“So, T.J., nice of you to stop by for a chat. How’s the law office doing?”
T.J. chuckled. “Come on, Mary. You know this isn’t a social visit,” he said to the prosecutor, then cleared his throat.
“I know this is highly irregular, but I am requesting that the county drop all charges against one of my clients, James O’Brian.”
Mary looked at him a few seconds before answering. “Now why would I do something as ridiculous as that,” she scoffed. “Everyone, well, except for you maybe, knows he’s guilty.”
T.J. jumped on her statement. “That’s where you’re wrong. I have witnesses who will testify in court that Mr. O’Brian is as much a victim as is Justin Peters. Sure he was drunk, but that doesn’t make him guilty.”
Mary shot back, “T.J., you know drunkenness can’t be used as a defense.”
He came right back at her. “You have one piece of evidence linking my client to the crime, the victim’s blood on one of his boots. That isn’t going to be enough to convict him, and you know it. Drop the case.”
“Not on your life,” Mary shot back, her neck and face becoming blotched with red spots.
T.J. looked at her for several seconds. “Have it your way, but you’re going to be embarrassed when this gets before a jury. I’m requesting that my client be given an expedient trial. His defense team is prepared right now, and I’ll be petitioning the court to schedule it as soon as possible.” He stood, gathered his briefcase, a few loose papers he had brought to the meeting, and left without saying goodbye.
*****
Deidre and T.J. met in his office that afternoon to sift through what evidence they had and to determine if they had left any stone unturned. Deidre still couldn’t understand how he could be so certain they would win the case. She wondered if he wanted to get it over with so he could concentrate on paying clients.
“Jimmy’s trial has been set for June seventeenth,” T.J. said. “It’s a damn shame he’ll have to sit in jail until then, but that’s the way the system works. I don’t expect the trial to last more than three days. There’s no doubt in my mind he’ll be exonerated. I believe the community is looking to wrap up this case in a hurry and forget about it. It’s not going to be as easy to do that as they think.” Deidre wondered from where his optimism stemmed.
The next weeks went by slowly for her. T.J. had no more detective work for her, and about all Deidre had to do was clean house and tend the garden. School let out and the twins had time to loaf around and play their sports. That meant countless trips into town for practice and games. At least once a week she stopped to visit her friend, Sheriff Jeff DeAngelo. For one reason or another, they usually ended up discussing the Reverend Isaiah and his group.
“I went up to The Sanctuary the day after you showed me the note dropped for by that girl,” Jeff told Deidre one day. “When I got there, the place seemed as empty as a clothing store in a nudist colony.” Deidre thought that was an unusual comparison but said nothing as Jeff continued. “A guard was stationed at the driveway leading to their residences, but he wouldn’t let me pass without a search warrant. Nothing had happened that would give a judge reason to provide one, so all I could do was ask him a few questions. He said all the members of the group were observing a day of fasting and prayer. Seems The Prophet had received a vision from God telling him to declare a day of repentance.” Jeff shook his head. “I wonder how people can be trapped into blindly following without questioning.”
During their conversation, Jeff confided in Deidre that he was sure nothing good was happening at The Sanctuary, and he suspected many of the young people were being held against their will, or at least they were too frightened to leave. He told her he was seeking a court order to allow Social Services to speak with the young girls and women to find out if they were being abused in any way.
“Then, too,” he lamented, “there have been other minor crimes going on these last couple of months that we’re investigating. Most of the mainline churches in the area have experienced one form of vandalism or another, and signs point to the reverend’s group, but nothing’s concrete. Even the statue of the Virgin Mary outside the Catholic Church has been defaced. We’re going under the assumption that these acts coincide with the threats of church service disruptions rumored to happen sometime this summer. It’s difficult to get into The Sanctuary to question anyone, though. Seems every time my deputies or I go there, the group is sequestered for a prayer retreat, or some other excuse that prevents us from speaking to anyone. It’s getting pretty frustrating.”
It seemed to Deidre the problems in their community were becoming more serious. Investigators were sure that the rails of the track had been sabotaged, causing the fatal derailment the past April. Vandalism was increasing, and people were becoming convinced they were hate crimes. Hostility toward Reverend Isaiah was increasing, and Jeff told her he was worried citizens would form some kind of vigilante group to take care of the problem themselves. On top of that, Jimmy, the biker accused of viciously beating Justin Peters to death, was coming to trial the next week. She still didn’t have the confidence that T.J. had in Jimmy walking away, exonerated.
*****
The bailiff called out, “All rise,” and Judge Einar Jesperson stalked into his courtroom and took his seat. He glared at the gathering seated before him, and there was no doubt in anyone’s mind who would be in charge. With his words, “You may be seated,” the trial began.
Deidre was not allowed in the courtroom, because she was on the defense’s witness list that had been disclosed to the prosecution. T.J. told her to wait in the courthouse, because he didn’t think the prosecution would be calling many witnesses. He said that according to the prosecution’s list, they intended to call Dan Zemple, the officer who brought Jimmy in on a drunk-driving charge; Sig Swanson, the chief of police; and the ER doctor who had attended to Justin Peters while he was dying. The prosecutor had intended to call a DNA expert to verify that the blood on Jimmy’s boot was indeed Justin’s, but T.J. had capitulated the point, something that confused both the prosecutor and Deidre.
