, I must prepare you for what you are about to endure. It is beyond gruesome and frightening; so much so, I feel as if I cannot prepare you enough. I need you to fortify your minds for utterly lurid and
ghastly sounds. This will absolutely be the most appalling recording you will ever stomach—truly the stuff nightmares are made of! But, according to the defendant’s own words, what you will hear is to be considered nothing more than a prank, or a practical-joke. And I will never ask you if you interpret it as such—since you will not.”
While continuing his verbal assault, two bailiffs role in a high-tech stereo system wired to home-theater-sized speakers, as he wants it heard in full 5.1 digital surround sound. “This is the crux of this case. You are about to listen to three minutes of viciousness, in addition to, the actual murder of Kimberly Wallingsford! None of you will have any doubt but that the defendant is killing her. And how does he choose to do it? He calls a live radio broadcast and murders Kimberly, for millions to suffer through. How do we know it’s him? Because he admits to it. How do we know it’s her? Because the defendant says so himself. How do we know she’s being killed? Because he not only clearly states his intentions, you will be able to hear this young woman undergo his torments, and then you will hear her very last painful breaths.” Milkowski can see the blood drain from their faces. “I told you this wouldn’t be easy.” He pauses, gathering his thoughts. “And lastly, how do we know he did what he said he was going to do? Well, because he lets us know when he’s finished; he lets us know precisely when Kimberly’s life was taken. You will also hear the defendant claim Kimberly merited having her throat slit. As he says: she deserved it!” Then without turning, merely continuing to stare into their eyes, he holds a remote over his shoulder and pushes play.
First there is curiosity on the expressions of the twelve, but it quickly fades to horror, which darkens further to nausea, as the sounds are seared into their unwelcoming ears.
“Okay, caller ‘Unknown’ from here in Seattle, what are your views?”
There is a long silence. The jurors lean closer.
“Caller, you’re on the air, and we would like to hear your analysis concerning our huge national debt. What say you?”
Eveyone can hear Joshua breathing lightly.
“Caller, you are on—”
“I’m going to kill her.”
“I am sorry, caller. I’m not sure what you mean.”
“I am going to kill this bitch!” His malevolent tone trembles the very fabric of the jury’s core.
“Who are you going to kill?”
Again, silence.
“Caller, are you still there?” the talk show host asks, her voice obviously cracking.
Then a calm and unnatural yes comes over the audio.
“Caller you’re giving me very little info about who you are, who you wish to kill, and most importantly why you believe this person needs to die. I want to hear, in detail, all you have
to say; leave nothing out.
The jurors can only hear Joshua breathing heavily.
“Caller,” the radio show host says more forcefully, I presume you called this show because you have something to say, a message you would like the world to hear; is that the case?”
“Yes, I do want the world to hear. I want the world to hear her die!” Joshua blurts out furiously.
“Who?”
“My fucking filthy wife. She’s playing me. She thinks she can get away with it. I have her tied up in a chair and a knife in my hand, and if you even think about taking me off the air, I promise I will torture her first. I have a drill and eightinch wood screws I will bore into her legs.”
Cameras’s pan over the jury box, catching dropped jaws, widened eyes, and sickness.
“Okay, okay, let’s settle down. I’ve listened to what you’ve said, but I want to know more and I want you to know that I know your pain; my ex-husband cheated on me constantly; I know how you feel.”
“You have no idea how I feel, bitch! You are all the same. You think you can do whatever you want and then cry your way out of it. You make excuses for all that you do.”
Everyone in the courtroom can sense an unadulterated evil mounting in his voice with every word.
“I’ve given her every chance to tell the truth. She cannot tell the truth. She is a lying, cheating whore, and she is going to die!”
The jurors, sitting on the edge of their seats, hear the audio change and realize Joshua has put the call on speakerphone. They all jerk when he begins screaming out his hatred in the background.
“You fucking fantasy! You think you can fuck my friends and get away with it! You believe I do not have the power to do something!”
Then for the first time, they can hear the woman in the room. “Mmm… mm…mm.”
“I have the power! I have all the power from God to make you suffer!”
Between his screams all kinds of other noises fill the courtroom: like a chair being thrashed about and the strained sounds of struggling.
“Mmmrr…mmrrr…mrrraahh!”
