BEYOND JUSTICE

by Joshua Graham

  "Time for you to go home, Charlie Fayne, " Dave said. "Think things over, okay?"

  Charlie couldn’t answer intelligibly, he was too busy straining. His only reply came in the form of a pathetic series of nods.

  "You don’t know a thing about Sam," Dave said.

  More nods. Charlie’s face turned red. Then Dave released him. Charlie let out a grunt, fell on his ass and fumbled back to his feet.

  "Okay Pastor Dave, I’m going."

  Dave grabbed his forearm again. Charlie winced. "You forgetting something, man?"

  "What?"

  "You weren’t particularly courteous to my friend, were you?" Dave shoved him over to me. I took a step back.

  "Look man," Charlie said. "I’m sorry, okay?"

  "Forget about it." Despite the calm in my voice, my heart was pounding. Charlie spat on the ground then trudged back to his apartment, muttering all the way.

  Dave shrugged an apology in my direction. "He really is a nice guy, when he remembers to take his meds."

  "That boy’s just not right," an old man at the table said, then shoveled a spoonful of Lorraine’s casserole in his mouth.

  Dave encouraged me to stick around for the next community project—visiting recovering addicts in a rehab center. But I just wanted to go home and rest. That was enough stress for one day.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Each day the trial went on, I found myself inching closer and closer to a conviction. After a month of the prosecution's case, it finally hit me. I might actually be found guilty.

  Walden had established the elements. Which were, of course, preposterous. But tell that to the jury.

  Based on the Medical Examiner’s report, the attack had to have taken place while I was supposedly driving home from the Padres game. If I’d even been there. No alibi. Opportunity.

  Of course the murder weapons had my prints on them, I’d used the knife earlier that night to help Jenn cut vegetables while she helped avert Aaron’s meltdown and find his Thomas Train toy. The baseball bat used in his assault only had his own fingerprints, and mine. Because I held it often to demonstrate a proper swing. But the prosecution called this proof. Means.

  The final element was by far the most imaginative. And the most damaging. Walden had concocted quite the story with George. I knew he was going to block my promotion to partnership. And later, my employment at the firm fell into jeopardy because of the porn.

  But Walden's theory got even more fantastic: I had recently moved into a fairly expensive house in Rancho Carmelita, where the mortgage pushed the limits of my budget. The insurance money I’d collect from the deaths of my entire family would total two and a half million dollars. Plenty to pay off my house, invest and live off the interest. Add to that the fact that I’d probably been molesting my daughter and it was just a matter of time before she told someone—like her mother. I’d be ruined. Motive.

  Like a dead fish tethered to a rock, my approval ratings sank. Not since Hollywood wife-killer, Matt Kingsley, had there been anyone so infamous, so reviled by the media and the public alike.

  Now came the defense phase. "Your honor," Rachel began. "In light of the State’s failure to adequately meet their burden, the defense moves for summary judgment, at this time."

  "Motion denied."

  It didn’t phase her at all. Rachel called Dave Pendelton as her first witness. By his testimony, he took me into his own home, offered me employment at his church when no one else would even look at my resume.

  "Do you believe that Mr. Hudson is capable of the crimes of which he is accused?" Rachel asked.

  "Absolutely not. I’ve known him to be a loving father and husband. Protective and caring towards his family."

  Rachel thanked him and yielded him to the prosecution for cross examination.

  Kenny Dodd did the cross. To my surprise, he emerged from his laid-back surfer persona like a shark. "Reverend," Dodd said. "Isn’t it true that prior to the murders, the defendant had barely said a word to you, though you were next door neighbors?"

  "Yes. He wasn’t comfortable—"

  "Thank you. So, is it your testimony that prior to the murders, prior to his moving in with you, that you didn’t really know him well?"

  "His wife was a member of my church and our Bible study group, she—"

  "I wasn’t asking about the victim, I was asking about your acquaintance with the defendant."

  Dave’s pulled his lips into a tight line. "Prior? No, I didn’t know him that well."