Other than those few witnesses, the prosecution had few points to make, other than the testimony that Justin was gay and the group James O’Brian belonged to had an anti-gay sign on their premises. She was relying to a great extent on circumstantial evidence, and the damning evidence of Justin’s blood on Jimmy’s boot. By the mid-morning recess of the second day of testimony, the prosecution rested their case and it was the defense’s, T.J.’s, turn. All during the prosecution’s presentation and questioning, he had been nearly silent, not raising one objection and hardly asking a question during cross-examination.
Chapter Fifteen
Deidre was the first witness to be called. As she was being sworn in, out of the corner of her eye, she could see T.J. smiling in anticipation.
He casually stepped closer to the witness stand and leaned on his podium with one arm. “So, Ms. Johnson. You are in my employ as an investigator. Is that correct?” Deidre spoke in the affirmative, wishing all the questions would be so easy.
“And on April 18, three days after Justin Peters was beaten to death, did I assign you a job?” Again the question was easy, and Deidre told the jury that T.J. had asked her to do a thorough search of the murder site.
“Did you?” T.J. asked, and Deidre answered that she had. “Please explain to the jury what you did and tell them what you found.”
This wasn’t the first time that Deidre had testified in court, and she never was comfortable being on the witness stand. She cleared her throat before speaking. “I parked my vehicle on the shoulder of the road near the spot the victim was found. It was easy to identify, because the grass had been trampled down. I walked the entire area, searching for anything I might consider significant, then got on my hands and knees and carefully covered every inch of the scene.”
&
nbsp; “I see,” T.J. interrupted as though he was hearing the story for the first time. “Did you find anything?”
“I did,” Deidre said as she nodded. “I spotted a shiny metallic object that had been pushed into the soil by the heel of a boot.”
Mary, the prosecutor, sprang from her chair to object that there wasn’t proof the print came from a boot. The judge sustained the objection, and T.J. took a different line. “Your Honor, I’d like to offer this plaster cast made by Ms. Johnson of the heel print into evidence, along with photos verifying the time, date, location, and procedure she used.”
The prosecution couldn’t object, because it was on the agreed list of evidence the defense would produce. T.J. dropped the idea of the boot and switched his questioning to the metallic object. “Did you examine the shiny object you saw?” he asked. Deidre took it from there.
“Yes, I carefully teased the object from the soil and discovered it was an empty shell casing. I used a forceps to place it in an evidence bag, which I turned over to you.”
T.J. probed her search efforts. “Did you find anything else while you were on your knees on the ground?”
“Yes, I did.” The questioning was going easier than Deidre had anticipated.
T.J. continued, asking, “What did you find?”
Deidre spoke with confidence. “I found a shard of glass which appeared to be part of a broken soda or beer bottle. Using a forceps, I picked it up and placed it in an evidence bag.”
T.J. held a bag out for her to see, and asked, “Was there anything of interest on the glass?”
Deidre answered carefully, “There appeared to be something resembling blood covering most of it.” She knew if she had said it was covered with blood, the prosecution would have objected and the objection would have been sustained.
T.J. offered the glass shard as evidence and from that time on most of his questions were phrased so they were easily answered, so the prosecutor had little to object to. When she was told she could step down, T.J. smiled at her, but Deidre didn’t feel like she had made much of a contribution toward proving Jimmy’s innocence.
T.J.’s next witness was a representative of the Red Wing Boot Company. “I believe you have seen a replica of the impression of the heel of a boot or a shoe that was admitted as evidence.” T.J. began as he picked up the plaster cast. “In your opinion, was it a replica of this cast?” The shoe man answered yes. T.J. continued. “Can you tell the court anything from this cast?”
Obviously at ease, the shoe representative gave his testimony. “This is the heel print of a Red Wing steel-toed work boot, the Classic 2238 eight-inch model.”
T.J. had one more question of the man. “You’re positive?”
“I’m positive,” he answered.
T.J. had the witness examine Jimmy’s boot, which the prosecution had entered as evidence to support her case. “Does the pattern on the heel of this boot match the pattern of the heel print left at the scene of the crime, the one you have testified came from a Red Wing boot?”
The representative answered, “No sir, it does not. Of that I am positive.”
“No more questions,” and T.J. sat down.
On cross-examination, the prosecutor asked how he could be so sure, and the witness pointed out the many identifying markings. She couldn’t refute his testimony.
Next, T.J. called as a witness a ballistics expert and showed him the casing Deidre had found at the site. “Have you ever seen this before?” he questioned.
“Yes. This is the bullet casing you sent to my office for examination.”
“And what did you conclude about this particular casing?” T.J. continued his line of questioning.
“This is the casing of a NATO round of ammunition, a 5.6 x 45, to be specific. It was fired from an assault rifle manufactured by Barrett Arms Manufacturers.”