More thrashing, and Joshua roaring, “Die, you fucking lying, disgraceful whore—die!”
“Mmmraghh! Mmmrr! Mmmrr!”
Then suddenly it all comes to a stop. Her cries suddenly cease, and there’s complete stillness in the courtroom, only the heavy breathing from the defendant.
“Caller, talk to me. Caller!” the talk show host shouts, panicked and disarrayed.
Then they hear Joshua taking in a deep breath and exhaling the words, “She got what she deserved. They all did!”
After the hellish sounds, there’s a moment of eerie silence. The few that can even look in Joshua’s direction find him staring into the distance, deficient of any real emotion. Judge Cooper asks the jurors if they need to take a break. Her question is mostly answered by their body language. She calls for a recess, sending them to roam dejected toward awaiting lavatories to get sick, to rinse away the stain.
Thirty minutes later, still with the taste of a Snickers candy bar in his mouth, Milkowski sets up for round two. He embarks on a journey of circumstantial DNA evidence. And knowing the weakness of the connection between the blood found on the boat and Kimberly’s rare blood type, he decides to put it up first. The idea is to exhibit the level of confidence he has for the discovery and interject it at a time when the jurors are still in a state of shock. He calls his first witness, Dr. Lutin, a DNA expert who plainly explains that the blood found on the boat is AB Rh negative, an uncommon blood type, which only 1 out of 167 people have. Then he is turned over to the defense.
William walks over to Dr. Lutin, leans on the witness stand, and says, “I heard your credentials—pretty impressive. I feel confident you’ll be able to answer my questions. First, would the amount of blood found on the boat have been life threatening?”
“No, it was a very small amount in fact.”
“Thank you,” William says, as if he has just scored his first point. “Now, is it possible that her blood could have been placed into a container, then brought at a later time to the boat, and then spilled?”
Dr. Lutin shakes his head, doubtful of the idea. “Well, it would be highly unlikely but—”
“No. I did not ask for your opinion of its likelihood. I asked you”—his voice getting louder as he enunciates each word—“is…it…possible?”
Dr. Lutin, now clearly aggravated, replies, “Yes, it is possible.”
“Thank you. I have no further questions for this witness.”
Next Milkowski calls Nicole West (a.k.a. Destiny) and Brittany Jacobsen (a.k.a. Kiki), two young employees of the Kitty Club who testify to have worked with Kimberly but knew nothing of Joshua. William only asks them about their profession and past legal problems. Then Milkowski brings in the Swansons, the elderly neighbors, who testify to have known her. But, during the cross-examination of Mr. Swanson, it turns out that neither of them ever actually spoke with her and had only seen her driving in and out on a few occasions. Mr. Swanson departs from the court, leaving an impression of being old and confused.
They take another break, and the rest of the afternoon is spent going over the details of the boat rental, the video tapes showing Joshua
leaving and returning, and witness testimony from D. J. Simpson, whom William declines to cross-examine. The day wraps up by five thirty. Judge Cooper and Milkowski are pleased with the speed at which the trial is moving, although they both wonder why William has made few objections or even tried to slow things down in the least.
Soon the trial will begin again, on cable, at six o’clock, with special editions at seven, and once more at ten and eleven. Monologues and discussions concerning father and son Siconolfi are being carried out on blogs and in chat rooms, earning Siconolfi the title of most-Googled name.
Chapter Fifty
Two hours later, after the sun has gone down, Cools, Milkowski, and Captain Jackson gather round a bottle of bourbon in the captain’s office, mostly talking shop and relaxing while waiting for Michelle. Cools is already a little buzzed after a couple of drinks and the Vicodin Captain Jackson gave him earlier. And knowing he has his captain’s attention, he pops off, “Hey, Milkowski, so I was traveling with my girlfriend down at the Multnomah Falls in Oregon last year, when she comments on the Lewis and Clark Trail. And since we’d been, just two days before, out on the coast where she’d seen a park in their name, and obviously not knowing much about them, she asks me, ‘So now, how far did Lewis and Clark go?’ And I said, ‘I think they may have went all the way baby!’ Ha-ha…” Cools slaps his leg, and Captain Jackson breaks out into old-man, long-and-winded laughter. Even Milkowski parts from his white-collar demeanor for a short chuckle.
Played: “Sometimes you never know who is playing who, until the damage is done. Page 26