  "So when you say that you absolutely do not believe he could have committed these crimes, when you say that you’ve known him to be a loving father and husband, you really don’t know what you’re talking about, do you?"

  "Objection," Rachel called out.

  "Overruled." Judge Hodges instructed Dave to answer.

  "As far as I know," Dave said, "Based on everything his wife said, and my own observations, I do know what I’m talking about. He could not have committed these crimes."

  "As far as you know." A brief pause to let the damage sink in and Dodd fell back for another attack run. "Let’s go back to the night of the murders. According to the statement you gave the county sheriff, the first indication of trouble was when you heard the defendant calling for help in the street of your neighborhood, is that right?"

  "That’s correct."

  "A bit theatrical, don’t you think? And according to the same statement, you went inside and found the victims in the following state, and I quote: The wife was already dead, the daughter bleeding badly from multiple stab wounds and the son unconscious with blood all over his head and pillow."

  I swallowed hard as the memories returned. Dodd read the statement with all the sensitivity of Novocaine.

  Dave acknowledged the statement.

  "Did you notice anyone breaking and entering the house that evening?" Dodd asked.

  "No."

  "You’re aware that the investigation found no signs of forced entry?

  "Yes."

  "Did you see or hear anyone fleeing the scene?"

  "No."

  "The defendant had an alarm installed, did you know that?"

  "Yes."

  "Did you hear it go off?"

  "No, I—"

  "That’s because-according to the alarm logs— it had not been armed. Did you know that?"

  "How would I?"

  "Indeed, how would you?" Dodd leaned an elbow on the rail. "And how would you know if the defendant hadn’t actually committed the murders, the rape?"

  "I just know he didn’t."

  "Can you say—and I remind you you are under oath—that beyond the shadow of a doubt, you know for a fact that Mr. Hudson did not actually commit those murders and then come outside acting as if someone else had done it?"

  "I—"

  "Under oath, Reverend. So help you God." I didn’t think it possible, but my opinion of Kenny D. dropped a few notches lower.

  "I don’t believe he did it—"

  "But can you say to an absolute certainty?"

  Dave didn’t blink. He took a deep breath and said, "No."

  "Nothing further." Dodd returned to the prosecution table. I expected Walden to give him a high-five, but he simply sat down with a smirk and fixed his cuffs.

  His Honor looked to Rachel. "Redirect?"

  Come on, Rachel.

  With shoulders sagged, she shook her head.

  For the next couple of days, it was more of the same—testimonies by character witnesses. Rachel managed to coax Maggie Lawrence to the stand and say under oath that she’d always liked me since I started dating her daughter, that I was a wonderful son-in-law. But Maggie kept glancing over to Oscar, who didn’t share her opinion.

  Walden proved merciful in his cross examination. Wouldn’t win him any points with the jury going after an old woman. Maggie was too gentle, too frail. Her testimony barely made a dent anyway.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  On the weekends, I swept the halls an
d vacuumed the sanctuary of the church. Decent wages, given the job description. Aaron's condition remained unchanged. It killed me to think that at any given moment, he could wake up, at any given moment, he could pass on. And I wouldn’t be there for him.

  Dave and some of the church members visited him regularly. They prayed over him, sang hymns to him, read to him. Lorraine always came back with a smile and told me how strong little Aaron was.

  "That’s my boy," I would say, trying to conceal my heartache.

  Rachel often reminded me of the word of knowledge she had been given: "It’s going to be fine." I still didn't know what to make of that. Nevertheless, I clung to hope. The alternative was not something I could consider.

  Despite her faith, however, a weariness began to etch into her features. Over time, she smiled less, her hair sometimes appeared disheveled, and her eyes were often bloodshot. I would later learn that she’d been so focused on my case that she had not been taking care of her health, her personal life, or her finances.

  Once in a while, a potential client would approach her with an injury case here, a wrongful death case there. Take them, I’d tell her. She didn’t. As a result, her mortgage fell into default and she was about to be evicted from her office space. Creditors hounded her with threatening phone calls and letters via certified mail.