“Can you tell when it was fired?” T.J. wanted to know, but the expert said he couldn’t. Then T.J. asked how he could be so sure of his conclusion. The witness took out a page from a notebook he carried, and began to explain.
“Objection, Your Honor,” Mary calmly interrupted. “The diagram is not large enough for the jury to see.”
T.J. smiled at her. “With the court’s permission, I do have an enlargement of the diagram. Will it be okay if I set it where all can see?” He looked at Mary, who shrugged at the judge. T.J. had brought an easel into the courtroom and soon had the picture set up. The witness pointed to the various scratches and markings on the enlarged picture of the casing.
“This indentation was left by the firing pin, from which I can reach a logical conclusion.” Again, Mary could come up with nothing to discredit the witness.
Judge Jesperson announced that there was time for one more witness before the court recessed for the day. T.J. called Caroline “Blackie” Reynolds, although he didn’t use her nickname.
“Thank you for taking time away from your business, Ms. Reynolds,” he began, making sure the jury was aware that she was a responsible person in the community. “Do you know the defendant, James OBrian?” Blackie looked at her friend and nodded.
The judge interrupted. “You’ll have to speak up for the record.”
Blackie enunciated very clearly, “Yes.” and the judge almost smiled.
T.J. continued. “How well?”
“Very well. We belong to the same club, have for the last seven years.”
Anticipating the prosecution’s cross examination, T.J. asked, “That would be the biker group, the Death Riders. Am I right?” Caroline was sure to voice her answer, and T.J. asked, “Tell me, what does your group do?”
Caroline shrugged. “We get together for rides around the state. Sometimes we just hang out and have a few beers. Once in a while we go to a party as a group. Nothing too exciting, I’m afraid.”
T.J. smiled at her. “Has anyone in your group ever been arrested for a serious crime, perhaps like armed robbery or assault or,” and here he paused for effect, “murder?”
Caroline looked surprised at the question. “Hell no!” she blurted out. “The only one who’s even had a DWI is Ham . . . I mean, Jimmy.” T.J. had no other questions, and as he took his seat he thought he saw smiles on the faces of a few jurors.
The prosecutor tried to pin Caroline down, wondering if they were such a peaceful organization, why they had such a violent name. The witness laughed. “It makes us sound tough.”
The judge asked if T.J. had any redirect questions, and he did. “To your knowledge, did James O’Brian ever own an assault rifle?”
“Absolutely not,” she said. On recross-examination, Mary tried to get Caroline to offer some degree of doubt to her answer, but she stood firm on her response to T.J.’s inquiry. At three forty-five, Judge Jesperson called a recess for the day, reminding all parties that court would resume at exactly nine the next morning.
Chapter Sixteen
The third day of the trial started with little of consequence. T.J. called a series of witnesses to vouch for Jimmy’s character: three more bike gang members, each of whom testified that they had never known Jimmy to own a gun, let alone an assault rifle, and the owner of The Pub, which Jimmy frequented. By the time T.J. called Jimmy’s employer to vouch for his work ethic, everyone in the court room was getting restless. Even the prosecuting attorney was getting glassy-eyed.
“I call Dr. Marcus Fayler,” T.J. said, showing no emotion. The doctor was sworn in and took his seat on the witness stand. “Would you please tell the jury what you do for a living and what is your position?”
Dr. Fayler looked at the jury. “I’m a Ph.D. biochemist, specializing in DNA sequencing. I’m also the owner and president of an independent laboratory, Genetic Measurements Incorporated, which is licensed to conduct genetic testing of all sorts, including DNA analysi
s.”
Deidre realized that T.J. had paraded a number of red-herring witnesses past the jurors and the opposing attorney, lulling them all into a state of near numbness. Now he was preparing to slip in an unexpected thrust.
Mary came out of her doldrums and addressed the judge. “Your Honor, I object to this witness on the grounds that Mr. Compton has done nothing but stall. First we had to sit through hours of testimony from people who told and retold us that the defendant is a nice guy. Now we’re going to hear from a DNA expert who will tell us what Mr. Compton has already conceded. The blood on the defendant’s boot is that of Justin Peters.”
At this point T.J. interrupted. “Your Honor, this has nothing at all to do with the blood on the defendant’s boot. Rather, it has to do with a blood sample taken from the shard of glass that has already been accepted as evidence by the court—and by the prosecution, I might add.”
Both attorneys approached the bench. Mary’s face was crimson. “Your Honor, I demand that this witness not be allowed to testify. At no time during disclosure did the defense make one mention of DNA tests being conducted on what appeared to be blood on the broken glass.”
Judge Jesperson glared down from his bench at her. “Counselor, you do not make demands in my courtroom. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Mary answered weakly, and the judge continued.
“Dr. Fayler’s name was on the list of witnesses submitted during disclosure by the defense. The broken shard of glass was listed as evidence at the same time. Did you request to be allowed to test it for the presence of blood?”
Mary’s shoulders drooped. “No, Your Honor.”
“Then I suggest you allow Mr. Compton to get on with his questioning of his witness. We don’t want to waste any more of the court’s time, do we?” Mary slouched back to her table, plunked down in her chair and held her head in her hands.
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