  Rachel found herself caught in a catch twenty-two. Had she the financial means, she could hire the best investigators—forensic and otherwise. But she simply couldn’t afford it. It was just her, Mack and one computer forensics consultant for expert testimony.

  We needed more time. Even with my DNA results subpoenaed, Judge Hodges refused to grant a continuance. To buy time, Rachel scared up as many witnesses out of the woodwork as possible. Just about every member of the Bible study group was called to testify. She even called on Mrs. Holden, one of my neighbors who agreed to testify to my good nature

  Instead, Mrs. Holden turned coat and became a hostile witness. According to her, I was a disgusting, incestuous, child-molesting murderer who should be shot right there on the spot. Her entire testimony was struck from the record, but the damage was done.

  Undaunted, it was Rachel’s intention to drag out the case until the day that my DNA results were ready. Which would be tomorrow. Relief was finally in sight.

  Rachel set her translucent, cup of purple Taro Iced Boba with a girthy straw down on her desk as she spoke with Walden over the phone wedged between her left shoulder and ear.

  "You've got to be kidding!" she said, now pacing around her desk. "We’ve waited all this time, and now this?" Rachel spoke with her hands, her features were flushed. To no avail, I tried to hear what the tiny voice coming from her phone was saying.

  "What basis have you—? No. No! I’ll fight this motion. You know I’ll win...Yeah. All right, 8:30 AM... Yeah. Don’t you be late!" With that, she stabbed a button on her cordless phone and looked as if she might throw it against the wall.

  "What now?" I asked, my head spinning from her incessant pacing.

  "This is unheard of."

  "The lab results?"

  "Walden’s filing a motion to suppress."

  "No way!" Now I was standing, tempted to join her pacing.

  "He’ll never get away with it," Rachel said, finally stopping and sitting the edge of her desk. "DNA is much too important. Hodges won’t pass over the results. Motion to suppress—give me a break!"

  "Suppress on what grounds?"

  "He wouldn’t say. Guess we’ll find out tomorrow."

  Walden had to be scared. When—not if—my samples excluded me from those on Bethie, it would smash a gaping hole through his case. He was sweating now and desperately scrambling to bury the one piece of exculpatory evidence that would acquit me.

  ___________________

  His Honor’s chambers were as cozy as a mausoleum. Thick layers of dust lined the antediluvian bookshelves. The shades were drawn shut as though they’d been so for years. Judge Hodges sat behind a large cherrywood desk adorned with photos of his grandchildren, who, by now were probably about Rachel’s age. He listened callously to Walden and her arguments.

  Hodges’ best efforts went to negotiating an onion bagel with copious amounts of cream cheese, trying to keep the crumbs off his robe sleeves.

  "Your honor, this is completely inappropriate," Rachel said. "Counsel is trying to suppress evidence that clearly has the potential to acquit my client." She glared directly at the District Attorney. "What kind of stunt is this, anyway?"

  Hodges wiped a smudge of cream cheese from his bagel off the corner of his mouth and got some on his sleeve. It left a white stain which surprised and frustrated him. He wet a paper towel with water from his Arrowhead bottle and tried to clean it off as he spoke. "Tom, this is thin."

  Walden straightened up. "The motion is based on the fact that the defendant was coerced by detective Pearson into giving his DNA, blood, and hair samples to the crime lab."

  "Give me a break!" Rachel said.

  "Nevertheless, we feel that the defendant was intimidated by the detective, who has been known for heavy-handedness. It could reflect badly on my office. The DNA tests should be deemed inadmissible. I will not allow this to open up grounds for a mistrial."

  "Your Honor," Rachel said, doing some suppressing of her own. "It’s clear that counsel is hiding—"

  "I resent that," Walden said.

  "Then why are you afraid of disclosing the results? Your Honor, though it’s not a huge surprise coming from Mister Walden, this is prosecutorial misconduct."

  Locking their gazes, silence ensued between the attorneys. Hodges, who was making even more of a mess on his robe, finally tore himself from his battle with the errant cream cheese and spoke out.

  "I have to agree with Ms. Cheng. I want to know whether or not the defendant’s DNA matches that found on the girl’s body. The motion to suppress is denied."

  Walden sputtered. "But your honor—"

  "Provide the defense with the lab results by 10 AM."

  Walden exhaled. His shoulders drooped. "Fine. I’ll have the crime lab to fetch the results this morning, Your Honor." Walden turned to his Rachel. "I assume you’ll want to introduce the evidence in court this afternoon, Ms. Cheng?"

  She nodded, trying to contain a look of triumph on her face. After the judge dismissed them, Walden gave Rachel a sheepish smile and said, "I had to try, you know."

  "Whatever."

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Having pushed my way through the hallways crowded with reporters and photographers, I was flustered by the time I entered the courtroom.

  Rachel wore glasses today. Her eyes were webbed with red and dark circles attested to a sleepless night. And while her eyes were slightly hidden behind stylish tortoise shell spectacles, it was the first time I saw them without the artificial purple tint. Tired as she was, she greeted me with a smile brighter than I’d seen for months. I could see it in how she carried herself—her chin up, stride confident—Rachel was feeling good. She wore a black business suit—pants, not the usual knee-length skirt. Her confidence osmosed to me as well.

  Rachel’s first witness of the day was Ashok Kumar, an identity theft specialist from NetSecure in Oceanside. Upon examination, he testified and demonstrated how it was possible for someone to have pulled up a credit inquiry—Experian, FICO, etc.—and gotten a hold of all my credit card account numbers, active or not.

  "It happens all the time, you know," Kumar said.

  "Makes you wonder what other things can be done to frame an unsuspecting victim." Rachel turned and looked over to George Schmall in the gallery. "Is it your expert opinion, Mr. Kumar, that someone could plant evidence in this way?"

  "Objection," Walden said from his seat. "She’s tacitly accusing the State’s witness."

  "Overruled."

  She peeled her gaze from George. If she got the jury to wonder about him, it might go to reasonable doubt. She reiterated the question, this time facing her witness.

/>   "Let’s put it this way," said Kumar. "If someone had the knowledge and skill, they could easily frame anyone they wanted this way."

  "Thank you. Nothing further."

  Walden approached the witness slowly. With a condescending smirk he said, "Mister Kumar, is it true that you work in a two man firm?"

  "Yes."

  "How many times have you been called by defense attorneys to testify in identity theft cases?"

  "I don’t know exactly."

  "Come on, now. Ballpark."

  "Maybe about ten or—"

  "Try twenty-eight."

  Kumar shrugged.

  "And in all those cases, how many of the defendants were found guilty."

  "Again, I’m not—"

  "Try zero."

  Leaning forward in his chair, Kumar frowned and said, "Those verdicts weren’t based primarily on my testimony, you know."

  "In fact, we can’t tell just how competent you are, if we go by the conviction rate can we?"

  Kumar’s jaw muscles rippled. "My work is to identify evidence of identity theft. It’s your job to draw conclusions."

  "Seems to me you've got a bigger career as a professional witness than—"

  "Objection," Rachel said, controlling her tone.

  Kumar slapped the rail with an open palm. "I take exception to that, sir!"

  "You’re done, thank you," said Walden with his back turned to the witness. He was already wrapping up his notes, already walking back to the prosecution’s table.

  The redirect was nothing more than putting out the fire Walden had lit under Kumar’s chair. If Walden’s cross had brought Rachel down even a notch, it wasn’t showing. Kumar was the last of our witnesses, unless of course, I was to take the stand, which by law, I was not required to do.

  But doing so would afford me the opportunity to present myself to the jury, my first-hand account of that fateful night, present myself as sympathetic and hopefully make it difficult for them to believe that I was capable of crimes. But at the same time, I would surely fall prey to a vicious and manipulative cross-examination by a D.A. with a high conviction rate and low ethical standard.